“Daranai….”
Her lip curled in disgust. “Please, you’re not hurt. You never cared for me. Even back then, you didn’t care enough to warn me you would sacrifice our match with your betrayal, much less that you would flee to the human world. You left me the traitor’s tainted betrothed, questioned endlessly and locked in uncertain status, not quite under suspicion and yet not exonerated, fit for no one.” Daranai gave a triumphant, brittle smile. “Only a moment ago you knocked me to the ground and in the same breath asked if the human were safe. And when you returned, didn’t you search out Maru before me? You came here at last only because you needed me to shelter him and your wretched pet human.” She scowled. “Your wretched pet human, which attacked me.””
“You were killing him!” Ariana shot.
Daranai laughed. “Stupid human. Fup will not kill nim. They’re too weak.”
“You used fup because he would not lie down for you?” demanded Tamaryl.
“Enough.” The voice came from the door, calm and undeniable. They turned together toward the tall female with emerald-dark hair.
“Edeiya!” Daranai started toward her, relieved. “I’m so glad you—”
Edeiya lifted a hand which stopped Daranai as effectively as if it were a shield. “Say Edeiya’rika, please. I am here as Tsuraiya.”
Essence and flame, she was Tsuraiya ni’Ai now. Irrelevantly, Tamaryl could not recall whether his rank owed her a nod of acknowledgment or greater obeisance.
Daranai saw her gesture as fresh betrayal. “There is no danger here, Tsuraiya. I thought you might have come as my own blood.”
Edeiya raised an eyebrow. “No danger, when a human mage has worked magic strong enough to shake my own house down the way?”
Daranai grasped after the missed opportunity. “She attacked me, in my own home where I sheltered her—”
“I attacked no one,” Ariana snapped. “I only underscored my request that she leave off forcing Maru.”
Maru turned away, shamed and humiliated. Tamaryl reached down to him. “Can you stand?”
“Yes, of course.” But he was unsteady as he rose.
Daranai wheeled on them, determined to lose no more face before Edeiya’rika. “Get your nim and your human out of my house. And you get out as well. I am done with you.” She flung herself past the Tsuraiya and into the corridor.
Edeiya’rika glanced after her and then at Tamaryl. “You have this?”
“I think so.” He hesitated. “Er—many compliments. We could not have a better Tsuraiya.”
Edeiya’s lips curved. “Thank you, Tamaryl’sho.” She turned and left, pressing no questions.
Tamaryl turned back. “Maru?”
“I will be fine, Ryl.” He smiled wearily. “I would not turn down something sweet, though.”
“Let’s go.” Tamaryl settled Maru’s arm over his shoulders and looked at Ariana.
“Don’t worry for me. I’m well enough for now. Take care of Maru.”
He nodded and started for the door. There would be time to question Ariana on her recovery when they were away.
They were nearly to a door when a voice called tentatively behind them. “Tamaryl’sho?”
A nim stood in the entry behind them, shifting his weight and shuffling his wings nervously. Tamaryl recognized his silvery pale hair, the one who had served at supper. “Yes?”
“You’re taking him away?”
He must mean Maru. “I am.”
The nim took a deep breath. “I was obligated to Heka’che. Daranai’rika purchased my debt and remaining service, and I came here. May I—if you please, I have two years left on my debt and I… I will be an excellent servant, Tamaryl’sho, if you should need one.”
Tamaryl turned slowly so that Maru did not stumble. “You too?”
The nim nodded jerkily, his expression tight.
Tamaryl stifled an oath. “What is your name?”
“Oh, thank you!” The nim dropped to two knees, the gesture from nim to sho. “I’m Taro. Thank you!”
Tamaryl nodded. “On your feet and to your duties, Taro. The rika is not pleased with me at the moment, but I will see if I can purchase your debt.” He turned back to the door Ariana had dragged open and helped Maru through.
