"Yes. Justice was done."
"By you?"
I shook my head. "I made her a promise not to seek revenge. He was killed in the war."
"Ah."
The sunlight was too bright for my taste; I covered my eyes as we departed the gaol. Iolyn had horses waiting. I groaned. "You are an evil man."
"You realize my friend, that for the entirety of our conversation, we have been speaking Veneseran. Apparently, all I have to do to get information from you is get you drunk. I'll keep it in mind." He gave me a look that suggested more than "information".
I groaned again, but let him help me mount. "I repeat myself, you are an evil man." At least that time, I remembered to speak the language of Jorian. Jorian was a prettier language anyway.
"When we get back, his highness wants a word."
"That sounds... fun." I noticed absently the hawk perched up on the horse Ioyln rode, it watched me.
Iolyn snorted and I concentrated on staying mounted and not vomiting.
***
The palace seemed to loom in my vision, but at least clouds had finally obscured the sun to the point it was no longer setting fire to my eyes, though my head still pounded.
"Looks like rain again. I suppose the farmers are happy," I commented. While I was pleased the clouds covered the sun, I was getting tired of the rain. It never seemed to rain this much in Veneser.
"They are indeed."
"You think the prince is angry?"
"I don't think angry is the word," Iolyn said softly.
What did that mean? "Enraged?"
"Not particularly."
"Then what?"
"Amused."
I felt my eyes widen as I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. "I really dislike him."
The Weaponsmaster laughed, "I don't think he cares whether you like him or not, Terence. He's the sort of person who enjoys irritating people. Try not to take it personally."
"I'll keep it in mind."
***
Being in front of the prince rumpled, hung-over, and smelling of sour beer was probably not the best impression I'd ever made on the man. He looked at me for a moment and then nodded to Iolyn.
"Hold him."
When Iolyn decided to hold on to someone, he did. "Don't struggle, my boy, you'll only hurt yourself."
While he was right, I knew deep down that if I wanted to, I could get free of both him and the prince. Probably, so long as the dancing spots in my vision cleared. I wasn't sure what to do. Iolyn held me tight, one arm across my throat and his other hand holding my arm twisted high. It hurt. The prince reached first into my shirt for the book and then into my waistband for the blades-folded scythes. He stared at them, and then unfolded each one with a flick of the wrist.
"These, these are not child's toys," the prince said softly. "Veneseran. Prayer scythes, am I right?"
I didn't answer.
"It's rare for someone trained in their use to be found outside of Veneser." The prince folded the scythes and tucked them into his belt. He stepped forward and forced my eyes up to meet his. "Who are you?"
"I--I'm not anybody!" I pulled away from Iolyn, ducked the prince, and scrambled out the door. I heard them make pursuit, and rushed outside, where it had started raining again. It was raining. Just like that day.
***
It was near the middle of a long and bloody war. I studied a map of Rothwell, the kingdom we had invaded, and frowned. The fire in my room threw shadows all over, and a large bruise on my back ached -- my king had kicked me for dropping a cup. The infection of war was spreading across my map; soon it would envelop what little of Veneser that had not joined the effort. I stroked the spine of the book Anna had given me, The Virtue of War, and wondered if she had known then what would happen to her.
There was a knock on the door -- timid. "It's open," I said.
"Terence." The door opened. The voice -- the queen. What was she doing here this late?
"Yes, majesty?" She rushed into my room, golden hair in disarray, eyes distraught and a small boy in her arms. "Majesty -- isn't that--" Rothwell's eldest prince, a toddler, stolen by that creature the king called his mistress. The bitch who'd usurped the queen's rightful place…Valerie. But why did the queen have him?
"The son of Rothwell, yes. I need you to get him out of here. Take him out of the palace, get him someplace safe." She handed the boy to me. "I know you hate this war, Terence. Do this and it can end."
