Prince of Alasia (Annals of Alasia Book 1)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Jaymin groaned. “That’s right. I wish we could just forget that part of the plan.” He felt a little guilty for his negative attitude; that certainly had not been a part of his princely upbringing. But having lost his home, his parents, and probably his chance at the crown all in the last two weeks, he felt entitled to complain a little.

  “You know it would look suspicious if we didn’t go to school,” Erik reminded him unnecessarily. “We have to fit in. We’re just ordinary boys now, remember?”

  “I know, I know.” Jaymin sighed in resignation. But he knew that his friend was not looking forward to this either. Neither of them had ever been to a real school, taking lessons with a tutor in the palace library instead. Their education had been thorough, especially Jaymin’s, since Erik spent several extra hours in physical training every day. But Jaymin was sure that both of them knew more than most adults about the history, geography, economy, and certainly the government of Alasia. They were skilled in mathematics and the sciences, and they had studied and enjoyed much of the kingdom’s finest art and literature.

  But now they had to pretend to be ordinary boys who knew little of this. In fact, they had agreed that to make their disguise better, they shouldn’t show any ability or interest in their schoolwork at all. It certainly wouldn’t do for two poverty-stricken children to suddenly be experts in subject areas they should never have been exposed to.

  And so, for the first time in his life, Jaymin would not be able to put forth his best effort and excel in his studies. In fact, he would have to purposely fail. And that went against everything he had been taught as a prince.

  Can’t I even keep my honor? he thought dismally. It’s one of the few things I still have left. But with danger all around in the form of the Malornian soldiers who patrolled the streets every day now, he didn’t need to be told the importance of a good disguise.

  Jaymin sighed again. Reluctantly he unwrapped his blanket and clambered stiffly to his feet, his back and neck sore, as they were every morning now, from lying on the hard floor without so much as a pillow. There was no need to get dressed, as he and Erik were already wearing the only clothes they now owned.

  Shivering in the chilly attic room, Jaymin carefully folded his tattered blanket. That was something he had never done until a few days ago. At home, servants had always made his bed, but there was no one to take care of such chores for him here. If he wanted the room to look neat – and he had decided he did – he had to do his part to keep it that way. It was one of the few things he could still control.

  “It’s a good thing Sir Edmend can’t see us now,” Erik remarked, glancing around the bare little attic.

  Or my parents, Jaymin thought, trying not to picture how horrified they would have been. He followed Erik’s gaze around the dismal place neither of them could bring themselves to call home. Not a stick of furniture graced the room; in fact, their blankets were the only objects in it. The dusty floor was barely wide enough for the boys to stretch out on at night, and perhaps twice that long. As for the peaked ceiling, it was high enough to allow them to stand upright in the middle, but only just. The single narrow window was choked with dirt and cobwebs, and the walls were grubby and pocked with little insect holes.

  “I don’t think Sir Edmend realized quite what he was getting us into,” Erik added. “Not that this isn’t best, of course.”

  Jaymin nodded in agreement, recalling how Sir Edmend had assured the two boys they would be all right here in Drall, though they had both suspected he had really been trying to reassure himself. It was obvious that he had been worried about leaving them on their own. Of course, he knew they were responsible and resourceful, and Erik was certainly more than a match for any individual who might cause them trouble. But there was always the chance that the Malornian soldiers would find Jaymin, and there was little doubt about what would happen if they did.

  The three of them had briefly discussed whether Sir Edmend should take the boys to western Alasia, where they could stay with Jaymin’s uncle, Duke Torrathan, and his family. Jaymin would much rather have been there, where he could have lived in comfort among people who knew and loved him. But they had agreed that that would be too obvious – the duke’s home in Tainabi would surely be the first place the Malornians would look when they failed to find the prince in the palace. The last thing Jaymin wanted was to put someone else in danger for his sake, so he and Erik had convinced Sir Edmend to leave them in the old woman’s dubious care. Their friend had decided to return secretly to the capital to find out all he could about the situation and whether there was anything he could do to help Alasia. He would have to travel in disguise, since many in Almar knew him and his role as a councilor to the king. He had assured Jaymin that he would be careful to stay out of danger and that he would be back as soon as he had anything useful to report.

