The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  The little demon toys were locked safely away.

  Chapter 7

  Eriis City

  5 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  25 years later, Mistran calendar

  Royal Quarters

  The child was a disaster.

  He listened to everything, repeated everything, and understood nothing.

  "You must never say anything like that ever again," Hellne snapped at him. She paced back and forth—it was only the work of three or four steps to cover distance in the boy's room. And the window veiled night and day with heavy dark silk to keep the dust out of his unusually delicate eyes.

  The child's huge red eyes were at the moment full of tears and he rubbed his face where she'd slapped him.

  "But I just said what you told me, I'm different and special," he wailed.

  "Stop that noise, and if you cry it'll be the last thing you do with your eyes. And stop acting as if I hurt you, it’s ridiculous."

  She was furious with the boy for simply not understanding it was in his own best interest to remain unheard by her court and the less they saw of him, well, why borrow trouble? And she was even angrier at herself for losing her temper with the child—again. But she reminded herself that what little grief she caused him now would pay off when he managed to survive to adulthood without his secret—their secret—coming to light. She couldn't think of that morning with the Zaalmage without being gripped by nausea.

  She sighed and kneeled down to catch him in a rare embrace.

  "Rhuun, when I tell you about being different and about being special, that is for your ears only. That is for you to put away in a little book in your head that no one else gets to see. Other people don't understand like we do."

  He leaned against her shoulder, his sobs trailing off against her neck. She stroked his soft hair. At least that was normal—not coarse and shaggy like his father’s. But when she patted his back to soothe him, she felt only the sharp bones of his shoulder blades. No knobbed ridges where his wings ought to have been. Nothing there at all.

  "Couns'ler Yuenne says I'm ugly. He saw me looking at him when he said it. You told me never say an’thing bad about someone when they can see you. That's why I said about special."

  Rushta! she thought, Damn Yuenne. If only he'd do what he was supposed to do and leave and never come back.

  Hellne recalled the week leading up to Rhuun’s Naming Party. Yuenne had come to call, bringing a gift—a bottle of sarave—and found her at her desk, working on the speech she was expected to give. The baby was in his basket at the far end of the room, away from the windows and covered by a sheer muslin blanket to keep the dust out. Yuenne headed straight for it. Diia rose to her feet and blocked his approach.

  "Leave him be, Yuenne. I’ve just gotten him to sleep. If a jumpmouse in the Quarter twitches its tail, he wakes up. You’ll see him at the party, along with everyone else."

  He nodded pleasantly at Diia, who folded her arms and remained standing, and went back to lounge in the seat across the desk from Hellne.

  "Have you decided on a name?" he asked.

  "Yes," she replied, "I have a few things in mind."

  He looked surprised. "I would have thought you’d name him for your father. Am I mistaken?"

  She set down her pen and looked up at him. He is lying, she thought. He didn’t think that at all. And with absolute certainty, As long as I am Queen, everyone will lie to me. She felt a wave of dizziness, and very alone. She folded her hands on the desk to hide a tremor. "My father. Remind me, Yu, since I think you know your histories better than I. How many kings called Fadeer were there? Including my father, I can think of only two."

  He tapped his chin. "Well, your father, of course. And the big one, Fadeer who ruled when the city wall was designed. And I believe there was a third, very early in the regency, before the humans came."

  "Three then. I think that’s sufficient. Three, including Father. Rest him now." He didn’t reply—she knew he often let people shovel sand into their own mouths by simply not replying. "After all, he failed to see the threat the humans posed. And after the Weapon, he made up for his failure by successfully turning his face to the wall. Three Fadeers are enough."

  He nodded, his precise smile never budging. "Then the little heir will have a new name. And, I am pleased to tell you, possibly a playmate in a few months."

  "You and Siia? I am delighted to hear it." She was. She liked Siia. Everyone knew Yuenne had done well for himself by marrying into her clan. Although of course, now it didn’t matter, as most of her clan was gone. "They won’t be alone. Did you know, they are calling it the Ash Born, there are so many babies on the way?"