I looked at the boy and then back at my queen. "The king--"
She shook her head, "He will not discover this. And why would he suspect you? He thinks you are his puppet, prove him wrong."
I swallowed the fear rising in my throat. "The prince--"
"Will understand. The king will die in this war and that boy is our only chance for peace."
I knew the prince well, he would take his mother's decision poorly, and if she made peace with Rothwell, the soldiers would put her, not the prince, on the throne. "My queen, I do not want to see you hurt."
"You won't. Protect the boy. For me, for the people of Veneser." She kissed my cheek. "There have been too many deaths. I know you buried your Anna, with this child we can stop the killing. You are the only one I can trust with him."
I looked at the boy again; he slept sweetly, dark hair curling about his face. My king would have the boy killed -- just to keep a terrible war from ending. Anna would want the war to end. Her desire for peace had killed her. The king slit her throat, but only after defiling her, after making me watch. I would honor her memory, I would keep the promise I made. No revenge, just remembrance. "I will keep him safe, your majesty." Peace for my sister. Peace for my country. And perhaps, proof that I was not the same as the rest of our family. I was not tainted.
"Thank you." She kissed my cheek and hurried from my room.
"Well, it looks like we've got a journey to take, little one." I smiled at the boy, "You and I are going to stop a war."
The rain was cold, soaking my clothes. There were more pursuers now. Men shouting and crying out to each other. The sounds of horses.
But even with the war over, the politics of the palace wouldn't let me be. I walked the halls warily, wondering if someone would try to kill me for my part. Not everyone supported the new queen. Valerie had managed to stay alive, and her whispers undermined the queen.
"Terence!" the prince shouted at me, I froze mid-stride and turned to face him. "What have you done? Peace? With Rothwell? You helped them make peace! What would my father say?"
"He is dead. There is peace. Be pleased. You will be king someday. A feat you may not have managed had he lived."
He swallowed, knowing full well the truth of those words. "Do you know what will happen to you if those still loyal to the old king discover your part in the peace treaty? You will be dead, Terence." He strode forward and grabbed hold of my shirt. "I don't want you dead." He swallowed, and kissed me.
I shoved him away. "And I have explained more than once that I cannot reciprocate your feelings highness. I don't love you."
"You are seventeen, barely a man, you do not know real love. I love you! And now-- now I must send you away. They will kill you and even if you won't return my feelings, I don't want you dead. I care too much about you for that." His blue eyes were serious, his golden hair shone in the lamplight. He looked just like the statues of old heroes in the throne room. Stoic. Brave.
"How can you be so sure they are after me?" Even I had not heard with any certainty either way.
"I overheard them talking about it." He shook his head. "I don't care if you don't love me, but I will not see you die. Please, you have to run."
I sighed. "I will not be forced out of my home, Jon." I shook my head. "Who will be your friend if I am gone?"
He sighed, but he didn't argue.
***
I tripped over a root, diving face first into mud. I pushed myself up and kept running. No one could know. No one.
***
Jon was right.
He was right. They came for me. Seven men and the bitch herself.
There was blood all over. On my hands, in my hair, in my nose and mouth. I was covered in it. Jon found me there, in a pool of blood and surrounded by the dead. "What have you done?" He asked. "What have you done?" There was smoke and the smell of charred flesh.
"They came after me-- they--" The dead were men loyal to the old king. Some of them had been friends. I'd grown up with them, trained with them. And I'd killed them.
"If the queen finds out what you've done she won't be able to protect you."
"It was self defense."
"It was murder-- that is what everyone will think. None of these men could take you, and a woman? No one will believe you did this as self defense. You -- the king's assassin."
"I was never his assassin! Just because I am skilled with a blade, just because I prefer stealth-- I have never spilled blood until this day, Jon. I've never killed." I stood up, blood dripping from my hands, my hair, it was everywhere. In my pores. I wanted to scrub it off. It was poisoning me. The scion of traitors covered in blood. My family legacy.
