The Bastard’s Pearl

by Connie Bailey

  “Tell me now.”

  “It’s a very affecting story. I don’t want to tell it now and have red, puffy eyes at the feast.”

  “You’re very softhearted.” Sheyn poured more khai for both of them.

  “The tale concerns a daaksi who went before the king who’d conquered his master and begged so prettily for his master’s life that—”

  “The conqueror was charmed and granted the daaksi’s request.”

  “Not exactly. The conqueror was charmed, but he couldn’t spare the defeated king’s life. He claimed Fairskin for himself and ordered him sent to the royal harem. Fairskin asked for some of his personal belongings to give him the comfort of familiarity. The new king gave his permission but with a condition. Fairskin could only take what he could carry. So he—”

  “The daaksi picked up his master and carried him away,” Sheyn said.

  “It’s very annoying when you finish my sentences.”

  “Did Fairskin and his master escape?”

  “No. The invader was amused, but he executed Fairskin’s master and took the daaksi into his harem.” Luks swallowed. “I can’t finish it. It makes me sad just thinking about it.”

  “I don’t wonder! That’s an awful story. I like tales with lost princes meeting their true loves by a well in the forest. I like them even better if the true love is a witch with the power to change into an animal. And if the prince becomes enchanted and stays in the forest forever with his love, that’s the best ending I can imagine.”

  “Why would the prince fall in love with a black-hearted witch?”

  “Not all witches do evil.”

  “How many witches do you know?”

  “None. Witches are characters in books.”

  Luks rapped on Sheyn’s skull with his knuckles. “How can a person so smart be so dense?” He chuckled. “After seeing demons, it’s too much for you to believe in evil witches?”

  “Yes, it is. Demons are beasts of some sort. But you want me to believe a human could acquire magical powers and dedicate his or her life to doing evil. It doesn’t make sense. Why would magical abilities turn someone into a monster?”

  “I don’t know why,” Luks said. “But in Kandaar, witches are known to be evil.”

  “I think we should talk about something else. You’re starting to get upset.”

  “I’m not upset!” Luks said loudly and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

  “At least you aren’t sad anymore,” Sheyn said.

  Luks’s reply was preempted by a royal guard requesting permission to enter the tent. The guard was accompanied by four servants carrying two litters piled with trunks. The litters were unloaded, and the guard led the servants away. Luks opened one of the chests, and his eyes widened when he looked inside.

  “It looks as though the high king’s daaksi has lent us his personal wardrobe,” Luks said.

  “I hope he’s not short.”

  Luks held up a diaphanous gown of deep blue-green with white gems sewn around the neck.

  “It suits you well,” Sheyn said.

  “I agree.” Luks laid the garment aside and beckoned to Sheyn. “Let’s hope it’s that easy to please you.”

  “I told you I’ll wear whatever you choose.”

  “What a temptation this is! I could tell you to appear naked except for a dragon’s hoard of jewels.” Luks paused. “But that would be vulgar.”

  “The entire situation is vulgar. Why must I sway the high king’s crotch? Why can’t I simply explain what happened?”

  “It won’t harm your case if you have his attention.”

  Sheyn sighed. All this fuss over clothing was tiring. He missed the scholar’s gowns that he’d worn almost every day since he’d entered the university at twelve.

  “This,” Luks said triumphantly as he drew a length of flame-red silk from the trunk. “Put it on.”

  Sheyn removed his clothing and pulled the crimson gown over his head. It flowed down his body in a sensuous whisper to brush the floor. The slightest movement molded the fabric to the contours of Sheyn’s torso. “It’s beautiful,” he said as he looked down. “But I should probably wear something underneath it.”

  Luks tilted his head to the side and regarded the bulge at the junction of Sheyn’s thighs. “I’ll find a pair of leggings,” he said. “A loin wrap would look ridiculous, but some knitted leggings will hold everything in place and give a tasteful indication of your charms.” He tossed Sheyn something soft and black.

  Sheyn pulled on the clinging garment and arranged his reyl and gaerys before letting the gown fall to cover his crotch. “I’ve never been any good at this. It’s not the kind of attention I’ve ever wanted to attract.”