  But when would that be? Jaymin was beginning to wonder if Sir Edmend was really safe after all. What if the soldiers had caught him? What if they killed him too?

  But Erik had pointed out more than once that, one way or another, it was certainly safer for Jaymin that Sir Edmend wasn’t here. Put their two recognizable faces side by side, and someone was bound to make the connection.

  Now Erik tossed his own neatly folded blanket into a corner of the dusty little attic. “Maybe old Ana will make something nice for breakfast this morning,” he hoped aloud, and Jaymin knew he was trying to take their minds off of bigger worries. “It would be nice to start school on a full stomach.”

  Jaymin snorted. “Wishful thinking. This isn’t the palace.” He dropped his blanket on top of Erik’s. “Remember having bacon and eggs for breakfast back at home, and warm, freshly-baked bread with butter?” It seemed like such a long time ago already. Another lifetime. “And spiced tea, and platters of fresh fruit, and tall stacks of oatcakes with that special syrup Lutian always made?”

  “Don’t,” groaned Erik. “You’re making my mouth water.” He moved toward the square wooden door in the floor. “I knew we should have brought the head cook with us,” he added, chuckling. “Come on; let’s go see what Ana’s got.”

  Flickering firelight from the room below lit up the dim attic as he opened the trapdoor, throwing dancing shadows all over the walls. Carefully, Erik clambered down the rickety ladder and then held it still for Jaymin.

  The lower room was a little larger than their quarters above, but almost as drab. A thin mat lay by one wall, two or three ragged blankets crumpled haphazardly on it. A little box of clothes and a few personal items stood nearby. The opposite wall was dominated by a brick fireplace, where a small, rusty pot hung suspended above the charcoal. A little old woman, her greasy hair tied back with a frayed piece of twine, huddled on a stool as close to the fire’s warmth as she could get. A small basket of cooking utensils stood beside her, and a dented tin pail lay on its side nearby.

  In the corner stood a bottle of cheap whiskey, the last of two dozen that she had bought after Sir Edmend had paid her for the boys’ room and board. Jaymin thought bitterly of all the good food they could have had for the money instead.

  “Good morning, Ana,” he greeted her with forced politeness. His mother would have wanted him to be mindful of his manners no matter what his circumstances. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Besides being hung over as usual,” Erik added under his breath. He knew she was hard of hearing.

  “Me stomach don’t feel quite right,” grumbled the woman, glancing up as the two boys joined her by the fire. “An’ me head hurts sumpin’ awful. You be spectin’ some breakfast, I s’pose?”

  “Yes please,” Jaymin replied, holding on to his palace manners with an effort. Although the porridge she was cooking had none of the appeal of the cuisine he and Erik had been dreaming of, they had learned that anything is better than nothing when you are truly hungry.

  “Always wantin’ more food, ain’t you,” Ana grumbled, stirring the pot. “That uncle o’ yours, or whoever he be who brung y
ou here, better come back soon to pay me s’more. He din’t hardly give me ’nuff when you boys be eatin’ me outa house ’n home like this.”

  Erik raised his eyebrows indignantly. He looked pointedly at the bottle in the corner and drew breath to speak, but Jaymin nudged him and shook his head. Switching tracks smoothly, Erik said instead, “Don’t worry, I’m sure our uncle will be coming by again soon.” But he avoided meeting her eyes. They both knew it would never do to let Ana hear their doubts about Sir Edmend’s safety.

  Still grumbling under her breath, the old crone stirred the pot again. “Well, th’ porridge ain’t ready yet, so make yourselves useful and fetch me some water.” She jerked her chin toward the tin pail beside her. “I’ll need it to wash up with afterwards.”

