by SJ Himes
“Peace, little brother. And forgive me, Healer Jaime, for impugning your honor with my suggestion.” Elric gave him a fast wink and a sly smile, and Jaime was certain that Elric was a troublemaker. Whether he was a malicious one was yet to be determined.
“Just a novice still, Your Highness,” Jaime found his tongue. He ducked his chin, daring to make eye contact with Elric for a heartbeat, before burying his face in Maxim’s shirt. A soft kiss was pressed to his hair, and Maxim gave a weary, relieved sigh as Jaime settled deeper into his embrace.
Maxim ran a hand up Jaime’s back along his spine and cupped the back of his head, cradling him closer. Jaime returned the embrace as best he could, daring to wrap his hands timidly around Maxim’s waist. Jaime had yet to rein in his gift, and Maxim’s weariness, a deep-seated fear for the king, and an effervescent enjoyment at holding Jaime so close careened along his senses. Jaime could feel just how much Maxim got just from a simple hug—strength, comfort, happiness.
He heard Janis talking quietly to Elric, though he paid little attention. He heard something about sending a mage message to recall Diana’s ship to the city. His heart, mind, and body all hummed with tension, and the desire to ease Maxim’s pain.
Jaime was reluctant to pull back from Maxim. In fact, his prince was just as reluctant. Jaime had to make himself pull back on his gift and leash it once more. Jaime had an unfair advantage. He could sense how Maxim was feeling, but Maxim could not do the same for Jaime. He pulled his gift away completely, and he sighed as his awareness returned to the confines of his senses and body. Jaime was left with one thought above all others—Maxim cared for him. Jaime, the orphaned former slave from a backwater city across the sea.
He had never felt another’s emotions before—he could sense physical sensations, like pain, sickness, nausea, weakness, but never had he felt emotions. He was both afraid and curious as to what that meant—had he never tried before, and therefore didn’t know he could do so? Maxim slipped under his defenses, and Jaime wanted to help his prince. Perhaps how he felt for Maxim was enough to take down the walls hiding this last piece of his gift.
“How are you?” Jaime asked quietly. Maxim kissed the top of his head again, and Jaime smiled.
“Worried and a bit frightened, actually,” Maxim replied, and Jaime was a bit surprised by his honesty, and pleased Maxim could share with him. “His health has been failing for a long time, but I never believed he would be gone one day. Is that foolish of me?”
“No,” Jaime answered, lifting his head a bit, looking up at Maxim. “I never got to see my father before he passed. Some days it feels like I’ll look up and see him walking out of the crowd, waving to me. My mother died when I was too young to remember her, and my father raised me alone. Our parents are always there for us, and so we have trouble seeing a future without them.”
Maxim gazed down at him, pensive. The door to the king’s chambers opened, and Greaves appeared in the doorway. “Jaime.”
Jaime gently disentangled himself from Maxim but held tightly to his prince’s hand. “Yes, sir? Can I help?”
“Our king would like to speak with you.”
The world dropped out from underneath him. He was thankful for the grip Maxim had on his hand. Greaves motioned to him, and his feet walked of their own volition towards his mentor bringing Maxim with him. Jaime was both terrified and proud he would appear before the king, Maxim’s father, holding his son’s hand.
The room was well lit from tall windows that overlooked a snowy vista, but the bed was shadowed by a heavy velvet canopy, closed but for one side. A mature woman, dark hair the same color as Maxim’s and piled in riotous curls atop her head, sat beside the bed with an empty chair next to hers, both angled to be close to the occupant reclining on a sea of pillows. Jaime’s guess that she was Queen Amal was confirmed when she turned her head and looked at him with eyes identical to Maxim’s. She gave him a small, polite smile before turning back to her husband.
King Llyr was old. Older than Jaime had thought. Perhaps late into his ninth decade, a rarity for any man, even a king. He held himself in a stately manner, remarkable for a man in such fragile health. Skin thin, papery, lined with wrinkles, and pale, King Llyr wore his advanced age clearly. One thin hand was held lovingly in Queen Amal’s, fingers clinging.
