by Megan Derr
The man was…achingly beautiful. . He obviously was related to Amir, perhaps a year or so younger—still a few years older than Victor—but his beauty far surpassed any Victor had seen. Even Dunstan and Beatrice, by whom he compared all others, could not match this beautiful stranger. His hair was long, neatly braided, and flowing over one shoulder. Victor was vaguely reminded of Topaz in the way the stranger wore jewels in his ears, two small emeralds in each ear and a small silver cuff high on his right ear. The emeralds matched the man's eyes. His robes, a dark green pattern with vines a shade or two lighter clung to his tall, lithe frame. Unlike the others Victor had glimpsed earlier, he wore low cut boots rather than slippers. Like his brother, his fingers were decorated with a wide spectrum of rings, his wrists weighed down by silver and jewel bracelets.
Victor looked hastily away, willing his cheeks for once not to give him away—but by the chuckles of the king, as well as the burning he could feel, his cheeks had as usual gone bright red.
"Shahzad," said the king, motioning the man away. "Stop unsettling him. How many times have I told you not to lurk so around people? Come, come."
"Yes, fFather." Shahzad slowly let go of Victor's hand and returned to stand at his father's side.
Victor suddenly found it much easier to breathe and let out a slow sigh.
"What is your name, young knight?" the king asked quietly, stroking his short black and gray beard.
"I am Victor of Bellewood."
"Bellewood?" Shahzad said with a thoughtful frown. "An unusual name. I thought that language fell into disuse ages ago."
"It did," Victor said, immediately rising to the chance to speak of his home. "The name remains as a tribute to its original owners. My family's ties to that lost race run deep."
"I see," Shahzad with the ghost of a smile. "Tell me how you rescued my brother, for we have heard frustratingly little of what transpired. I would know why my brother entrusted his ring to you."
Face turning red, for he hated to be the center of attention and Shahzad—Prince Shahzad's attention was nothing less than completely nerve wracking.
"Who sits on the throne, I wonder," the king said aloud. "Shahzad, do let me tend to matters, hmm? I am not so old as that quite yet."
"Of course, Father." Shahzad grinned, not looking terribly apologetic. "My apologies."
The king rumbled something beneath his breath in his own language and waved a hand at Victor. "Tell us what transpired and how you came to wear my son's ring."
Victor nodded and related what had occurred.
The king was stroking his beard in thought again as Victor finished. "I did not realize we had made the West our enemies. Shahzad, with whom in that country did you misbehave?"
Shahzad smirked. "No one, father. At least no one important enough to start a war over."
"Hmm…" He sat back in his seat. "I feel Lord Topaz is correct in saying we were being used against the North." He slid his sharp dark eyes to Victor. "Your king and the West have long had hostile relations."
"Only because the West refuses to unbend," Victor said. "King Bran has made many attempts at peace."
The king nodded. "Perhaps we should play along? What say you, Shahzad?"
Shahzad's green eyes sparkled with mirth and mischief. "Take a hostage, you mean? Demand the return of my precious brother, whom the North has unjustly kidnapped?"
Victor started, not quite comprehending the sudden turn. "What…"
"Something your Lord Topaz suggested," the king explained. "In his last missive. The West seeks to create hostilities between us. For a time I think we shall give them the illusion of exactly that. It is not only your country for which the Western king creates trouble. Perhaps we can catch him in his own trap, hmm?"
Victor nodded slowly, mentally making a note to clobber a certain scheming dragon when next they met. "So I am your hostage?" he asked, unable to keep his lips from twitching in amusement. The idea of him being valuable enough to take hostage was laughable, but no doubt they would make it work.
"Yes," Shahzad said. Victor was uncertain what to make of the look in his eyes, which had darkened.
Whatever it meant, it was nothing next to the abject relief he suddenly felt at realizing he had completed the task given to him—and with no serious error. But with relief, Victor suddenly felt every ache and bruise acquired in his hectic ride, and the exhaustion that was the result of barely sleeping for six long, anxiety-ridden days. The world titled, and by sheer force of will he righted it, telling himself to hold on just a bit longer.