  "Do you know what they call it outside the Arch?" She shook her head. "They’re calling them Dust Bunnies."

  She laughed. "I like that. I should try and use it in this speech." She leafed through the pages on her desk. "People could use a smile. I’ll have to talk about the attack first, and how the humans tricked us, I’m not looking forward—"

  "Oh, but you mustn’t." She thought he looked genuinely concerned. "No, they didn’t trick us." He templed his fingers. "Think, Hellne. Would you rather be the leader of a clutch of ragged victims, or the Queen of a proud race, vanquished only by treachery after a vicious battle?"

  She cocked her head. "I’m not sure I follow. The human people attacked us unawares."

  "Let me ask you a question. What colors do we wear?"

  "Somber colors," she replied. "The colors of Eriis; ash, smoke, dust, sand. As you know, you helped me craft the law...."

  "Indulge me," he said. "Why do we wear only these colors? And what would happen if you made yourself a new gown of, say, blue and green?"

  "I would be breaking my own law," she said. "And it would be extremely vulgar." She could scarcely remember those terrible weeks after the Weapon, at the time she’d signed the law because bright things, new things, seemed an added insult to those who were lost.

  "But you could do it," he said, warming to his topic. "Because inside the Arch, we have our food and drink transformed by others. We have the spare energy to create whatever we like. But we don’t, because we must set an example. If a transform farmer decided to stop working and make his wife a pretty dress, before long we’d have a city full of starving people in bright clothes."

  "What has this to do with—"

  Yuenne shook his head. "We were never tricked by those hairy beasts. They don’t have the capacity. It was.... it was a secret battle. Fought out of sight by the Mages. Who ultimately were defeated."

  Hellne raised a brow. "Let the Mages take the blame?"

  He shrugged. "I rather doubt they’ll raise any objections, since they’re all dead. The old ones, anyway. The new ones? Time will reveal their worth."

  "A war," Hellne mused. "The War of the Door?"

  He smiled his cool little smile. "Well done. Control the message, Hellne." He tapped the desk. "Or it will control you."

  She’d finished the speech, and prepared to introduce the young prince to his remaining people.

  On the occasion of the Naming Party, everyone who survived the Weapon (who was of the right clan, of course) was invited to share sarave, water, and bread. As a treat she'd even had the Mage's work for three days and nights to put meat, and greens, and even bites of sweet ices on the tables. That nothing tasted quite like it used to, well, things were different now. And the story of how Hellne had sent a complaining courtier to the Crosswinds was making the rounds as well. It was said the young man had remarked over a small state dinner that the bread tasted like sand, and the cheese tasted like a different flavor of sand. Everyone around him at the dinner table had laughed, but Hellne hadn't smiled. She had called one of her family guards over, whispered something in his ear, and the guard had escorted the apologizing man away. His increasingly hysterical sobs echoed down the corridor behind him and no one had seen him since. No one said anything unflattering about the royal table now, not e
ven in private. The food they ate, it was generally and loudly agreed, was superior in every way to whatever had gone before. There were quicker and less embarrassing ways to dispatch oneself than to insult the Queen.

  The Great Hall of the Royal Quarters was decked with her family colors—black and cream (the old colors, black and scarlet, had been retired after the Weapon). Not like the old days, when the crowds on a Naming Day would fill the Hall and spill onto the grounds outside, and there would be as many gifts handed out as received, and everyone tried to outdo their fellows in the fineness of their silks and the brightness of their decorations. The parties would last for days, with food and drink sometimes brought over from the human world—marvels like ice cream and something called beer. She wondered if her unnatural proclivity for the humans had begun with a taste of their food. No need to worry about that anymore, at least.

