Keldor smothered the urge to cuff the boy. Adrik occasionally let his mouth outrun his sense. The kid had the same bright-eyed enthusiasm Keldor had last seen in his son, Talyon. Unfortunately, Adrik had only half of Taly’s intellect. From the back or side, Keldor could almost imagine Adrik was Taly.
“Guess they might see the flash, but if we get real close—”
“You ever try sneaking up on a Ranger?”
“No, sir, but—”
“It can’t be done.”
“They’re—”
“Very good at what they do,” Keldor cut in. “Besides, she rode away from him.”
“It’s just a girl,” Adrik said sullenly.
That’s a fight I’d like to see, Keldor silently admitted. He stared into the semi-darkness. The Ranger didn’t look like much of a melee fighter, but he had learned to never underestimate Rangers. Rumors of strange powers didn’t spring from nothing, and he had seen those powers. A Ranger had once healed Taly from a venomous snakebite, placing Keldor deep in her debt.
Bentanner shifted uncomfortably.
Keldor let him stew a little longer, using silence as a weapon.
“Let’s go,” he said finally.
When they returned to camp, Keldor slipped into his tent and sent a report to the Lady, pondering his conflicting orders. Donovan Meetcher wished the prince captured and the Ranger killed. The Lady believed their relationship could be exploited, and Keldor agreed. Since he valued his life, he counted the Lady’s order as binding, but the others were committed RT Alliance men. For the moment, he needed to keep them thinking he would obey Meetcher. Keldor had no plan for completing his mission, but that had never stopped him before.
In preparation for this assignment, he had spent hours learning Ranger customs. Lucas Telon’s voice returned to Keldor with bitterness intact.
“You can count on a Ranger to be predictably, honestly, stupidly noble. They can’t help it.” His obvious disdain told Keldor that Lucas possessed no such flaw.
Keldor didn’t know which way this Ranger would lean, but her recent heart-to-heart with the prince gave him much to consider. Generally, princes too could be predictably stupid when it came to women in danger.
The TT-189 gave Keldor a close look at the Ranger. Upon adding artificial lighting to the frozen image, he saw she possessed an attractive face. Her neat eyebrows curved slightly, leading to a gently sloping nose. Light brown hair perfectly complimented her green eyes, and the lines of her face were smooth and clean. The face looked too soft for a Ranger.
A sense of familiarity stole over Keldor. He stared at the picture for five minutes, mentally replaying the conversation. Then, he added the sound and let the conversation play another four times. Some sections were inaudible even with enhancement, but enough remained to stir his curiosity. Over the years, he had fought quite a few Rangers.
I’ve never met her.
He knew that for certain. Keldor rarely forgot a face, and any man would be hard-pressed to forget this woman.
Have I heard her speak?
He played the conversation twice more and concluded he had never heard her voice.
Have I seen her before or heard her name?
He studied the woman’s face again. Aside from the impression that she wore her name well, Keldor could get nothing more distinct. Grunting, he paced his tiny tent.
The woman said she’d be around for a month.
Despite knowing her name, he preferred to depersonalize her. If instinct panned out, the woman would become a target. She likely possessed the weakness Lucas Telon had mentioned, but to be safe, he would have Adrik and Einer watch her.
A chime told Keldor he had a new message. He read the orders and turned his mind to the details. The Lady agreed the Ranger should be captured but absolutely forbade him from killing her. In the end, he decided that choosing the right bait would be key. While half his men shadowed the Ranger, Keldor and his two remaining men would scout nearby farms for good targets. Once they had the Ranger, the Alliance people inside the Rammon Palace would summon the prince.
Let’s hope they’re both predictably stupid.
Chapter 31:
Crown Prince
ALLEI (AUGUST) 1, 1538
One day after Prince Terosh’s Kireshana journey
Prince Terosh’s Private Quarters, Royal Palace, City of Rammon
Prince Terosh Minstel stalked back and forth across his bedchamber. He had spent the night in a Royal Guard camp and returned to Rammon in the morning. His father had hardly let him rest since stepping foot in the palace. Even stealing a moment to dispatch Dr. Dentelich on a mercy mission had taken considerable effort. A steady stream of celebrations left Terosh’s head buzzing, and though his body wanted sleep, his mind wouldn’t let him.
