by J. C. Owens
Zaran
Prince Zaran entered the vast hall where breakfast would be served, Lord Naral on his heels, his presence announced by the guards.
The look of disappointment on the faces of the candidates as they leaped to their feet was almost amusing.
Did they truly believe that the imperial heir would have personally attended at this stage?
No doubt that they hoped to at least glimpse the infamous Taldan. Few beyond the borders of Anrodnes had ever met him. The emperor himself, as isolated as he might be, was more accessible than the heir, who often seemed more myth than man.
Zaran liked it that way. It meant that he could protect Taldan more easily, limit the number of people that his brother had to deal with. He was sure the Shadows, the highly trained bodyguards who watched over the emperor and the imperial prince, felt the same.
Protecting his brother was one duty that Zaran performed gladly. He had never gloried in isolation like his elder sibling. It gave him a duty and purpose that he would have lacked as the youngest son.
It also gave him power over those who would think to use his brother in some fashion. They had to go through him to even gain Taldan’s attention. Fools that they were, they usually believed that Zaran was too young, too inexperienced to see through their machinations.
His gaze hardened. They had learned that he was incorruptible when it came to his brother and the empire itself. With the aid of the Shadows, he had discovered more than one assassination plot aimed at his father and brother. Now, despite his youth, he worked closely with the security forces that were led by Naral, and he took the responsibility with deadly seriousness.
His orders for the executions of those who threatened his brother did not disturb his sleep in the slightest.
He seated himself with aplomb, Naral sliding into the chair on his right in the place of greatest honor.
The candidates seated themselves, followed by their families or companions at the next table.
The food was served swiftly and efficiently, eaten in an eerie silence within the massive room, the only sound the clink of silverware and the soft inquiries of the servants as they ensured that everyone had the food and drink they desired.
Prince Zaran let his gaze rove over the candidates, many of the men attempting to catch his eye, smiling or giving coy looks.
Did they think that he was going to give them a try? Use them sexually to determine whether they would suit his brother?
Disgust flickered through his thoughts before he pushed it aside. His calm dispassion returned, his perusal continuing.
Near the end of the table, he caught sight of the younger Lord Raine Yoldis picking at his food, face expressionless but body taut with evident tension. He did not try to even glance at Zaran. Instead, his glance would occasionally slide toward where his brother was seated, further down the hall.
When their gazes would lock, the elder brother’s look was one of clear warning, a darkness within the expression that made a shiver run down Zaran’s back. He would not trust that man in the slightest degree. Which was a bit alarming, as Lord Parsul—if his memory served—was the ruler of Odenar, vassal to the empire.
He took a sip of wine, letting his gaze return to the young Yoldis, Lord Raine. Had the apple fallen far from the tree? If the older brother was the malicious egoist that Zaran was detecting, then where did Raine’s personality lie? Earlier he had seemed lost in the book he’d been reading…but was that simply a ruse?
Zaran caught the edge of fear in the candidate’s eyes before the young man looked back to his plate, a subtle defiance in the set of his shoulders.
Interesting.
He took his time eating, long past when the candidates had finished. Nothing could be done until he was ready, and it amused him in some hidden corner of his psyche to ensure they felt his power and that they had no say in what would happen.
One of them would be the Chosen, and it was best that person understood their place now.
He could feel Naral’s amusement next to him as the companion sat back, savoring the wine with the air of a man who had all day at his disposal. He would back anything Zaran chose to do, always had. He might be older than Prince Zaran, but he was clear in his respect and affection, something that Zaran treasured more than he could ever display publicly.
At last, he sat back, and he felt the attention of the candidates sharpen, could almost feel their intense gazes upon him, waiting…
He waved a languid hand, and Naral stood, the faint amusement gone as though it had never existed.
With a blank, calm expression, Naral began to read out the names of those who would stay. Looks of relief and triumph dominated the candidates who had made the cut. The tension rose as each one was called, the chances dwindling name by name.
Zaran glanced down the table, back to the young Yoldis, Lord Raine. The man was fiddling with his silverware, eyes closed tightly, body half turned away from the lower table where his brother was seated. The posture was telling.
The way he did not react to the names being called made it evident he did not expect to be one of those chosen for the second, more important round of candidates.
“Lord Raine Yoldis.”
Zaran saw the young man freeze before his eyes went wide and he gaped in clear disbelief at Naral, who met his gaze with calm dispassion.
For a few moments, Zaran was sure the Yoldis candidate would pass out as he paled, then flushed. Then he seemed to master himself with an inner strength that Zaran could admire, his head rising, drawing a deep, calming breath, his face falling into expressionless neutrality.
It seemed that Raine had been trained along the same lines as Zaran and Taldan had.
Zaran’s speculative gaze moved to Lord Parsul, and he wondered how much of that control had been taught with a fist.