Chapter 44
Shianan had sorted most of his paperwork, leaving his desk neat for whoever would use it next. He had canceled the evening training. He did not want the men to see him taken for questioning.
He heard raised voices outside, and his heart quickened even as he schooled himself to sigh in resignation. The time had come. A moment later, there was a sharp knock at the door and it opened without his call to enter. “Sir!” a soldier said breathlessly. “The Shard has been taken!”
Shianan reflected that it was perhaps too early for orders regarding him to have been issued. Of course the alarm would be sounded first.
“The mages say it was stolen, sir. And Prince Alasdair is missing.”
A winter storm was blowing in, and as the wind picked up the cold rain fell more steadily. Shianan wrapped his cloak around himself and looked up the dark road. He wasn’t worried about searchers happening across Luca to the north-east, as someone had seen Alasdair’s hunting group start to the west. Still he felt uneasy.
Somewhere to the south, Prince Soren was searching with another group of soldiers. With both the Shard and the younger prince missing, the stakes were too great for the prince-heir to be seen doing anything else. Only Shianan knew Alasdair’s disappearance had nothing to do with the Shard.
Prince Alasdair should have returned from his hunt well before dusk, but neither he nor the two slaves accompanying him had reappeared from the barren hills. The rain was coming down harder, now, and it was more impossible than before to see through the dark night.
Shianan hated the rain. He trudged on, cold water coursing over the edge of his hood, and dutifully called, “Highness? Your Highness?” He did not expect an answer.
The footing was becoming treacherous, the rain turning the steep hillsides to mud. Shianan reflected bitterly they were likely to lose more men than they sought in this dark weather.
“Commander!” called a voice through the rain. “Sir?”
“Over here! What is it?”
A soldier slogged toward him, slipping in the mud. “Sir, they say we’re finished here, there’s nothing this way. We’re moving west.”
West was further yet from Luca’s road. “So noted, soldier. Go on, I’ll follow.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shianan looked out a moment longer, unable to see the rocky wall he knew he faced. For anyone other than a prince, the search would have been delayed until morning. He hated the chill rain. He sighed and turned back.
He had gone about a quarter mile, sliding in the mud and feeling his way against the rock wall, when his questing fingers found a gap in the rock. He reached forward, feeling into space, and smelled woodsmoke. Light flickered around the corner.
A natural cave, and occupied! This might be a contingent of soldiers evading their search duty, or it might be Alasdair himself sheltering from the storm, or it might be a coterie of bandits in hiding. Shianan lay a hand on his weapon and felt his way into the dog-legged opening. There was a small fire burning inside, and Shianan remained on the far side of the wall until his eyes grew accustomed to the light. Then he moved around the corner, looking across the fire.
Prince Soren looked back at him, firelight reflecting in his startled eyes as he reached for the sword at his hip. He hesitated, recognizing Shianan, and they stared at each other for an eternal heartbeat.
“Your Highness.” Shianan found his voice first. “Are you all right?”
“Bailaha.” The prince-heir nodded slowly. “I was taking a few moments to warm a drink.” He gestured to indicate the flask sitting near the small fire. “Thank you for asking, I’m fine.”
Shianan nodded curtly, already uncomfortable. “I see.”
“Would you care for a
drink? It’s cold out there.”
“No, thank you, my lord.” Water dripped into Shianan’s eyes. He shifted his weight awkwardly. “If Your Highness will excuse me….” He shifted toward the rocky doorway.
He had nearly escaped when he heard the prince’s sharp exhalation. “Heh. As expected.”
Shianan stopped. “Highness?”
The prince made a frustrated gesture. “You prefer the rain to sharing a warming drink with me. So be it.” He shook his head, looking away.
Shianan straightened and faced him, anger stirring. “I intended only to relieve my lord of my presence,” he answered more sharply than was wise. “I did not mean to offend.”
“Oh, well said,” the prince replied, his tone biting. “It’s hard to find fault with you. Except I believe I invited you to stay.” He faced Shianan sternly. “It is my desire, commander, that you share a drink with me.”
