The Desert Prince

by Brett, Peter V.

  Cover. The word is a stark reminder that Micha has been lying to me for my entire life. That my gentle nanny was always a living weapon. I knew she was Mother’s eyes and ears in my life, but this is something out of an espionage novel.

  “I thought it better to follow,” Micha continues. “Protect her if needed, let you punish her later if not. There had not been a demon sighting on the tour in a decade. I decided it was best to let the princess…assert herself.”

  Let. My hand curls into a fist. The one small taste of freedom in my life, and it was just another lie. A lie paid for in blood.

  If Mother was angry before, it was a gentle rain compared with the storm her face becomes. Her next words are snapped in Krasian, and sharper for it. “It is not for you to decide what is best for my daughter, Sharum’ting! It is for you to keep your oath and obey.”

  “Yes, mistress.” Micha presses her forehead to the floor. “You may punish me as you see fit.”

  “I’m not interested in punishment, Micha,” Mother snaps. “I’m interested in hearing why it won’t happen again, but that is for a later conversation.”

  Micha shudders ever so slightly, and a bit of sympathy returns. Mother’s “conversations” are worse than any punishment.

  Micha rolls back to her heels and puts a fist to her heart. “Your will, mistress.”

  Mother turns her withering gaze back upon me. “But none of this changes the fact that you lied to me, Olive. You poisoned Wonda! Night, you could have killed her if you’d gotten the dosage wrong! And you would have done the same to Micha. You disobeyed a direct command and snuck off, putting your own life in danger.”

  Every word is a lash that strikes harder because I know they are true. What have these people ever done, save protect me?

  “Now six children are dead,” Mother continues, “and seven more will carry injuries for the rest of their lives.”

  I remember every wound as I assisted Micha’s healing, every body we had to identify from savaged remains. I think of Gyles and his circlet of flowers. Cayla and her fiddle. Tam, Oren, Boni, Elexis…“I’m sorry, I…”

  “I don’t want to hear it!” Mother barks. “Their blood is on your hands, Olive.”

  It was. Literally, though that isn’t how Mother means it with me scrubbed and powdered and back in a dress. She means it’s my fault. My fault the demons struck. My fault my friends are dead.

  But is it?

  Mother is still shouting, but I’m no longer listening. I turn away seeing Micha still kneeling on the floor. Face covered by her veil.

  “Olive Paper, you look at me when I—” Mother’s shriek cuts off as I turn back to her and stomp my foot down hard, shattering one of the floor tiles.

  Silence follows the crash, as Mother and I lock stares. I can feel the tears streaking my makeup, and they just make me angrier. “Yes, I made a bad choice. But maybe I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t kept me in a cage and fed me lies.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother snaps. “All I ever did—”

  “Was protect me,” I finish. “By putting a killer in my nursery and never telling me. By keeping me from ever seeing the lands and people I am meant to rule. By telling the world a lie and forcing me to live it.”

  “Ay, what’s she talking about?” General Gared asks when, for once, Mother doesn’t have a response ready.

  “It’s a secret,” I say. “Mother has them from everyone, it seems.”

  “Enough, Olive.” I expect Mother to be angry. Part of me wants her to be angry, to force a confrontation. But instead she massages her temple, sounding suddenly tired. “You’ve made your point. Go to your chambers. You and Selen are confined there until I figure out what to do with you. I’ll have meals sent up.” She taps her spectacles. “Try to sneak away again, and I’ll know.”

  She’ll be using her magic to spy on me, she means. While I am locked away from the world.

  Nothing is different. Nothing will be different, if I don’t force a change.

  But suddenly I am tired, too. The nausea is subsiding now that I’ve vomited my anger up. I don’t want to fight anymore.

  So I take the offered retreat, turning on my heel and striding out with my head high for once. Selen follows, but Micha remains kneeling on the floor. I catch one last exchange before the doors shut behind us.

  “Report, Sharum’ting.”