* * *
Naral
After the breakfast was over, the twenty-four remaining candidates were ushered back into the emperor’s private hall. Chairs were arranged in a circle, and Lord Naral took his place upon one of them, gesturing the milling candidates to seat themselves. There was a general rush to do so, a bit of jostling as they maneuvered to be closer to Naral as though proximity were a sign of favor.
It was all Naral could do not to roll his eyes.
He took silent note that the Yoldis candidate hung back, letting the others posture, letting the ruckus settle, before he quietly took the final seat, settling himself and meeting Naral’s eyes with a calm blankness.
Naral almost smiled but bit it back before it could surface. He was still not sure they should have kept him as a candidate, but he had been more suitable than those that he and Zaran had refused. There was a chance Raine had been genuine last night out in the hall with the book he’d been reading. It remained to be seen how this would work out, but he would keep a sharp eye on Raine personally.
“As you know, forty-eight candidates arrived,” Naral announced. “They were all considered. Now twenty-four of you remain. You will be here for one week. After that week, twelve of you will be chosen to remain. A week after, that number will be down to six. The Chosen will be picked from those six. Second Imperial Prince Zaran will be watching. He will speak to each of you at some point during this week, so we expect you to be available at any time for such a meeting. Other than that, you are free to wander the grounds, under the supervision of your individual liaisons. Those liaisons will indicate where you may go and where is forbidden. I advise you to listen well, for any action that paints you in a negative light will see your name crossed off the current list and you will be sent back home swiftly. Is that clear?”
There were nods all round, though a few looked faintly mutinous, most likely those who’d had few restraints in their life and were used to their wills being paramount.
His lips twisted.
They would learn.
One of the candidates, a prince from the Northern provinces, raised a languid hand, looking faintly annoyed. “When are we g
oing to be meeting First Imperial Prince Taldan?”
Many others nodded at the question.
“His Imperial Highness is a busy man. His time is at a premium. It is unlikely that he will have anything to do with this process until the final six are chosen.”
The prince rose to his feet, jaw clenched. “That is ridiculous. If I am to be his bondmate, how can he not at least meet me so I am not cut before he learns how suitable I am for him?”
There were mutters of outraged agreement among the others.
“This is the accepted process. If it is not to your taste, then you are welcome to leave at any time. It is completely your choice, but you will respect how this is done. This is traditional and no slight against anyone.” His cool stare made the prince finally take his seat, but the mulish set to the man’s jaw showed that he was not accepting this with anything approaching grace.
Another man began to speak. Naral recognized him as a mage from one of the northern cities—a man with a sardonic smile and a gimlet gaze. “We all have faith the best of the group will be selected to serve as the heir’s Chosen. Tradition should always be respected.”
Naral nodded slowly, somehow misliking the man’s words, even though his tone was perfectly respectful. Perhaps it was the bold tilt to his chin and the flash of confidence in the mage’s eyes. He was very different from the awkwardness of Lord Raine.
The week should be interesting. Naral rose to his feet and tucked the papers he held under his arm. “We look forward to learning about all of you. Please, listen to your liaisons and enjoy your stay here.” He turned away, hearing conversation immediately burst out behind him.
He took the stairs up to the viewing gallery and thankfully closed the door behind him.
Prince Zaran was standing at the screen, hands clasped behind him, a thoughtful expression on his face as he considered the candidates below, the sound of their conversations clearly echoing upward.
“This is wearisome.” Naral’s tone was plaintive as he flopped down into the nearest plush chair. “There are those in this group who annoy me even now. Do we have to wait a week?”
A small smile tilted Zaran’s lips at Naral’s posturing. “We are bound to tradition, my friend. No matter how we might wish otherwise, Father will demand that we follow this to the letter.”
Naral groaned, letting his head fall back against the chair. “I was supposed to have a break this month. Was going to the coast with some friends to get away from everything. Then your father announced his pending retirement, and my plans were quashed.” His pout was almost believable.
“You’ll live,” Zaran murmured heartlessly. “If I have to suffer this, then so do you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you want me to speak to Taldan?”
Naral glared at him. “I had to deal with the candidates. Damn right you’re dealing with Taldan.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to spend some time in the harem, try to forget this nonsense.”
Prince Zaran clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “I might join you later, but Taldan comes first.”
* * *
Taldan
The rap on the door brought Taldan out of his thoughts, and he laid a finger upon the page, frowning. No one got past the Shadows who guarded his door unless it was important.
“Come.”
Zaran entered the room with an even, unhurried pace that indicated that no emergency was at hand.
Taldan relaxed minutely.
His brother gave a traditional gesture of touching his heart with his fingertips in greeting, bowing his head.
“Sit,” Taldan said. “I gather this is about the Choosing.”
Even the word left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Some stranger bound to him for life, all because of tradition. Matters out of his control were never welcome.
“We narrowed it to twenty-four this morning.” His brother’s voice was light, with the faintest edge of amusement.
Taldan glanced at him sharply, but his brother met his gaze guilelessly, calm and cool.
