by Tia Reed
“I do not need a nursemaid while I’m examined,” he said, every bit the prince. “You will wait here for me.”
Arun, as dripping wet in the plain black shalvar kurta of the mahktashaan, made a solemn dip of his head. Vinsant couldn’t recall the last time he had seen the man without his outer robe. The mahktashaan seemed to live in the garment. “I will indeed. Do not forget I hold responsibility for you. Else, why would I be here when there are djinn to hunt?”
There had to be more to those words than, well, their plain meaning. Only, Vinsant could not figure what. Grumbling about everyone treating him like an infant, he turned to the door. Arun knocked and opened it for him, like he wasn’t capable of doing it himself. He had no choice but to step through.
Nocrates was shuffling from an inner room, a candle in one hand, the cord of a night robe in the other, his white hair looking thinner in its disarray. “What’s this? There’s enough noise to wake the dead tonight.”
Vinsant’s back burned, but no way was he going to turn and confront the statue. “I went for a swim and swallowed a bit of water. Now the mahktashaan are fretting that I might drown in my sleep.”
“Yes, well that’s obvious, isn’t it, Your Highness,” Nocrates said with a pointed look at the damp floor beneath Vinsant’s feet. “Are you short of breath?”
Vinsant shook his head, looking around the room. The servants had brought pots of fresh herbs onto one of the tables, and thin bundles of dried valerian covered another. The smell was sweet for a chamber so cluttered.
“And you no doubt wish me to prescribe a dose of porrin,” Nocrates said, putting the candle down next to a coil of fine binding and prying Vinsant’s eyelids wide.
“I only want you to tell the Minoria that I’m fine. He’s waiting outside.”
Nocrates placed an ear to Vinsant’s chest, then struck him on the back. “Breath in. The Minoria, you say? And does he have a reason for bringing you to me?” he asked in his high, creaky voice.
“I told you.” Vinsant said, and was about to repeat himself when he realised just what Nocrates meant. Holding his breath, he turned to the idol. In the shadow behind the door, Mahktos sat atop the pillar, a gold statue with crimson eyes too far to catch the glint of light from the wavering candle. “Did you mention my last visit?” asked Vinsant.
“Young man, did I not advise you physics keep their patients’ ills confidential? Tell the Minoria you are fit as a cheeky djinn, and he should let an old man get some sleep.”
Vinsant rubbed a foot against the back of a calf, wrinkling his wet shalvar. If Arun wanted him here, it was for a reason. No doubt, the best place to discover it was the place he wanted to avoid. He crabstepped to the statue and risked a sideways glance. He could have sworn the brow ridges had formed a frown.
“Does Mahktos often frown?”
“It’s a statue, boy. What are you talking about?” said Physic Nocrates, yawning.
“Does it look any different to you?”
“In this gloom?” The physic blinked as he peered. “My eyes are not what they were, you know.”
A long sidle and an expert snatch of the candle ensured Vinsant turned his back on the statue for a mere second. He should have known that would be enough for any god, because when he held the light to the statue the frown had disappeared. Scratching his head, he said, “Eh…One more thing. What do people offer when they want to appease Mahktos?”
“I take it you haven’t had that conversation with Branak?”
“He’s rather busy at the moment.”
“With you and your fellow apprentices’ questions, no doubt, given his job is to teach you these things. One day, Highness, you will be old enough to realise both what grief you cause your elders and how obvious the young are when they seek to be cunning. I suppose you are not going to tell me what this is all about?”
Vinsant turned to face him but kept his mouth firmly closed.
Nocrates said, “I see. Well then, to answer your question, Highness, Mahktos is a wild god, a pure element who is said to have walked the Spirit Winds of this land before the Vae were even born, if gods can be birthed into existence. He thrives on passions, emotions, instincts and none of the finely crafted trinkets the rich place before the Vae when they seek their intercession. When you understand Mahktos ruled supreme before humans became civilised enough to fashion these items, it’s not hard to see.”
“Okay.” Vinsant slid the candle onto a table crammed with half-scooped pots of beeswax, mud and some sort of green goo.