  “There can be no doubt, mistress,” Micha says. “The alagai were hunting Princess Olive.”

  * * *

  —

  It was easy not to think about them, when we were fighting for our lives. When Micha turned my world upside down. When we were marched home to the duchess like criminals to the magistrate. When I could still feel Lanna’s kiss on my lips.

  But the duchess was right about one thing.

  Their blood is on your hands.

  After long weeks I am back in my rooms, the only place I’ve ever felt truly safe. My beautiful creations stand guard around the room, mannequins modeling fashion for various activities. They’re meant to remind me that I can be anything, and on most days it works.

  Today all I can see are unmoving bodies, strewn around the room. People I had only just begun to think of as friends, torn apart because of me. Because the demons came for me, and the folk of Apple Hill got in the way.

  I move to the window, but it is no better. The trees in the garden remind me of wood demons stalking the camp, breaking bones and rending flesh. One lifted Elexis high in the air so all could witness what it did to her.

  “Sweep it off!” Selen gives me a shove. “Ent your fault.”

  The push is enough to send me off the bench if I am not quick. Catching my balance forces my mind back into the moment, and I grasp it like a lifeline, turning to face Selen.

  “How is it not my fault?” I demand. “You had permission to go on the tour and I didn’t. I went anyway and now people are dead.”

  “Demonshit,” Selen snaps. “Could just be a pack of corelings that found its way from the wilds and saw a target. Might have attacked us anyway.”

  “Micha said they were hunting me,” I say.

  Selen shrugs. “Maybe Micha doesn’t know everything. Like you said, she ent exactly been honest with us. I don’t know who she is, anymore.”

  “There were dozens of tour groups,” I remind her. “Why ours? Why lure Ella away first?”

  “It’s thin, ay,” Selen admits. “But no one knew you were stepping off the ward until the moment it happened, and you covered twenty miles in daylight. If the demons were hunting you, how did they find us so quickly? It’s just as likely they were going to attack a tour group this year, one way or another.”

  The words make sense, but I know them for what they are. An excuse to retreat from blame like I retreated from the audience chamber. To not take responsibility for what happened. I shake my head. “Mother tried to warn me. She shouted it, but I wouldn’t listen. If I’d just stayed at the inn—”

  “It doesn’t ripping matter, Olive!” Selen snaps. “You didn’t kill those people. Demons did.”

  “Because I was stupid enough to step off the greatward,” I say, and Selen throws up her hands.

  “Stupid is right,” a voice cracks behind us. We turn as one to see Grandmum Elona.

  “Corespawn it,” Selen growls.

  “Oh, you’ll know what a trip to the Core is like when your father and I are done with you, girl.” Elona points to the door. “He’s waiting in the Goldwood Room. Run along, now. I’m going to have a word with Olive and join you after the shoutin’ dies down.”

  I’ve never known Selen to back away from a fight with her mother, but this time she puts her head down and hurries out of the room without a word.

  Elona peeks in the hall to make sure she’s gone, then closes the door behind her with a cackle. “That girl will gl
are at me through a whole switching, but tell her Da’s disappointed, and she melts like fat on a skillet.”

  Grandmum has a wide smile as she comes over to join me on the bench.

  I blink in surprise. “You’re not…mad?”

  “ ’Course I ent mad,” Grandmum laughs. “Kinda proud, I’m to tell honest word. ’Bout time you two showed some spine. And dressing up as boys to get around your mam!” She slaps her knee. “Expect it was a good look on Selen. Girl never was at home in a dress.”

  Grandmum shakes her head. “Always expected Selen to be the filly and you to be the stallion, but it turned out the other way round.”

  “B-but…” I’m stunned and strangely proud to have won Grandmum’s approval, but it feels undeserved. “…I poisoned Wonda.”

  “Phagh.” Elona waves an imaginary smell from the air. “Wonda Cutter needed to be taken down a notch. Strong as a tree, but with a head full of wood. Been entirely too proud of herself since the war, but all she’s ever really done is break bones for your mum.”