The king frowned at him in sudden concern. "Shahzad, have someone summoned to show our hostage to his dungeon."
Shahzad chuckled, and even near to collapsing Victor felt the laugh in every fiber of his body. The prince rang a bell and from seemingly nowhere a servant appeared, bowing low before the king and prince. "Take him to his room," the king commanded. "If it is not ready, take him to Amir's."
The servant nodded and motioned for Victor to follow him. Victor took two steps, then saw nothing but black.
*~*~*
He woke to the familiar cry of a hawk, far too loud when it was in an enclosed space. Victor groaned as he sat up; it felt as though not a single part of his body was free of aches and pains. But Luna's cries distracted him, and he turned toward the sound—
—And felt his heart do that strange stopping thing again. Prince Shahzad stood before a balcony, early morning sunlight spilling over him, absorbed by his midnight hair and setting his dark red tunic aflame. He held one leather, protected arm high, free hand stroking Luna's feathers. Victor was impressed and hurt, because until that moment Luna had never gone to any arm but his. Even Topaz could only approach the perch Victor had made for her at the castle. But she acted with Shahzad as she did with Victor.
He started to rise, then realized he was naked and sank back into the voluminous blankets, face scarlet.
Shahzad seemed not to notice—or was at least polite enough to pretend. "A beautiful bird. What is her name?"
"Luna," Victor said, licking his dry lips.
"Luna," Shahzad repeated. "I bet you could put my hunters to shame." He slid his green eyes to Victor. "You must be something special, to befriend a queen such as this."
Victor ducked his head. "Fortune favored me, that is all."
"Mmm…" Shahzad said noncommittally.
Victor jerked his head up at the sound of rustling wings, lifting his arm only just in time to catch Luna when she landed upon it.
"Most impressive," Shahzad murmured. "Even bare skinned, her talons leave not a mark upon you. The queen loves her knight indeed."
Victor smiled and lifted his fingers for Luna to nip. "I missed you as well, my lady. But you seem to be growing fat just fine. I hope you are not killing what you ought not." The hawk looked at him from one dark, sharp eye as if in severe disapproval. Victor laughed. "Of course not, forgive me. Thank you for coming to see me. Now go, I know you dislike being indoors." Luna nipped at his fingers once more, then pushed off his arm and flew back to Shahzad, who carried her out to the balcony and loosed her into the sky.
"Your clothes are there," Shahzad said as he returned. He pointed to a divan beyond the bed.
Victor frowned. "Those are not my clothes."
"They are while you are here. What you wore is quite beyond repair—or least beyond getting the smell of horse and sweat out." Shahzad winked.
Angrily ignoring his burning cheeks—must they always do that?—Victor tried to apologize. "I am sorry. I am not usually so messy. It was…I was in a hurry."
Shahzad's soft laughter interrupted his clumsy explanations. "Knight, you need not apologize for doing your job well."
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Victor asked. "Is there some custom that prevents your using my name?"
"I would never use your name without being given permission. Surely that is not an unusual custom?"
"Of course not," Victor said, feeling foolish. "I guess I am just too
used to everyone knowing me. Please, call me Victor. Formality is not something to which I am accustomed."
Shahzad smiled, making Victor's chest feel all strange again. He was of far too high a caliber for for the likes of Victor, but that didn't keep him from looking his fill as often as possible. Victor wished he was tired enough to plead a need for more rest. On the other hand, at least he was not so tired he would humiliate himself by collapsing a second time.
"Very well then, Victor. You must call me Shahzad. Everyone else does." He smiled playfully. "It's usually preceded or followed by a less kind epithet. You will find I am not quite as prettily mannered as my brother."
Victor suddenly recalled something, daring a smile in return. "Amir told me to tell you that he orders you to behave."
Shahzad laughed, entire body shaking with it. His eyes were a bright, jewel green when he again looked at Victor. "My brother perhaps knows me too well. It is the price one pays for having a brother, I suppose. Now I shall leave you to dress. When you are ready, I shall show you around the palace." His smile as he left was one Victor knew all too well—it meant trouble.
