“I don’t like it. Any better than you,” Charlon said, “but what can we do?”
“He needs discipline,” Kal said. “He needs to learn right from wrong.”
“But he doesn’t listen,” Charlon said.
“Punish him. Put a compulsion on him to keep him from leaving his tent. After a few days you can remove it and give him another chance. If he disobeys again, put the compulsion back on him. He must learn about consequences.”
“A prince is above punishment,” Charlon said. “I will give him servants. Servants of his own. Any other prince would have them.”
“That will only fuel the fire,” Kal said.
“You have tried and failed, Sir Kalenek,” Charlon said. “Now it’s my turn.”
So Charlon gave Shanek two male servants to attend him, and Zweena, the youngest of her five maidens, to teach him the ways of romance. It sickened Kal, but it was not all that different from when Wilek had been given Lady Lebetta on his fifteenth ageday. The difference was that Wilek had been raised with some concept of morality and self-control and Shanek had neither.
That did not keep Kal from trying to teach him. Though such things had never been Kal’s strength, he gave daily lessons in etiquette, speech, manners, and even dance. Zweena’s patience surpassed his own, and he admired the girl for it, though as the days passed, Kal could sense her frustration deepen.
One midday in Shanek’s tent, Kal had seated Shanek and Zweena across from each other at a table and chairs he had built. He had also carved trenchers and bowls from trees and was attempting to teach Shanek table manners.
“Why we can’t sit on the mat?” Shanek asked.
“Because that is not how it is done in Armania.”
“I’m gone be king; I change it.”
“But you will never be king if you cannot impress the people of Armania, and sitting on the floor and eating with your hands will not impress them.”
“Don’t glare,” Shanek said to Zweena.
“I am not glaring,” she replied.
“Smile,” Shanek said. “I want you smile.”
Zweena faked a smile.
“No! Real smile. Smile real smile right now.”
“There is nothing to smile about,” Zweena said. “I hate you. I only spend time with you because the Chieftess makes me.”
Kal took a deep breath. “Zweena, that was uncalled for.”
“Why?” Shanek asked. “Why everyone hate Shanek?”
“Because you’re strange and scary and I don’t like the way you look at me,” Zweena said. “You aren’t normal.”
“Am too!” Shanek yelled.
“Normal people care about other people’s feelings. You only care about yourself.”
“Stop talking!”
“Don’t yell at me, you disgusting lecher!”
Shanek stood up, breathing hard and fast through his nose like a bull about to charge. He reached across the table. Kal darted forward but stopped when Shanek’s hands started to glow with green light. The boy’s eyes widened and he stared at his hands—they all stared.
As suddenly as the light had come, it vanished.
“What was that?” Kal asked, wary.
Shanek choked back a sob, his eyes fixed on Zweena. “I didn’t mean it.”
Kal turned his head, and what he saw stole his breath.
Zweena still sat in her chair, clearly dead, face ashen, glassy eyes open and staring at nothing. How she’d died, Kal couldn’t guess. He saw no marks on her.
Dread coiled in Kal’s gut. “Has that happened before, Shan?”
The boy was visibly shaking. “Not a girl. A gowzal bit me, and I kill it.”
“How did you do it?” Kal asked. “What went through your mind?”
Tears pooled in Shanek’s eyes. He seemed shocked and hurt. Zweena had hurt his feelings and died because of it. “She made Shanek mad.” He panted, losing control of his emotions. When he spoke again, his voice came out whiny and slurred. “Grabbed her thoughts. Gone make her say nice words. Felt . . . strong. Hands burned. Then light went out.”
Leery, Kal studied the boy. What was he?
When Kal got angry, he was a danger because his mind flashed back to the war and he sometimes hurt people without meaning to. While that was clearly terrible, this was far worse.
“Said Shanek not normal. Disgusting. Only care for Shanek.” His voice trailed off.
“Do you?”
A tear dripped down his cheek as he looked up from Zweena and met Kal’s eyes. “What you think?”
“Maybe sometimes,” Kal said, hoping to speak the truth and still keep the boy calm.
