by B. K. Boes
Junia’s fingertips covered her lips, her eyes wide. “You… you asked him for my hand?”
Moloch furrowed his brow. “Yes. Did you know he would refuse?”
Her cheeks flamed red. “I was trying to convince him myself. To soften his heart toward you. He and your father… there’s history there. Something bad.”
“Yes.” Moloch’s throat was too dry, and the words croaked as he said them. “He told me.”
“My father told you?” Junia sat back down on the edge of the bed. “What did he say? I’ve never heard the details. Everyone keeps it secret.”
“He doesn’t want you to know, and neither do I.”
Junia folded her arms. “Why not?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Molo—”
“Do you?”
She unfolded her arms. “Yes.”
“Don’t ask me again. Please.”
“Very well. But what of the rest? The meeting couldn’t have gone well. Not with how you look.”
“It didn’t. I have to figure out how to convince him I’m not like my father.” Moloch leaned back against the pile of pillows and let out a long breath. “Junia, I don’t know what to do.”
Junia reached for Moloch’s hand and grabbed it, holding tight even when he tried to pull away. “Listen to me, Moloch,” she said. “I know my father. We will work together, and he will see in you what I see in you.”
Moloch smiled at Junia, the first time he’d smiled in a cycle or more. “Dear sweet Junia. What if it’s not possible? At this point, I don’t know if I’ll gain the dukeship. Waen will marry soon, and he’s training every day with our master-at-arms. Instructors from Bastra come to Eunoya every other cycle to give him extra tutoring in the ways of war. With his marriage, and his training… I’m falling behind.”
“Bastra,” Junia stood up, excited. “Bastra! The prince has signed up for two years at Bastra. Follow him there. Continue building your friendship.”
Moloch stared at Junia, trying to process the new information. Bastra was Eikon’s premier military complex, where soldiers and officers trained. Only the very highborn who could afford private tutors and a master-at-arms could gain military status without spending two years there.
He blinked a few times before he spoke. “The prince is going to Bastra? That’s insane. He’s got the best training there is. He doesn’t need it.”
“Talk to him about it,” Junia said. “If you go, too, as an officer in training, he will respect that. He’s got an entire philosophy on the matter.”
“You’ve heard him speak of it?” Moloch leaned forward. “Tell me.”
“Something about understanding the ‘least of these.’ You know, ‘The least of these hold the Sustainer’s heart.’ It’s in the Holy Book of Proverbs.” Junia’s words were racing now. “My father respects the holy books. He and my uncle will be happy to find Prince Zuria’s faith so tangible. If you go with him…”
“… it will be the first step in proving I’m not my father.” Moloch sprang up off the bed, not caring he was in the same clothes he’d been wearing for days. “General Nibal Sarrem is proud of his private education. His tutors and master-at-arms. He would never do this.”
“Oh.” Junia’s smile faded. “But, then, will he count it against you?”
Moloch smiled wide. “That’s the best part. If the prince is already doing it, and I say I’m doing it to bolster his faith in me, my father will think it a simple ploy. He’ll let it play out, just to see if it makes a difference in my influence with the prince.”
“You’re sure?” Junia said.
He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, spinning her around. “It’s perfect,” he said. “A perfect start, anyway.”
“Well, then, you should bathe and join the land of the living.” Junia laughed when he set her down.
Moloch winced. “It’s that bad?”
“It is.”
“So bad that I can’t steal a kiss?”
Junia bit her lip and looked at him tentatively.
Moloch laughed. “Fine. After I bathe, then?”
Junia nodded.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
She brushed his hand with hers and turned to go, Anette on her heels. Moloch felt new life flowing through his veins. If Junia was by his side, he felt anything was possible. This plan was brilliant. It would appease her father, Moloch’s father, and the prince all at the same time.
Waen will balk at the fact he didn’t think of it himself. And that smug smile will be gone when I change the Duke of Pytar’s mind.
