Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  She looked down. A steak knife from dinner last night. “I knew you’d have something.”

  He smiled. “I intended it to protect you.”

  “I’m grateful.” She held the knife to her skirts. “I’m going to find the Blood Prince now. Don’t come.”

  Doubt flickered in his eyes; he thought she would die. He was probably right. This was foolishness. She inhaled, moved past Yeshton toward the door, outside, past the guards. No one stopped her. She was a child. What could she do to anyone? She licked her lips, paused and, from her vantage point, searched the cluster of tents, the tethered horses, the supply wagons.

  Her eyes flicked toward the bare trees that looked so much like bleached bones.

  There he stood. At his feet in a heap lay the dreaded priest Javanti, soon to be as bleached and naked as the trees above him.

  She trotted across the encampment, heart thudding against her ribs, loud in her ears. Her legs shook. Palms clammy with sweat. She walked on. The hardness of the earth jolted through her. Soon. Soon, she would meet her enemy.

  Aredel heard her. Turned. The fierceness in his eyes brought her up short. He was a wild animal, tense, full of bloodlust like a gnawing hunger. Like Anadin.

  Rille’s heart faltered. Like Anadin. So much alike. Two princes raised within a powerful, lustful, overreaching empire.

  She moved again, fingering the knife. You can do this. You must try. He is a monster and he must be destroyed.

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  Aredel watched her, shoulders tense, a flash in his eye. She was food to him. Nothing else. But then he blinked. Drew back and glanced down at his feet, to the corpse of Javanti. His eyes flicked back to her and a strange smile slid across his lips. “You plan to kill me, little girl?”

  She held up the knife. “Let me. You are more beast than man. You murdered my father and countless others. In the end you will probably kill Jinji, though he calls you friend.”

  He scoffed. “If I killed Jinji, it would be because he is my friend and his suffering is more than I can bear to watch. But I understand your words, perhaps better than you yourself do. Long have I known the beast within me. The wanton creature spurred on by blood and conquest. I had hoped once to still it, for if the world is conquered, there should be no reason it must awaken.” He looked skyward. “I know better now. I am a beast, harnessed by Emperor Gyath to sate his greed. But I shall use what he has bestowed upon me, and I shall end him. For Anadin. For my sins. And then…” He looked at her sidelong. “And then, I shall let you kill me. Is this fair?”

  She studied him. The resolve, the reason. His eyes were clear, and he knew her. She lowered the knife. “It is fair. But in the end, Prince, you must die.”

  “The Blood Prince shall die,” said Aredel quietly, “once he has ended the line of his blood. It is just and right. And, though it matters little against such scales, I should like to die when Jinji does. Evil like mine should not endure, if his goodness must be snuffed out.”

  She scowled and looked away. “He is not goodness if he calls you friend.”

  “You do not believe what you’re saying. You want to, but you do not. He called me friend before I became what I am. I became so on his behalf, and so he blames himself. He calls me friend still because he hopes to save my soul, foolhardy as his desire is. I am grateful and humbled. Strange emotions for me, I confess.” He laughed but sobered at once. “Tell me, Lady Rille, would you ask a man like him to be less than he is?”

  She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t ask that of him. But…”

  “Ah.” The Blood Prince nodded. “You wonder why he chose me and your cousin, rather than you or King Jetekesh or Sir Palan or your faithful Yeshton. One would, I suppose. That is a simple matter: none of you needed the journey. Your faith is sufficient. Do you need to see Shinac to know it exists? I think not. Does Yeshton ask why he must serve you? Does King Jetekesh rule his people in tyranny? Did Sir Palan defile Queen Bareene? Your honor, your faith, your integrity—these are what define the paths of Shinac. Your spirits are like Prince Sharo’s: ever right and true and good. For myself, I had to see what true strength was. And your cousin had to witness loyalty and friendship.”

  He smiled as though something amused him. “Already, Lady Rille, you walk the path of white sands and starlight. So do your companions. Jinji didn’t need to show you what you already know and feel.”

  She dropped the knife. It stuck in the earth as a tear slid down her cheek. “Perhaps…you are right. I, I was foolish to forget.”

