by Monica Hahn
Arati looked slightly interested at this prospect. “I don’t know as I should change anything…” she said. “My father might not approve.”
“Fiddlesticks,” said Fiern. “From what I hear, the king never comes here, and if he’s like most men, he wouldn’t notice anything even if he lived here full-time. You’re here now, and you need to make this your home.”
Arati didn’t bother arguing. They traipsed down halls and corridors and up and down stairs and all the way to the attic. Along the way they found interesting rooms, including a library that Arati hadn’t even known about and was excited to discover, and furniture with all sorts of possibilities. Arati even started taking notes of some of the changes that she wanted to make. As soon as she was settled into the drawing room on her new comfortable daybed and before she started doing her needlepoint project with actual enthusiasm, she requested that the entire castle be cleaned. She actually slept that night.
The next day Fiern insisted that Arati start taking daily walks outdoors. Arati enjoyed these walks, although it might have been because when they would get back indoors, Fiern would allow her a hot chocolate and two cookies. Arati had never eaten as many vegetables and as much meat as she did under Fiern’s care. Fiern told the cook that Arati was only to have dessert if she ate the healthier things first, and the cook (as much in awe of the nurse’s dictums as everyone else seemed to be) complied.
Arati followed Fiern’s program faithfully. Within a month, she had gained a more appropriate amount of weight and was feeling much better. She spent her time reading and playing games with her staff. There was just a small assortment of servants at Aperune, which made life much less formal. Time passed pleasantly enough, although she still missed Tarik, even though she told herself that it was crazy to miss someone she had only known for a short amount of time. But she had loved him, and he was hard to forget, especially with her growing stomach as a constant reminder.
In a playful mood one day, she had the servants tell her every old wives’ tale that they knew of for determining the sex of an unborn baby, and she tried them all. Five out of the six indicated a male child, so she named the baby Mikel. She sang to him as she patted her belly. She would also tell him about his father, especially at night when she was awake after what felt like the fiftieth use of the chamber pot.
She could feel him kick now, and she liked to push against her belly to get a reaction. Fiern shook her head at this, but Arati could see her smile. Arati was getting excited about having the baby as she grew bigger and bigger. She received word that Vana had delivered a handsome, healthy boy and sent congratulations. She looked around at Mikel’s nursery and knew it wouldn’t be long now.
And it wasn’t. That night her water broke, and after just four and a half hours of contractions, she had a healthy little baby boy of her own. Arati held him, and her heart filled to overflowing. He was so perfect. She vowed that he would have a good life—a life full of love and adventure.
*****
She did not expect, though, to see her father arrive two days after Mikel was born, surely before he had even received word of the birth.
And even from the window where she watched him exit the traveling carriage, which was strange because he usually rode, preferring not to be cooped up, he seemed older, more stooped. The impression was strengthened when he entered her room without being announced. He was grayer, and his forehead was lined with wrinkles she didn’t remember. He walked to the crib and looked at her sleeping baby. Arati had to restrain herself from flying to her father’s side and demanding that he step away from her child, but he didn’t touch Mikel.
“Father,” she finally said, formally, since he wasn’t speaking.
He looked at her, and she abruptly identified his expression as grief, which was alarming.
“Your brother is dead,” he said.
She opened her mouth to contradict him, not knowing how that could possibly be true when she had just heard from him, then closed it as he kept going, talking in a monotone.
“His wife is dead,” he said. “Their baby is dead.”
“How?” she finally asked, her eyes filling with helpless tears.
“A fire,” he said. “There was a fire and no one survived.”
She wept. He watched her, his own eyes dry. She wondered if he had cried at all about it, or if he would. Then she wondered why he was there and the thought stopped her tears. “I am deeply sorry,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “As am I.” He looked at the cradle and then back at her. “I’m taking your son,” he said. Before she could voice the protest she felt filling her soul, he stared at her and said, “The kingdom needs an heir. It was supposed to be Horatio, your brother’s son, and it will be still.”
“What do you mean?” Arati asked. “You just said that Horatio died in the fire.”
“I have some servants who will say he survived,” Saras said. He pointed to Mikel. “They will swear that this is Horatio. You will come back with him, finally recovered from your illness and emerging from your convalescence to help raise your orphaned nephew. Or you can stay here and rot and I will raise your son. Your choice.”
Arati took a deep breath. There wasn’t much of a choice there, and they both knew it. As much as she had come to value the peace of Aperune, she would abandon her son only over her dead body. “I would be happy to come back,” she said, the irony in her tone barely discernible.
The king nodded at her. He then instructed her servants to pack up immediately. He swore them to secrecy on the matter of the baby’s parentage on the pain of death and had them all back at the main castle in two weeks’ time.