  I’ve never seen Wonda fight outside the practice yard, but I know how loyal she is. If Mother ordered her to break a bone, I have no doubt she would do it and sleep well, never feeling a need to ask why. It’s hard to imagine Mother ordering anyone’s bones broken, but after learning about Micha, I’m coming to realize I don’t know anyone as well as I think.

  I cast about for answers to satisfy my own question. “I broke the rules, and now people are dead.”

  Grandmum reaches out and puts her hand over mine, squeezing gently. “Rules are like the privy, girl. They keep us feeling civilized, but they get too full of shit if you don’t empty the pot now and again. The only rules your mum followed in her whole corespawned life were ones she meant to follow anyway. Creator knows I’m no better. Paper women make their own rules.”

  “Then why did you yell at Selen?” I ask.

  “Phagh!” Elona waves again. “She’s a Cutter, through and through. Wouldn’t believe she was mine, I hadn’t squeezed her out myself. And for once, her doting da really is disappointed. I’d be an ill mum if I deprived her of that life lesson.”

  “So I’m not in trouble?” I ask.

  Elona’s bark of laughter startles me. “ ’Course you’re in trouble! Whole mess of it. Lay odds your mum ent had a real visit to the privy in days. She’ll take it out on anyone dumb enough to cross her before her bowels unclench.”

  She kicks her feet out, making a show of putting her hands behind her head. “Best part is, I don’t need to do a corespawned thing. Just sit back and let Gared and Leesha handle all the punishments.”

  “You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.

  Grandmum shrugs. “Ent my backside. Gettin’ in trouble is part of growin’ up, girl. But punishments end, and I’ll wager your mum will show you a bit more respect on the other side. She’s angrier at herself than you right now.”

  “Impossible,” I say. “Mother’s always right, isn’t she?”

  “Not this time,” Elona says. “She should have prepared you better and she corespawned knows it. Even I warned her. Gonna enjoy sayin’ ‘I told you so.’ ”

  “Prepared me for what?” I ask. “Are you saying it’s true? The corelings are hunting me? Why?”

  “Ent some great mystery, Olive,” Grandmum says. “Your parents did as much to hurt the corespawn as anyone alive. Don’t need to hunt far for reasons why demons would want to hurt back.”

  The matter-of-fact way she says it hits hard. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “I’m supposed to make you feel better?” Grandmum chuckles. “Guess I missed the Messenger on that. I’m not the one to tell you what you want to hear. I’m the one you can trust to tell you what you need to hear.”

  She’s relaxed and laughing, but still the words send a chill through me. “And what do I need to hear?”

  “That the time for secrets is over,” Elona says. “Half the duchy saw you running around dressed as a boy, kissing hayseed girls.”

  “Half the duchy?!” I sputter. “There were barely a dozen—”

  “Each of them will tell a dozen more,” Elona cuts in, “and those will all be bursting to tell another twelve. Trust me when I tell you, gossip runs faster than a horse at gallop.”

  “And from that they’ll guess Princess Olive has…?” I trail off.

  “A pecker?” Elona laughs. “ ’Course not. But it puts their heads in the right space to hear it, and a couple summers to chew on it before you need to start thinking about getting promised.”

  I had feared Grandmum would blame me for the ones who died on tour, but this is almost worse. Elona still has her feet up, but I’ve never felt so afraid.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Ent gonna be easy,” Elona says. “Your mum wasn’t such a coward, she’d have done it long since. Sorry to say it’s on you, now.”

  “Why?” I demand. “Why’s it anyone’s business what I’ve got under my skirt?”

  “Because it’s a ticking clock,” Elona says. “Even if you never sprout a hair on your chin or an apple in your throat, what will you do on your wedding night?”

  She’s right, of course. Grandmum has a way of knowing what a person is most afraid of and shaking it in their face. I clench my eyes, but it’s too late. The tears are already falling.