Nocrates lowered himself into his padded chair. “His followers offer something of themselves for his favour. I for example, as a healer, burn leaves of the eidlewort.”
“But isn’t that hard to come by?” If only he had paid better attention to the Physic’s lessons, he might have remembered what the herb that grew near the Crystal Falls was supposed to cure.
“That, young man, is precisely the point of an offering. Now if you wish to learn more, keep an old man company tomorrow, and put your hands to good use with this fiddly binding. But not too early. A man my age needs his rest.”
“Good night, Physic.” A dismissal didn’t count when exhaustion was making his eyelids droop. If he pretended to sleep walk out of here, Arun might even spare him the lecture until morning.
Arun watched Kordahla’s soaked veil drip water onto the floor. The princess had been right. His station had obliged him to inform Levi and the Shah of the mischief at the docks, but sorting personal feelings from duty in the intricate web being spun was becoming harder by the minute. He had his suspicions. Vinsant’s tumble seemed nothing like an accident, and Kordahla’s absence from the scene signified a great deal. As the mahktashaan last in her company, duty demanded he check on her. That much he could not avoid. It was what he would be obliged to do if he found her absent that sent his heart into turmoil. He had failed her miserably. She would never know that when the djinn had cast that devastating image of her for all the realm to see he had wanted, with a fierce protectiveness he had never thought to experience, to hunt it down and trap it in a magic lamp for an eternity of eternities. He would relinquish his magic to erase the humiliation from her memory, and the memory of every man who had witnessed it, for just as he had told her, the shame was his.
“I’m fine,” Vinsant said, emerging from the physic’s room. Arun hoped he had gleaned an inkling or two of his predicament from Nocrates. The physic was an ardent follower of Mahktos and would have realised in an instant the Minoria had no need of his advice.
“Good. Then we can both change into some dry clothes. See you visit the princess before you retire. You caused her quite a shock.” It was the one caution he could give without betraying them both. Vinsant nodded, and Arun went to the lair to change.
Dry, robed and hooded, he plodded the stairs to Kordahla’s chambers, buying time, though for whom he was not sure. It was better he meditate on Vinsant’s loss of the quartz. The ramifications of that were no less serious, and doing so refused to permit the other thought – the one about Kordahla and her whereabouts – purchase. If he allowed that, he would be duty bound indeed.
Lord Ahkdul was pacing outside the Princess’s rooms, a complication Arun did not need. Their guest was in a shabby state of dress, his night kurta half tucked into crumpled shalvar and unlaced at the neckline. His eyes fell to Arun’s crystal as he scratched at the hair on his chest. “These men tell the Princess is in your company.” The man spoke like he would to a servant.
“She was,” Arun admitted, “until Prince Vinsant suffered a minor accident. I have come to assure her he is well.”
“She is not in her apartment,” Ahkdul said, leaning close. The man was a bully, trying to use his height to domineer. “And my page is nowhere to be found.”
Arun looked to the mahktashaan guards, good, trusted men both. They had flooded the hall with light to dispel the aggression bred in the shadows of night.
“She has not returned, Minoria,” Mahmed of t
he cadmium crystal said.
“Your attentions at this time of night are inappropriate,” Arun said to Ahkdul. “You must return to your room.”
“Where is she?” Ahkdul demanded.
“It is none of your concern.”
Vinsant would choose that moment to stride around the corner at the end of the corridor. The prince halted as soon as he saw them, and looked from Arun to Ahkdul twice before he dawdled forward. The novelty of apprenticeship had not yet worn off; he had chosen to change into a dry pair of royal blue churidar kurta.
“Your sister is not in her rooms,” Arun said. Smart as he was, Vinsant just might understand what Arun’s duty entailed. If he was right. About the thought as to Kordahla’s whereabouts he was trying not to have. And he wanted it to be right, with an intensity which almost dropped him to his knees. Princess Kordahla deserved better than this Verdaani brute.
Vinsant shuffled so he faced Ahkdul. “I heard that Lord Ahkdul was hanging around outside her rooms. I came to tell him that Kordahla was in my chambers.”
“Was?” Ahkdul said.
