Linnet and the Prince

by Alydia Rackham

“Are you all right?” I asked again.

  “No,” he answered, not moving. “Go ahead.”

  I took a deep breath, then set to work.

  He turned out to be one of my better patients. He tensed each time the needle entered, clamping down on that pillow with his good hand so I was sure he would tear it. But he did not twitch out of my grasp and tear my stitches, and he did not shed a tear. His body was completely stiff, though, and his breaths came in short, measured gasps.

  “You know,” I said, noting that I was halfway done. “You are almost as brave as a woman in labor.”

  “Ha,” he grunted. “Well, from now on, I will never begrudge any woman as much screaming as she wants.”

  “You can scream,” I allowed.

  “No,” he answered. “I might lose consciousness.”

  I gave a crooked smile as I finished two more stitches. Two more to go.

  “How long did you fight them before I came?” he asked. I frowned.

  “I don’t know. A few seconds. I knocked each of them down once, I think.”

  “You can take care of yourself after all,” he murmured. I ran my tongue along the inside of my split lip.

  “Not well enough,” I admitted. “Three men in the dark, and one of them with a knife…” I shook my head, pausing as a chill settled in my bones. “I had nowhere to go.”

  His forehead rested against the top of my head. I stopped, and swallowed. Perhaps it was just the sleeping draft working. I finished the last stitch, then picked up the bandage pad beside me and pressed it against the wound. As quickly as I could, I bound it up and fastened it. When I glanced up at met Rajak’s eyes, I was stilled by the sadness, the distance, I saw.

  “Mahanidhi has been my friend since I was born,” he murmured, staring past me at the door to the wash room. “And then one of his sons slices me open in a fight.”

  “They weren’t trying to hurt you—they were trying to kill me,” I reminded him, making sure the bandage was secure.

  “You, me—there is no difference.”

  I glanced at him, but he was still lucid. I frowned, getting up off the floor and wincing at my sore back.

  “Well, some Badi still see a difference.”

  “I have made it clear enough,” he snapped. “They just do not want to listen.” He rubbed his eyes, and his brave mask slipped again to reveal raw distress. He swayed sideways.

  “Wait, wait,” I cautioned, coming around the bed, climbing up on it to prop up the pillows. I got them just right and plumped them, then took him by the shoulder. “Here, scoot back. Lean back on that.”

  Rajak did as I said, in too much pain to argue, and sank down onto the pile of thick pillows. He grimaced as he pulled his legs up to rest on the bed as well. Drawing his hurt arm up across his chest, he let out a long sigh and briefly closed his eyes.

  “I told Mahanidhi,” he said. “I explained the treaty with the people of the Highlands—I told him about the lives I spared and the peace we had won. He seemed to understand.”

  I frowned, laying on my side and propping my head up on my elbow.

  “Then why would he do this?” I wondered.

  Rajak blinked and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Because he does not care.”

  I swallowed, and ducked my head as guilt surged through me.

  “This is my fault,” I whispered. “I am sorry.”

  He turned his head, and captured my gaze with his. Our faces were close, and I could see the light shining in his vibrant black eyes.

  “Sorry?” he repeated. He gave me a broken smile. “You are sorry. You—who have done nothing wrong.” He shook his head once. “Linnet—you are the most noble one of all of us.”

  I could not pull away from his gaze, even as something began creeping up within me—something cold and alien and undefined, and it filled me with dread. I sat up and snatched a blanket from the foot of the bed, biting that feeling back, and folded the blanket up to form a pillow. I searched for something to say, something to keep that feeling from forming into a clear thought.

  “How did you know Mahanidhi’s sons were attacking me?” I finally asked, laying my head down on my makeshift pillow. “Did you hear the noise we made?”

  “I was on my way to tell you something,” he answered. “I think I understand the prophecy.”

  I jolted and lifted my head.

  “You do?”

  He nodded once.

  “I was thinking of what you said about it being a riddle. It is obvious that it is not about King Akhtar coming back from the dead. But what if it is not even a literal death?”