Shianan clenched his jaw and drew himself to his full height. “I await your pleasure, Highness.” He bowed formally.
“‘Soats,” muttered Soren. “What have I ever done?” He picked up the flask. “I should order you to explain exactly how I’ve earned your hatred.” He took a short gulp and wiped his beard.
“My hatred? My lord, I have never—”
“You are an abominable liar, commander.”
Shianan glared at him. Could he truly not see why Shianan would resent him?
Shianan expected arrest at any moment, with interrogation to follow. In this final wild night, what had he to lose? “I regret, Highness, I did not understand you. Is that indeed your order?”
The prince eyed him over the flask. “Why not?” He took another drink, almost savagely. “It’s only you and me out here, with no gaping courtiers. We’ll never have another opportunity like this so long as we live. Let’s be honest. Why do you disdain me so, when we’ve barely spoken?”
Shianan swallowed against swelling outrage. “It is my prince’s desire that I am honest?”
“Perfectly.” Soren glared back across the fire.
“Then I shall be honest.” Shianan bowed in sardonic courtesy. “I do resent my prince.”
Soren snorted. “You wish you’d been born on the right side of the bed.”
“No! No, if I had any choice in the matter, I would be the son of an ugly pigherd and his uglier wife.”
“And I should believe that?” Soren took another drink. “Come, really. If you were the son of a pigherd, you would not be a commander. You would not have a string of victories behind you and a dozen commendations and a—” He stopped himself abruptly, looking at the flask.
Shianan could not restrain a bitter laugh. “Commendations?” He crossed his arms, made daring with the certainty of impending arrest. “In obedience to your wishes, my lord, I will be perfectly honest—I could bring the head of Pairvyn ni’Ai to our king, and it would not garner half the praise of your wearing the latest fashion in cunning hats.”
The prince jerked, his eyes flashing, and then he crossed his arms gruffly. “Honest,” he growled. He looked narrowly at Shianan. “And I suppose all those military promotions mean nothing? Years of freedom, away from the pressure and the demands and the scrutiny and the what, was it only once a week or so that I had to listen to your latest accomplishment?” He tipped the flask again and looked past the fire. “‘Soats, how I envied you.”
“Envied?” Shianan repeated. “You, who were at court? Who had real tutors and classes? Who grew up with hunting parties and dances and respect? Did anyone whisper it was unlucky you were developing your father’s jaw and too bad you hadn’t enough stubble yet to disguise it?”
Soren stared at him. “You—you’re serious?” He leaned forward, suddenly intent. “Listen—I truly envied you. I couldn’t help but believe your outpost must be more adventurous and carefree than the stifling, staring court. And you hadn’t the weight of all the kingdom waiting for your shoulders.” He shook his head. “And I resented you, too—but why mince words? I still resent you, commander. I hate you for every big and small victory he hangs over my head to show just how far short I fall.” He took another gulp, swallowing hard.
Shianan blinked. “That’s impossible.”
Soren shot him a defensive glare. “Not so much.”
Shianan shook his head angrily. “No—no, because it is you he holds up as a perfect subject, an accomplished and talented courtier, a—a— ” A son.
“Me?” Soren faced Shianan. “Your lordship,” he said slowly, “I think we have stumbled upon something.”
Shianan looked at him, unsettled as his world shifted. “My lord?”
“The king has used us against one another.” He stared at the fire’s base. “We have been manipulated.” He exhaled slowly. “Sweet Holy One, I see it now. He has each of us dancing to the tune he claims the other is playing.”
Shianan stared. “But—but why?”
Soren shook his head. “I doubt he even knows he does it,” he said quietly. “He says so many things…. He cannot hear himself anymore.” He glanced at Shianan and held out the flask. “Drink?”
Shianan accepted it numbly. “So—my lord—you would tell me you do not despise me?”