Vinsant nodded. Unruly strands of his damp hair bobbed at awkward angles. “She isn’t used to male visitors at this hour. She’s really very modest, you know.”
“Where is she now? If she has my page I have a right to know.” Ahkdul persisted.
Vinsant shook his head, his confusion a touch exaggerated. “Your page wasn’t with us.”
Arun kept silent. He was not the one who had been asked about the boy.
“Where is Kordahla?” Ahkdul asked again.
“She said she was going to retire in one of the guest rooms. For her honour’s sake. I forget which one.”
It was intelligently done. The boy had not lied to his master. Still, with all Vinsant’s scheming, Arun had a disquieting feeling his days as Minoria were numbered. He waited until Ahkdul deigned to leave, and Vinsant, befuddled as to why he had not yet received a scolding, said goodnight. Then he sent a mental message to Levi. If he was going to say what he thought he was going to say about Vinsant’s quartz pendant – the only thing he could say which might save the boy the sword – it could not wait until morning.
* * *
Sareta peered through the night. The wall of the palace was a formidable barrier on the opposite side of the fast-flowing Arezou River. There had been movement on the battlements, but none below. Had someone not thrown a bundle to the ground, she might have returned to her husband and pleaded a lack of nerve on the part of the Princess. The deficiency was all hers, but a woman had a right to protect her family when Her Royal Privileged Highness wanted to use Arlem for her own ends. That raised more than misgivings, it did.
Bringing the boat had seemed the right thing to do at the time, when her husband had explained the circumstances and asked if she would help. Arlem was like that. Progressive. She needn’t wear her veil in public, or fear to disagree. He gave her few decrees, valued her opinion and insisted their daughter attain a degree of learning beyond his own, all a rarity among Terlaani men.
But now, alone in the dead of a moonlit night, waiting to help a privileged woman who had no good reason to defy her men, she had to be daft. Forget the poverty that came with unemployment. If she were caught, it would be her head. Sareta sighed. There was no question she loved her man. When her father had declared his plain daughter was of marriageable age, she had hoped only for a husband who would treat her with respect. He had engaged her to a man who held her in esteem. She hadn’t counted on her man worshiping the Princess almost as much as he worshipped the Vae. She supposed it was lucky for their daughter he commended Her Privileged Highness’s modern ways, and brought them into her home. She had never dreamed there would be a day when the Princess held his hand while he lay in the mud, or when Her Highness argued with the Verdaani lord about the welfare of the common folk. It had sealed Arlem’s adoration. And earned Sareta’s grudging respect. So here she was, standing by their boat, nervous breaths competing with the whoosh of the water as she waited to assist with an exploit the high-born woman had no business undertaking. Sareta was devout enough to know when she needed to bow her head to pray, to both Mahktos and the Vae.
It was a pity the prayers wouldn’t count for much, seeing as how a faint commotion distracted her from the words. She supposed that meant she ought to return her attention to the walls. Or better yet, since coloured lights were blazing at the front of the palace and shadowy figures running toward the lake, she should slink home. It was her misfortune she would never be able to face Arlem if she did, so she lay in the boat, muttering about the scum-tainted plan, because how was she supposed to smuggle the girl out with a troop of mahktashaan swarming the banks. Merciful Vae! Was that a genie! Watching the giggling child flitting this way and that, she almost missed the two figures who slipped around the corner and donned the dark cloaks in the bundle below the wall. On a final, heartfelt prayer, Sareta poled the barge from the bank, angling the bow so the current would carry her across.
“Catch,” she hissed, throwing a rope to the taller of the figures. The end slapped the ground and snaked toward the water. The hooded silhouette lurched forward and, falling to her knees, snared the rope just as it splashed off a rock. “Pull, curse you,” Sareta said, forgetting to whom she spoke. The current was strong at the mouth of the river. She poled against it, grunting with the effort it took to steer the boat.
The useless figure had no strength in her tug. Sareta strained, and managed to bump the boat against the bank. There was too much slack in the rope and the stern swung out. Stern rope in hand, she jumped from the boat, and grabbed the rope attached to the bow. She heard a deep breath from the figure but princess or not, now was not the time to speak.
