It all seemed to come back to the same answer. "Then let me go again. I'll find him, keep him well."
Weile shook his head. "No, Talamir. That will not end well for you."
The pronouncement, though somber, seemed utterly nonsensical. "Well," said the Renshai. "Not letting me go will definitely end badly for me."
"You can't run from Tae forever."
"I can try."
"Not if you really love Subikahn."
Talamir's attention jerked fully to Weile Kahn. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that it's impossible to have a strong relationship with someone whose parents hate you."
"Why?" The word emerged as more of a demand than a question.
"Because it's not a sustainable situation; it's highly uncomfortable for the one caught in the middle. Sooner or later, your beloved will have to make a choice between lover and family. And that choice, however it is made, never results in long-lasting happiness for anyone involved." Weile's dark brows edged upward. He waited for Talamir's reply, clearly expecting something significant.
Talamir considered, knowing whatever came out of his mouth needed to be intelligent. So far, he had not managed to impress Subikahn's father. He could not risk alienating the grandfather as well. When nothing of great usefulness came to him after several moments, he tried to elicit a hint without sounding stupid. "I know I need to win over the king. I just don't know how to do that from a cell."
Weile waited expectantly, in silence, so Talamir glanced past him toward the guards. The squatter one bobbed his head slightly, encouraging.
Talamir cleared his throat. "I could guard Subikahn…"
The guard's head shook hastily, in slight motions.
Cued, Talamir added, "But we've already tried that unsuccessfully. I could go…"
The guard cringed, head still shaking.
"I could stay…" Talamir amended. "I could stay here and…"
The guard raised and lowered his head once. Talamir wished he could see the man's expression.
"… and do something that might make a good impression on King Tae."
The guard pantomimed drawing a sword and thrusting.
"I could… kill…"
The guard's head shook faster.
Weile Kahn said, "He's suggesting you offer to train the regular guards." He twisted his head to look at the elite guardsmen behind him. "Right?"
Both men stood utterly still, their expressions hidden behind silver veils.
Weile did not wait for a response but returned his attention to Talamir almost immediately.
More surprised by the suggestion than by Weile's apparent ability to see behind him, Talamir stammered, "Me? Train Eastern guardsmen?" It made no sense. "Tae would never allow that."
"But I would. Right now, and for the foreseeable future, I'm in charge."
Talamir wanted to say more, but words failed him.
Weile did not suffer a similar fate. "You're a teacher, right? A sword instructor."
"Well, yes." Talamir wondered why his brain seemed to refuse to fully function. "A torke. I train Renshai."
"Regular guardsmen would be… easier?"
"Easier,"Talamir repeated."Yes, surely easier. But-" What's wrong with my damned tongue. "I can't teach them Renshai maneuvers."
Weile shrugged. "So don't. Teach them basic things. Things that make them better, more confident warriors.Things that make you… indispensable."
"I…"Talamir started, uncertain where he was going. "… can do that." As the words left his mouth, he realized they were true. "I can do that. But, if you let me out, how do you know I won't just run."
"I don't,"Weile admitted, but he did not seem the least perturbed. "But if you do, I will have learned something important about you."
Talamir knew better than to ask what that lesson might be. "Thank you." The words seemed woefully inadequate. Despite having surrendered the throne to his son, Weile Kahn still held more power than most kings; and Talamir understood that the leader of the underground had no obligation to him. "You've shown me mercy and many kindnesses I don't deserve."
"You will earn them." It was not a show of trust but a clear warning. "If you hurt my grandson, if you break his heart, you will face agony beyond the sensibilities of Tae Kahn to inflict."
Talamir had no idea what Weile meant but felt certain he preferred ignorance. As much as he loved Subikahn, as right as their relationship seemed, he could not help believing his life might have been better had he never traveled to Stalmize, never became a torke, never met Subikahn at all.