“Despise you?” Soren laughed bitterly. “Never. I hated you, of course, for being all I wasn’t and having all I didn’t, but I could not despise you. One has to be better than another before he can despise him.” He smiled bitterly. “What a waste of effort that was.”
Shianan tipped the flask and was shocked as the liquid hit his lips. “This is tea!”
Soren smiled, a small but friendly smile. “I’m sorry. I prefer tea in the cold.”
Shianan drank. “I cannot believe I have been struggling to follow you….” He looked hard at Soren. “You would not deceive me on this, for sport? You really mean he has sometimes praised me to you?”
“We are in a tiny cleft of rock in a pouring rainstorm, met only by accident, and I have no audience to appreciate my wit. What kind of sport would I seek here?” Soren held out his hand for the flask. “I should ask if you are serious about his praise of me.”
Shianan chewed at his lip. That the king might praise him behind his back was mind-boggling. That he might do so to Soren was staggering.
“‘Soats, what a mess.” Soren’s mouth twisted sardonically. “King’s oats—that’s a fitting enough phrase, I suppose, since we’re the living harvest of his sowing.” He regarded Shianan frankly. “I’ve sometimes wondered why they didn’t simply drown you at birth.”
Shianan’s throat worked. “I am sure my lord is not the only one to think so,” he managed gruffly.
“Wait!” Soren shook his head and held up a hand. “No, I said that all wrong. I meant, after the trouble they went through with me….”
Shianan swallowed. “The arrival of an heir is hardly trouble, my lord,” he said with a brittle coldness to disguise the sting.
Soren looked at him. “Sweet Holy One, you don’t know. Oh, but who would have told you? Of course you don’t know.” He exhaled. “Sit down, please, commander. Bailaha. You of all people deserve to understand this.”
Shianan obeyed slowly, wary.
Soren took a drink and considered. “You know our father was not the prince-heir.”
Shianan knew better than to answer that question directly. “Before King Jerome took the throne, his brother—”
“Oh, enough of that,” Soren snapped. “Do you think I don’t know who sired you? Do you think anyone will think better of you if you refrain from bragging?”
“Bragging?” Shianan shot him an angry glare. “The first time I repeated what I had overheard, that I was the son of the king’s mistress—I’m not sure I even knew yet what that meant—I was thrashed very soundly. So no, Your Highness, I do not seek any particular favor, only the preservation of my own back.”
Soren looked startled in the firelight. “I did not realize—but I suppose it might have been so. There was a time when it seemed everyone pretended you d
idn’t exist.” He paused. “But by that logic, no one should ever be permitted to say my name.”
Shianan did not understand. “My lord?”
“Soren was the first heir to our grandfather’s throne—yes, our grandfather. I will say it plainly.” It seemed to Shianan he took unhappy pleasure in referring to their mutual blood. “But the younger prince took an affair with his brother’s betrothed bride, and Prince Soren, who apparently truly loved her, killed himself.”
“But—”
“It was publicly alleged to be a hunting accident, I know. But I listened when I was a boy—people say things in front of children, thinking they’re too young to understand—and I’ve done some research of my own. Prince Soren’s fall from a precipice—not far from here, actually—was no accident. His servant saw him leap.” Soren drank from the flask. “Prince Jerome, left the only heir, took the bride and eventually the throne, though there was quiet talk he was unprepared. He had not been trained so carefully as Soren, after all. But he managed, and the kingdom did well enough.
“But it seems King Jerome and his Queen Azalie suffered some guilt regarding his brother’s death. I don’t know whether my mother loved Soren or not, but she hated her part in killing him, and she resented my father for it. And she named her first son Soren.”
“She named you…”
“She named me for my dead uncle, whom she should have married. Whose throne was taken by her husband.” He smiled bitterly. “I am a walking reproach.”
Shianan had no response.
“And then he went and got you.”
“And the queen hates me.”
“She hates what you represent, I’d say; I’m not sure if she’s even seen you, no?” Soren shrugged. “But that is enough, I’ll grant.”
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