“Get in if you’re coming,” she said, more gruffly than she had spoken to anyone in a long time. She wasn’t about to dally so the mahktashaan could discover their escape.
“Thank you,” a woman said, dispelling her doubts this was a trap.
“Get in before I lose my grip.” She strained against the chaffing ropes as the cloaked woman assisted the child down onto the rock. Their ginger footing made slow progress, but Sareta bit her tongue. There wasn’t any rescuing if one of them got washed into eddies. Not by her at least. “Not on the edge!” she hissed as the young one placed a foot on the gunwale. The boat rocked, the boy wobbled, and the woman pulled him back onto the rocks. Sareta, swinging as far as she could in the opposite direction, just managed to avert both a capsizing and a drowning. “Get in,” she hissed. The woman crouched and threw a bag. Lady Luck had veiled her face, allowing the current to twist the rocking boat. The bag hit the side and splashed into the roaring water.
“Leave it,” Sareta said, as the fool of a woman leaned to fish it out. She struggled to bring the stern back round. “Get in,” she hissed again. The woman half fell inside, then opened her arms and caught the boy as he jumped. He landed off centre, which rocked the boat some more. Sareta pulled back on the rope and peered into the night while she waited for the movement to settle. Two moons and a whole heap of lighted mahktashaan crystals. It was a wonder no one had spotted them. Her practiced leap got her safe aboard. She had the pole in her hand and was pushing off the rock before her passengers thought to hang onto the sides.
“Get down and cover yourselves with those cloaks. Don’t let a scrap of flesh show.”
The river eddied with a rage she had not expected, dragging the pole to the side. She struggled to plant it and point the bow to the front. She needed to succeed before they entered the lake. If a guard chanced to look this way, he would challenge the swirling boat. The confluence of the Arezou River and Lake Sheraz offered abundant fishing, but only the most experienced braved its hazards. Another push just managed to point the bow forward as they swept beneath a pair of guards. Bringing the pole aboard, Sareta gathered a net and cast it out.
“Stay down, and keep still,” she said as the princess began to rise. A few minutes later, she retrieved the net. A n
umber of fish thrashed within its holes. She worked to free them, letting some flap upon her guests until she could bucket them. It would be the least of the indignities a runaway princess suffered. Then she cast the net again, and once again, before she took the oars and rowed past the palace into the lake. If she had taken advantage of the fine fishing spot a little earlier than the regular folk, it was not unusual enough to bear comment in this time of peace. Not when the boat was so artfully controlled, and not unless the guards spotted two figures crouched and covered. Such figures might be smuggling the illicit drug. Or escaping from within the palace walls.
* * *
The Majoria was leaning on the parapet, gazing out across Lake Sheraz. Arun paused at the top of the stairs before moving to his side. The water was a perfect sheet of black glass, reflecting Dindarin and Daesoa in solemn state. Majoria and Minoria stood together a moment. Then Levi, yet looking across the lake, murmured a prayer to Mahktos before casting a sound shield around them. Its energy thrummed black-green, warning any who approached.
“They have gone,” Levi said, turning to his second. He had adjusted his hood so it did not obscure his face. The stubble of a trying day darkened his chin.
“There was more than one?” Long years in the company of his superior had eliminated Arun’s need for clarification. The djinn were foremost in both their minds.
“By all accounts. Most saw one young in body and spirit. She was taking few pains to hide herself and appeared to be toying with the guards. But Mahktashaan Strauss and Garzene sensed another, one enraged in his power and far more ancient.”
“The genie was in the palace,” Arun said. He told Levi what Kordahla’s guards had seen. “As for the other, I fear he is the same that has been haunting Princess Kordahla of late.”
“Apprentice Vinsant was present, was he not? In fact, the entire upset is of his doing.”
Arun had to admit it was. However grim the circumstance, he had never broken a vow. Even now, with all that had happened, he would keep secret the extent of Kordahla’s humiliation on the boat. Gathering his thoughts, he gazed across the lake. At its centre, a huddled figure rose in a barge. The boat was heading to the opposite bank, an incongruity at this time of night, for the eastern side housed the dry docks and was reputed, with its noise, to hold slim pickings for fishermen.