  He turned his head and looked at me, and I met his eyes, hoping conversation would distract him. His gaze sharpened.

  “Do you remember what I told you about the Chamber of the Kings? About princes being crowned king there?”

  I nodded intently. He took a breath.

  “Think about it. When the prince goes under the water, he ceases to be a prince, and when he comes up, he is a king. Don’t you see? He dies as a prince, and a king comes to life.”

  “You think that your fathers really have been wrong?” I gasped. “That it’s not about a dead king at all, that it’s about—”

  “Yes,” he said. “I believe it’s about the lost Chamber of the Kings, and the Stone of Inheritance.” He almost smiled. “All these years, and we have been searching for the wrong chamber.”

  The next moment, his wry look snagged, his breath caught only to release in a groan.

  “Ptah, this hurts,” he gritted. My heart panged, and I scooted closer to him, frowning at his wounded limb, wondering what to do. I shook my head.

  “I don’t know how to help you. In Hilrigard we would fill a bladder with freezing mountain water and hold it to your bandage to help numb it. But all the water here is warm.”

  He let out another long breath, and his eyes drifted closed.

  “Ours is about to turn cold,” he murmured. His eyebrows came together in a minute show of frustration. “This is so unfair. The Water Gathering starts tomorrow…and now I do not get to swim.” He sighed again, his eyelids settled closed, and the line between his eyebrows smoothed. Ayah’s draft had worked. He had fallen asleep.

  And I was paralyzed where I lay.

  My chest locked, my bones froze, and that horrifying feeling rose up, surged through my defenses and swelled through my veins, turning my blood to ice and wrenching through my stomach, like a violent sickness. My skin chilled and freezing sweat broke out on my brow and my hands. I stared at Rajak, jaw clenched, unable to breathe or even think.

  “The Badi have a festival in the middle of summer called the Water Gathering, where their huge pools of hot springs turn cold, and they bathe like animals for a week. On the eve of that first feast, you will kill him. And I will send my brothers after you.”

  My mother’s voice, as surely as if she had been standing behind me, issued from the back of my head. I watched Rajak’s chest rise and fall as the words poured from my memory—words I had been trying to fight. Words I had almost forgotten.

  “My brothers are the most silent and deadly assassins in the world. After you kill Rajak, they will infiltrate the caverns and rescue you. Then, our Highland armies will be mustered, and we will descend on Nazre and take it.”

  I began to shake my head, and tremble so hard I thought I would wake him. But the memory would not leave.

  “Your best chance to kill Rajak will be if he comes to your bedchamber alone. Try to persuade him to do this the eve of the festival.”

  I swallowed once. Then again. My mother’s voice rose in power, as if it could break my bones.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open, bide your time, and do what you must. We are all counting on you.”

  My mind went silent. I sucked in a hard, ragged breath. Rajak slept on, peaceful and weary. Slowly, I sat up, running my eyes over every feature of his form.

  I had done it. Without will or design, I had fulfilled my mother’s plan t
o the letter. Here the prince of the Badi slept, on the eve of the Water Gathering, wrapped in the comfort of my bed, defenseless. Vulnerable. Completely and utterly trusting.

  I leaned forward, slid my hand underneath one of the pillows and pulled out the horse puzzle box. I slipped it open, and stared down at the little knife my mother had given me so long ago. And I began to cry.

  Heavy, cold tears fell from my eyes and trailed down my cheeks. Sobs choked my throat and chest, and I fought to keep them silent. I squeezed my eyes shut, and pressed a hand over my mouth. Pain battered up and down inside my heart, gripping my muscles and throbbing through my head.

  With shaking hands, I pushed the box off my lap, leaned down and put my forehead to Rajak’s temple, laying down against him and pressing a kiss to his neck. A jagged gasp escaped me and my tears ran onto his shoulder. I draped an arm over his chest, gentle and soft, and pressed myself to his side as closely as I could. Each one of my breaths brought me pain, as if I were dying of a chest wound, and I trembled as I had not since I almost perished of fever.