"Terence, you know how this will look to the court." Jon shook his head. "I know you aren't capable of this, but the rest? My mother cannot afford to defend you. She would lose too many supporters."
"They attacked me," I snapped.
"No one will believe that. You aren't trusted," Jon said. "We have to send you away before someone finds out about this."
I knew the truth of his words. I'd never been trusted. Only the queen and her son trusted me, and that would not be enough. If this was discovered, I would be done. My family had a history of betrayal, and I, the last son of those poisoned branches, would be proven as bad as the rest. They would chop off my head to keep the taint from spreading. Because I was Terence d'Ilore and my family had betrayed the last king during his reign and I was the only son spared, my sister Anna the only daughter.
I was a black sheep, and this would be the rope I'd be hanged with.
"How?"
Jon wrapped his arms around me. "I'll take care of everything. You are my friend." He stroked my blood soaked hair, he let me cry. Nothing was ever going to be the same. I had to run.
***
If those here knew I was a son of Ilore, they would know of my treasonous past. They would know and they would hate me. I would have to run again. It was all I was good at.
Ilore's treachery was news that had spread through the kingdoms like wildfire. Everyone knew. I slipped again in the mud, and felt a fool for it. The king -- had he seen me like this -- would have beaten me with the flat of his sword and locked me in a cold room for a few days. The wonders of my childhood.
I tried to get up and slipped again.
I cried out in frustration and swore, crawling on my belly to slither out of the pit of mud. I managed to stumble forward into the clearing with the old ruins. Suddenly, all sound stopped. I could not hear my pursuers. Something flew overhead into the clearing, it was small -- a hawk. Black with copper eyes.
I fell backwards onto the ground, catching myself on my elbows.
The tiny hawk landed on a near tree and then leapt, gliding to land on my chest and driving me down to lie on the muddy ground. It was heavier than it looked. The talons dug into my chest. It winked at me and I found myself looking it -- no, him -- in the eyes. I reached a hand out, and he bit my finger with that needle sharp beak. I swore, but something else became more important than the pain in my finger.
I could see... visions of the past in his eyes.
Children in the palace throwing stones. Men and woman whose words just carried to my ears. The King telling me everyday -- you're a traitor. You will betray your friends. It's in your blood. You can't change that. No matter where you go, no one will ever trust you because you are an Ilore.
He let out a cry, and the vision changed.
Anna, alive and laughing. She was smiling. I knew what day it was. The last day. We'd been happy that day.
The hawk let out another cry and flew away into the trees. I managed to pull myself up and out of the mud. The rain washed some of it away, but my clothes would need a few washings before they'd be right again. I wished a few washings would make me right again. I took a deep breath. The mud had a sour smell to it.
There was no use putting off the inevitable.
As soon as I was out of the trees, there were hands grabbing for me. I struggled, but I was tired and wet and in no condition to get away from a group of large well-muscled men. The two men on either side of me I recognized as Iolyn and the other was the prince's large friend, Dorn.
The prince stood out in the rain.
"You are something else. You nearly escaped my best men. You had this--" he held up my book, "on your person.
"The Virtue of War -- an interesting read. But this is not The Virtue of War. This is a book of family magic. The Ilore family if I'm not mistaken." He strode forward, gripped my shirt tightly, and jerked, ripping it down the front. The brand on my right pectoral -- the letter T -- was pale against my skin. "The traitor's brand."
I closed my eyes and turned my head away. I'd received the brand when my family had been butchered -- a son and a daughter spared to prove his majesty's magnanimous nature. But branded, so that everyone would know. I'd been three but I still had nightmares about it. I had nightmares about many things.
"My name is Terence d' Ilore, last Duke of Ilore."
"Let him go."
Iolyn and the prince's friend dropped me to the ground. I felt cold all over. What would he do?