He idly picked up Reia’s banistick from where he had placed it and considered the many young noblewomen he had just met. They couldn’t match Reia’s wit, wisdom, or beauty. Their efforts to get his attention were pathetic. He must have caught at least six young women who had mysteriously lost their balance.
You’d think the palace floors were riddled with graveground.
Reia would laugh at them and him. The more he thought about her, the more he missed her laughter, smile, and even anger. He remembered her cool hands changing the bandages on his back. He longed to hear the cadence of her voice, hold her and gaze at the stars, or just see how firelight changed the color of her hair.
Can I live in the palace without her?
“No!” Terosh clutched the banistick.
She had promised to await his answer. He had been more than ready to give an answer that moment, but now, his conviction had grown. The palace, the power, and the pride of being a prince paled next to the terrifying thought of living without Reia.
Is this love?
No wonder Tate looked miserable. If his connection to Dr. Koffrin had been a fraction of what coursed through Terosh, her death must have been devastating.
As if thinking of Tate conjured him, he appeared in the doorway to Terosh’s bedchamber looking ill.
“Don’t.” Tate’s single word order held warning and affection.
Terosh tossed the banistick onto his bed, rushed to his brother, and braced his right arm behind Tate’s back.
“What’s the matter? You’re shaking and sweating ... and you smell like a vat of wine. How much did you drink?”
“Not enough,” Tate mumbled.
After lugging his brother over to his bed, Terosh dumped him onto it, belatedly hoping the banistick wasn’t beneath him.
“He does this at least twice a week, though few know about it,” said Aster Captain Gina Kelter.
Terosh whirled. His right hand searched for his kerlinblade but found only the ceremonial sword he had worn to the mid-afternoon banquet.
“Explain, Captain.” Terosh glanced at Tate to make sure he hadn’t moved. When his attention returned to Captain Kelter, he found her still standing in the threshold. Terosh waved her in. Tate’s presence had already disturbed his solitude.
“You’re dismissed, Captain,” Tate called in a surprisingly clear voice.
Another glance confirmed he still lay flat on his back in the middle of Terosh’s bed.
The Melian Maiden commander bowed to Terosh.
“I’m sure the prince will explain. I will be outside if you need anything.” Her eyes begged him to help Tate.
Terosh blinked, trying to figure out what had just happened. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he folded his arms across his chest and focused on his brother.
Tate lay half on the bed with his legs dangling off, arms splayed like one exhausted with life. His chest rose and fell slowly. Suddenly, he lifted his head and opened one eye.
“Is she gone?”
Again, the normality of Tate’s voice struck Terosh. He sighed away the worry and allowed irritation to replace it.
“Why are you avoiding Captain Kelter? And how did you fake being drunk?”
“The woman’s been like a second skin for the last few months,” Tate grumbled, ignoring the questions. He opened his other eye and propped himself up on elbows. “She thinks I’m suicidal.”
“Are you?” Terosh demanded. He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair.
“Sometimes, but that’s beside the point,” Tate answered. “And I wasn’t faking,” he added, brushing at his sleeves to straighten them. “I just wasn’t compensating with anotechs.”
Letting his arms fall to his sides, Terosh watched as Tate’s clothes straightened. The rich fabric of Tate’s robes shifted shades of green from nearly yellow to almost black, depending on how the fabric bent. Sometimes the intricate patterns of gold, silver, red, blue, and yellow threads would disappear, only to reappear at a different angle and shape. The sheen of sweat dried, and Tate’s blond hair sorted itself into neater waves.
The casual use of anotechs annoyed Terosh, but he admired his brother’s control. Terosh waited patiently for Tate to explain.
Sitting cross-legged on Terosh’s bed, Tate tilted his head and regarded him.