  Well, it may not outshine the sun, but it’s a start, she thought. And these people need something to look at that isn't covered with dust. There were even black and white flowers, her own design, materialized by the Zaalmage himself. Hellne had to force herself to visit the Raasth, but understood the value of keeping an eye on one’s tools. Helping to design the flowers had been a good excuse to see what they were all doing down there. As far as she could tell, it was all scribbling in books and experimenting—on sand, on jumpmice, on each other for all she knew. They'd created a flying mouse, and a small flock of the little winged creatures had been debuted at this party. In the new prince's honor, they'd been dubbed Rhuumice. Of course, the Mages had never seen her son, nor would they. It was far too dangerous.

  At the moment the Rhuumice were grazing on the flowers. She'd have to dispatch a maid to shoo them away.

  She eyed the crowd, a nicely balanced mix of old families who'd survived the Weapon and the rising families who'd abandoned their now-dead fields to live in Eriis City. It looked to her like a river of sand, a moving field of grey, brown, and ashy colored silks. She’d written the colors into law with Yuenne’s assistance but thought she needn’t have bothered. Whatever she wore was copied at Court and in town. Many of the ladies wore black and cream hair ornaments, and some of the men affected scarves in the same colors.

  They look so fine, they smile so politely, but they're just here to see if the rumors about you are true, she thought, looking down at her child. He, as usual, looked back up at her with a steady and somewhat suspicious gaze. Well, let's get on with it.

  She'd stood up—hoping she looked like a proud new mother and not terrified and alone—and let them all see the baby, who despite his odd shaped eyes was the image of his mother and of his grandfather. She tackled the unanswered question before anyone could whisper it behind a hand. She gathered herself and took a deep breath.

  "This child was born a year ago," she told them. "A time we all remember too well. This child belongs to the ones we lost—the men in the fields, the women at their tables, the Mages at their books. This child comes to us from the brave and the proud and the vanished. We will never forget those who went before, but we thank Light and Wind for the gift of this day, and of this child. He is the son of Eriis, and Eriis is his father. His name is Rhuun, Prince of Eriis and Heir to the High Seat. Thank you for helping to make him welcome here today."

  She sank into her seat and pressed her forehead against Rhuun's. There was a generous and genuine round of applause and even some cheering.

  There, that ought to hold them. For now.

  "He really does resemble your father, rest him now." Counselor Yuenne leaned over her shoulder to examine the child more closely. "And I must say, Your Grace, it's almost an act of what those human friends of yours used to call 'magic,' the way you produced this child, at a time when your people need it most. How very clever of you." He smiled thinly.

  "Yuenne, you've known me nearly my whole life. Please dispense with Your Grace." Yuenne had been one of her father's most trusted advisors. It had been the sheerest luck he and his wife had been spared by The Weapon.

  "Funny thing, though. I believe it was our very last conversation, your dear father and mine, when he was telling me he was concerned for you. Spending so much time with those people. The ambassador’s boy he disliked in particular. Well, you wouldn’t know that. Your father never wanted to trouble your mind. But the humans, he never really trusted them—and for good reason, as we all know to our own grief. The eyes, you know. He never got used to the shape of their eyes." He lifted his sarave in a toast and called to the assembled:

  "To our queen and to Prince Rhuun, given to us, it seems, as if by magic."

  The roomful of party goers echoed his words. Her throat had gone dry and she was glad for the sip of sarave to gather her thoughts.

  He knows. Any fool could see it and Yuenne is no fool. What now?

  She rose to her feet.

  "Counselor Yuenne, everyone in this room knows your name and how my father (rest him now, murmured the crowd)—how my father relied on your bravery. Well, I say the time for bravery is not past. It is one year since the Weapon was unleashed on us. And look! We live. We thrive. We increase our numbers." She indicated the baby in her arms, the families with children, and the handful of women who would soon join her ranks. "We know we will live, but we don't know about the world beyond the mountains. Where are our brothers and sisters? Are they gone? Is Eriis alone? Counselor Yuenne, I call on you to lead an expedition into the Vastness. Seek our people, or at least find the footsteps of their passing. Counselor Yuenne, will you take up this quest?"