Chapter Four
Prince Horatio had slipped away from his tutor and was down at the docks, again. The twelve-year-old boy was often seen wandering about, questioning anyone from navy admirals to deckhands to pirates. He was interested in any type of seaman. A lot of the time he traded work for information: hauling cargo, repairing ropes and sails, even scrubbing decks. Because he assumed, rightly so, that his grandfather would not be particularly pleased with him spending his time with often villainous people, he used a much different wardrobe for these excursions. He also went by a different name—Mikel, which was something his aunt called him, as his “pirate name.” When he was younger they would spend hours together as she would recount long, involved stories of pirates, and she had declared that his pirate name was Mikel. She had looked a little teary when she had said it, which he hadn’t understood, but he liked it much better than Horatio, so he had adopted it.
“Mikel, did you want to help raise the flag?” Bosley asked. He was a short, freckled lad, about two years older than Horatio, but smaller, and he was a dockrat, one of the many children who supplemented their parents’ meager income by picking up whatever chores they could. Bosley and Horatio had been friends since Horatio had defended Bosley from some bullies three years ago.
Horatio nodded. He liked seeing the flag raising, from the time they would carefully attach it to the ropes to when it would reach the top and unfurl with the wind. He and Bosley had just spent hours scrubbing this particular flag back to its original stark red and white. It was for one of the merchant ships, from Seaton, which was a country that Horatio had never heard of before. They got all kinds of ships from faraway places in Port Sinbad. Tibercon was known worldwide as a hospitable place to dock and rest up, take on supplies and repair ships before sailing again. It was one of King Saras’s biggest triumphs, to have created such a place. Here, not only navy, pirate, and merchant ships could coexist in peace, but also the sailors themselves. There was a five-mile truce radius around the island, and anyone who broke it was not only punished by the Tibercon navy, but also ostracized by every other sailor that obeyed it. Once outside the five-mile radius, wars raged, and navy ships bombarded each other and chased pirates, the pirate ships attacked merchant ships, and the sea was a dangerous place indeed, but Tibercon was a fight-free zone. And that included on the dock a
nd in the taverns. Other ports saw constant skirmishing, but not Port Sinbad. Any fighting at all and whoever was involved was immediately hung. There hadn’t been a hanging in almost four years now.
Horatio and Bosley expertly attached the flag and pulled with all their might to move it slowly up the pole. The captain of the Seaton ship sauntered up and complimented them with a gruff, “Well done, lads,” and gave them each an extra coin. Horatio slipped his into Bosley’s pocket, knowing that his friend needed the money, and smiled at the captain.
“It’s a fine ship you have,” he said. “Where is this land you come from?”
At the bright-eyed interest from an admiring boy, the captain’s chest swelled a little, and he talked of how far away his home country was, and then described everything from his country’s economy to his take of life at sea, carefully guided by the occasional question. Horatio was particularly interested in the casual mention by the captain of magic in Seaton.
“It sounds like a grand life,” Horatio said, his eyes a little wistful as he gazed at the far-away horizon, now starting to dim with the onset of dusk.
The captain took in a deep breath of the tangy salt air and grinned at the boy. “It’s not without its hardships,” he said. “But I can’t imagine wanting to do anything else.” He looked a little surprised as he glanced about and noticed the time. “Now be off with you,” he said, “Tomorrow we sail, and there is much to be done before then.”
Horatio nodded and jumped up from his seat on a barrel. “Thank you for your time, Captain,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to hear of your adventures.”
The captain flushed a little and readjusted his hat. “You’re a good lad,” he said. “And perhaps one day you can make it out to sea and experience it all for yourself.”
“I’d like that,” Horatio said. He smiled at the captain and scampered off the ship.
Bosley had slipped away before the captain had even started his tales, since he needed more earnings for the day, and Horatio went to find him now. He eventually spotted Bosley, in the grip of a Tibercon guardian while another blocked Bosley’s escape route. Horatio soundlessly crept up on them, in time to overhear them ask Bosley whether he had seen a boy, around twelve years old but big for his age, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Horatio realized they were describing him and wondered if Bosley would sell him out.
But Bosley adhered to the code of the dockrat and shrugged. “I’ve never seen anyone like that,” he said. “Then again, there are a lot of us down here, and so I couldn’t really say one way or the other.”
“I’d heard he might be a particular friend of yours,” the guardian said, holding out a coin.
“I don’t have any particular friends,” Bosley insisted. “I don’t have time for friends.”
The guardian added a few more coins to his palm and jingled them. Bosley shook his head. “What do you want him for so badly, anyway?” he asked.
“That’s the king’s business,” the guardian said sharply, pocketing his money.
“And none of mine, then,” Bosley said. “Since I don’t know anything, can I go now?”
The guardians looked at each other, and then the one holding Bosley cuffed him loosely and then released him. “Run away,” he said.
Bosley lost no time in scampering off.
Horatio wondered what that was all about, and had the sinking feeling that he might soon find out.
*****
When he got back to the castle, Horatio was informed that he was to meet with his grandfather. King Saras never wasted any effort on affection or even civility. So, Horatio’s memories of prior meetings induced him to imagine that this one would also be a hardship to be endured. He scrubbed himself quickly and dressed in some of his finer clothes, then hurried off to his grandfather’s cabinet room. The cozy space behind the throne room was where the old man preferred to conduct his sensitive meetings.