Shanek’s eyebrows sank low, and he looked so much like Janek at that moment that Kal shuddered. “How Shanek learn?”
So help him, Kal loved the boy. What Mreegan had done in making him grow so fast wasn’t fair. Nor was Charlon’s decree that everyone treat him like a king. Shanek wasn’t evil. He was a babe in a man’s body with far too much freedom and zero consequences apart from Kal’s censure. “We can talk about that later, Shan. I will teach you what you want to know, but you’ll have to listen to me. You’ll have to try to change, do you hear me?”
Shanek sniffled, nodded, and ran the back of his hand over his nose.
“Good,” Kal said. “We must teach you to handle your anger.” He nearly laughed. People had been trying to teach Kal to handle his anger for years. He recalled some of the things Jhorn had suggested and supposed it couldn’t hurt to try.
He would have to warn Wilek the next time he checked in, though he worried his king would demand Kal kill the boy. Shanek hadn’t meant to hurt Zweena. Perhaps once he understood his power better, he would be able to control it. If Kal could work on Shanek’s conscience, he might someday refuse Charlon’s demand that he attempt to usurp the Armanian throne.
It was worth a try, wasn’t it? Kal had put in too much time and hard work to give up on the boy now.
Trevn
In the dead of night, Ulagan—who turned out to be the headman’s orange-haired translator—led Trevn, Saria, and fifty-two of their people from the slave tunnels along a wide corridor in the lowest level of the fortress. There were still over two hundred Sarikarians left behind, but Grayson said they shouldn’t take more than two boats at once, and so they’d brought as many as they could fit.
They entered a steaming chamber that housed an underground reamway hot spring. Where the stone floor ended and the river passed by, two animal-skin longboats were tied to the landing with twine ropes. Above the water, on the topside of the reamway, dripstones hung thick, sprinkling drops every now and then.
Mosquitoes swarmed. Trevn must have slapped several dozen away as he waited for the people to climb into the boats. Ulagan gave instructions about the bowl lamps, reekats, and using the paddles to keep the crafts from crashing into the stone walls. There would be no place to stop, so they’d have to take shifts.
“Tell me when you reach the ocean,” Grayson said, “and I’ll come meet you.”
“How long will it take?” Trevn asked.
“Two and a half days,” Grayson said. “Since it’s night, you’ll probably get there around dawn three days from now. I’ll meet you there and help you find your ship.”
Trevn bid farewell to Ulagan and Grayson, and climbed into the first boat. Ulagan untied the rope, and the current sucked the craft down the reamway, blowing a soft, humid breeze back in Trevn’s face. The low bowl light cast a faint gleam over the rock walls, which were slimy, brown, and had formed dripstone-like textures down the surface. Overall it was very dark. Waterdrops fell from the dripstones like a light sprinkling of rain. The river was mostly straight, and the paddles were rarely needed.
Trevn sat in the bow a long while, but he finally realized that there was nothing to see and settled down to voice Captain Bussie, Mielle, Wilek, and Hinck in that order.
Trevn told Captain Bussie he was on the way and to remain anchored in the inlet until he arrived.
Mielle was thrilled to hear Trevn had escaped without trouble. “I hope it won’t be long now before we see each other.”
Trevn’s escape pleased Wilek too. “One burden lifted,” he said. “Now if only I could get Sarikar to join me against Rogedoth, defeat him, and my wife and son’s health would improve.”
“They are still unwell?” Trevn asked.
“Their eyes no longer water, and Chadek has gained a little weight. Kal thinks they might have been poisoned. Rayim suggested I ask King Loran for help, and he is sending his personal physician, who should arrive soon.”
“Surely he will know what to do,” Trevn said, sensing the worry in his brother.
Hinck had been spying more carefully ever since Rogedoth had tried to kill him. Arman’s healing had cleared his name, as far as he could tell. Even Rosârah Laviel had been kind of late. Rogedoth had focused on New Sarikar and continued to direct Fonu and his squadron of compelled giants to wreak havoc on the outer settlements. He also wanted to capture Grayson. He had sacrificed his daughter Darlis to create the root child and felt the boy belonged to him. Trevn promised Hinck he would do everything he could to keep Grayson far from Rogedoth’s grasp.