  After living in Ana’s house for nearly a fortnight, Jaymin was beginning to get used to being given orders, but it still annoyed him. If she had any idea who I was, he told himself, she would be on her knees begging my forgiveness for ordering me around like a servant.

  Maybe someday he could tell her, but for now his life depended on secrecy. Jaymin scowled as he headed for the door, Erik following with the pail.

  Outside, it was still not fully light yet. The air was crisp and cold, the sky dark gray and gloomy. A few lingering stars gleamed dimly between murky clouds. The boys trudged down the narrow, muddy street crowded with tiny houses jammed together on both sides. Smoke drifted from the chimneys, its acrid smell mingling with that of the meager breakfasts being prepared within and the garbage rotting in the street without. A few shabbily dressed townsfolk hurried past, heading to work or returning home for the day. Jaymin had begun to realize that many of those who went out to “work” at night were up to no good. But when they seldom had enough to eat and legitimate jobs were hard for the untrained to come by in a small town, it was easy to see why many turned to other options.

  “Sad, isn’t it,” remarked Erik, reading Jaymin’s mind.

  Jaymin nodded. “This is a side of Alasia that you never see from the palace. Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed people really lived like this. And now here I am experiencing it. It’s certainly eye-opening.” He wondered if his parents had known there were neighborhoods like this in their kingdom. He had never heard them speak of them.

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  Jaymin grinned. That was one of the things he liked most about Erik: he was never afraid to be direct.

  “I’ve been asking myself that, too,” he replied thoughtfully. “There are a lot of changes I want to make when I –” He paused. It seemed foolish to think that could ever happen now. And yet he couldn’t help thinking about it, making mental notes about changes that needed to be made, ways he could improve Alasia someday. But what was the point? The chances of his ever wearing a crown now seemed almost nonexistent.

  “You will be king someday,” Erik assured him with the unrealistic optimism he had lately started displaying. It was as though he felt it was now part of his job to keep Jaymin’s spirits up. Cautious as always, he kept his voice low, even though no one was close enough to overhear. “You don’t know how soon things might change, so you might as well start planning what you’re going to do. Just wait. Our army will show up, or we’ll recruit a new one, and we’ll drive those Malornians out again. This will all be over in a few weeks at most.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Jaymin sighed, kicking idly at a pebble in the street. “If only Sir Edmend would come back. I want to hear what’s really happening. How did the Malornians take over Alasia so easily? How did they get into the palace without alerting the guards, and what happened to the guards? Where was our army at the time? Was it totally destroyed? If not, where are our soldiers now? All we hear in Drall are rumors, and they seem to change every day.”

  Erik nodded in agreement as the two of them rounded a corner and joined a dozen or so townsfolk standing in line before a lopsided platform with pails and pitchers. The rusty neighborhood pump squeaked as a young girl worked it furiously, filling a battered bucket.

  Jaymin was getting used to the concept of waiting in line for his turn now, though he had never had to do it before leaving the palace. His only experience with lines had been when he rode with his parents at the head of a procession, or when people had lined up to meet him or the king and queen, or when guards or attendants lined the way on formal occasions. On the few instances when there had been anything else to line up for in the palace, it had always been understood that royalty went first.

  As they waited, shivering in the chilly morning breeze, Jaymin suddenly heard the sound of accented voices approaching. Then, around the corner, rode a disorderly crowd of mounted soldiers, dressed in wine-red and black Malornian uniforms.

  Erik stepped casually in front of Jaymin, as though to get a better view. Around them, the cheerful conversations dropped to low, angry muttering.

  “Those weasels,” Jaymin heard from behind.

  “I feel sorry for the horses,” another voice added, “bein’ seen in public with riders like them.”

  “Whadda they think they’re doin’, ridin’ through our town like they own it?” someone else demanded, and there was a quiet chorus of agreement.

  “I hope there won’t be trouble that we’re all here together,” a young woman from the back of the group put in suddenly. “They say Alasians aren’t allowed to gather in big groups anymore. Afraid we’ll try to rise up against them or something.”