  “You attract attention whether you want it or not. You may as well turn it to your benefit rather than letting it make you unhappy.”

  “I’m not sure I agree, but I don’t want to argue.” Sheyn pulled on a pair of suede boots and admired the silver stitching over the toes. “I like the look of these.” He glanced up. “And you look exquisite.”

  Luks bowed, and his blue-green gown gathered in graceful folds around his slender figure. “Now let’s see what sort of jewelry the high king’s daaksi travels with,” he said.

  Sheyn picked out a belt of silver discs on black velvet and fastened it around his hips. Luks clasped a choker of green gems around his neck and decorated his bare arms with several bracelets. He looked up from adjusting his anklet and let his gaze linger on Sheyn.

  “I’m not sure why I’m bothering to primp,” Luks said. “Everyone will be looking at you.”

  “They’ll be staring because they’ve never seen such a freak.”

  “They’ll be staring because you’re Pearl.”

  “How will they have heard of me?”

  “Soldiers talk, and the Black Hawks have been in the high king’s camp for hours now.”

  “Your head is full of moonbeams. What did they teach you in that Shrine of yours?”

  “First tell me why you’re so set against any romantic notion.”

  Sheyn abruptly remembered speaking similar words to Aeriq during one of the many arguments Sheyn had engineered to discourage intimacy. “Poor Aeriq,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry if I belittled your sense of romance. I assume it’s part of your training.”

  “Sit,” Luks said a bit more sharply than he’d intended. “I’ll brush your hair.”

  “I really am sorry.” Sheyn sat on a cushion in front of Luks. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “I know you didn’t, but you hurt my feelings all the same,” Luks said as he drew a brush through Sheyn’s hair. “I believe you’re truly sorry.”

  “Good. I want to keep your friendship.”

  “Then be still and let me finish with the brush.”

  Luks arranged Sheyn’s shining, waist-length hair to spill down his back and over his shoulders onto his chest. Pronouncing Sheyn ready to dine with royalty, Luks fluffed his mahogany ringlets and tweaked them to nestle in front of his ears and on his forehead.

  “Do you ever wear scent?” Sheyn asked.

  Luks laughed softly. “Here’s another thing I’ve forgotten to tell you. Each daaksi has a unique natural perfume that doesn’t smell the same to any two people. Whoever smells it is reminded of a scent from one of their happiest memories.”

  “Is there some sort of daaksi reference book I could read?” Sheyn asked. “It would be quite useful to me.”

  “There’s a library at the Shrine,” Luks said, ignoring Sheyn’s sarcasm.

  “I’ll have to go there soon.”

  “I should laugh at your silliness and reprimand you for your boldness, but I’m beginning to believe that you can do whatever you set your mind to.”

  “I can’t return to the moment before I left on my journey.”

  “No, you can’t, and Prince Kashyan can’t return to the moment before he was seduced by his brother’s daaksi
.”

  “It’s very annoying when you point out that I’m not the only victim of fate.”

  “You told me you love Prince Kashyan. Did you mean it?”

  “You know I do. You can feel what I’m feeling.”

  “That’s true, but it’s still courteous to ask.” Luks took Sheyn’s hand. “Finding love isn’t such a bad fate, is it?”

  “Are you asking me or yourself?” Sheyn cupped Luks’s cheek. “Does finding love with Kholya wipe away all you suffered before him?”

  “I choose to begin a new life with him.”

  Sheyn looked into Luks’s doe eyes for a long moment. “Is it that easy?” he murmured.

  Luks pulled Sheyn into a hug. “We’ll see,” he said.

  TWO RED Monks escorted Yozif to the high priest’s quarters and were admitted right away. An acolyte showed Yozif into Chanesh’s private sitting room and left them alone. The high priest gestured Yozif to a seat across from his and offered wine. Yozif accepted a cup of the restorative before giving his report on the Savaanim and Pearl.

  “You saw the Gate?” Chanesh asked eagerly as he set down his cup.