“Should you not be sleeping, my son?” King’s Llyr’s voice was raspy, though Jaime was uncertain if it was from ill health or old age. Perhaps both. The king’s eyes were bright, though clouding over due to his advanced years.
“I’ll sleep when you sleep, Father.” Maxim replied, sounding cheerful, but his grip tightened on Jaime’s hand, and he could feel fine tremors running through the prince.
“The older I get, the less sleep I need, or want.” Affection laced his words, and Maxim gave his father a watery smile.
“Is this our wayward foundling?” King Llyr beckoned with his free hand, fingers curling slightly. Jaime gulped and approached the bed, stopping a pace back from the queen’s chair.
Jaime sketched out a short bow, at a loss as to how to address the king. He went for simple. “Yes, Your Majesty. My name is James Buchanan. Most call me Jaime, though.”
King Llyr gave him a sharp stare while Jaime fidgeted, humming quietly before he spoke. “Your accent is Eistrean, from the southern shore if I am not mistaken.”
“Yes, Majesty. Marlec Pointe. I went to school in Corinthia at the Academy, though.”
“I can hear the relief in your voice, young man. In my far away youth, I’ve been to many places, but none were quite as backwards or strange as Eistrea. How does our fair frozen land compare to the endless golden fields of Eistrea?”
Jaime snapped his mouth shut, thinking, but he answered quickly. The king looked to be exhausted. “Pyrderi is new and different, though much like the Hellebore Empire and Corinthia in the manner of her people and customs. I am grateful for the kindness given to me every day since the rescue at the docks.”
“Slavers,” the king sneered. “Foul beasts! Worse than beasts. A pity Eistrea has always been our closest neighbor—their willingness to profit from the slave trade has made it almost impossible to stamp out the horrible practice. We would have resolved the abomination of slavery centuries ago if we shared the Straits of Dylan with the Empire. And don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question, young man. A diplomat’s instinct, to avoid insulting those not present while flattering the person in front of you. A sharp mind, and I suspect kind as well. Master Eames tells me you’re one of the gifted, as well.”
It wasn’t a question, but Jaime answered regardless. “Yes, Majesty. I have the healing gift.”
King Llyr shifted on his pillows, gaze gimlet, a fierce and powerful personality only hampered by a failing body. “Come then, healer, use your gift and tell me what you see.”
“Me? I…” Jaime was shocked, and he looked around helplessly. He was still a trainee, despite his gift. And there was Master Eames by the window, making notes in his book. Master Eames spared him a short glance, and a tip of his chin towards the king settled it. “Yes, Majesty.”
Jaime reluctantly let go of Maxim’s hand. His prince gave him a hesitant smile and nodded. Jaime approached the bed and gingerly sat in the empty chair beside the queen. She let go of her husband’s hand with a soft pat to his knuckles. The king lifted his hand to Jaime, fingers shaking, and Jaime took the king’s hand, instinctively supporting the fragile bones and flesh. The king took his hand in a fierce grip and met Jaime’s nervous gaze with his own.
For all the king’s sharp wit and unconcerned demeanor, he was still a man on his deathbed, and it was there that even the bravest of men felt fear.
Letting go of his control was always easier than reestablishing it. Like a horse given its head, his gift slipped free and moved from his hand up the king’s wrist, his arm, and even further. His awareness swept along King Llyr’s body, and sank within.
Long years had left their mark; aching and inflam
ed joints, old broken bones, scarred tendons from tears and sprains, along with old lacerations that ached in the cold and wet, and eyes that didn’t see as clearly as they once had in years past. Despite the king’s extensive injuries from his youth, he was in fair health for a man his age…but it was his age that was slowly killing him. Humans, barring magic seen only in fantastical tales, had a limit on their lifespan, and the king was solidly ensconced at the end of his.
Jaime sighed, heart heavy, and withdrew just enough to open his own eyes and look up at the king. “Your organs are failing, Your Majesty.”
Eyes cloudy with age but still holding a sharp intelligence met his own, and Jaime quailed inside, but held firm.