Howling curses at his captors, Tae stumbled through the hallways to his cell, his arms pinched and pinioned by a pair of Bearnian guards, each twice his size. His hair hung in a lank filthy snarl, his clothing torn and frayed, his skin already bruised by the roughness of their handling. One released him to unlock the cell door. Still playing, Tae lurched to free himself. The other guard tightened his grip, squeezing until Tae's arm throbbed and the pain nearly incapacitated him. The instant the door jarred open, he felt himself thrown angrily inside. He tumbled, heels over head, slamming his skull against the stone wall that comprised the back of the cell. Pain exploded through his head, scrambling his thoughts. Then, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked with ominous finality.
Suddenly, Tae wished the Bearnian royals had let a few more people in on the truth. His head hurt so badly he nearly vomited, and returning blood flow made his arms throb. He forced himself to rise, though it severely tested his balance, and tried to look tough and unruffled by their treatment.
Instantly, Tae's mind retreated to his days in Pudar's prison, under sentence of death. Then, he had shared his cell with other prisoners, ones happy to kill or maim a newcomer for his share of the food. Panic assailed him in a sudden rush, scattering his thoughts. He wanted out, he needed out, and no tactic seemed too farfetched to earn his freedom. He ran to the bars and pulled at them, only to find them so solid he could not move them in the slightest. He lowered his head and focused his view, aware he needed his wits wholly about him. The terror receded, replaced by familiar, cold rationality. He was not a prisoner; he was only on a mission.
Assailed by pain but with his heart rate slowing back to normal, Tae slumped against the bars. Next, he did what any prisoner would, surveying the area around him with a feigned composure that suggested he could handle anything that dared to threaten him. The prisoner to his right studied him through harsh, dark eyes beneath a prominent knitted brow. Though no larger than an average Bearnide, he still towered over Tae. Wide shoulders and broad hips spoke of a stoutness he had lost in the Bearnian dungeon, and his nondescript clothing hung from his slowly thinning frame.
Tae locked eyes for only a moment, and the cold of the contact seeped through him. There was hatred in those predatory orbs and also a hint of despair that might make him as dangerous to himself as to Tae.
A smaller and leaner, but no less desperate, man occupied the cell to Tae's left. He wore similar bland clothing, more filthy, with old bloodstains on the sleeves. Though softer, his brown eyes also revealed a deadly loathing, either for Tae or, more generally, for his surroundings. To Tae's surprise, he read fear in this man's expression, unmatched by his fellow, yet strong and clear. Hand gestures, words, tone could vary from culture to culture, but expressions remained the one constant on which he could rely. His left neighbor was terrified of something, and Tae sincerely doubted it had anything to do with himself.
Across the walkway, a Bearnide peeked out from the bars to give Tae the same scrutiny. He seemed harmless despite his size, probably a petty criminal. Yet, Tae had no other choice but to use him as an example. "Yah, ya ugly Bearnide!" he jeered with a hiss. "What're ya lookin' at?"
The Bearnide stiffened but did not return the challenge. He backed away from the bars to disappear into the shadows of his cage.
Tae dismissed him with a wave and a glob of spit that struck the bars of the other man's cell. "Ya're all a buncha cowards, y'are.
"
A few rumbled challenges followed Tae's proclamation, but as none of those prisoners was clearly visible, he ignored them. Instead he turned his attention to the pirates to either side. He had no way of knowing how to gain their goodwill; their upbringings would likely prove too alien to guess. Tae could only count on his own experience, that to win over tough men, one had to prove himself at least as equally brave and tough.
Without warning, Tae lunged at the larger of the pirates.
Clearly startled, the man retreated with a hiss; then, to Tae's surprise, immediately lurched forward. A swift grab managed to capture a piece of Tae's shirt.
Tae attempted to free himself without appearing to retreat. Trying to maintain composure, rather than following his survival instincts, proved Tae's downfall. With a jerk, the man yanked him closer. The other beefy hand closed over more fabric, and Tae found himself in an abrupt and inescapable chokehold.
Still in control of his faculties, Tae hammered the man's arms from below, once, twice, three times, trying to dislodge them. But he might as well have slammed against solid iron for all the good it did him. The pirate's grip only tightened expertly.