  I lifted my head, tears running down my face and down my neck. I stroked his soft forehead with my fingertips, and ran the backs of my fingers across his cheek.

  “Do what you must. We are all counting on you.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed the bridge of my nose to his cheekbone. I swallowed. More tears fell.

  I opened my eyes, looked at him one last time, then slipped off the other side of the bed. I took up the box, drew out the knife, and prepared to do what I had to do.

  LLL

  I stood in Nazre’s message center, a tall, circular room called the Eyrie, lit by candlelight. There were thousands of feathered creatures in here, all around me, standing on perches, each within its own nesting box. Yesheph, the bird keeper, gazed out the broad window where he had just let fly a great horned owl.

  “When will it get there?” I asked him.

  “She is a fast bird, and it is a small message,” Yesheph, a tall, broad-chested man said without turning around. “She should reach the garrison at the Black Steps by morning.”

  “And then when will it reach Hilrigard?”

  “It has been marked to be delivered to the royal family. The garrison runner will know where to find the queen and the princess.” He turned and looked at me, and gave me a smile. “It is the fastest way to send a message on earth,” he boasted. “You need not worry.”

  I could not answer his smile. I felt hollow, weak. But I nodded.

  “Thank you, Yesheph.”

  I turned and left the Eyrie, my footsteps silent on the stones, as always. I trailed back down to my chambers, stood before the door for a moment, then opened it.

  Rajak lay on the bed, on his right side. I watched his steady breathing by the light of the lamp. The sight of him held me there for several minutes. At last, I entered, shut the door and locked it, then approached the other side of the bed. I bent toward him, and the knife jabbed me in the stomach. I rose up, sighing, and pulled it out of my belt, then set it on my vanity, along with the box. Then, my entire body aching, I crawled up beside him, slid my arm around his waist and pressed myself against his back. I rested my forehead between his shoulder blades, listening to the strong, soothing beat of his great heart.

  I had sent a message to my mother and sister. Of course, I could not mention anything of my mother’s plans, or it could bring death on us all if intercepted. But I was completely honest otherwise, keeping the tone light, and I signed it with the old Highland word for “truth.” I desperately hoped that they would know my message was sincere, and therefore they would stop their deadly plans.

  The beat of Rajak’s heart surrounded me as I ran the words of my message over and over in my head, praying it would get to them in time—praying they would understand.

  Dearest Mumma, Sweet Sister,

  Please forgive me for not sending word sooner. I made the journey safely, and I am married now. Nazre is very different from the Highlands, but parts of it are more beautiful than you can imagine. And Prince Rajak is a good man. He is kind, gentle, and a merciful leader. More than that—he is my dear friend, and if I had a choice today, I would chose him for my husband. I am very happy here, and happy to belong to him.

  Because I love him.

  I love him.

  Fior,

  Linnet

  Chapter Seventeen

  I could not sleep. It seemed the tighter I held him, the deeper I breathed him in, the more he seemed to slip through my hands. I felt him shift once, twice, then let out a low moan, and I mused that the sleeping draft had worn off, and the only thing keeping him unconscious now was his own weariness. That meant if I bumped him, or said his name, or made a sound while I wept, he would wake up and become aware of his pains and worries again.

  And so I carefully, reluctantly, disentangled myself from him and the sheets, got up, came around the bed and tucked the covers up around his shoulders. I smoothed his hair on the side of his head, studying his dark eyebrows, long lashes and strong, soft features, while realizing for the first time—or the thousandth—what a beautiful young man he was. And how deeply and desperately I loved him.

  At last, I turned, took up my little knife and hid it in the folds of my belt, left without making a sound, and locked the door behind me.

  I drifted down the hall toward the harem garden, unlocked the gate and pulled it open.

  I had never been here at night. But it was almost as bright as the daylight—the moon lit everything up and turned it to silver. However, the garden did not seem welcoming or warm as it always had before. Instead it felt eerie, cold—haunted. The little waterfall that tumbled onto the statue made the only sound. I stepped in, leaving the gate open behind me, followed the path, and sat down on the edge of the fountain. I bowed my head low and folded my hands, sinking deep into thought.

