Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris)

by A. C. Smyth

  The banging on the bedroom door came in the middle of the night, and at that time it was bound to be bad news. Sylas was first to wake.

  “Just a minute!” he called, extracting his arm from where it had wedged between his body and Casian’s and shaking it back to life. He grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around his waist. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, considering lighting a fire bowl and thinking better of it, he went to the door and unlocked it.

  A pair of guards stood there, the one at the back with a lantern, both with unsheathed steel in their hands. The three-quarter swords the king’s guard used in the castle, not the broadswords worn outside and on ceremonial duties, but no less lethal.

  “We are to take you to the king, changer,” the man at the front said. “You too, Lord Casian.” His voice was deferential towards Casian, but the tone he used with Sylas implied trouble.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Casian, finger-combing his hair and rubbing a cloth damp from the pitcher of water at his bedside over his face.

  “Something wrong with Prince Jaevan,” said the guardsman. “King said to bring you right away. Don’t know any more than that, sir.” He looked past them to the crumpled bed behind and Sylas had a feeling he knew exactly how things stood. Doubtless they thought he was Casian’s whore. The difference in social status between them would make the alternative almost incomprehensible. But Casian loved him; he was sure.

  “Can we at least dress? Make ourselves presentable for the king?” Casian’s tone altered subtly and the guardsman shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Don’t see why not,” he said. “Your lordship and his friend will hurry though. The king will not be kept waiting.”

  They tugged on smallclothes, breeches and tunic, and Sylas too drew a wet cloth over face and neck. He would have liked time for more before seeing the king, but from the guard’s manner speed was required, especially if there was trouble with Jaevan. Sylas’s stomach felt like he had swallowed a rock. His legs were heavy walking to the door, weighed down by a leaden mass of dread, and his fingers could barely grasp the door handle for shaking. Casian squeezed his shoulder.

  “It will be fine. Probably Jaevan had a nightmare and the king is overreacting. Too much wine before bedtime.” He smiled weakly. Sylas wasn’t reassured. Casian didn’t believe that any more than he did.

  The guards fell in behind them for the short walk to Jaevan’s apartments, Sylas as acutely aware of the weapons as if the points were pricking the small of his back. His stomach rolled and he tried to swallow past a lump in his throat. Casian gave him another encouraging look. “Fine, remember,” he said.

  Sylas would have liked a touch to reassure him, a squeeze of the hand or Casian’s hand laid on his shoulder, but he would not dare with the guards there. Sylas took what comfort he could from Casian’s presence—his confidently erect posture at Sylas’s side.

  When they entered the room it was clear things were anything but fine. Jaevan thrashed on his bed, sobbing wildly, while a pair of servants tried to restrain him. Deygan took two quick strides to stand squarely before Sylas. For a moment Sylas thought the king might strike him, but his long pale forefinger stabbed towards Sylas’s face.

  “What did you give my son, damn you? You and your friends didn’t manage the job last time, so you’ve had another try, isn’t that it? You should have swung along with them and damn what the healer said. Tell me what you’ve bloody given him, or Creator save me, I’ll strangle you myself!”

  When Sylas protested that the potion was completely safe—that he had prepared it under Ayriene’s supervision—Deygan swore so loudly that Sylas was scared he would carry out his threat. Casian moved smoothly past Deygan, talking reassuringly to Jaevan, trying to comfort him, but Deygan rounded on him next.

  “Do you think I haven’t tried that? He won’t listen to me. His own father. Just wails and throws himself about. Damn me, I’m not even sure he can hear me. He’s gone mad, Creator save him.” Deygan collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands. “My boy. My dear boy. What have they done to you?”

  Sylas tried to go to Jaevan, but before he could reach him Deygan was on his feet. “Don’t touch him! Don’t go near him! Don’t you think you have done enough damage, Chesammos bastard?”

  It was on the tip of Sylas’s tongue to remind King Deygan that he had helped Ayriene save Jaevan from the esteia—that without Sylas’s intervention, Jaevan would have died days before. He bit back the words. The king was hardly rational at the moment, and reminding him of the poison incident, and Sylas’s supposed part in it, might not be wise.

  “Then why did you call me from my bed?” said Sylas, as calmly as he could manage with the weight in his stomach growing heavier by the moment. “Did you bring me here to shout in my face? I am a healer. Am I to watch him suffer, or try to help him?” He pushed past the stunned king to Jaevan’s bedside. Kneeling, he took Jaevan’s head in his hands and made the prince look into his eyes.

  “Hush, my prince. Whatever ails you, I am here now. All will be well, trust me.”

  Jaevan’s sobbing lessened somewhat, and he settled, his eyes fixed on Sylas’s face. Crooning as if to a child, Sylas shushed him, waving the servants away. They backed off, exchanging nervous glances. Sylas wrapped his arms about the boy, marvelling at how slender his body was, how frail he felt. Jaevan had eaten only lightly since Rannon’s death, but Sylas had not appreciated how thin he had become, until now.

  “Get your filthy hands off him, you—” Deygan began, but broke off, Sylas vaguely aware that Casian had moved to interrupt him. He could hear Casian’s voice speaking softly, but urgently, asking Deygan to at least let Sylas try.