  “I saw him and spoke with him.” Yozif held out his cup for another dram.

  “Tell me all you remember.” The high priest turned his chair so he was facing the fire and took up his cup again.

  “I was able to get quite close to him,” Yozif said. “It was a very profound experience being so near to something so near to perfection.”

  “He’s just another sack of rotting meat,” Chanesh said.

  “According to the teachings of the Shrine, a daaksi is the closest thing to a deity that still walks the earth.”

  “I might say the same of a demon.”

  “I can’t argue that point. All I know is that Pearl is like the first daaksim. He’s smarter, swifter, and stronger than any pure human. He’s set custom at naught, doing just as he pleases, and no one lifts a hand to him.” Yozif leaned toward Chanesh. “If you’ll take my advice, don’t try bringing Pearl back to the Red Temple. He might bring it down on top of you.”

  “So you not only failed to find a way to bring the daaksi to me, you advise me to leave him alone?”

  “I think it would be wise. You weren’t there. You didn’t feel the power radiating from him. He has the Savaanim in his palm. By this time, he’s probably enthralled the high king.”

  “I saw none of this power in him when he was in my hands. To be sure, he’s the most powerful daaksi I’ve encountered, but hardly a demigod.”

  “That was before he’d completed the bond with his master.”

  Chanesh grimaced. “You mean he let the Bastard prong him, the filthy little piece.”

  “My faith doesn’t look upon sex in the same way yours does.”

  “Fornication is an untidy and futile act. Lust makes animals of men and desire drives them mad. And what is it all for? For pleasure? To bring another slug of flesh into the world?”

  “It’s the union of two souls using crude flesh to become one with the only means available in this world. It’s a joyful, transforming—” Yozif stopped in the middle of his sentence. “Or so I used to believe.”

  “We are born alone. We live our lives alone and we die alone,” Chanesh said. “That is the central truth of existence. We and everything around us are dying from the moment we’re born and we do it alone. When you recognize the truth of this, it gives you freedom.”

  “To do what?”

  “Whatever you like. I choose to serve Taankh, Lord of the Shadoworld. After my inevitable death, He will give me a kingdom in His realm.” Chanesh took a drink of his wine. “Now tell me more about Pearl.”

  Chapter 22

  LUKS AND Sheyn turned as Kholya entered the guest tent.

  “It’s time to join the high king,” Kholya said.

  “Remember,” Luks said quickly to Sheyn. “Do as I do.”

  Sheyn nodded and then followed Luks out of the pavilion. Though Sheyn professed not to care about such things, he was pleased by the admiring glances Kashyan gave him.

  “You look quite presentable with your hair braided,” Sheyn said to Kashyan.

  “You look….” Kashyan looked to Kholya in appeal.

  Kholya didn’t notice. He only had eyes for Luks.

  “How do I look?” Sheyn prompted.

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Kashyan said truthfully. “You’re too beautiful to be made of the same flesh and bone as everyone else. You look like you were conjured out of stardust and wishes.”

  Kholya glanced at his brother. “Pearl has made a poet of you.”

  “Attend to your own concerns,” Sheyn told Kholya without taking his gaze off Kashyan’s face.

  Kholya cleared his throat. “We should go now.”

  When Kholya’s party left the tent, they were met by an escort of four royal guards and shown to the center of the camp. On a flat stretch of turf, tables and torches had been set up in a horseshoe shape, and chairs waited for the high king’s guests. Djulyan and a few others were already present, drinking from horns of wine and speaking cordially.

  “Come and sit at my table,” Djulyan called out. “I want a closer look at your daaksim. You’re the only ones who brought companions to this court.”

  “Perhaps the others were afraid I’d steal them,” Kashyan said.

  Djulyan laughed heartily and then gave Kashyan a stern look. “I’ll have no more of that sort of talk tonight,” he said. “Now let me have a look at these beauties.” Djulyan turned his gaze on Sheyn and Luks. “I’ve never been one for pretty boys. I loved my wife and I love my mistresses, but there is something about my daaksi that I can’t resist.” Djulyan drew breath to comment on Sheyn’s exotic beauty when his eye strayed to Luks. He froze, staring at Luks like a man seeing a vision. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “You may answer,” Kholya said formally to Luks.

