“I’ll stay,” whispered Luca.
“I’m sorry?” The host glanced toward Shianan.
Shianan swallowed. “Er, I’ll be keeping him with me.”
Soren nodded. “Yes, we’ll keep one each. But you may send those I requested.”
“Of course, Your Highness. Please, go in. You’ll find the water hot and the room ready.”
Shianan stepped into the private room with unsteady dread. What kind of punishment would be meted out in the baths? Was it the prince-heir after his death, after all?
The room was roughly square, with a spacious long pool full of swirling, steaming water. The rest of the room was taken with two couches fitted with jewel-toned silken sheets and a table of salts, lotions, soaps, and oils.
“Go ahead.” Soren nodded toward the pool. “I don’t intend to stand on ceremony tonight.” He gestured to two of his three servants, who closed the door as they left.
Shianan did not move. “Your Highness, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Were you not told?” Soren sat on a couch and removed his boot. “There is a considerable debt between us.”
Shianan, standing, nodded uncomfortably.
“Your confession made things awkward, but in the end, I was hitting a bound man, and one ultimately judged innocent.” Soren sighed. “I do not know how to make true amends, but I thought that after several days as you’ve had, a visit to the baths and a healer might be appreciated, at least.”
“Your Highness….”
“Remember, I said a prince should be the first to apologize. Higher standard, and all that.” He smiled. “And I have another purpose, too, but that can wait. You look as if you might drop at any moment.”
Shianan hesitated. Someone at these baths had meant to kill him, once, and he could not quite bring himself to believe the prince’s offer was genuine. But Luca was behind him, able to warn of danger, and Prince Soren would not need such an elaborate plot to avenge himself, and Shianan was too exhausted to keep up a wary defense. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
It was embarrassing how he needed Luca’s help again to ease the clothing over his head, but Soren turned his back. Shianan moved stiffly to the pool and refused to need Luca’s arm. The stone edging was deliciously warm against his hand. He tried to lower himself into the hot water but dropped as his arm failed him. But he only splashed into the bath, sending water over himself, and a wave of heat rolled through him.
Soren was already reclining at his end of the pool. “Ethan, bring soap, please,” he said, his head against the warm stone border. “I forgot to take one.”
The prince’s servant went to the table. “What would you like, master?”
“Did they set out a mint soap? I’d like that. And bring one for Bailaha as well. He’ll want something gentle, though.”
Luca moved to the table and selected a bowl. The servant Ethan glanced at him but said nothing. Each delivered a soap to his master.
One normally didn’t wash in a common bath, but entered a communal soak only after scrubbing properly clean. The prince was setting precedent for Shianan, washing more easily in the pool. He was grateful.
Shianan’s limbs moved more easily, suspended in the mild current of the comfortably hot bath. He began to spread the milky lather over himself, moving gingerly over the cuts and abrasions that stung in the water. His face was particularly tricky; there was no feature which was not sore or swollen, and even rinsing the soap away took care.
Soren finished washing long before Shianan, and he lay floating low in the water, his head on the edge. Shianan set aside the soap and tried to copy the prince’s posture, his neck twinging and grinding. He shifted several times, trying to ease himself back, and then something soft slid beneath his head. He blinked upward and saw Luca, who had folded a thick towel into a pillow. Before Shianan could speak, Luca moved away again, a perfect silent and invisible servant.
“Bailaha….”
Shianan made the effort to speak. “Your Highness?”
The prince gave a small chuckle. “Bailaha,” he repeated. He lifted his head and offered a tentative grin. “We are two men in a bathhouse. Would you mind very much if I suggested we suspend formality for this evening?”
It was his place to dictate the terms of their interaction. “If you will, Your Highness.”
“Then I will call you Becknam, and you will call me Laguna.” Soren watched as Ethan poured two drinks from a common pitcher and offered one to his master.
Generally a royal was called by his house’s name only by the very privileged or after he had been deposed. “I—my lord….”