There was a bounce in his step as he called for Rendre to prepare a bath for him. He was owed a kiss, and he wasn’t one to let a debt go unpaid.
“Bastra?” Moloch acted surprised as he sat opposite Zuria in a game of Avarice. They were alone, late at night, celebrating Moloch’s recovery from a span of illness. It being his turn, Moloch began drawing from the pile. The point of the game was to gain victory marks by gathering resource cards. One could draw from the center pile as long as he desired, but if a detriment card was drawn, he could lose all he had gained in that turn.
He laid the first card he drew in his prospect pile. A glow orb, good. And the next? He drew again. Taurret wood. And again. Another Taurret wood.
“Better stop there,” Moloch said as he pulled his prospect cards into his asset pile. He gestured warily to the top card of the deck. “There’s sure to be a band of marauders coming up soon.”
Zuria chuckled. “Very well,” he said as he drew another card. He sighed as he held it up between two fingers, a smile on his face. “Thank you very much, kind sir.” The card depicted a glow orb, the most valuable resource in the game.
Moloch slapped the table with his palm. “Missed it by one!” He shrugged as Zuria continued his draw. “So, what gave you the idea of enrolling in Bastra? Surely you have enough quality training here at the palace.”
Zuria stopped his draw after picking up one depicting a soldier, which could block a band of mauraders. “My father gave me the idea,” he said as he added to his assets. “Said he did it back before the war. It taught him a lot about leading men. You can know all the right strategies and swing a sword with the best of them, but if you’ve never been in their shoes, they’ll always think of you as someone outside. Above. They’ll bow their knee, but the real test of a king is if his men bow their hearts.”
“That’s… enlightening,” Moloch said, pausing the game for a moment to complete his purpose for the night. “And it’s also a happy coincidence. My request to begin at Bastra was sent just yesterday.”
“Really?” Zuria sounded skeptical.
“Yes. I met with someone recently, and they said I should respect the common man. It made me think of that proverb. What was it?” Moloch pretended to think, though he had practiced it a hundred times. “The least of these hold the Sustainer’s heart.”
“My father quoted that very proverb to me,” Zuria said.
“It stirred something in me along the same lines you were just explaining. I want to be Duke of Eunoya, and maybe after that, Chief Military Advisor like my father. He’s respected, yes, but it’s more out of fear and reputation. I want men under me to follow me and respect me because they know me. Does that make sense?”
“We have more in common than I thought, Moloch. That makes perfect sense.”
“Maybe you’ve been rubbing off on me,” Moloch said.
Zuria smiled. “Bastra will be good for you. I know it. The war council would benefit greatly from a man like you. You might even make a fine Chief Military Advisor someday,” Zuria said. “If I have anything to do with it, anyway.”
Moloch’s veins were on fire with excitement, but he kept it hidden. Too much enthusiasm wasn’t what the prince wanted. If Moloch knew him at all, he wanted humility. This was the first time the prince had said anything on the subject, always deferring to his father’s judgment in the matter.
I’m getting close
r. Play your cards right, Moloch.
Calmly, head bowed, he spoke. “My prince, I would be honored to serve you in that way.”
“I’d be honored to have you,” Zuria said, a half smile on his lips. “And I’m sure your decision has nothing to do with keeping you a stone’s throw away from Junia for two years.”
“It may have crossed my mind,” Moloch laughed. “Come, my friend. Let’s finish this game. I’ve only four victory marks before I win.”
“Ah.” Zuria cracked his knuckles. “We’ll see about that, my friend.”
Moloch commensed his turn, but all he could think about was Junia. Her plan had gone better than either of them expected. He was falling more in love with her by the minute. We’ll do great things together, she and I.
Now all they had to do was convince her father. Lord Nondrum’s dark stare, his gravelly voice, and ready accusations threatened to resurface, to destroy the hope Moloch had been given.