Trevn grew restless trapped in the longboat, but as predicted, on the third day the reamway emptied into the inlet. The morning was bright and sunny. A cool breeze gave welcome relief after days of stifling, humid air. As the movement of the boat slowed against the gentle rocking waves, the motion filled Trevn with a longing remembrance of the months he had spent at sea.
“Grayson,” Trevn voiced. “We’ve reached the inlet.”
The boy appeared suddenly in their boat, landing atop Maleen, who howled in surprise.
Grayson laughed it off. “Sorry about that. Knowing where I’ll pop out is always tricky.”
The boy directed the soldiers to paddle the boats to a nearby cave, where they tied them up with several others.
Grayson led the way on foot along a reddish-brown, clay-like dirt road that wound north along the coast. A narrow expanse of giant trees separated them from the beach, the ground underneath covered with spongy green moss and stiff ferns big enough to sit under.
Trevn walked in the middle of the procession near Princess Saria, who looked a little more like herself in the light of day. He voiced updates on their location to Wilek, Bussie, and Mielle, who felt closer than ever before.
“I feel it too,” Mielle said. “It won’t be long until we are together again.”
The force of their combined joy caused Trevn to stumble into Princess Saria.
“Sorry.” He loosened his hold on the connection to Mielle, fighting for a semblance of calm so that he could keep his balance.
“You’re talking to someone, aren’t you?” Saria asked. “I can hear it, muffled like a conversation someone is having behind a very thick door.”
Surprised, Trevn asked, “Can you tell what was said?”
“Not at all. It’s low, whispered nonsense. Who are you speaking to?”
“My wife,” Trevn said.
Saria frowned, suddenly looking fragile. “Miss Mielle is truly alive, then?”
“Oh yes,” Trevn said. “Captain Stockton and I estimate that she is but forty leagues—”
The soldier in front of Trevn and Saria grunted and fell. Up ahead two more went down. Men shouted as they whipped around or dove into the ferns, weaponless.
Trevn felt Mielle’s fear spike as she reacted to the excitement within him. “Trevn, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“We are under attack. Pray.”
Cadoc pulled Trevn under some leathery ferns. Saria’s guards had done the same, and she was crouched but an arm’s length from him. The foliage hid them from sight, but it also obstructed their view of their attackers.
From what Trevn could see, the road was deserted now but for the body of the soldier who had been walking before them.
Grayson appeared under the bush, and Trevn barely managed to block Cadoc’s arm as he instinctively moved to strike the newcomer.
If Grayson had noticed Cadoc, he didn’t let on. “Giants attacking,” he said. “There are eight. You’ve got four men down.”
“We have no weapons,” Cadoc said. “What can we do?”
Trevn despaired at the idea of being taken back to the beetle caves. On his left he could see the open water, a pale backdrop against a couple dozen tree trunks. “To the ocean?” he suggested.
“It’ll put us out in the open,” Cadoc said.
“Wee nopla way. Suu!”
Trevn peeked over the fern. A giant stood above them, hand raised and clutching a rock the size of a melon. As the giant glared down, an arrow pierced his cheek. He howled, dropped his rock, and doubled over.
“Go!” Cadoc yelled.
Trevn ran. Grayson quickly took the lead, disappearing and reappearing at intervals only a few steps ahead of each previous location. Cadoc clenched Trevn’s arm and propelled him after the boy. The spongy moss underfoot made running awkward. Around them arrows and rocks flew as the giants and their mysterious attackers engaged in battle. A rock grazed Cadoc’s shoulder, struck Trevn’s wrist, and tumbled into the moss. Trevn lurched, but only slowed a moment before Cadoc yanked him onward.
The forest ended on a ledge, dropping sharply to where the sand of the beach began. With no time to stop, Cadoc yelled, “Jump!”
Trevn leapt down the incline. His feet sank into deep sand that shifted under his weight. Beside him Cadoc slipped and dragged Trevn down with him.