  “A weakness you are allowed. Are we not all human?”

  33

  A Plea for Help

  The hustle and bustle of Kilitheer’s wharves overpowered Jetekesh. The sickly odor of sweat and rotting fish, the taste of brine, the deafening shouts of merchants, the ringing bells of the anchored ships, the colors, the jostling, the clattering carts, the peals of laughter, the overbearing sun high overhead—all made his insides churn and his mouth dry. How could anyone handle so much chaos?

  He needed water. Shade. Quiet. His stomach rumbled. He needed food, too.

  He stood with his companions, surrounded by KryTeeran guards. Waiting. Seething, as he stood beneath the noonday sun, sweating, stinking, starving.

  Overhead, bold as the sky itself, danced the banners of KryTeer atop the masts of great warships. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, no one cared.

  Jinji stood beside Jetekesh, a hand on the prince’s shoulder. It trembled, and Jetekesh turned to his peculiar friend.

  “Do you need to sit down?”

  The storyteller nodded as his knees buckled. Jetekesh caught him and set his jaw as he struggled to hold the man up. Father stepped to Jinji’s other side and hefted him until Jetekesh held none of Jinji’s weight.

  “We need shade,” Father said. His blue eyes sifted through the guards around them. “You. Tell your princes that the honorable storyteller of Shing cannot abide this heat any longer.”

  The guard scowled but moved to obey. It had been made clear upon Aredel’s return to camp that Jinji was to be granted every possible comfort. None could harm, mock, or even look at the storyteller unless they wished to join the many souls Aredel had used in his bath rituals. No matter how weak their skills might be, he assured them, he would make a well-deserved exception. The last few days of travel had been slow, so that Jinji could rest undisturbed in the swaying palanquin.

  Prince Anadin, too, had been kept apart. Aredel was careful to stay away until it was certain Anadin’s senses had returned. He had no recollection of his attempt to kill his brother. Now, in Kilitheer, he and Aredel had gone off to arrange for passage to KryTeer aboard one of the warships.

  The guard returned and motioned down the wide, portside street. “This way. There is a tavern where we may wait.”

  The crowds drifted aside like the tide for the Blood Knights, never changing the flow of their motion down and up the street. The lopsided tavern cleared quietly as the troop entered, and Jetekesh followed Father and Jinji to a corner table that leaned hard on one leg. Everything felt soggy. Dirty. Dim. A stale odor tickled Jetekesh’s nose.

  “Do you want any spirits to perk you up?” asked Father, lines etched around his eyes.

  Jinji shook his head. “No, only rest. Thank you.” He folded his arms across the table and slumped his head against them. His back rose and fell lethargically with each breath.

  Jetekesh frowned and glanced at Father, who smiled back.

  “He’s still strong of heart, son. Merely exhausted. Let him sleep.” He moved close to Jetekesh and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’ve been very brave these many weeks, Kesh. I’m proud of you.”

  A warm flush spread across Jetekesh’s face and raced down his spine. The past few days had been spent traveling under heavy guard, and few words had passed between father and son. For some reason, the Blood Prince hadn’t yet revealed Father’s identity to the bulk of his troops or servants. But neither had h
e allowed anyone to return to Amantier. What his ultimate plan was, Jetekesh couldn’t guess. Surely his reasons to bring Rille to KryTeer didn’t mean the rest had to come. Still, in a way Jetekesh was grateful, if only because he could care for Jinji en route.

  Perhaps that was Aredel’s intent as well.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” said Father, very softly, dragging Jetekesh’s mind back to the present.

  Jetekesh hesitated. “I’m not. I mean, I am sorry, but not about her death. She, she deserved it. I’m only sorry she did. Deserve it, I mean.” He grimaced. Why all the stammering? Why the lump in his throat? He didn’t miss the woman who had raised him for her own gain. Never with real love or affection, except for her own traits passed down.

  “It’s all right, my son,” said Father, a gentle lilt in his voice. “You can still love her. There were traits in your mother worth honoring, though they lessened over time. You can love what was good and keep those memories forever. No need to banish them.”

  Something stabbed Jetekesh’s heart. “But she was horrible. I hated her.”