  Jaevan gradually calmed in Sylas’s arms until his crying stopped, apart from occasional wracking sobs from deep inside. His body still shook, but little by little the trembling diminished until the prince regained control. Sylas reached for a cup of water and held it to Jaevan’s lips, ignoring the renewed protest from Deygan. Sylas accepted a damp cloth offered by one of the servants and wiped the tear streaks from Jaevan’s face. “There now, my prince. All will be well. It was just a nightmare.”

  No nightmare Sylas had ever heard of would produce that sort of reaction. A child, tormented by monsters and unknown fears alone in the dark would have been comforted by his own father. Jaevan had been hysterical. Beyond hysterical. He had been scared out of his wits. Sylas needed all his concentration to stay calm, or he would have caught Jaevan’s mood and whimpered like a child.

  Jaevan shook his head, his face still terrified, his skin paler than pale.

  “No,” he whispered.

  “What was it then, if it wasn’t a nightmare? Was it that Destroyer’s brew the Chesammos gave you?” Deygan loomed over the other side of the bed.

  The prince cringed away from his father, pressing himself back into his pillows. “No,” he repeated.

  And however much they encouraged him to tell them what had brought on such an extreme reaction, that was all they got out of him. His lips pressed tightly together, he refused to utter another word. Only when Deygan tried to send Sylas away did he respond with tears, threatening to repeat the hysterical sobbing when his father ordered the guards to take Sylas from the room.

  Finally, reluctantly, Deygan allowed Sylas to spend what was left of the night in the chair beside Jaevan’s bed, dozing sometimes and waking often to check on the prince, who cried out several times in his sleep, seeming to see again whatever had caused him so much distress. Casian and a guard remained too, and before dawn a second guard came to the room. The two soldiers escorted the dazed Sylas away—to where, he did not know.

  Chapter 27

  Jaevan stirred as the castle returned to life. In the courtyard two storeys beneath his window, servants fetched and carried, stable boys mucked out horses, and weary guards were replaced by fresh
, leather-tunic-clad and helmeted colleagues. Jaevan’s green eyes opened, then glanced towards the chair where Sylas had been when he fell asleep. They widened at the sight of Casian alone there, and he lifted his head from the pillow to scan the room. When he looked back to Casian, his eyes asked the question.

  “The guards took him an hour or so back.”

  Alarm crossed Jaevan’s face and he sat up. “Why?”

  “Don’t worry. Your father won’t harm him—not yet. He sent orders that if you were peaceful, Sylas was to be taken away. I don’t think he wants Sylas around you any more than he can help.”

  “I see.” Jaevan’s voice was hoarse, and he was more subdued than Casian had ever seen him. The boy was exhausted.

  “Do you remember anything about last night?”

  Jaevan swept shoulder-length silver hair back from his face. His eyes were still reddened and bloodshot, and his face was puffy. His gaze sank to the coverlet. “Yes.”

  “Your father thinks Sylas did something to harm you. He is still suspicious of him after the assassination attempt. Sylas is not in a cell, but he is under armed guard in a room somewhere. One with no windows, I’ll be bound. Your father wouldn’t risk him transforming and escaping.”

  Jaevan licked his lips, held out his hand towards his water jug. Casian poured some and passed him the cup.

  “What… will he do with him?”

  Casian was concerned about that himself. Sylas occupied most of his waking thoughts. Was this what love felt like? Casian had thought himself incapable of it.

  “I don’t know. I think he will hold him until Ayriene returns. If there was something wrong with the brew, it was Ayriene taught him how to make it. There is always the chance that it was she who planned against you and Sylas was just a dupe.”

  Ayriene had plenty of opportunity many times to do Jaevan harm and not taken it. Even from where Casian stood, Sylas seemed the more likely to have tried to hurt Jaevan. Not that he believed he would, not for an instant. Casian could see his concern for the young prince was entirely genuine—genuine enough to arouse jealousy in Casian’s mind. If Sylas was attracted to one Irenthi, might he not be to another? Jaevan was too young yet for him to act on any attraction, but Casian would watch how the relationship developed.

  Casian leaned closer. He was in a perfect position now for Deygan to choose him as a mentor figure for his son. The heir of Lucranne would be an ideal person to introduce the prince into society, teach him how a young man of his position would be expected to conduct himself. If Casian had been a master, he might have been put in charge of Jaevan’s training. Jesely had thwarted that possibility, but Casian could still take advantage.

  “If I am to help Sylas, I need to know exactly what happened last night.” Jaevan turned away from him, but not before Casian saw the pained expression on his face. This had been no nightmare. The aiea swirled about Jaevan like a mist. Talent knows talent. Could the boy be a seer? Jaevan had the air of one who had been shown something by the kye that he had not wanted to see. Ayriene must have spotted Jaevan’s talent too, and that would make the council all the more keen to get Jaevan into their clutches. Casian must act quickly.

  Casian laid a reassuring hand close to Jaevan on the bed, careful not to touch him—that would be presumptuous, although Sylas seemed to get away with much more. He worked hard to make his voice earnest.

