The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  She sat up. "Now you. Please." She reached down to help guide him, and for once the heat of her body was greater than his. As he entered her, he said something, a word she didn't recognize, although maybe it wasn't a word at all. She began to understand what the golden beads were for and felt herself moving towards her pleasure again, and then realized he'd stopped.

  He was looking down at her, utterly confused.

  "Something is different," he said. "Something is missing."

  He's a clever man, I know he is, and I hope I'm there to see it when he begins to understand his own mind. "What is it?" she asked gently. "What do you feel?"

  "Nothing," he answered. The way he trembled in her arms told her that wasn't true. She twisted her hips and drew him deeper inside her. He groaned and rested his head on her shoulder.

  "Really? You're feeling nothing?" she asked.

  "Nothing," he said again. "Nothing... bad." He looked at her again with something like awe, and began to move against her. I'll think about this later, and I might cry, she told herself. But not now. She pulled him down on top of her. "No," he said, "I'm too heavy."

  "You're not," she said. He was still holding back, he was still pulling away from her hands, not moving into them. "Darling, if you were ever to hurt me, I'd tell you at once." She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back. "And you're not." She smiled wickedly. "But you can try."

  He finished with his mouth against her bright hair, his hands pinning hers to the blanket behind their heads, with the echo of her second wave still racing through both of their bodies. She felt as if fire was flowing between them, she could see it behind her eyes.

  The sun in the trees created a pattern of light and dark that shifted and dappled across their skin.

  "Can I ask you something?" she said after a while. He made a small sound of assent. "The thing that was missing... did you miss it?"

  The pause before he answered was longer than she had anticipated. "It was different," he said. "It was like something else. Like the difference between walking and running."

  "Were you walking, just now? Or were you running?"

  She watched the sunlight moving across his closed eyelids. "I was flying."

  Then she did cry, but only a little bit, and he didn't see it.

  ***

  When they awoke, the shadows had already started to lengthen. The afternoon had come and gone, and she was talking about food. "Roasted game hen," she said, "with new potatoes in cream with dill. And fresh radishes on black bread with butter and salt. And ice cream for dessert."

  "I got 'new' and 'salt' and 'ice'," he said. "The rest you'll have to show me."

  "Leek and chestnut soup," she added. "And then coffee and brandy for after."

  "Would you like me to go get the bag from the cart?" he asked.

  "What a wonderful idea! I'm starving." He didn't bother with his clothing for the short walk, and she got to try and decide whether the view was better leaving or returning. Since he had their meal in his hands, returning ultimately got the vote, although it was an extremely close decision.

  They'd found several links of sausage, both hard and greasy, along with some bread and a handful of dried fruit in the sword man's bag, and as they ate she promised him, "a real sit down meal," as she called it, "and as soon as possible. I'll even cook." She paused to gnaw on the fruit. "Maybe I'd better not."

  "Where are we going to have this 'sit down' of... um, salt and... ice... things?" he asked.

  She frowned and thought. "We could go back to Mistra, our cook will feed you until you can't move. Or my friend Althee is a brilliant cook, she'll love you. Or we could head the other way and visit our farms, out towards the mountains. Or just go until we see an inn, that's the easiest." Then she smiled. "You decide."

  "I... don't know. Do I have to pick right now?" He had a look of stunned happiness about him and she knew it wasn’t only from their lovemaking. "Lelet, you know I can't stay here forever. Eventually Ilaan will contact me. And I'll have to decide whether or not to answer him. There are people at home, I'm worried. Things may have changed a great deal. I don't know exactly how much time has gone by, or what I'll find when I get there."

  She nodded. "And we have to deal with my sister."

  "But not right now." He looked at her cautiously. "If that’s all right."

  She nodded. "I am a bit of an expert at putting off decisions. I think you’ll enjoy it."

  He tried to replace his sweetly dazed smile with a serious expression. "There is one thing I'd like you to show me, and I want to do that first."

  "Oh, of course." She waited. What could it be? Dragons? Sailing ships? More horses?

  "I want chocolate." She burst out laughing. "It's in my book—which by the way is not stupid—and it seems to be magical. Can you find it for me?"

  "It is my new life's work." She wiped her fingers on the hem of the ugly dress and stretched and rose to her feet. She took his hand. "Chocolate it shall be. And a dress that doesn't make me want to cry. And a shirt that fits you, too."

  "What? I like this shirt."

  "And shoes that I can walk in, and a hot bath—you'll like that in particular, I think...."

  "Chocolate first," he reminded her.

  "Absolutely!" she agreed. "One inn with a hot bath and chocolate, coming up."