No. He pushed the thought away. Junia and the dukeship are within my reach. He just needed to stretch a little farther.
Chapter Nineteen
Anakai
Kelda Canyons, Adikea
4th Cycle of Chenack
987 Post Schism
Anakai tried to learn from other boys’ mistakes, but after the obstacle course, he realized he needed to learn from his own as well. So he had begun carving a list into the sandstone wall of his little cave. Things that got other boys killed, and the mistakes he made.
Don’t help the true-sons, unless I have to.
Don’t eat the yellow cacti.
Test a handhold to make sure it won’t crumble.
Don’t question the generals.
Don’t make a true-son angry.
Now Anakai used his makeshift chisel to make another note. This one was one of his mistakes, and it had almost killed him.
Don’t make friends of the weak.
“What’re you writing?” Jerg peeked over Anakai’s shoulder. “I know that word. Means friends. Had a friend back before who could read and write like you. He showed me that word. Thought I would see him when I came to the canyons.” Jerg shrugged. “Guess he’s dead though.”
Anakai stopped to think. It had been a little over a year since they’d first arrived in the canyons. He nodded. “Probably. If you haven’t seen him this whole time.”
“So what’s it say?” Jerg sat cross-legged next to Anakai.
“Don’t make friends of the weak.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not.” Anakai stared up at the list. The fire behind them cast shadows on the wall. Its heat and light were comforting in the cooler desert night. Therbaks and most other creatures in the Kelda Canyons hated fire. He and Jerg had been forced to fight some newcomers a few cycles back to keep their cave, but the scared younger boys hadn’t stood a chance against them. So far, there was no challenge they couldn’t meet when it came to keeping their little hole in the canyons.
“Not what?” Jerg stared up at the list, too.
“Weak.” Anakai sighed. “Nim was weak. I shouldn’t have been his friend.”
“Told you so,” Jerg said.
And he had. Jerg saw it from the beginning. But Anakai had felt pity toward the little boy who barely made it through a viewing at the Feeding Trough. A boy who got lucky with the course because he was quick on his feet.
Since then, Nim had been nothing but trouble. He was always tripping over something, mumbling or stuttering out his answers to the generals. Jerg said the boy was bad luck, but Anakai hadn’t listened. He watched Nim barely make it through so many challenges that he thought maybe there was potential underneath.
Anakai tried to help, tried to bring out some of Nim’s Adikean blood. Over the last year, he had included Nim whenever he could and stood up for him against the other boys.
It had been a mistake.
That morning, Anakai had let Nim scale a canyon wall with him. It was a regular activity meant to improve stamina and eliminate fear. Maybe Nim was trying to impress Anakai, or maybe he was just having an especially stupid day. But he didn’t listen when Anakai told him to slow down. He was hasty. All eager and no smarts. And when he fell, he grabbed Anakai’s foot. And instead of grabbing the canyon wall, he just kept screaming. If Anakai’s hands hadn’t been securely gripping the rock, he wouldn’t have been able to kick Nim off to save himself. Anakai would have landed in a heap of broken bones next to him on the bottom of the canyon floor.
“I wanted to help him,” Anakai said. “I thought if I protected him for a little while, he would learn. I didn’t want to see anyone else die. But it was a waste. He should have at least tried to grab a handhold instead of screaming and crying and clawing at my leg. It was his own fault,” Anakai said. “I tried to help him.”
“Eh,” Jerg said, shrugging again. “It was bound to happen. Nim was bad luck. One time he almost shot me in the foot with an arrow, you know. Haven’t liked him since.”
“I know,” Anakai said, disappointed in himself for not seeing it earlier.