  “She was horrible, and likely you did hate most of her. But you can love her too. No one would fault you.”

  “I would.”

  “Kesh.”

  He turned to face Father. The king smiled at him with all the affection of a true parent. “I would rather you tried to love what was good, than focus on hating what was bad. We both know there was much of both inside her at separate times. But, for your sake, try not to dwell on the bad. Forgive her if you can. She cannot harm you any further.” Pain lit in his eyes. “I’m only sorry I let her hurt you at all.”

  There was no chance Jetekesh would ever forgive the dead queen for poisoning her husband, for imprisoning Jetekesh in a stainless world, for trying to discredit and destroy Jinji—and, most of all, for selling out Amantier to the enemy. But he would hold his tongue. Father was tormented enough.

  Jetekesh squeezed the king’s wrist. “I’m all right, Lord Father. She didn’t do any lasting damage, I think.”

  A gasp brought his head around. Tifen stood near the tavern window, eyes fastened on the street. He turned, found Jetekesh. Pointed. “Forgive me, but I just saw someone we know. I think her name is Kyella.”

  Jetekesh trotted to the window. “You mean the farm maid near Kavacos?”

  Tifen nodded and jabbed a finger outside again.

  It took a moment against the milling crowds, but sure enough, there stood the lass, intent upon the guarded tavern, lips pursed in concentration.

  Jetekesh looked back to call Yeshton, but the man was already coming, searching the sea of bodies.

  His gaze rested at last on the girl, and his brow furrowed. “What is she doing in Kilitheer?”

  “Perhaps she came to save you,” said Rille as she slipped in front of Yeshton to see the girl for herself. “You did mention she was fond of you.”

  “Ridiculous. Uh. My lady. She couldn’t possibly know we’re here.” He strode to the guard in the doorway. “That girl across the street. The young one in the peasant garb. Bring her in here.”

  The guard turned a sneer on Yeshton. “You not be giving orders,” he said in a thick accent.

  Yeshton squared his shoulders. “Bring her. For the storyteller. They’re friends.”

  “No chance,” replied the guard.

  “Oh. It’s Anadin.” Rille’s voice.

  Jetekesh turned from Yeshton and found Prince Anadin in the street talking with Kyella. His hands stretched and waved as he spoke. Aredel appeared from the crowd to stand behind his younger brother, and the three conversed for a long moment. Yeshton was back at the window, leaning against the frame.

  Aredel motioned toward the tavern. Anadin caught the girl’s wrist and dragged her across the street. The guard pulled away from the door, bewilderment stamped on his face.

  “Ah ha,” said Anadin as he entered. “As you can see, we have all those you described here in our company. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Kyella’s eyes danced between faces until they fell on Yeshton. “Oh, Yesh.” She broke free of Anadin’s grasp and sprinted across the room to throw her arms around the soldier’s neck.

  “Let me guess,” said Anadin, “another sister?”

  Yeshton shot him a scowl, and gently pried Kyella’s arms free. “What’s wrong? Is it your father?”

  She nodded as fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “They took him, Yesh. He’s gone to KryTeer as a slave. I…I didn’t know what to do, until I saw you outside.” She glanced toward the KryTeeran princes. “Are you a slave too, Yesh?”

  “Something akin to one,” he murmured, a faint rumble in his voice. “When was he taken?”

  “We were on the road. It was just after we left the farm. They brought him here, and he was sold at auction to KryTeer like some animal. Oh, Yesh. What can I do?”

  Yeshton looked grimly toward Aredel.

  Jetekesh moved across the tavern room to approach the Blood Prince. “What can we do?”

  “Nothing,” answered Aredel. “If he’s been sold to KryTeer, it will be impossible to track him down. He’s one slave among a million. Best the girl considers him dead. His loss will be easier to bear that way. Slaves in my father’s empire are worse than dead.”

  Kyella moaned and leaned against Yeshton, eyes lowered. “Merciful God above, spare him.” She tensed and her eyes widened. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her gaze to Aredel. “Your father?”

  “Oh, didn’t we mention it?” asked Anadin. “This is High Prince Aredel, and I am his younger brother. Our father is Emperor Gyath.”