  Yuenne wasn't smiling anymore.

  He lifted his glass again.

  "I shall leave at once. It is my honor to do your bidding, as I did your father’s. I will travel to the Vastness," he paused. "And I will come back, Your Grace. That's a promise."

  The cheers and applause were heartfelt.

  Hellne clutched the child to her chest. I made this boy, and whether he's an embarrassment or a weapon or takes my seat one day, he is mine to use, Yuenne. Think on that as you head into the Vastness.

  Infuriatingly, Yuenne had returned from that journey and made a hero of himself. Hellne noted the only thing worth celebrating from his trip was the fact that he survived it. He found nothing.

  "Only sand, I'm afraid, and plenty of it," he told her in private. "Hard to imagine there was ever anything there."

  The Zaalmage's pet hypothesis was that the cities had been moved somewhere else, and they and their people were trapped just out of sight. It gave off a scent of hope, and had many proponents who referred to it as The Hidden Kingdom Theory. The popularity of their notions gave the Mages renewed enthusiasm.

  "Human blood, Your Grace, even a small amount, and we could begin to turn our theories into proper experiments." The Mages had a mania for blood, human blood from which she couldn't seem to distract them. And the debt, unpaid, always at the back of her mind. But if the Zaalmage knew what she’d done, surely he would have come to claim what was owed. The Zaal was not subtle, not like advisors at her court.

  When Hellne spotted Yuenne having a serious discussion with a then two-year-old Rhuun, crouching down to talk with him eye to eye, she did her best not to panic.

  "And what are my gentlemen and heroes of the court talking about today?" she asked brightly.

  "Wings, Mama," Rhuun told her. "When do I get mine?"

  "Yes," said Yuenne with his little smile, "It shouldn't be long before this young man fledges. How old is he? Only two? He's as big as a child twice his age. I imagine he'll manifest in all sorts of interesting ways."

  Hellne sent him back on his second grand expedition to the Vastness shortly thereafter, feeling only a moment's hesitation that she might be making Yuenne's wife a widow and leaving his young daughter fatherless. Then she thought about Yuenne smiling, smiling and having an interesting conversation with the Zaalmage, and sent him on his way.

  And now Rhuun was five and already more than a head taller than his playmates. And what would happen when there was
no fledging? (For she had all but given up on that idea.) And worse yet, what if he never manifested fire? She'd had a chlystron made for him, tied with a ribbon in her family's color, and it just sat in his little hand. He looked confused and then threw it on the ground, saying it burned him, and he couldn't be persuaded to try again.

  One part of her wanted to hide him, stuff the basket under a chair, throw a blanket over him and never let him come to harm. But this was foolish and weak, and she put it aside in favor of the part that remembered how she'd grown from a silly girl to a queen practically overnight. She had made him, and the making would continue. She resolved to let him grow without her hand holding him up. It might be unpleasant but it would give him the strength that didn't come from fire or flight.

  Ugly, on the other hand, well, no one called her child ugly.

  Back to the Vastness with you, Counselor. Maybe this time you'll find some manners out there in all that sand.

  Chapter 8

  Eriis City

  8 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  40 years later, Mistran calendar

  Royal Library

  Rhuun spent much of his time in the royal library, finding it both quiet and safe. It wasn't much of a collection of books, the Queen wasn't a big reader, but it seemed to her to be a thing one ought to do. It was mostly an under-lit collection of half-desiccated texts and cast-off furniture in a largely undamaged series of connected rooms. The boy didn't read the books, and he didn't know a silk cushioned, wood framed couch imported from Mistra from a cheap Old City imitation, but he liked the way the room smelled. And it was dark and even a little cooler. The constant baking heat made him feel a little faint sometimes. No one knew that, not even his mother.

  He was in the library hiding—no, he told himself—he was sitting and thinking after lessons one afternoon when his mother found him. She had a small girl demon in front of her, and gently pushed the child forward.