“And? We have a week to endure until we can narrow it down again.” He frowned more deeply, glancing down at his work. “I am still editing the medical text. I have no time for…”
“Naral and I are taking care of it, brother.” The surety in the tone eased Taldan’s concerns, and he relaxed further.
“What are your impressions?” He supposed he should be involved in some fashion, even if it was distantly.
“There are those who seem somewhat promising. Several who are bound to fail simply due to ego. One who tried to use your own book as a lever.”
“Which book?”
“Stone and Brick: The History of Anrodnes’s Architecture.”
“That is somewhat advanced.” He leaned back in his chair, skepticism plain. “Did he view the pictures?”
“Naral is suspicious of this Lord Raine Yoldis of Odenar. I am not so sure. I saw him with that book, and he was completely immersed. Didn’t even notice when the others left. He was on the floor, back against the south wall where the light is best.”
Taldan blinked, then marked his place with a weight before reaching out to the pile of papers that denoted the information gathered on the candidates. He had not even bothered to glance through them, though Naral had made sure he had access to the information regardless.
He flipped through the neatly written pages and withdrew the one on the Odenar candidate.
A hand-drawn picture stared out at him, and the discomfort evident in the young man’s stance told a story of its own. This was not a man comfortable with attention.
“He does not have the look of an egoist.”
Zaran nodded. “I do not think he is, but his brother is a problem. Lord Parsul is the High Lord of Odenar, vassal to the empire. Abusive, I believe, by what I have seen in their interactions.”
“So you think the brother is forcing him into this for political reasons?” Taldan felt a frisson of annoyance before he mastered the emotion. This was why he avoided interactions with others. The petty plays and foolish posturing of others was a waste of his time. “Why did you not eliminate him from the list if Naral is against him?”
Zaran tilted his head in that familiar way of his that Taldan had never completely been able to train him out of. “There is something in his expression, something in the way he was devouring that book. He wandered the hall, examining everything, especially the mosaics on the floor, and the pillars. Touching them so gently. Even if he had been posturing, that is not something a normal person would consider. Neither of those are first and foremost in your writings.”
Taldan nodded before glancing back to his work.
Zaran took the hint with alacrity, standing and bowing. “I am off to the harems, brother. Naral will already be there. Are you considering visiting today? Hredeen asked about you.”
Taldan felt the sharp desire to see his favorite concubine, but after a moment, he shook his head. “Another day. This needs to be completed. There will be a meeting of medical experts next month, and I want this distributed before it takes place.”
Zaran nodded. “Good day, brother.”
“Good day.”
Within moments, his mind was fully immersed within his work. The outside world and its attendant distractions faded away. His studies were what made him happy. The Choosing remained a waste of his attention. He would allow himself only one emotion: he would be pleased when it was all finally over and done.
* * *
Raine
Raine was fairly sure that he had died and ended up in the place that priests spoke of, a wonder of such magnificence that the human mind could scarcely comprehend. The Persis library was simply beyond description.
He turned in place, managing to shut his gaping jaw so that he did not look as foolish as he felt.
“This is the main library within the royal city of Persis itself,” Isnay told him. “There are similar, if slightly smaller libraries in all major centers within Anrodnes, though I have he
ard that your own country of Odenar is a singular exception. The creation of such collections of knowledge being freely available to the populace was begun by the current emperor and expanded considerably by First Imperial Prince Taldan. He is a strong believer that education and access to knowledge are vital to the growth of the empire, to bring all within its borders to a level of understanding that raises us to higher beings.”
Raine felt a surge of longing so strong that he put a fist to his chest as though it were pure pain. “You said there are colleges here, places of learning that people attend.”
“There are. Is it not so in Odenar, my lord?” Isnay’s tone was quizzical.
“Military schools. Schools of economy and trade. Not cultural. Not arts and creation.” Raine tried to keep his tone neutral, but the longing he felt came through despite his best efforts.
“That is a shame. There are many who would not fit into those prescribed roles, I would imagine.” The diplomatic words made Raine grimace.
“I do not fit. Never have. I might as well be a cuckoo dropped into another bird’s nest for all I resemble those within Odenar.”
“Many come from other areas within Anrodnes to attend the colleges here. We have students from many walks of life, and there are even scholarships for those who cannot afford it. You would be welcome here, regardless of whether you are chosen or not.”
Raine bit back the enthusiasm that threatened his composure. “I would give anything to do that, but…”
“But your country wishes to use you as a bargaining tool to gain favors, my lord?” Isnay’s voice held no condemnation, only an understanding of a sort Raine had never experienced before.
He flushed painfully, could not meet his liaison’s eyes. “I am the youngest son. There are four of us, and there is no need for me. If my brother can use me to gain control—”
He cut the words off. It would not do for those of Anrodnes and the imperial court to realize that Odenar had intentions of invading Bhantan, its much smaller and peaceful neighbor. Raine was quite sure that the emperor would not approve of a military maneuver by one of the provinces against a foreign land that was undertaken without his approval. Raine was here to get that approval from the imperial heir, one way or another.