  “The kye showed you something, Jaevan. I can tell. I know of these things. I have a little of the seeing talent, although I can tell that yours is much greater than mine. Maybe sharing it would help?”

  The boy turned back, his face so gaunt and miserable that Casian felt for him. “You see things? Like I did?”

  His shot in the dark had hit its target, then. “Sometimes. What did you see?”

  Jaevan’s lip trembled, his eyes glittering with tears. Angrily, he raised a hand to dash the tears away. The boy was still young enough to cry, but old enough to be ashamed.

  “I saw people dying. They were screaming. Trying to escape. Turning into birds to fly away and being shot out of the air by archers. They turned back into men and women when they died. One of them had an arrow through her throat.” Cellondora? But that had been days ago. Was that even a talent? What point would there be to a talent that showed things that had happened already?

  “Was it a Chesammos village?”

  Jaevan gulped, gripping the edge of his blankets as if he could hide beneath them from the things he saw. “No. It was the Aerie. The walls were falling in. Ballistas were throwing balls of fire, and the buildings were ablaze. It was a battle, Casian. It was war.”

  The Aerie? Casian’s stomach knotted. “Who? When?”

  Jaevan nodded, his face showing his distress. “I don’t know when. Soon, I think. I saw my father there and he looked the same as he does now. But he looked frightening, like he was mad. And…”

  “Yes?”

  The boy looked down, staring fixedly at his shaking hands. “I—I can’t.”

  “Tell me. I need to know everything so I can help Sylas. You do want to help Sylas, don’t you?”

  Jaevan nodded, biting his lower lip as tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Tell me, my prince.” He had heard Sylas use that term for Jaevan—an endearment the way Sylas said it. He hoped it would make Jaevan trust him.

  Jaevan looked up, green eyes despairing and fair eyelashes wet.

  “You were there, Casian. You helped my father lead his soldiers against the Aerie. Promise me you won’t. You mustn’t. I want to be a changer and make the Aerie strong again when I am king. If it is destroyed, I won’t be able to learn. I won’t be able to help the Chesammos. Promise me you won’t do it.”

  Casian smiled. “I am a changer myself, my prince. Why would I lead an army against them?”

  His mind raced. He would lead the army? Beside King Deygan himself? For that privilege, he would sacrifice every changer on the island if he had to. He reached to the Outlands, drew to himself the kye that held his compulsion talent. Then he leaned close to Jaevan, so that he could speak in little more than a whisper.

  “You must tell no one else of this, do you understand? You must say nothing to anyone. No letters. No journal entries. No telling anyone anything of what you know.” He felt his compulsion meet its target and he released the kye, satisfied that he had done what he intended.

  The prince lay back on his pillows, sighing wearily. Casian left instructions with the guard at the door that the prince had not yet woken after his upset of the night before and was not to be disturbed. Casian allowed himself a satisfied smile as he headed for the royal apartments. Only a few days in Banunis and an opportunity had already presented itself. If this continued, his brother could have Lucranne and welcome to it. Casian had a bigger prize in his sights.

  Casian requested a meeting with King Deygan as soon as he left Jaevan. He meant what he had said to Jaevan about helping Sylas—he loved the man, after all—but this opportunity to advance himself in the king’s eyes was too good to miss. And if it led to the downfall of the Aerie, then so be it. They had overlooked him—passed him over for Elyta, who was only two years older. Clearly she would be elected to the council because she had manipulated Cowin into a marriage. He wished her well of him. Casian had a Chesammos changer of his own.

  The sooner he established himself in Deygan’s court, the sooner he could have Sylas freed. He had meant what he had said to Sylas. House Lucranne had a healer, and a good one, but Casian could always find a place for a good body servant. Now he was at court he would need an attendant. No need for Sylas to go to his mother’s after all. His pulse raced at the thought.

  Permitted entry to Deygan’s anteroom, Casian bowed deeply. He could be a courtier, when required. Plenty of courtiers achieved high position, with power and wealth at their fingertips. If Garvan
was determined to displace him in favour of Yoran, Casian would show them both that he could rise higher. If he played his cards right he could become wealthier and more influential than Garvan.

  “Casian,” Deygan acknowledged his bow with a wave of his hand. “If you have come to ask mercy for your changer friend then you may as well hold your tongue. The man is as clear a traitor as I have seen in many a year.”

  Casian’s heart sank. If Sylas were to stand accused of treachery then his job might be harder than anticipated. Although, Jaevan would plead Sylas’s case—and Jaevan generally won his father round in the end. And inasmuch as Casian didn’t intend for Sylas to be hurt, Miralee had seen Sylas with Casian as king. So whatever Deygan threatened, Sylas would live. Maybe he would be imprisoned until Casian could overthrow the Banunis line, but if he had been in Miralee’s seeing, then at least Casian knew he would not die.

  “Sire, I come to offer my service to House Banunis.” Another accomplished bow. His father would be proud of him. All that education, finally making itself useful.

  Deygan’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t come to plead for your friend?”

  “Sylas must be dealt with as you see fit, Sire. But I am confident you will decide that he meant Prince Jaevan no harm. He saved him from the assassins’ poison, after all; why should he wish him harm now?”