Breath refused to leave or enter Tae's lungs. He gasped spasmodically, suddenly realizing his life was measured in moments. He tried to roll backward, without success. The iron grip held him in place. He threw himself forward, grabbing for any part of his attacker's anatomy and hoping he caught something exquisitely sensitive. His throat locked open, desperately sucking, and his lungs felt as if they would burst through his chest. Stars whirled around his eyes. In a moment, he would lose consciousness and any chance for escape.
Then, something dark hurtled through the air, spitting and yowling, to land on the stranger's head. The man screamed, dropping back and releasing Tae so quickly the Easterner sank to his knees. Before he could think or wonder, Tae scrambled beyond further reach of his attacker, not caring how clumsy or desperate he appeared. Air rushed back into his lungs in an agonizing contraction, and he breathed in and out so quickly it worsened his dizziness. It took him a moment to recognize the furry, silver dervish tearing, clawing, and biting at the stranger's face. *Imorelda!*
Tae got no acknowledgment as the cat remained singularly focused on mangling her target.
Tae rose carefully. He knew better than to give direct orders to a cat.*Imorelda, please, get away! He might hurt you.*
Still fluffed to twice her normal size, Imorelda bounced to the cell floor and growled menacingly at the stranger. *He's quicker than he looks,* Tae warned.*Please. Get out while you can.*
Imorelda remained facing the stranger, back firmly arched, though she did take several rearward steps toward Tae. *Slip out the front, if you can,* Tae suggested.*If they know we're a team, they'll get more cautious.*
Imorelda whirled suddenly and ran through the front bars, galloping into the darkness.*Maybe if they know we're a team, they won't be so quick to murder you.* An angry howl escaped from the shadows.*Isn't saving your foolish life worth a thank you?* *Thank you, Imorelda,* Tae sent dutifully. He resisted the urge to rub at his neck, instead glaring at the pirate. The other man did not return the look, more concerned with his own lacerated scalp and face. He rubbed blood from his cheeks and nose with the back of his sleeve, blinking several times to adjust his vision, then uttered a string of savage words Tae took to be the equivalent of swearing. Just my luck. The first words I learn in their language, and I can't use any of them.
From behind Tae, the other pirate spoke.
This earned him a reply laced with similar words. From it all, Tae took away the term for cat, yonha, and a few other words he tucked away for later comparison. The syntax seemed a bit sideways, with adjectives and nouns switched in their places. He thought he sifted out a descriptor for Imorelda as "savage" and for himself, "stupid." They referred to him as "takudan," which he supposed more likely meant "little rat" or "idiot" than "brave neighbor." It was not the impression he had intended to make, but at least he had them talking.
Suddenly, Tae realized Imorelda was still addressing him.*… not even listening!* *Sorry, Imorelda. I'm working.*
Tae imagined her tail twitching in angry bursts.*If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be alive to work.*
Tae did feel grateful, but he could not waste any time in idle conversation.*You're right.You saved my life, and I am eternally grateful. I owe you the finest fish and hours of rubbing. But right now, Imorelda, I need to listen.*
The cat mumbled something incoherent, but the moment was lost. The pirates returned to their own problems, the larger one nursing his wounds and the smaller moving to the darkest corner to use his chamber pot.
Damn. Tae remained on the floor of his cell, enjoying the simple act of breathing. His gambit had failed miserably, but he was not without further tricks. He just needed to keep the pirate's deadliness and quickness firmly in mind.
Misery found Tae in the dark, dank depths of Bearn's dungeon, dragging out thoughts better left buried. He refused to further contemplate the son he had alienated, the Renshai who had ruined his life, nor the woman he had loved and lost. Those topics could paralyze him, make him careless and dim-witted at a time when his life and the world depended on his wile and agility, so he banished those concerns.
