Finally, Leondis looked directly at Tae. The dark eyes held evident pain, accompanied by a gentle sincerity. They focused in on the prince’s face and remained steadfast. Tae raised his right hand to brush away a clump of hair across his forehead, stopping before he bashed himself with the mass of bandages. “Your lie has brought three kingdoms to the edge of war. I confessed to a crime we both know I didn’t commit, and I’m willing to die to spare the innocents who would otherwise die in that conflict. Doesn’t that earn me a few moments of your time?”
“This is a trick.” Leondis glanced around the room. Kevral and Ra-khir had left for the bedroom, and all else looked as it had when he first examined the room. “You’re just trying to get me to admit you never attacked me.”
“No trick.” Tae eased the edge of his buttocks against the window seat. He clearly preferred to stand, but his injuries would not allow it. “Your own men searched the room. There’s no one here but those who know the truth.”
Guilt sent a flush of heat through Leondis. He looked away. “What you did or didn’t do to me doesn’t matter. You killed my brother.” The weakness provided a crack through which a tidal wave of sorrow burst. Images of the elder brother he had admired filled his mind’s eyes, accompanied by the tears he had once believed fully shed.
“You . . . murdered . . . Severin, you bastard.” His voice emerged in gasps he desperately wished he could control. “You deserve to die for that, whatever it takes.”
Tae made no move to comfort. Touching the armed prince of Pudar would amount to suicide. “I didn’t kill Severin. How many times do I have to say that before you hear it?”
“I’ve heard it.” Leondis spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t believe you.”
“What makes you so certain I killed him?”
Leondis suppressed the urge to answer only with “because it’s the truth.” He breathed in a calming pattern taught by his arms instructor. A battle, verbal or physical, was never won by blind emotion. Eventually, he realized, he would need to learn how to bargain with enemies, finding compromise where none appeared to exist. The discussion would accomplish nothing if it consisted solely of Tae asserting his innocence and Leondis as adamant about his guilt. Instead, he presented the evidence. “Severin died of a knife wound across his throat. You were at the scene, swinging a bloody knife.”
“Beneath a pile of Easterners trying to kill me,” Tae reminded. “Any of whose blood could have been on that knife.”
“The guards said Severin ran in to assist you.”
Tae’s eyes widened. “So I’m guilty of murder because I got attacked in Pudar’s streets?”
Leondis fought for control of his temper. “You’re guilty because your knife in your hand killed Severin.”
“But it didn’t.”
Leondis stared through Tae, to the blue expanse of sky. “A dozen men swore that it did.” He finally managed to pin an angry gaze on Tae, irritation fueled by the sincerity of the Easterner’s expression.
“Exactly,” Tae said softly.
The response confused Prince Leondis. “That’s not in your favor, Tae Kahn.” The name burned his tongue.
“But it is.” Tae settled onto the ledge awkwardly. “Ask a dozen witnesses to a fist fight in the market what happened, and you’ll get twelve different answers. They will disagree on everything, from the nationalities of the those involved to who made the first violent gesture.”
“Your point.” To Leondis, it only confirmed Tae’s guilt.
“When twelve witnesses give you the exact same answer, it can only be because they rehearsed it.”
Leondis blinked wordlessly for several moments. Finally, he managed speech. “My father says you didn’t deny their accusations.”
Tae had never been given the opportunity to explain. “Then, I didn’t know whether or not I might have accidentally struck Prince Severin in the chaos. At least give me that if I had, it could only have been an accident.”
“The witnesses said—”
“All of them? Consistently?”
“Yes.”
Tae shrugged as if that explained everything. “Here’s the truth: At the time, the elves sought the destruction of mankind and worked toward it by creating havoc in all the human kingdoms: the murders in Béarn; the stirring of war among the Northern tribes; assassinations in the East that left bickering, selfish nobility vying for the crown at the expense of the people. The elves set their sights on Pudar, and a criminal rival of my father’s seized the opportunity to serve his own purposes as well.” Tae kept his attention fixed on Leondis, as if to see that every sentence met its mark. “Working together, the elves and the criminals created a disturbance they knew would attract Severin who, as you well know, liked to police his own streets in the company of town guard. The elves used magic they call the “mind-fog” to confuse the situation beyond sorting. One of the Easterners killed Severin, then they all swore I did it.”