King Saras was there already, and Horatio was ushered in to find his grandfather perusing a document. He didn’t let the boy’s entrance distract him, and it was a full five minutes before he put the paper down and greeted his grandson. Horatio remained at attention this entire time. He’d endured too many lectures on fidgeting to dare even shuffle his feet.
“Horatio.”
Horatio bowed slightly. “Grandfather.”
With the pleasantries over with, Saras leaned forward slightly and narrowed his eyes at the boy. “You’ve been frittering your time away at the docks and associating with unsavory characters.”
Horatio kept calm through the accusation, although he wondered how his grandfather knew. Then again, that wasn’t worth worrying about. “I’ve been exploring our most lucrative industry and communicating with legitimate subjects in an attempt to gain a greater understanding of our economic situation.”
“Dockrats.”
“Future shipwrights, sailors, and merchants.”
“I won’t tolerate your behavior, no matter how you excuse it. You are to cease all visits to Port Sinbad immediately.”
Horatio could feel a stubborn look come over his face, but he managed to keep his voice calm and steady as he challenged the king. “And if I don’t?” he asked, as mildly as possible.
King Saras glared at him. “Don’t try me, boy. Promise me this instant that you will stop this nonsense.”
“I won’t,” Horatio said. “I excel in my lessons, I am present when you wish to see me, and what I choose to do with the rest of my time should be my decision.”
King Saras snorted. “You are my grandson,” he said. “The heir to this throne and the future king. How you spend your time is very much my business and you will do as I see fit.”
“I won’t,” Horatio said. “And stopping me will require more of your resources than I wager you are willing to spend. Especially if your request that I promise you indicates that you know a vow is the only way to keep me away.”
“It’s not the only way,” King Saras said. “Just the easiest for us both.” He sat back and flicked a hand at Horatio. “You’re dismissed,” he said.
Horatio backed out slowly, suspicious of his grandfather’s quick dismissal. He knew that didn’t mean the old man was giving up—that would never happen. So, what was his new strategy? Horatio heard the bell ring before he was out of earshot and decided to do some investigative work.
*****
Saras wasn’t used to hearing refusals, although this one hadn’t come as much of a shock. Horatio had always been a boy with spirit. But, of course, Saras had a contingency plan for this. He called Arati to him and got straight to the point.
“Horatio is associating with lowlifes down at the docks,” he said. “And he is refusing to give me his word that he will stop. You need to have him promise you.”
“He won’t,” she said. “He’s a stubborn child.”
“We both know that unfortunate things occur when royalty strays too far outside the castle walls,” he said.
“What exactly are you implying, besides casting up my youthful indiscretion?” she asked. “I have spent the last twelve years being thoroughly obedient to you.”
“And yet Horatio is not,” he said.
She shrugged.
“If you can’t make him obey you,” the king said. “Then there is no use for you here.”
“Don’t send me away,” she said, pleading. “My son needs me.”
“He’s almost a man,” the king said. “He no longer needs a motherly influence.”
“I won’t go,” she said, her defiance real, if subdued.
“You will,” he said. “You do realize that Horatio is only useful as an heir if he is the type of heir that will do my bidding? Otherwise, he is just your bastard child and I have no use for him.”
“You are threatening your grandson?”
His lips curved unpleasantly. “Will you go?”
She bowed her head. “Yes,” she said.
From behind a tapestry, concealed in the alcove there, Horatio listen
ed to this entire conversation with wonderment and increasing anger towards his grandfather. He had always been devoted to his aunt, and to learn that she was actually his mother didn’t come as quite the shock it should have. It clarified a few snippets of conversations that he had heard over the years. They were conversations that he wasn’t supposed to be listening to, but that had never stopped him. He had discovered convenient listening posts all over the castle, like this one. Knowledge was power, after all, and nobody told a child anything important, even if he was the crown prince. But, even knowing, there was nothing he could do to help his aunt, or mother, rather. She would have to go to Aperune to save his life, and he would have to be a model prince or his grandfather would kill him. Unless…unless he was the one to leave. His mother had always told him that without action, all is lost. He’d have to do it soon, though, or he’d lose his nerve.
That night Horatio hugged Arati goodnight with all the strength of his young body, since it was really goodbye. He was a bit taller than her now, and she felt fragile to him. He had to keep her safe.
“It’s been a while since you’ve hugged me goodnight,” she said.
“But you know that I love you?” he asked.
“And I you,” she said. She looked at him a little suspiciously. “Please don’t do anything rash.”
He smiled at her and scampered off to his room.
*****
Horatio stuffed a few clothes and some books into one of the long canvas bags that sailors used for their gear. He had considered leaving a note, but thought that his mother might be better off if it was unclear exactly what had happened to him. And he didn’t want his grandfather trying to track him down. That was another reason he was only taking a few things. Nobody should be able to tell whether he had packed belongings for a journey or not. He had considered asking his mother to run away with him, but life on the sea was no place for a woman, especially an unmarried one. Some sailors were very superstitious about that, and wouldn’t even allow them on board. And he wasn’t in any real position to protect her. But someday, someday he would make a fortune, and buy his own ship, and come back to rescue his mother and take her away from here.