  I had realized hours ago that, even if I did not kill Rajak, my mother’s plan had many facets, many pieces—and all of them but I had doubtlessly been put into motion. I was sure she had mustered Highland troops, and perhaps taken refugees from the routed Marshland kingdom. My vague message might be enough to save Rajak’s life—but it could not stop a rolling war machine. Not unless I could get to my mother in person, and let her know—

  “My lady.”

  I flew to my feet, heart racing. A guard stood in the doorway of my garden.

  “Yes?” I managed.

  “Your servant Ayah wishes to inform you that Mahanidhi and his family have departed—but my king Niro is returning at dawn.”

  I swallowed hard, but nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  The guard bowed to me, then left, his armor clicking. I sank back down onto the fountain, going cold. There were too many enemies. And I could not tell Rajak what was happening—it would shatter his trust in me. I had to do something else—and soon. And the best way to start was to get my bearings.

  I got up, gritted my teeth and headed to the royal balcony.

  LLL

  I opened the door, and the night air blew in on me, ruffling my hair. I stepped out and gazed at the empty moonlit streets of the city of Nazre, upon the place where I had first laid eyes on King Niro. I turned my face to the west. Another cool wind caught my clothes. I narrowed my eyes. If I looked closely, I could see the edges of the cliffs that formed the border of the Highlands: the Seven Knives. A great length of desert stretched between us. If my mother’s army was coming, their arrival would be known by now.

  My mother would be counting on the fact that the Badi court would be in chaos upon the murder of their royal son—it would be an ideal time to strike. But Rajak had not been murdered. And the king was coming home. My mother’s army would meet a fully-composed—if not fully prepared—Badi force. If they were not warned—

  “Yak.”

  I jumped, then turned to my left. A small raptor bird with bright yellow eyes outlined in black—almost like a Badi prince wearing khol—sat on the railing of the balco
ny. It looked at me, unblinking, pinning me where I stood. He had a spotted chest, and every movement he made was sharp, precise.

  “Yak,” he said again, as if accusing me. Then, he twisted, took flight, and plunged straight down. I leaped to the railing and watched him dive and swoop down to weave through the streets of Nazre, and disappear.

  I went still. My hands closed to fists.

  “Watch for my brothers’ sign—they use falcons to send messages.”

  It was too late.

  The Bràithrean were already here.

  LLL

  I pelted down the corridor, my arms pumping, my feet flying over the stone. I sucked in air like a race horse, but panic threatened to close my throat.

  I swung around the corner and dashed toward my room. There was nothing for it, now—I had to tell Rajak everything. If there were assassins inside Nazre—

  I skidded to a halt, gasping.

  But my heart had stopped.

  The iron lock on my door sat crooked. And the door itself sat about a centimeter ajar.

  I threw my shoulder against the door and flung it open.

  The room was empty. My covers lay strewn on the floor, and two of the pillows sat on the floor. Rajak’s long robe was draped on the stool of my vanity, where I had put it when he was first injured. There had been a struggle in my absence. My eyes went wide as my mind fought to keep up. But what I pieced together wrenched my gut.

  “No!” I shouted. “No, no!”

  I whirled around and sprinted back out into the hall. I stopped dead.

  A man stood in the light of the third torch down. He wore a long, hooded robe, loose tunic and trousers and leather boots, all the color of sand. I saw he had a belt, and a strap across his chest that bore three knives. His black hair hung over his shoulder in a braid. He watched me with hawk-like green eyes—he had a short beard, and a scar across his forehead and cheek.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. He did not reply.

  “Answer me!” I said, my voice echoing. “I am Rani Linnet, wife of Prince Rajak. Who are you?”

  The stranger’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You are Linnet?” His tone was quiet, calm—and bore an accent that I had not heard for two months. The accent of the Highlands.