“That is what Eames said, and the younger one with the odd name,” King Llyr grumbled, but with some humor. Jaime relaxed a fraction, hoping the bad news the healers bore would not be punished. It was doubtful, since logic told him that any man who could raise a man like Maxim surely could not be the type of monarch to punish so unfairly. “What else do you see, young Buchanan?”
“Injuries long healed, from battle and trauma. Sword wounds, and quite a few.” Jaime answered quickly enough, thinking that those present would already know of these, and he wasn’t revealing anything too private. “And joints that ache in the winter.”
The king harrumphed, trying to settle into his pillows. Jaime sat forward a bit and pushed a pillow into a better position. The king gave him a sharp glance, and Jaime realized he’d done so without thinking about anything except helping a patient. A blush burned on his cheeks, but he didn’t drop his gaze.
“You’ve a soft heart, don’t you lad?” The king asked, though the way he did told Jaime it was rhetorical. He gave the king a small smile and realized he was still holding the man’s hand. It was cold, and Jaime put his other hand atop it, trying to warm the thin fingers. “Give us a moment.”
Jaime jolted and lifted his head to see everyone preparing to leave. The king gripped his hand, holding him in place, and Jaime settled down. “Maxim, my son, I’ll not harm your dear love. Out.”
“Yes, Father.” Maxim held the door for his mother, the queen leaving quietly, and Master Eames and Greaves slipped out as well. Jaime soon found himself alone with the king, and he turned back to the monarch, curious and slightly terrified.
“I’ll not eat you,” King Llyr said with a small half-smile. “But I wanted to talk to you without all those worried glances.”
“Majesty?”
“Do you care for my son?” The king’s question caught him off guard, and Jaime’s eyes went wide. He nodded wordlessly before his tongue unlocked and he found his voice.
“Yes, Majesty. Maxim is a wonderful man.”
“Took you to the library?” The king asked as if he knew, which was very likely. Jaime nodded, blush intensifying. “And the field beyond the castle?”
Jaime nodded again. The king smiled, wider now, a glint of something like pride and amusement in the rheumy depths. Jaime relaxed a bit more. The king kept surprising him, though. “How did you meet my son?”
Jaime blinked, then tried to sort his thoughts. “I was working in the kitchens, and the kitchen was short-staffed when Prince Maxim called for breakfast. Cook asked me to take it to the prince.”
“Maxim said you all but ran from him?” The king’s tone was amused, and Jaime nodded.
“He was very handsome, and kind. He saw my…I wasn’t used to kindness, so I ran.”
“He saw your scars?” King Llyr looked pointedly down at Jaime’s wrists. Jaime lifted a hand and moved back his sleeve, revealing the scars from his captivity. They were thick and layered, and ran from the lower inch of his hand to the middle of his forearm. Sometimes they ached, but it was the sight of them that hurt the most. He was not surprised the king knew about them. Maxim had seen them, along with Cook, Greaves, and Master Eames. Someone told the king, but Jaime didn’t mind. He covered them mostly for himself.
“You spent weeks in the kitchen, youngling. A healer trained and with the gift. Why did you not say anything?”
Jaime let his sleeve fall back over the scars, hiding them from view. “I was afraid. I didn’t know where I was, and how the people here felt about magic. It wasn’t until very recently I even knew the name of the country we’re in or what your name was,” Jaime said, flushing hard. “Sometimes I’m still afraid. Afraid that this will get taken away, or I’ll be accused of something horrible, and back in chains I’ll go. I was afraid; so I never reached out.”
The king said nothing for the longest time, his face thoughtful. He nodded then, a short dip of his chin. “Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. It keeps us alive more often than not. Gives us caution, spares us pain. It can also hold us back. Wisdom comes from knowing the difference between listening to our fear, and when to be brave. And sometimes fear settles in us so deeply, the wounds so raw and horrible, that it never truly leaves. Did you know I cannot swim?”
“What?” Jaime asked, confused. The king couldn’t swim? He lived on the sea.
“There I was, a man grown and married to a buccaneer, and I couldn’t swim,” King Llyr smiled again, a raspy chuckle filling the room. “Afraid of deep water. Nightmares about it. My first wife teased me mercilessly, but she never pushed me when I was truly afraid. She in turn was afraid of dogs. My point, young man, is fear is senseless, cruel, and, sometimes, necessary.”