“I’m glad you don’t think I’m weak. I like you,” Jerg said. He punched Anakai’s arm and crawled past the small fire in the middle of the cavern floor to his bedroll, a luxury all boys received when they survived their first year. Jerg yawned and put his hands behind his head as he lay down. “Maybe you can teach me to write, you know, for fun. We don’t have much fun around here.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Anakai said. Not many of the boys sent to the canyons knew how to read or write, besides the true-sons. Only some slave-sons from the Central Sector had picked it up, and Anakai was lucky enough to be one of them. All slave-sons would eventually be taught enough to read basic commands, maps, and signs.
Anakai’s mother had made sure he learned to read and write back before. Whenever she could, she’d teach him using discarded slates and chalk his true-son siblings had chipped or broken. All of that seemed so far away, like someone else’s life. But some memories remained crisp, even now, though most were blurring around the edges.
She used to teach me at night as the sun went down, he remembered. He closed his eyes, and he could almost see her face. Brown eyes with a touch of hazel. Brown hair pulled back. Her smile. It was the face of the one person in the world who loved him.
All the slave-sons were told to forget everything that happened, everyone they loved before they arrived. The Kelda Canyons were their home now. Their family would be those brothers who survived. The strong. Their purpose was to serve Adikea. The generals told them often how Adikea would need them when the time for Unification began. Slave-sons would be the ones to win back all of Leyumin, to bring all people together under the Adikean Emperor.
The idea made Anakai proud to have Adikean blood flowing in his veins.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t let go of his life back before. It was a weakness he should work to erase. The canyons offered him purpose and pride and strength and taught him how to survive. Anakai had learned to appreciate the Kelda Canyons.
Sometimes he dreamed of walking in the Outer Gardens of Sydor with his mother, and he woke up longing for her. Though he knew his foreign blood diluted his strength, he also remembered a few times when his mother had shown great strength and endurance.
His mother used to say love made a person stronger. Anakai had witnessed his mother endure terrible lashings without a single tear. No matter how hard she was beaten, she always managed to get back to her work without complaint. She survived.
Isn’t that a form of strength? Anakai looked up at his list. Survival was a measurement of value in the Kelda Canyons. Maybe my mother had a little Adikean blood in her somewhere. The thought was certainly comforting.
The stress of the day’s training pulled Anakai to his own bedroll. He lay facing his list. The flames wavered and swayed. Smoke trailed upwards and out into the night through the slit in the ceiling above. Tomorrow Anakai and Jerg would climb out of their resting place and comple
te whatever objective General Vordon laid out for them.
He rolled over and closed his eyes. In the morning, he would forget his mother. He would forget Nim. He would survive. And if he came back the next night to sleep beneath his list, he would pray for dreams of his mother and pastries and walks beneath bone-white branches.
But first, he would have to live through another day.
Chapter Twenty
Imrah
The City of Sydor, Adikea
4th Cycle of Chenack
987 Post Schism
Imrah walked to Lapuro’s home in the early morning light. The moons above were still outlined in the heavens where the rising sun had not yet ushered them away. The sky was gradually lightening from the purples and pinks of dawn to the clear blue of day.
Not many people walked the Inner Road so early. Vendors were still setting up their wares. The city’s lively roar was reduced to a low rumble in the early morning. Without a crowd, Imrah made her way quickly to the gates of the Lower Sector.
Imrah drew little attention to herself; she kept her head down. A small basket bearing a loaf of bread hung from the crook of her arm. She gave the same alibi to the guards she’d been using for two cycles, that she was visiting the Forgotten Vale to care for an old friend.
Not that she needed much of an alibi. Dramede Dakkan cared little for what she did with her time, as long as her work got done, and she was there to please him when he called.
Once in the Lower Sector, she hurried to Lapuro’s house, her feet nearly flying through the streets. She struggled to keep her excitement to herself, but she did allow herself a muted smile. Five days ago, a child had slipped a note into her hand as she browsed the Inner Road market for fresh vegetables. Lapuro had a letter from Prestis about Nasheer. Imrah was anxious for news. She knew he had survived, as the ambassador had sent word at once when he was safely in Eikon. But she knew nothing more than that.