  “I’m called Velvet, Your Glory.”

  “Tell me how you came to be here. Begin at the beginning and don’t worry that you’ll bore me.”

  “I was raised and trained in the Shrine at Djenaes. When I was sixteen, I became a daaksi and was given to Yevdjen of Sumadin. I was with him for twenty-five years, and when he died, I was claimed by Prince Kholya.”

  “How did you come to the Shrine?”

  “I was left there as a baby, Your Glory.”

  “And how old are you now?”

  “I’m forty-two, Your Glory.”

  “You look no more than—” Djulyan called out. “Ardjul, where are you?”

  A richly dressed young man broke off his conversation with the captain of the guard and hurried to the high king’s side. “Yes, sire?”

  “Ardjul, my son. Stand next to that boy.”

  “By Raas’s Thunder, they could be brothers,” Kholya said.

  Djulyan stood. “My brother kings,” he said to the assembled monarchs. “I must attend to an urgent personal matter. Please enjoy the food and drink and I will return to feast with you.” He gestured to the people who stood closest to follow him and led them to his tent.

  “What’s this about?” Prince Ardjul asked.

  Djulyan looked around at Kholya, Kashyan, Sheyn, and lastly, Luks. “I can scarcely dare to hope what I suspect.”

  “That doesn’t make it any clearer, father.”

  “I have eleven sons as alike as pups from the same litter, saving the difference in height.” Djulyan sighed. “But I should have twelve.”

  “Ah, this is the Little Lost Prince story,” Ardjul said. “I grew up hearing it.” He drew himself up in a majestic pose and affected a grand manner. “It’s a family legend.”

  “Don’t make light of it,” Djulyan said. “After we lost our firstborn, it took your mother and I a long time to have another. She said she was too full of sorrow to carry a child. But then we had Daryan, and Ardjul, and they kept coming. Her sons made her happy, but I know she never forgot the child that was taken from her.” H
is gaze rested on Luks as he spoke. “He was only three months old when he and his nursemaid disappeared from the royal gardens. She returned twelve years later and confessed she’d taken my child at her lover’s bidding. However, she knew nothing of the people he’d sold the baby to. My agents spoke to every slaver that could be found, but no one remembered buying a babe with red hair. By then, the trail was too cold.”

  “What became of the nursemaid?” Sheyn asked.

  “I ordered her execution, but I could not go through with it. I hoped that if she lived, she might someday remember a clue. She works in the palace laundry.”

  “Is there a way—?” Kholya began.

  “Yes,” Djulyan said. “There’s a way to confirm whether Luks is the lost prince. I told you that all the children of my getting look alike. And they have one more thing in common: a birthmark shaped like the paw print of a bear.”

  Kholya and Luks exchanged a glance full of conflicting emotions.

  “You have a mark like that,” Sheyn said to Luks. “Those big freckles on your left hip.”

  “Is this true?” Djulyan asked.

  Luks nodded.

  “You’re the right age, you look as much like me as any of my sons, and you have the birthmark.” Djulyan cleared his throat. “I can only believe that you’re my eldest son come back to me after so many years.”

  “But what does this mean?” Ardjul asked. “Is Daryan still crown prince?”

  “Yes,” Luks said, surprising everyone. “There’s no reason for anything to change.”

  “But some things must change,” Djulyan said gently. “My son can’t be a daaksi.”

  “If you know a way to change it, Your Glory, please tell me,” Luks said. “I know Pearl would be grateful.”

  Djulyan looked troubled as he ran his hand over his thinning ginger hair. “We should return to the feast, though it’s not my wish. It’s dangerous to leave a pack of kings alone for too long.” He glanced at Luks and couldn’t look away. “Djulz,” he said. “That’s what we named you. I only wish your mother was alive to see you.”

  “I wish that too,” Luks said. “Your Glory, if I am your son, I think you should keep it a secret. The other kings will never accept me as a prince of the Misty Vales.”