The prince knelt down in front of me and forced me to look at him. "Ilore betrayed their king because he was a tyrant. Their noble blood runs through your veins, why would you hide that? They are heroes to many people. The common folk of Veneser for one. What did you do in Veneser that was so terrible you had to hide everything about yourself?"
Noble blood? Heroes? "I've spent my life being told I was bad blood. That I would betray my friends. I was attacked. I killed them all. They were coming for me because I smuggled the son of Rothwell out of the palace.
"I hid him. I let the peace happen. I let our king die. They came out of the dark at me, my former friends and her. The bitch from Rothwell. I had no choice but to fight and when the prince found me, he told me to run. He arranged for me to come here." I looked Prince Jasper in the eye. "I didn't know what to do. I was there, covered in their blood. It was run or die. If the rest of Veneser discovered what I'd done, it would only confirm their suspicions. That I was bad blood. That I should I have been killed with the rest of my family. I should have been. I will only bring trouble-- I--"
The prince slapped me. "Your family stood up to a tyrant and paid in blood. Wish that you are like them. Perhaps they are traitors to the old nobles of Veneser, but they are heroes in Jorian and Rothwell and Jadeen. You have no reason to be ashamed of who you are. You defended yourself. You saved your kingdom from generations of bloodshed.
"You are not bad blood." He pushed the damp hair out of my face with a smile. "I've seen portraits of your mother, you look just like her. White hair and dark eyes, pale skin. I'm sorry for trying to provoke you, Terence, but I was hoping you would tell me who you were without my having to force it out of you." He sighed. "You don't have to hide anymore. You don't have to run."
The hawk cried, circling overhead.
The prince smiled. "You can have a home here. You can serve Jorian."
I didn't know what to say. "I--"
The prince shook his head, raising a hand to forestall my answer. "You don't have to answer now, let's go back inside and get you cleaned up, all right?"
I could only nod numbly and let Iolyn help me up and lead me back inside.
***
Iolyn brought me to the nobles' baths. I'd only been in these baths a couple times, and never to use them. There was a large communal bath set into the stone floor; it was an expanded hot spring the castle had been built around. There was one similar use
d for the servants, just smaller.
"I hope the accommodations are to your liking, your grace," Iolyn said.
"Very funny." I stripped off my muddy clothes and dropped them into a nearby wicker basket. "You should know, one has to take claim to a title before the use of honorifics is allowed." I scrubbed the mud off at one of the soap stone sinks before I stepped into the pool and settled. I wanted to soak. I never had the time to soak.
"You have more scars than I thought," Iolyn said, sitting on the edge of the pool. He'd taken off his boots and rolled up his trousers and dipped his feet in.
"You might be the first person whose seen me in the nude since I was a babe." I ducked my head under to get the last of the mud out of my hair.
"What a shame," he replied. "You've got fine shoulders."
I peered back at him. "Shoulders, eh? Is that all you were looking at?"
He smiled. My heart beat sped up a little. "Perhaps not." He leaned down and kissed me, on the lips this time. He broke away and looked me in the eyes. "I've wondered now, if we shared the same interest."
"We met less than a week ago."
"Officially, but I've had my eye on you. The way you move -- I couldn't help but notice. You stalk, like a predator. I knew what you were the moment I saw you. That piqued my interest. I suppose there was more to it than that, though."
"Really?" I twisted around so I could look at him without straining my neck and propped my arm up on the edge to the pool.
"You never paid any attention to the girls who bat their eyes at you."
"What girls?"
"Precisely." He smiled. "I found myself wondering if perhaps we did not share the same inclination. I found myself wanting you."
"And I was terrified of you. I was certain if anyone would figure out my secret it would someone who was as devoted to weapons as you. I avoided you." And then he loomed in my doorway and gave me a beating. I hadn't really minded; it healed. "I don't know what I feel now."
"You've been through much in your life; I don't expect you to know exactly what you feel. I'm willing to take things slowly. Just tell me. Do I have a chance?"
The Servant's Heart Page 3