Prince Leondis frowned, not liking the complication. In his experience, the simplest answer usually turned out correct. Many criminals had designed wild theories to explain how another could have committed their crime. “Interesting. Implausible, but interesting.”
Tae rocked his head back against the framework.
Leondis wondered why it only occurred to him then how easily he could shove the irritant out the window to his death.
“I can prove it,” Tae said softly.
Leondis’ brows shot upward.
Tae rolled his head to the side to confront Leondis again. “First, the criminals eventually surrendered the one who murdered Severin. If you talk to some of those same so-called witnesses now, you would get a different story. Just as my father did.”
“Because your father tortured them to a confession.”
“My father? Torture?” Tae shook his head as if Leondis had said something remarkably stupid. “My father doesn’t work that way. But even if he did, he couldn’t control what they said under the protection of your father.”
“So how did you get them to confess?”
Tae’s lips came together in a line that contained a hint of smile. “I’m giving up a big secret here, which I guess proves Matrinka . . .” he corrected, “. . . Her Ladyship right.” He swung his legs around so that they dangled into the room and bent forward as if to whisper. He kept his normal volume however. “To a street orphan, a gang becomes his family. They stick together, defending one another through anything, confirming anything another said. It’s an honor-tie as strong as the knights’, but there’s a way through it.”
Leondis nodded, surprised to find himself truly interested.
“Most of these boys and girls come from families without love. They never learn to trust.” Tae balanced his elbows on his thighs to lean even further. “If you separate them, you need only convince one that one of the others will . . .” He paused, likely seeking trading words to replace the street slang that naturally came to mind first. “. . . inform on him before he informs on them. Then, suddenly, the whole thing collapses. They sing like bards.”
“How do you know which one’s telling the truth?”
The grin became real. “When eleven of them name the same one, but he names someone else, it becomes obvious.”
“Unless they banded together and worked out a story together.”
Tae spread his hands and rolled his eyes. “I simplified to make a point. Actually, it’s more like seven refuse to talk, four blame the same one but tell the story as differently as any normal four witnesses, and the last blames someone else.” He changed tacks suddenly. “More importantly, some of the elves have explained their role in the whole thing, which is how I got the details.” He added emphatically, “And elves don’t lie.”
Leondis considered Tae’s words, suddenly realizing his anger had fully dispersed. The foundation of a certainty built on his father’s wavered. He turned away. “It still sounds far-fetched. I don’t know who to believe.”
“Believe the king
of Béarn, whose judgments the gods rendered nearly infallible. Believe the queen, and the Knight of Erythane in the next room. If I’m a killer, how do you explain their loyalty?”
“You’ve tricked them?” Leondis suggested, not even certain he still believed that. “You’re gaining their trust in order to make Béarn vulnerable to attack by the East.”
Tae stared with a surprise that Leondis doubted even a con man could feign. He half-expected Tae to say that that explanation sounded much more implausible than the one he had given for Severin’s murder. “Then believe this.” Tae raised his bandaged hand. “And this.” He pulled up one leg of his britches to show another bandage around his ankle. “This.” He touched the bandage that enwrapped his head. “But mostly, these.” He loosened the ties of his tunic, revealing the chest and abdomen riddled with knife scars. “I’m a survivor, Leondis. I’m not going to fling myself into the deadly affairs of Béarn just to gain their trust. There’re easier ways than getting myself killed.” He retied his shirt. “Believe me. I know them.”
“The elves will vouch for your story?” Leondis pressed.
“They will.”
“I’m going to check.”
“I would think less of you if you didn’t.”