  They rolled up the blankets and threw the rinds of the bread—too hard even for the horse to bother with—into the trees. As they walked away from the little clearing, neither of them noticed a single slender curl of smoke rising from the brush only a few feet from where they'd lain. If it had been kindled even two days earlier it might have taken half the forest down with it, but after the rain, much of the underbrush was damp, and the bright spark soon sputtered and finally, with no hand to tend it, it went out.

  Epilogue

  Eriis

  20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  100 years later, Mistran calendar

  Yuenne’s family residence

  Aelle let herself into Ilaan’s tower room. Well, she reminded herself, it wasn’t his room anymore. She looked around at the mess of books and clothing. He’d taken what he could carry away with him the night he left—the night everyone left—and Yuenne had made it clear he wasn’t welcome to come back around for the rest. Siia had forbidden the maids from entering. She still thinks she can mend this, Aelle thought. She can’t.

  Ilaan working for the Queen. And Rhuun half a human. And the two of them conspiring together to open The Door. How did she not see it? What did she think they were doing all this time? She shook her head, she was just so stupid. Stupid and blind. She stood on a chair to look at the top of the bookcase, of course the book was gone. Something so precious to the Queen and to Rhuun—Ilaan wouldn’t have left that prize behind. If she'd found it she would have torn it up, burned the pages, and tossed the ashes out the window. If she’d done that the day they’d found it, maybe Rhuun wouldn’t have left. She took her favorite spot at the window and looked down at the city beyond the arch and wall. If she was quiet enough, she thought she could still hear people talking.

  Daala had come for a visit and shown a sweet face to Siia, and her mother had let the woman practically drag her out to dinner.

  "It’s been over a week," Daala had said. "Starving yourself and hiding is helping no one. We’ll have a nice dinner and talk about nice things."

  "I am not hiding," she'd replied, but finally agreed to go out. She'd suspected Daala was just trying to get new tales to take away, but perhaps she was wrong. Her judgment was seriously in question, after all. As she'd taken her scarf from the hook by the door, her mother had been so relieved as to be comical. But it had been just as she feared. Hiding was better.

  As she'd walked with Daala through the Old City she'd noticed the stares, and once they were seated it was even worse. As she ate (or tried to eat) she'd heard whispers. ‘Human’, she'd heard. ‘...behind her back...’ and, ‘Poor thing’, she'd heard
that, too.

  Daala had stopped chattering about ‘nice things’ long enough to make a face. She'd loudly remarked, "A shame that some people have such dull lives." Then she'd leaned forward, unable to resist. "You knew, though, didn’t you? I mean, you had to know."

  "About what," Aelle had replied. "Which part? What would make a better story? That I knew, or that I didn’t." She'd sipped her drink and pitched her voice louder. "What’s the story people are telling? I must have known about Rhuun. I mean, look at him. Oh, you can’t, he’s gone through The Door to be with his beloved humans."

  Daala had widened her eyes. "Aelle, be calm."

  "Why? Don’t you want to know? Don’t you all?" She'd looked around the café. "Anyone have any questions?" Then she'd lifted her glass in Daala’s direction. "I know you do. Anything to do with Rhuun, you’re right there asking."

  Daala gripped her serviette in both hands hard enough to show white at her knuckles. "You are making a scene," she'd whispered. "I was just trying to cheer you up."

  "Oh, apologies, mustn’t make a scene." She'd lifted her glass in a cheery salute to another diner, who quickly looked away.

  Daala had made a sad face. "I don’t know why you’re angry at me, but if it makes you feel better, say what you like." She'd glanced at the other diners who were following their conversation with thinly veiled glee. "Shame on yourselves. Leave this poor girl alone. Light and Wind know she’s been through enough."

  It was funny, really, watching Daala twist herself in knots. She was desperate for Aelle to confide in her, but didn’t want to appear too eager. Watching her admonish the other people in the café had been the first thing that cheered Aelle up since the night of Ilaan’s party. She hadn’t let Aelle leave until she’d sworn a solemn vow—if she needed anyone to talk to, ever, about anything (but about Rhuun especially and in particular) Daala would always be there for her.

  Well, at least I was right about that one, Aelle consoled herself. Wrong about everyone else, though.

  The worst part of it, the part she’d never confess to anyone, was that beyond her anger and humiliation, was relief. He wanted to leave, anyone with eyes could see that. He wanted to leave, and now he was gone. She could stop waiting.

  She leaned against the window frame. The lights of the Quarter below her flickered as dust blew up and down the streets. She wondered if she was looking down on Ilaan, and if he was looking up at his old room. She wondered which one of the two of them would come home first.