  Jaymin frowned worriedly as those around him fell silent in fear, wondering what sized group counted as “big”. The order was ridiculous. Certain places were always crowded, and at this time of day the pump was one of them. How could anyone expect it to be otherwise?

  The townsfolk watched nervously as the noisy squad approached. The first few riders passed by, talking and laughing, casting only a few scornful glances at the little group watching them sullenly from around the pump. Without warning, though, a soldier from the middle turned aside and reined his horse to a halt before them.

  “And here we have the simple peasants fetching water for their families,” he announced loftily, like some sarcastic tour guide. “See what ignorant lives they lead. They have no idea how much their kingdom is changing, and they probably don’t really care. As long as they have food and water, they’re content with their lives. What a pathetic existence!”

  Laughing loudly, the other soldiers drew up in a semicircle around the pump, grinning down condescendingly at the Alasians, who moved closer together, glancing up at the riders nervously.

  “Well, peasants,” called a second soldier from Jaymin’s left. “Don’t you have anything to say to your new masters? We’ve killed your rulers and we’re here to run this kingdom as it was meant to be run. What do you think of that, eh?”

  No one answered. Jaymin gritted his teeth in fury, considering several choice retorts.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Erik breathed over his shoulder, still trying to stand between Jaymin and most of the soldiers. “Keep quiet till they’ve gone.”

  “You there,” called another soldier, addressing an old man who had just filled his clay jug and had been about to leave. “In a hurry to get away from us, are you? Who gave you permission to go?”

  The man mumbled something under his breath, looking at the ground.

  “What? Speak up, you old bag of bones. And look at your betters when you’re spoken to. I said, who gave you permission, and what’s that you’ve got there?”

  “I don’t need permission, and this is water, whaddya think?” retorted the man irritably, looking up at him this time. “This here’s a pump, ain’t it? Or don’t you use pumps in Malorn?”

  Jaymin raised his eyebrows at the man’s audacity, although he would have liked to say the same himself. The soldier’s face darkened in anger as his companions burst into a round of laughter at his expense. He spurred his horse right up to the elderly man and glared down at him. “You insolent fool!” he raged. His eyes fell
upon the brimming jug the man still held. “Give me that.”

  “But it’s my only –”

  With a ringing of steel, the Malornian drew his sword, and the townsfolk gasped and surged backward, half tripping over each other in their haste to get away from his weapon. “Give me that!” he roared, and this time the man held out his jug in a shaking hand.

  The soldier snatched it away and promptly threw it back at him as hard as he could, water spraying through the air. The man ducked just in time to miss being struck on the head. His jug hit the rusty pump handle and shattered into pieces.

  “And don’t you ever talk to a Malornian like that again!” the soldier yelled, brandishing his sword to make his point. There was a rowdy chorus of agreement from his companions, several of whom had drawn their weapons as well.

  “Aw, forget it, men,” a different soldier advised, jostling the others as he steered his horse past from the back. There were yellow cloth stripes sewn onto the ends of his red sleeves, which Jaymin knew meant he was a sergeant. “We’re going to be late checking in if we don’t hurry. Let’s go.”

  With a few more threats and taunts, the band turned and moved off, leaving the Alasians scowling angrily after them.

  Jaymin clenched his fists. Get out of my kingdom, he thought. You have no right to be here treating my people like this. He wondered if it had been one of them who had killed his parents, and he glared at their departing backs in fury.

  Back at Ana’s with the water, the boys hungrily accepted the bowls of plain porridge she handed them. Jaymin wondered what she would say if she knew that one of the ragged boys going hungry by her hearth was the Prince of Alasia. But he reminded himself that they really ought to be thankful for the little she gave them, thankful for the shelter of her tiny home, thankful they did not have to scavenge for food on the streets and spend the nights curled up in their coats out in the marketplace like the poorest people they had seen. Though he wouldn’t have believed it two weeks ago, he knew now that life could be worse.