And suddenly Tae found himself thinking about the maid, Alneezah, which caught him utterly off his guard. He had not realized she meant anything special to him, but he clung to the image of her with a great fondness he had never before recognized. He pictured her demure expression: gentle brown eyes that simultaneously managed to show concern and amusement for his antics, the pink circles of her high-set cheeks, the pert nose and heart-shaped lips. He found himself smiling at the image. As common as she seemed, as unfathomable as most found him, she understood him in a way few others could. *Marry her.* The words brushed Tae's mind.
Startled, Tae nearly answered aloud.*What?* *You should marry that woman. She's good for you.*
Tae felt his cheeks grow warm. He had not intended to project his thoughts.*How did you know…?* *How could I not know. You're splashing her image all over the place.* *I am?* Tae truly had no idea. He had not even realized that Imorelda still remained silently hidden in the dungeon.*And stop telling me that. I can't marry her.* *Why not?*
Why not, indeed? Nothing legal or physical stopped him from marrying anyone he wanted. He could hardly claim that his blood was too royal to mix with commoners.*I don't love her, Imorelda.* Tae sighed inwardly, wondering how much time the cat might occupy grilling him about human emotion.*People aren't like cats. Despite the apparent contradiction of my son, we don't just mate and move on to better things.* He added to forestall insult,*Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you're a cat.*
Imorelda let the species differences lie.*Are you sure you're not in love with her?*
That being the last reply Tae expected, he tried not to let surprise show on his face. No one knew he was having a conversation besides Imorelda. To onlookers, he would appear insane by reacting to absolutely nothing.*I know what love feels like. I loved Kevral.* A pang of regret touched him, and he had to banish a tear forming in his eye. He would miss the little time they had managed to spend together since her marriage. *And you love me, and you love Subikahn.*
Tae's chest tightened. He did not want to think about his son right now, could not afford the emotions it would raise.*Of course. But differently.* *Exactly!*
As Tae had no idea what she meant, he waited for her to explain. *Love is felt in different ways. Just because something is fast and intense doesn't make it better. In fact, sometimes that kind of knock-you-on-your-ass love wanes as quickly as it formed.*
Tae could not help contemplating the cat's words. Like Mior, Imorelda had moments of blinding insight.*You mean-?*
Imorelda did not wait to have her intentions explained to her.*I mean, when you fell for Kevral you were nineteen. Mature love, adult love, doesn't usually come in a rush of naive passion. It's cautious, slow-grow
ing, steady. Full of thought and wonder.*
Tae wondered why he had never thought of such a thing. It certainly explained why he had never married. He was searching for that overwhelming, gut-wrenching fervor he had felt for Kevral.Yet nothing else in his life ever seemed that extreme, no decision so obvious and easy as when he had asked Kevral for her hand. He shook his head to clear it. He had no time for philosophical discussions or idle speculation.*Thank you for the insight, Imorelda, as well as for saving my life. If you would, please, go to Matrinka now. She needs someone to ease her soul over my decision. She needs to know I'm all right here.*
Imorelda made a sneezing sound from the darkness that displayed her displeasure.*Are you all right? I'd hate to lie to a queen.*
Since her only positive form of communication with others was rubbing and purring, Imorelda could hardly be considered a liar.*I'm fine. I promise not to get within reach of either of them again.* *Or do anything to provoke the guards?*
Tae did not currently intend such a deed, though he could not rule it out if circumstances demanded it.*Or that either,* he promised, not nearly as concerned about telling the truth as putting the cat at ease. She distracted him from a job he wanted finished as swiftly as possible, for his own good as well as Bearn's.
Tae did not hear Imorelda leave, but he felt certain she had done so. With a sigh, he curled up on the cold, hard floor of his cell and pretended to sleep.
CHAPTER 23
It's the horrific things in life that make a man careful, wiser.
-King Tae Kahn of Stalmize
On his sixth day in the Bearnian dungeon, Tae found himself trundled roughly into a thick-walled interrogation room no larger than his cell. Shoved inside, he stumbled. He could have caught his balance but did not bother, instead easing his tumble onto the solid stone floor. The guards did not need to know the full range of his dexterity, nor did he need to risk tearing muscles or ligaments. A few more bruises added to the mass seemed a much smaller price to pay.
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