“It’s all right, Becknam. I trust you won’t tell anyone of our lapse, I’m sure Ethan will keep his silence, and it’s obvious you place a high confidence in your own slave.”
Shianan glanced at Luca, pressed against the wall as if awaiting Ande’s next order. “I do trust him. But I do not wish to be disrespectful to my prince.”
Soren made a dismissive gesture which splashed water across the surface. “I hardly see how accommodating my own request could be disrespectful. How do you feel?”
“Better, my lord,” answered Shianan truthfully. He took the drink from Ethan and tried it, a fruity tea enhanced with herbs or spices. He could taste willow bark and other medicines layered within the flavors; he was being doctored.
“Good. But I suppose you’ll tell me you’ve had worse, right?” Soren chuckled.
Shianan allowed himself to laugh as he leaned against his makeshift pillow again. “Actually, no, I don’t think so.”
Soren sobered. “I’m sorry. I was so angry when you said you had taken it, so—I had been sure you were innocent, you see. I felt very much betrayed when you confessed.”
Shianan did not know how to answer.
“I turned that anger on you, which seemed most logical, I suppose. But even if I really believed it, I was wrong.”
Shianan could not allow the prince to continue apologizing. “You would not expect a criminal to suddenly offer all his secrets, my lord.”
“You had suddenly offered a confession.” Soren shifted. “And I broke our unwritten law that no one strikes royal blood. All my talk that we shared a father, and then I hit you like an obstreperous slave.”
No one strikes…? Royal blood? Shianan cleared his throat with a sharp derisive laugh and was suddenly worried Soren had heard.
He had. “You laugh? Is my embarrassment so amusing?”
“No, no, lord.”
But Soren kept his eyes on him. Did he suspect? But Shianan could not, would not admit the king struck him, and he had to say something to answer the prince. “No, I laugh only because—because Luca once told me I was a slave to the king.” He grimaced, but it was all that had come to mind. “So it was fitting, I suppose.”
“Who is Luca? He certainly has an odd idea of the military.”
“Luca is the trusted servant.”
“Your—your slave calls you a slave?”
Shianan shifted in the water. “He is not so wrong, if you think of it. I obey my master’s orders without question.”
Soren’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Shianan wondered what he thought. But then he turned in the pool, bobbing in the current. “Your trusted servant has great liberty of speech.” He put his back to the wall and looked at the room behind Shianan, probably eying Luca.
“I suppose some might think so.” Shianan glanced toward Luca, who stared back wide-eyed in alarm. Then he abruptly realized both Shianan and Soren were looking at him and his eyes dropped to the floor. Shianan regretted frightening him. “But I can hardly complain when he is right.”
Soren splashed as he moved. “Don’t worry, I understand. Some might criticize Ethan, but I wouldn’t trade him for ivory. He’s the only one I’d trust to hear me apologize to a mere commander who escaped the Court of the High Star by the skin of his teeth.”
Ethan smiled and made a small bow in the direction of the pool, and then he d
elivered a bowl of dampened colored salt. Soren took a handful and began to scrub himself. Shianan flinched involuntarily away. He would not be scrubbing with salt for some time.
“Ethan, would you call for the aeliptos? I think we’re ready for massage.”
Shianan winced. “I thank you, my lord, but I think I’ll—”
“No, Becknam, I know what I’m doing. If you cannot bear it, well, I’ll apologize again, but I want you to try it. This is my reparation to you.” He rose from the water and wrapped a towel around himself.
Shianan wished he had the strength to move with half as much grace. Soren squeezed out his hair and lay face down on one couch. Shianan took the other, shivering despite the steamy air. Sheets settled over him. Luca was certainly earning his feed this evening.
Shianan felt much better for the soak. The door opened, admitting a wave of cool air and two slaves. Shianan turned his head to watch them bow, first to the prince and then to the two guests together.