Trouble, as it turned out, came in the shape of almost a half dozen women who promptly attacked Victor and wrestled him into his clothes, did battle with his hair, and spoke in a way that made him turn bright scarlet even though he understood not a word of what they said.
Victor looked at himself in wonder, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. He did not look like himself at all in the strange eastern robes. They were dark blue, an underlying abstract pattern set into the fabric. The fastenings were at his right shoulder, elaborate knots secured with small hooks. The pants were of the same color, so light and loose it hardly seemed he wore them.
Only his dratted hair remained unchanged, though the women were still fighting valiantly with it. Victor shook his head and gently edge away from them. He tugged at a stray curl. "You are fighting a lost cause, I assure you." The women laughed, and Victor turned and fled. He turned back only long enough to grab his pouch. Though he felt naked without his sword, wearing it was out of the question. The powder would have to do.
Shahzad laughed at his face when he saw him. "So that is not a custom in your country?"
"You mean it is a custom here?"
"Certainly. I am not so cruel as to make up things like that." Shahzad grinned and motioned for them to walk. "You should see what they do to me." He tugged lightly at his long braid. "I bear a thousand pains every morning because not a woman in this place will trust me with my own hair. You should have heard the screeching that resulted the one time I cut it off." He shook his head ruefully. "Anyone who thinks the royal family rules the palace is someone who has not spent more than five minutes in it."
Victor burst out laughing.
Shahzad smiled and gently took his arm to lead Victor around the palace. "This is the royal garden. Again, the women seem to own it and are kind enough to allow us to make use of it…" he trailed off, watching as Victor wandered off like a man possessed into the garden.
"These are beautiful," Victor said, reaching out to gingerly touch a pink rose so pale it almost seemed white at first glance. "Like the inside of a seashell." He moved toward a bush of roses that were pale peach in color. "I've never seen such a color. Dunstan would gladly give an arm to obtain a cutting."
Shahzad tilted his head, surprised and curious. "You are fond of roses."
Victor smiled shyly. "My…" he frowned, suddenly uncertain. "One of the men who raised me loves roses. His garden is unequaled by any other in the North—and until now I would have said in the world. These roses could be their equal, if only because they are so different. So many pale, soft shades. But I see no dark colors, like the 'Queen's Blood' of which Dunstan is fond."
"My late mother did not favor dark roses; she said they unsettled her."
"I see." Victor nodded. "I do not think a rose exists which Dunstan would not love. But then, his reasons are unique."
"You shall have to tell me some time," Shahzad said. "I sense an interesting story behind your words."
Victor nodded. "Sometime. What is next?"
"The training grounds? I am certain as a knight you would find those interesting."
Victor laughed. "Would it be all right if I practiced some mornings? I do not like to fall out of practice while I am being held hostage."
"Whatever you want is yours," Shahzad replied. "That ring gives you all the status and power of a prince."
"What!" Victor exclaimed. He stared at the simple ring on his finger. "But that is absurd."
"The saving of a life is nothing resembling absurd," Shahzad said sharply. "If my brother gave you his ring, I trust he had all the reason in the world to do so. But enough about Amir, here are the training grounds." Shahzad started to say more when a well-dressed man approached, speaking quietly in words Victor couldn't understand. Shahzad frowned and looked apologetically at Victor. "If you will pardon me but a moment, there is a matter to which I must attend."
"Of course." Victor smiled and bowed his head. "I will be fine."
Shahzad nodded and let the man lead him away. Victor's smile faltered as once he was gone, leaving Victor to awkwardly regard the men who had ceased practicing to examine the stranger in their midst.
"You are a soldier, yes?" A man with short, blue-black hair spoke up from the fair end of the practice floor. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, close to Victor's own twenty-four, and carried himself with a confidence that spoke of his abilities with the sword he carried. As he approached Victor, the crowd of men left the floor and crowded along the sides. "A knight?"
"Yes, I am." Victor nodded politely, disconcerted when the man bowed to him.
"My name is Jafar. Would you like to spar with us?"