His fear lived like a feral creature in the shadows of his mind, hissing and jumpy. It left him paralyzed by loud, angry people, and he flinched when people moved too fast. He could recognize in himself the signs of past abuse, but doing anything about it was beyond him. He could heal the body, but the mind was something else. He was quiet, the king as well, but he could sense the king’s rising physical discomfort.
His joints ached from the cold, despite the warmth of the room from the tall fireplace on the other side of the bed. Jaime sent his awareness back out, and eased some of the inflammation in his hips and knees. The pain would always remain, but for a short while, the king could rest in comfort.
“Maxim will need you after I’m gone.” Jaime looked up at the softly spoken words. “He’s strong, and steady, and the most stable of my children. The mythos that the youngest is the most spoiled comes apart when confronted with Maxim’s selfless heart. But he also feels the deepest. He has never known grief like the loss of a parent, and I worry for him the most. Janis lost his mother when he was but a lad, and the twins lost their maternal grandparents before Maxim was born. Maxim does not know grief, not like he is about to experience.”
“I…I’m just me,” Jaime stammered. “He has his sister and brothers. What can I give him?”
“Is that fear talking?” King Llyr replied, shocking Jaime. “You just soothed my aches with naught but a thought, child. Just as selfless as my Maxim, but you’re warier, scarred by life. His love can give you a safe harbor to live again, and you can be someone he can love, wholeheartedly. When my son gives his heart, he gives without restraint. Maxim will have his siblings, that is true, but they will react differently, and they have responsibilities that won’t lend themselves to mourning for a good long while. Maxim will need the support of someone he loves. Will you do that for me?”
Jaime found himself nodding, tears escaping to run in scalding lines down his cheeks. His own heart ached for the royal family; far more than it had before he met the king. In this moment, King Llyr was just a father, worried for his children at his passing.
“Good. Thank you, Jaime. I need to rest now,” King Llyr said, and Jaime dashed the tears from his face and stood, helping the king lie down, pillows under his head. “Come see me again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jaime murmured and walked quietly for the door. He opened it and left as soundlessly as he could.
The room was empty but for the queen, Maxim, and Greaves. Maxim shot up from the low chaise he sat upon next to his mother and went to meet Jaime at the door. Jaime let Maxim tug him into a tight embrace, and tea
rs leaked past his lashes to stain his prince’s shirt.
“He won’t last the week,” Master Eames confirmed, echoing Jaime’s own conclusions. “We can heal many things, but we cannot reverse old age. He’s had a full life, and Prince Janis is as wise as his father is at half his age. The kingdom has been expecting this for some time, so the transfer of power should be seamless.”
They were walking back to the healers’ wing, Jaime between Greaves and Master Eames. Master Eames had been waiting for them in the hallway, talking to the king’s personal valet and servants, discussing ways to make the king comfortable. Maxim had remained behind with his mother after thanking Jaime for coming. He promised to see Jaime for supper before they left the king’s chambers.
The mood in the palace was subdued, and Jaime imagined he could tell who was aware of the king’s condition by the expressions of the people they passed. As usual, the servants seemed to know before anyone else. Steps were quicker, shoulders tense, eyes downcast, red-rimmed, and watery.
“Will they tell the people?” Jaime asked, keeping his voice low as he could in the echoing halls.
“I’m sure most of the servants know already, and soon the nobles. Our passage through the palace has been noted, along with the absence of the king’s children. But nothing official will be said until after he passes. Less turmoil that way.” Greaves’ voice was heavy, but the words were concise. Jaime nodded his understanding and wrapped his arms around his torso, wishing he could go back and see Maxim.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Thankfully they had no emergencies, as Jaime’s ability to focus was shot. He kept one eye on the main door and hoped he would see Maxim.
Night fell and Jaime was nervous, twisting his hands together so much Greaves threatened to tie him up if he kept at it. Maxim hadn’t sent a message yet, and he hadn’t appeared himself. Jaime didn’t want to think he was so selfish as to want Maxim’s company when the king was so ill, but he wanted to be there for Maxim. Make sure he wasn’t alone.