Leondis took no offense from the words, to his own surprise. Scant moments ago, he would have found their source enough to incite him. “You didn’t kill Severin.”
“No.”
“And you didn’t attack me.”
Tae paused just long enough to get across the self-evident nature of that statement. “No.”
Leondis studied the man in front of him, allowing the last vestiges of anger to diffuse. For the first time, he allowed himself to think of Tae as a crown prince, like himself, compiling life experiences to assist with a task the ignorant envied. The responsibilities of rulership had crushed many a man, ending their lives early, driving them to sacrifice morality for convenience, transforming loneliness and power into greed. A kinship between himself and Tae could strengthen both kingdoms, form alliances that would assist trade, and provide a bridge between their peoples. Letting go of vengeance and hatred had opened a vast chasm of opportunity. “Prince Tae Kahn.” He smiled. “Your father is lucky to have you as a diplomat. Someday, you’ll make a great king.”
Tae seemed more distressed than gladdened by the words, his return smile forced. “I’m not at all sure I’m worthy of the honor, but thank you.”
The moment disappeared beneath a flood of concerns. Leondis turned away. “I made a big mistake.”
“Let’s talk about how to fix it.”
Leondis started to pace, then stopped, still with his back to Tae. “I’m not sure it’s fixable.”
“You could start by begging my forgiveness.”
Affronted, Leondis whirled. The broad grin on Tae’s Eastern-coarse features put him back at ease. “You’re kidding?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry. Lying doesn’t come easily to me, and I haven’t slept well since I did it.” Leondis explained with a statement that might seem unrelated, “I loved my brother.” The next admission came harder. “And I was scared.”
“Scared?” Tae prodded. His brow uncreased, and he addressed his own query before Leondis could do it. “That I’d use the information I overheard to reveal your father’s mistake?”
“If you ever have need to talk to my father about it, don’t call it a mistake.” Leondis resumed his pacing. “If I ruined our chance to retrieve the heir to Pudar’s throne, he would have killed me. Literally.”
Tae could not hold bitterness wholly at bay. “So, better to have me killed.”
“Yeah.” Leondis would not compound his lie with another. “I’m not afraid of dying, especially for my own mistakes. But your presence in that room wasn’t my mistake; it was yours. And I wholeheartedly believed you my brother’s killer.” He made a gesture over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you trade the life of the man who murdered your mother for your own?”
Tae sucked in a sudden breath, then choked on his own saliva. “That better have been a lucky guess.”
Leondis reveled in gaining the upper hand, for once. “It’s not. You’re not the only one with connections.” He did not explain further, inflicting the same troublesome discomfort Tae had on so many others, including himself. The Eastern tough might not understand that Severin had been more than a son to Cymion; he was the king’s very hero. Since the killing, Cymion had scrutinized every fact and rumor about Tae to the point of obsession.
Tae regained composure more easily than the prince of Pudar expected, a sure sign of training. “As I promised the council, I won’t tell anyone what I overheard. A wise woman pointed out that the problem belongs to the three of you.”
Leondis could only believe that “wise woman” was Kevral, though Tae truly meant Matrinka. “I still don’t see a way to fix this. A confession to the council might vindicate you, but it would create more problems at least as serious.” King Weile Kahn might demand Leondis’ extradition. King Cymion would never publicly accept the truth, not only blocking extradition but still demanding Tae. Leondis’ chances of becoming a king the populace trusted would disappear forever. They would remember him only as a foolish, dishonest young man. His mother’s words, so long ago, now emerged to haunt him: One lie is enough to undo a man.
“I don’t need a confession.” Tae remained calm, though a slight narrowing of his eyes suggested the words caught him as much by surprise as Leondis. “I need a way to keep my life and prevent a war.”