  “Ay, now, don’t go ruining your powder.” Grandmum is on her feet quick as a cat, whisking a silk kerchief from somewhere in her bodice to dab at the droplets before they can streak my face. “Didn’t mean it ill. Just mean you’re carrying a weight you don’t need. Old hag I worked for used to say, Let others determine your worth, and you’ve already lost, because no one wants people worth more than themselves.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I tell her.

  “Had more than my share of scandals over the years, girl,” Elona says. “All us Paper women do. You were a scandal before you were even born. Your mum was courting the prince of Angiers while carrying the Demon of the Desert’s baby in her belly. Does it look like it cost her any power when folk found out?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t care. I’m not you and I’m not Mother. I can’t just…”

  “You’re scared. I get it,” Grandmum says. “But you need to ask yourself if what you’re scared of is worse than what you’ve already got.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “That tight bido can’t be comfortable, girl,” Elona says. “When a scandal’s hidden, it eats you from the inside trying to keep it that way. Once it’s out, it ent your problem anymore. It’s everyone else’s.”

  She presses the kerchief into my hand. “Dry those eyes before they get all puffy.”

  She turns, gliding for the door. “I’ve given Selen enough of a head start. Gar should be yellin’ by now and I don’t want to miss that.”

  She pauses, looking back. “Don’t you go tellin’ that girl I’m proud of her.”

  “Of course, Grandmum.” I loop an imaginary button on my lip. Elona winks at me, and is gone, leaving me alone for the first time in weeks.

  I go to the door and lock it, then I sink to the floor with my back to it, at last letting all the sadness and anger and pain come rushing out with no thought to my paints and powder.

  11

  MICHA’S LESSON

  “So she ent mad?” Selen asks again from the bed.

  “Said she was proud of us,” I say, and I believe it. I don’t know how long I cried for, but Grandmum’s talk left me feeling better when it was done.

  Selen shifts on her stomach, unable to sit or lie on her stripped backside. “Got a funny way of showin’ it.”

  “A sore bottom will soon be the least of your worries, Selen vah Gared.” We both look up, startled at Micha’s sudden appearance. Where did she come from?

  “Need to start barring t
hat door,” I mutter.

  “No bar can stop me, sister,” Micha says.

  “What makes you so special?” I ask.

  Micha holds out a hand, helping Selen to her feet. “That is what I am here to teach you. Come with me. I have permission to escort you from your chambers.”

  “I can barely walk,” Selen groans.

  “Tsst.” Micha’s hiss is dismissive. “Your honored father did not so much as break the skin. Pain is only wind. Bend and let it pass over you.”

  I start for the door, but Micha moves deeper into the chambers instead, coming to a wall with a colored mosaic ward circle. Micha presses one of the stones, and it sinks into the pattern with a barely audible click, as she presses another, then a third. No magic here, just hidden mechanics allowing Micha to push the entire wall inward. It swings silently back, revealing a darkened stairway.

  Selen gapes. “That’s been here this whole time?”

  “Of course.” I hide my sudden fear, but make no effort to hide the anger in my voice. “Everything else we know is a lie. Why should my own rooms be any different?”

  Nevertheless, there is an excited tension in my muscles as we descend the secret stair. A fortress in itself, the underkeep holds stores enough to last months of siege, and protects warded tunnels leading to other parts of the capital, but I don’t recognize the section Micha takes us to.

  “I grew up in a place much like this.” Micha leads us down a dark stone corridor to a heavy goldwood door, reinforced with steel. “It is fitting that I show it to you now.”

  We enter a large, circular room with a high domed ceiling supported by wooden beams. As Micha closes the door, dim lamps cast flickering light on dozens of weapons hung from the wall. Spears and shields, bows and staves. Scythes, chains, and throwing glass, all artfully arranged. I can smell the oil, see the sharp points and weighted bludgeons, and I know these are no mere decorations. At the center of the room, concentric circles of wards are drawn on the polished wood floor.