Soren gestured toward Shianan. “Danye,” he said, his voice muffled by the couch, “would you see to my friend? He’s in need of a careful touch.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
Shianan eyed the aelipto as Danye drew back the warm silken sheets and looked down at him. There was a moment of hesitation, and then the slave ventured, “My lord, is there a span anywhere where you are not bruised?”
“They might have missed a spot, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“Then let’s try to ease that.” Danye poured something into his hands and rubbed them to warm it. The scent of rosemary and other herbs came to Shianan as, despite Soren’s assurance, he braced himself. This could not but hurt, and yet he could not refuse the prince.
But Danye was careful, and the first few strokes only brushed his shoulders, soothing where he’d prepared for pain. Then the slave began working the ointment into Shianan’s battered body, taking extra caution where the skin had split. There were twinges where his fingers probed swollen areas, but the liquid seemed to ease the soreness.
Shianan relaxed into the couch as the slave alternately numbed the injuries and kneaded between the bruises. Exhaustion crept over him again, but it was no longer a nauseating weariness, only a desire to sink further and further into the couch and rest.
A thought came to him, and he shifted. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” Danye said quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
“Nm,” mumbled Shianan, and he moved his head so he could speak. “Where’s Luca?”
“Here, master.”
“I’ll need clothes.” Now that he had bathed the blood and fear-sweat from his body, he wanted fresh clothing.
“I’ll bring some,” Luca answered slowly, “if you would have me go now.”
Luca did not trust the Kalen baths and the prince. Shianan realized he himself did trust Soren. It was the wildest scheme possible to kill Shianan by luxury, Karlm was in prison, and it was hard to distrust anyone while the slave was rubbing away the pain and aches of three days’ abuse. “Go,” he managed sleepily.
He only vaguely sensed Luca’s departure. In a moment more, he was deeply asleep, utterly unaware of Danye’s continued treatment of the welts and bruises.
Soren turned at the aelipto’s prompting and let him work the muscle tension from the rest of him. He hoped Becknam was benefiting. The man had looked truly awful when dragged before the court and only marginally less terrible tonight.
“My lord, will you turn?” A voice came from the other couch. “My lord?”
Soren waved the slave away and sat upright. Danye had a hand on Shianan’s shoulder, but Shianan was completely asleep. Danye glanced to the prince, a question on his face.
Soren shook his head. “Let him sleep.”
Danye nodded and wiped his hands on a small towel. Ethan gave each of the slaves a generous handful of coins and closed the door behind them.
Soren rose, stretching, and looked at the man asleep opposite him. He crossed and stood over the couch, bending to look at Shianan. The commander’s face was swollen and discolored, but the resemblance was there to be seen, if Soren sought it.
He bent close, hearing Shianan’s faint snores. “Little brother,” he whispered, “we’ve ill-used you.” He stooped and kissed him lightly on the temple. “I’m sorry.”
He turned back and began to dress.
As Luca jogged through the twilight, returning from Shianan’s rooms, a figure in a side street snapped to catch another’s attention. “That’s the commander’s slave, ain’t it?”
“I think you’re right. He’ll know where the man is.”
“Let’s follow him, then. Whistle up the others.”
Chapter 65
Luca returned and found the prince dressing. “Your master’s asleep,” he warned Luca. “But come a moment. I have a question for you.”
Luca’s stomach clenched. He glanced at Shianan—he seemed legitimately asleep, flattened comfortably on the couch—and then approached the prince, setting Shianan’s clothing aside on a low stool. He was not sure how a slave acknowledged a prince, but Shianan had knelt before the king, and a slave could certainly not do less. He went down on one knee, ignoring that it landed in a puddle.
“I see someone trained you well,” the prince commented dryly, his voice modulated to avoid disturbing Shianan. “At your ease. I asked your master here for two purposes. The first was, as I said, to make amends in some poor way. The second…. Well, I suspect you may be able to answer as well as he. He has equally protested that he did and did not steal the Shard. It is my opinion he did, given his explanation of the Black Mage’s disappearance and her subsequent reappearance.”