Leondis pondered the matter, not liking the direction his thoughts took him. His own pardoning of Tae would prevent extradition but would enrage King Cymion, worsening the likelihood of war. Kevral’s refusal to deliver the baby would absolutely assure it. “Just a moment.” He continued the line of his pacing so that it took him to the bedroom. Ra-khir broke off from his conversation and snapped to attention at the sight of Leondis. Kevral placed herself between the prince and the exit. He ignored the actions of both to say, “Kevral, Tae and I have found a peace. We’re working on extending that to Pudar’s and Béarn’s armies. I need to know now and for certain. Are you going to turn over . . .” He paused, searching for the right words that would not force him to face an armed and angered Renshai. “. . . our baby?”
Ra-khir glanced at his wife with a worried expression. He wanted to know the answer as badly.
Kevral’s hands winched over her abdomen. She approached Leondis with the fierceness of a warrior headed toward certain death in an unfair battle.
The prince held his ground. If the Renshai wished to kill him, he would defend himself, though he would surely lose. He could not escape her in a locked room of this size.
Reaching down, Kevral took Leondis’ hand and placed it on the bulge. Sharp, tiny movements flicked against his hand. “Be good to him or her,” she said with a gentleness he would have believed outside her repertoire. “And teach him the warrior way. It’s in his blood.”
Leondis could have stood for hours feeling the flurry that defined his son or daughter, yet politeness demanded he remove his hand. He did so with obvious reluctance and a grateful smile. “On both sides.” Historically, the greatest kings had led their own troops into battle. His father had kept up his training, and Leondis intended, even felt driven, to do the same. “I’ll always love that baby. And he or she will never doubt it.”
“I wouldn’t let him go if I didn’t believe that.” Kevral walked back to Ra-khir. “And I will always love the baby, too.” She fell into her husband’s waiting arms.
Their grief saddened Leondis, but he consoled himself with knowing that their loss would become Pudar’s greatest gain. Feeling like a voyeur, he left them to one another’s tender mercy, returning to Tae with a renewed sense of purpose. Mind stimulated by this new victory, he found the answer that had eluded him before. “Tae, my father won’t listen to you or even to me, but I believe there is someone who might convince him.” He met Tae’s eye
s again, unable to differentiate irises from pupils. For the first time, no stirring of hatred accompanied the scrutiny. “I’ll need your help.”
Tae bowed. “I’ll do my best, Prince Leondis.”
Leondis returned the gesture of respect, with a flourish. “Call me Le.”
CHAPTER 28
Measurements of Worth
There are those who say that the worth of a man cannot be measured. I say it depends on the scale.
—Colbey Calistinsson
THE council’s vote went, nearly unanimously, in Tem’aree’ay’s favor. Darris winched a hand around King Griff’s chair, fingers blanching, to keep himself from pacing even after the results became clear. He owed much of his success to Kedrin and mentally noted the need to thank the knight’s captain after the meeting. He understood that much of Kedrin’s assistance stemmed from compassion for the king he served and loved, yet he surely also considered the long-term effects on the kingdom of changing ancient law. His honor would not allow otherwise.
While the council turned to the burgeoning situation among Béarn, Pudar, and Stalmize, Darris’ thoughts tracked off in a different direction. Once they restored the staff-test, he realized suddenly, it could, once again, determine the worth of the heirs, including any mothered by elves. Time would tell whether the offspring of elf and human had the lifespans of mother, father, or somewhere in-between, but it might mean the oft-desired eternal reign of benevolent kings could become a near-reality. In the excitement of discovering that the sterility plague did not affect elves, and that they could interbreed with humans, Darris had not considered beyond the excitement of rescuing themselves from imminent destruction. Now, he could not help wondering how those differences would manifest and how well each group would handle them.
Griff’s deep, young voice penetrated Darris’ contemplations. “. . . trusts his son and, though Pudar has promised to try him as royalty, the king worries that some overloyal fanatic might harm Prince Tae . . .”
Joy mingled inseparably with dread. Darris had accomplished a task that had defied and obsessed him for months, yet concern for Kevral’s need tainted the excitement that should have followed such a feat. He hoped she appreciated that he had stalled things as long as he could. She had pitted him against the stodgiest conservatives in all of Béarn, and he had played his every card.
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