Victor reluctantly shook his head. "I am afraid I did not bring my weapon with me today."
"Do you know how to use our swords?" Jafar held out his own, and Victor recognized the long, curved blade from a collection in the castle armory.
He shook his head. "Only minimally. I prefer to use my own style of long sword, generally."
"Well, it will only be a friendly match. If you are somewhat familiar, that will suffice. Would you like to try? Until His Highness returns?"
Victor hesitated a moment longer, but at last nodded. He was seldom invited to spar back home, unless it was in a situation where his fellows could act unfairly or a joust, where they had no choice but to fight him—and lose. "If you do not mind that my skill is not at its best."
"Of course not. As I said," Jafar smiled pleasantly, "it is only for fun. We owe you much for saving Prince Amir."
Victor pinked, still uncomfortable with the fuss that was made over his clumsy rescue—and failed, really, because he had not kept Amir from being poisoned. Everyone seemed to be overlooking that part.
"Here." Jafar's olive green eyes held a spark of mischief as he presented a sword brought to him by another soldier. It was a beautiful piece, the hilt an intricate ivy pattern, a short green tassel trailing from the end. "I think this one will suit you."
Despite his misgivings about the whole affair, Victor accepted the sword and followed Jafar onto the sparring floor. The eastern blade felt strange in his hands, different in weight, feel, and shape than the blades favored back home. It was Bran who insisted his knights learn how to use all manner of weaponry, and Victor remembered liking the thin, curved sword used by the East—but Trey had always used a long sword, as did the rest of the knights, and so that was what he went with for his regular weapon.
No doubt he would find himself knocked flat mere seconds into the match—but he would enjoy those few seconds. Recalling what little he remembered of fighting with the sword, Victor took a defensive stance. Somewhere off to the side, someone called a word he did not understand but which he took to mean 'Begin!' because in the next heartbeat Jafar was charging him, sword arching down toward Victor's unprotected left side.
Steel rang against steel as Vic
tor managed to block the swing, twisting away and shoving Jafar's sword back, lifting his once more in defense, and the duel began in earnest. The longer Victor lasted, the more enthused he grew, until he realized that a few of the cheers from the spectators were intended for him. He managed a laugh as he threw off another of Jafar's lunges and with a grin moved from defense into attack. A jarring upswing sent the soldier reeling back, momentarily off balance. Victor moved in to finish, when Jafar suddenly reasserted his balance and held up a hand with a piece of paper clutched between two fingers, speaking a single foreign word—the piece of paper vanished, the whole scene taking less than a second, and Victor's eyes went wide as flames came rushing at him.
Reflexively his hands went to the pouch he had fastened to his pants, just visible beneath the split in the long tunic. His fingers curled around the fine powder and he threw it toward the fire. "Out!" he shouted, and the mist-fine powder shimmered, seeming to catch and dissolve the fire right before it could reach its target.
Victor dropped to one knee, panting heavily, heart racing. He started to grin at Jafar—but the man was not looking at him but past him, and Victor realized the entire room had gotten far too quiet.
In the next second the quiet was shattered by what was no doubt a great deal of profanity and threats of violence. Shahzad's fist sent Jafar reeling back, still speaking in an angry rush. Jafar attempted to defend himself, but Victor could see his words had little effect. Shahzad shoved him into the nearest wall, shaking him by the scruff of his neck.
"Shahzad!" Victor stood and rushed over. "Please—everything is fine."
"No, everything is not fine." Shahzad switched languages, still furious. He did not release his grip on the unfortunate Jafar. "Magic is not used in friendly duels, for practical jokes or otherwise."
Victor felt something inside him sink, to hear it really had been nothing more than a prank against a hapless foreigner. He should have trusted his initial doubts, rather than humiliate himself and get Jafar in trouble. "Please. There was no harm done, and until now I had been enjoying myself." He thrust his sword into Shahzad's startled arms and turned to nod politely at Jafar. "Thank you for the duel. I hope I provided some amusement." Without another word he turned and left the training grounds, shoulders stiff and head high. If his own comrades could not break him, he would be damned if he let these strangers affect him.