  Kyella made a strangled sound and pressed hard against Yeshton. “I thought…I thought…”

  What she thought, she didn’t say.

  Jetekesh caught Aredel’s arm. “There’s nothing you can do?”

  “Nothing, as I said.”

  Jetekesh grimaced and yanked his hand away. “Some High Prince you are.”

  “Tell me, Jetekesh. Could you do better, were our roles reversed?”

  “I will never know. Amantier has no slaves.”

  “Aredel.”

  Everyone turned to Jinji, who had lifted his head from the table. His skin was ashen white. His eyes appeared sunken. But his voice was strong.

  “The ships will have logs. The slavers will have records. He can be found if we reach KryTeer soon. When do we leave?”

  Aredel sighed. “You don’t understand, Jinji. Not even a prince can free a slave. I haven’t that authority.”

  A light sparked in Jinji’s eye. “Does the reputation of the Blood Prince mean nothing to your own people, Aredel? If you demanded one slave freed, or ten, or one hundred, would the slavers, the nobles, the soldiers dare say no?”

  “You wish me to use my influence to steal a slave?”

  The light in Jinji’s eye dimmed. “Can a man be bought or stolen? He is not property owned by another. There is no moral ground for slavery, and therefore you cannot steal one. The very idea of enslavement offends my soul.” He shuddered and bowed his head. “When do we leave, Aredel?”

  “This afternoon at high tide.”

  “Very good. It is growing late.”

  Jetekesh flinched. It was true; every moment was a struggle for Jinji, as though his spirit wished to shed itself of its own mortal flesh. Like it was imprisoned there against its will.

  “Not long to wait,” said Father, near the window.

  Jetekesh wondered if he meant the wait for high tide, or if his words were somehow prophetic. Best not think of it. He must aid Jinji as long as he could.

  34

  Sea Bells

  At first glance the southern shores of KryTeer looked no different than the northern shores of Amantier. Jetekesh shifted his feet as his scalp prickled. Rille wrinkled her nose where she stood beside him at the ship rail.

  Soon the buildings of the seaside Royal Capital became distinct, and Jetekesh relaxed, though he couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was the alien sight of the
arches and bulbous turrets; they set KryTeer apart as a strange and horrible place, nothing like the peace loving, quaint lands of Amantier. The spicy scents were also peculiar. He tasted curry on the wind, rather than the brine of further south.

  “I don’t like it,” said Rille.

  “Nor I,” said Jetekesh with a disdainful sniff. “But it’s no wonder they can eat what they do. The very air is like fire.”

  Footsteps fell behind the cousins. “As are our sunsets.” Aredel came to the rail and stooped to lean his forearms against it, hands cupped together. His brown eyes burned with the flames of his homeland. “Indeed, in this arid scape, most everything is a fire.” He gestured to shore. “Vast deserts, tangled jungles, quarries of hard stone, paved roads, gold and gems, the mighty Blood Knights—all are born from a great fire unlike any other. KryTeer is the flame of Nakania; it keeps the world vital. Alive. It is the very heart.”

  Jetekesh looked away. “If KryTeer is Nakania’s heart, I wonder what Shinac was.”

  “The true heart,” Aredel said at once. “In its absence, KryTeer rose like a great lion to keep the world from wilting away. I do not say KryTeer is the greatest of any country. But it is the fiercest. Perhaps one day, if Shinac is returned to this sphere…perhaps KryTeer will be content at last.”

  “If KryTeer is a lion’s heart,” said Rille, “then Amantier must be a great bird’s heart. And Shing, the heart of a lamb.”

  “Not so,” said Aredel. “Shing has a long and varied history. It is no lamb. Perhaps it is like a stallion, such as our thoroughbreds that ride the desert dunes. Wild, free.”

  Rille pouted. “Jinji is a lamb, Your Highness.”

  Aredel smiled. “I disagree. He is a stallion.”

  “I must agree with Aredel,” said Jetekesh, almost to himself.

  Rille shot him a hard look. “Why?”

  “Because…because I know his past. A stallion suits him more.”

  The girl sighed and turned back to the approaching shore. “He’s a lamb.”