  The door to the tower room opened. "Niico," she said, and waved him over.

  He sat next to her at the window. "Your father said you were up here." He peered at her. "You look terrible."

  "Well, I haven’t flung myself out of anything." She returned his gaze. "Did you know?"

  He shook his head. "A lot of late nights and quiet conversations. I rather thought they were joining, but then I’ve thought that since school." He frowned. "It would have been better, maybe. Then we could just have a fight and get over it." At her expression, he laughed and added, "You’re right, that’s not better."

  "Have you been to see him?" she asked. "I thought he might have sent you to check up on me."

  He picked up a left-behind notebook, the pages full of scribbles in at least four languages. He flipped through it and set it aside. "I am capable of worrying about you without prompting, you know. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about this new club I’m forming. We get together and share rushta about our terrible taste in partners."

  That made her laugh. "I’m in." But then she turned serious. "You could see him, though, if you wanted to. He’s down there." She pointed out at the city. "You don’t need magic or books or blood to see Ilaan. Will you?"

  Niico sighed. "He made his choice. I think he would have followed Rhuun through The Door if he could. You know how it is with them. We all follow behind."

  That’s not really an answer, she thought. Magic and books. Love and blood. Was any of it real? She could ask Niico, she could go down there and find her brother, or follow Rhuun through The Door. And her father, surely he’d have something to say. Everyone had something to say.

  But she didn’t want to hear any more lies, at least not tonight, and so she let it alone.

  Acknowledgments

  So many people. So many patient, kind, thoughtful people who read this book (and reread and reread it) and helped make it better. I owe you all a drink!

  My team at Booktrope - Jennifer who gave me my first ‘yes’, Jesse, Kellie—the Boss of Me, Greg Simanson who designed my beautiful cover, Sarah, and especially my editor Crimedog Carly!

  My fellow Fictionistas, Cait, Daphne, Kenya, and Sami-Jo.

  My first editor, Debra Ginsberg who pointed me in the right direction.

  My early reader Nazila Fatah, who taught me how to unpack.

  Mike and Tony, Vanda, Kitten, Jacques, Lynda, Barbara and Dennis, Mira, Jasper, and Sarah, who made sure I had pizza and bourbon.

  From Sirius XM - My partner and sister Maggie, Mindy, Kenny, and Don

  My Scones - Mark Says Hi, Dave Z, Jason S, Anabella, John, Chris, Quint, and Paul

  Fabulous inspirations - JT Ellison, Tasha Alexander, Kristy Claiborne Graves, David Baldacci, Karen Kondazian, Katherine Neville, Zac Brewer, Alma Katsu, Leslie Rossman, Rosanne Romanello, Scott Allie, Aub Driver, and the gang at Dark Horse

  Brothers and sisters - Michael Kennedy and Matthew Roberts, and the Roberts clan who lent me their couch at Lake Rosemont when I really needed to get my mind right.

  Eryc, the angel on one shoulder, and Jaysen, the almost always nearly, perfectly, correct devil on the other.

  Antigone Barton, it’s been a pleasure.

  My husband Dyon, for everything.

  Rhuun and Lelet will return with more adventures in Mistra and Eriis in 2016. Until then, here’s a peek at what’s coming up:

  "I want to talk to Ilaan," Rhuun said again. The great hall was full of people, a shifting sea of greys, whites, and tans, pausing in their errands to turn and watch. He recognized many of them. None would meet his eye, but he could feel their gazes following him. At least Lelet was safe. He'd think about that later. Right now he spotted a familiar face, and gave a sigh of relief.

  "Aelle. Thank Light and Wind." She stopped on her way to wherever she was going and looked him up and down, taking in his dusty human clothing and tied back hair. Her white silk tunic was freshly pressed, her hair tightly coiled and intricately woven with white beads, brilliant against the black gloss. He could see a filigree of new tattoos in black and gold peeking out from under the cuffs of her wide sleeves and reaching towards her fingers. She had lined her eyes with green and gold, which made her look older and mysterious. Her hand was lightly resting on Niico's arm. "Aelle, I have so much to tell you ...."

  She tipped her pretty head forward and spat on the ground at his feet, then turned towards Yuenne. "Father, I will see you at dinner." She glanced up at Niico, who was looking studiously at his nails, and they continued down the corridor.

  "Burned that bridge, as the humans say," murmured Yuenne.

  About the Author

  Kim Alexander lives in Washington DC with a houseful of books, two cats, an angry fish, and a very patient husband. Find her online at kimalexanderonline.com, on Facebook at Kim Alexander Author, and on Twitter @KimAlexander80.