Trevn hit the ground on his side and rolled, ripping out of Cadoc’s hold. When he stopped, he looked back up the hill. Saria and her men were running toward them. A few paces to the right, Maleen and Ottee were crawling down the slope. Ten total, Cadoc and himself included. They were missing four-fifths of their party. And where had Grayson gone? On the plus side he saw no giants, even though he could still hear the occasional scream within the forest.
“Your Highness,” Cadoc said, nodding out to sea.
Trevn pushed himself up and followed Cadoc’s gaze. A ship was anchored in the small cove. Hope soared at the idea of boarding the Seffynaw, but this ship was much smaller, a two-masted, lateen-rigged cog. Trevn quickly sought out the name on the side.
Taradok.
He knew that name but couldn’t place it.
Grayson appeared between Trevn and Cadoc. “Zahara rescued us,” he said.
“Will you stop doing that?” Cadoc asked.
Grayson frowned. “Should I, Your Highness?”
“It’s all right, Grayson. It will just take some getting used to. Now, who is Zahara?”
“She wants to talk to you. See? She’s coming now.” Grayson pointed up to where some bedraggled pirates were easing their way down the incline. Behind them groups of Trevn’s and Saria’s men emerged from the forest.
Trevn suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name Taradok. “She’s Randmuir Khal’s daughter. Grayson, you should hide yourself.”
“She’s on our side,” Grayson said.
“Pirates are only ever on their own side,” Cadoc said.
The woman arrived then, dressed in a black tunic and breeches like the rest of the pirates. She was short and stocky; the sleeves of her tunic clung to muscled arms. She smirked as she appraised Cadoc. “Who’s the smart one, Grayson? He knows a lot about pirates.”
“That’s Cadoc. He’s Sâr Trevn’s shield.”
Zahara turned her dark gaze on Trevn. “And you’re the highborn royal.”
Trevn’s cheeks burned, and he did his best to return her smoldering stare. “You wish to talk to me?”
“Not me,” she said. “My father does.”
Cadoc stepped between Trevn and Zahara. “That’s not going to happen.”
“My but you’re a loyal man.” Zahara winked at Cadoc. “Your concern is unnecessary. My father needs your royal’s help. None of us mean him any harm.”
“Why would I help the man who wants to kill my b
rother?” Trevn asked.
“Because if you help him, he’ll declare a truce with all you royals.”
A simple conversation was a fair price to pay for a potential truce with the pirates. “Where is he?”
Zahara walked away and motioned him to follow. “I’ll take you to him.”
A short hike through the forest brought them to a clearing filled with the one-sided cape tents of the Omatta nomads. The tops of the canvas clung to a single pole while the wide ends were pegged into the ground, forming an army of half-circle cones. Trevn selected ten soldiers to follow him into Randmuir’s camp. He made Grayson stay behind with Princess Saria.
Cadoc and three soldiers entered the tent with Zahara to make sure it was safe before allowing Trevn inside. When Cadoc declared all was well, he and Trevn stepped inside alone, leaving the others to guard the entrance. What Trevn found inside rendered him speechless.
Randmuir Khal had been tied up like some kind of captive. Thick braided hemp circled his torso at least twenty times, pinning his arms to his sides. Not only that, his legs were bound as well, trussed from ankle to knee. Additional ropes had been lashed to those bindings and staked into the ground like guy lines.
“You found the mantic boy?” Randmuir asked Zahara, eager.
“He’s obsessed with catching Grayson,” Zahara told Trevn. “It got so bad I had to tie him up. He’s forgotten who he is. What matters to him.”
“Who is this?” Randmuir asked, eyes narrowed at Trevn.
“This is Sâr Trevn Hadar,” Zahara said.
Randmuir’s eyes lit up. “Royal spawn. Tell me how your brother broke the soul-binding between him and the mantic witch.”
Pity for the man gave Trevn pause, but he could only answer truthfully. “He got lucky. His backman at the time turned out to be a mantic. He was able to undo the spell.”
Randmuir grunted. “I doubt his mantic would be willing to help a pirate.”
“He’s no longer Wilek’s mantic. He turned traitor and is in Rogedoth’s camp now, serving as the man’s general.”
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