Luca could not breathe. He knew?!
“Did he take the Shard?”
Faced with so blunt a question, Luca stared helplessly at the floor and panicked.
“This foreign merchant in prison now—what place has he in this? I hope he is not an innocent scapegoat for the commander.”
“No!” Luca blurted. “No, my lord. The Vandogan tried—he sent a slave—he killed her, I saw it—”
“Stop! Luca, is it? Luca, calm yourself and tell me plainly.”
Luca crouched lower over his knee. “I’m sorry, my lord. The Vandogan did try to kill my master, and when the slave did not succeed, we saw him kill the slave.”
“You’re sure?”
The horrifying scene would never leave his memory. Luca nodded emphatically.
“I see.” He paused. “Luca, there’s no need to cower.”
Luca could not help it. He was afraid of this place and of the murder and of the royalty before him.
Soren sighed. “One of the guards said you’d volunteered to be questioned by the court. Is that true? Were you ordered to testify to his innocence?”
“I committed myself, my lord. He didn’t ask.”
“Why? What slave would submit to torture of his own will?”
“A grateful one, my lord. He is a good man. He did not deserve execution.” He could barely hear himself.
“I agree. But I am surprised at the depth of your gratitude.” Soren chuckled. “Perhaps you hoped for minimal torture. A switch instead of a scourge, or maybe they would just twist a finger?”
Luca did not smile.
Soren drew on his shirt. “One other question, for you alone,” he continued. “Why did you say your master was the king’s slave?”
Luca winced. He had known the moment Shianan repeated his statement it would bring trouble.
“Obviously a commander must obey the orders of the king, as a slave must obey the orders of his master,” the prince said, as if to fill the silence where Luca had not answered promptly. “Is that all you meant to say?”
Luca’s mind reeled. He was before Ande again, knowing no matter what he said, what answer he gave, he could not escape punishment.
“Luca?”
Or, this was not about Luca’s impudent speech, he realized. This was about his master. That was no easier to a
nswer. “My lord, that is what I meant to say.”
Soren shifted. “Luca, I am asking you—”
“My master has never discussed his meetings with me,” Luca blurted desperately.
Soren was quiet a long moment. Then he shrugged into his doublet, nodding toward Shianan as he tied the laces. “Take care of your master. Good night.”
Luca dropped his head until his forehead touched his knee. Soren gestured to Ethan and left, still wrapping his belt.
After the door had closed, Luca got to his feet, more than a little sore himself. He looked at Shianan, sleeping soundly. He needed the sleep and more. Luca didn’t want to wake him.
Luca sat tentatively on the couch the prince had abandoned. It was soft but comfortably firm. After a moment of guilty debate he let himself slide until he lay upon the sheets.
But he could not sleep so soon after his exchange with the prince. Could Prince Soren arrest Shianan again, knowing about the Shard? Why did he ask about Shianan and the king?
He looked at Shianan, snoring softly, and wondered how late they dared stay. Shianan looked comfortable, but they would probably not be welcome overnight. Luca crossed to the couch and touched his arm. “Master Shianan?”
“King’s oats, stop waking me.” He blinked and lifted his head slightly. “Where is….”
“His Highness has already gone,” Luca said. “Let’s go home.”
Shianan looked at him oddly and smiled. “Did you bring my clothes?”
Ariana was the last to learn anything—Tam’s identity as a Ryuven, Tamaryl’s role as Pairvyn ni’Ai, Shianan’s arrest for so stupid a charge as stealing the very Shard he’d brought to Alham.
But Shianan had been released, one of a bare handful of freed prisoners in the High Star’s history, and she had nearly wept with relief. They were safe, Shianan and her father. No one knew about Tam. They were out of danger.
Now they had only hours before the restoration of the shield. She, Tamaryl, and her father sat together in the White Mage’s workroom.
Ariana pushed a paper across the table to Tam. “What do you think of this?”
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