“I know I have problems. I’m dealing with them, but I don’t want to see you hurt this way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The girl. The Ranger. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Reia?”
“If you love her, let her go. Drive her off if necessary.”
Feeling like he’d been struck, Terosh knit his brows together.
“You’ve seen her and probably know everything about her, and yet you expect me not to love her?” Once again lacking something better to do with his arms, he resorted to crossing them.
“I expect you to do the right thing,” Tate responded.
“The right thing being ... what exactly?”
Tate sent him an I-just-told-you glare.
“You know what happened to Deanna. I loved her. I married her. I even had a child with her, Terry, and now, they’re gone.”
A memory of Kezem’s package seared Terosh’s mind. He unfolded his arms and stared at his hands. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he studied the bed, the banistick, the floor, and anywhere that wasn’t Tate. The anotechs let him feel the waves of pain rolling off his brother.
“I understand.”
“You don’t,” Tate replied. “And I hope you never have to,” he added softly. Then, clearing his throat, he confused Terosh by announcing, “I’m getting married soon.”
Head snapping up, Terosh’s expression turned incredulous. He let out a bitter laugh.
“You’re here warning me away from love, obviously still hurting, and telling me you’re about to get married,” he summarized, shaking his head.
“That’s right, but it’s not love this time. It’s duty.”
Terosh stared at his brother. They had spent countless nights as children sneaking into each other’s private quarters and playing pranks on the guards. They had shared everything, including the promise to marry for love.
“But you promised.”
“That was a long time ago, Terry. A lot has happened since then. I kept my promise and only ended up with pain. This time, good will come of it.”
“How?”
Tate let his legs dangle off the bed.
“The Mitra will ally with us if we help them avoid the Blood Harvest.”
A fuzzy memory of Master Sedir’s history lesson came to Terosh.
“New blood,” he said, recalling the only thing that would suspend the Blood Harvest.
“Do you know what that means?”
“You’re marrying a Mitran princess.”
Tate shook his head.
“It’s more than a simple exchange of promises. New blood means I become Mitran by marrying Princess Alikai. The marriage will forge an alliance that will hopefully keep both planets free from GAPP.” A bitter smile formed. “It means instant kingship, though not of Reshner. I can only return after producing an heir to take over the throne. Even then, it’ll be at least fifteen years before he will be old enough to rule. I’ll be a stranger.” He stopped speaking, then chuckled. “Gods help us if we don’t have a son. The Mitran aren’t quite as progressive as Reshner about rules of inheritance.”
The implication seeped into Terosh. He sat heavily upon his bed.
Tate stared at the floor, hands clasped together.
“In a few weeks, father and I will go to Mitra. Six days toward the core and everything changes. It’s likely I won’t come back.” He met Terosh’s eyes and touched his upper arm. “That makes you Crown Prince, Terry. If anything happens to father or he steps down, Reshner is yours to rule. You will be king.” He squeezed once and let go.
Dreams of escaping to the mountains with Reia shattered. Terosh felt the loss deep in his gut. Emptiness spread through him. He became hyperaware of everything. Time meant nothing as scenes from the Kireshana replayed in his mind then crumbled to dust.
“I’m sorry,” Tate said sincerely. “I wanted to warn you, so you could tell her. Do you have some way of finding her or should I send a messenger?”
“Purple fire,” Terosh responded listlessly.
Tate stood up.
“Come, I want to show you something.”
Chapter 32:
A Visit to Rammon
ALLEI (AUGUST) 1, 1538
Same Day
Southern Quarter, City of Rammon
Reia waited until midmorning, an hour after the hype surrounding Prince Terosh’s return had finally died down, before approaching Rammon. She entered from the South Gate, so she would be in the Southern Quarter where most of the poor resided.
As Reia arrived, a young boy sprinted past her, tripped, and fell headlong, scraping a good portion of his legs and knees. She didn’t inquire after the boy’s health. His tears told her of his pain. He bit his bottom lip to keep from sobbing.
A few silent anotech instructions calmed him. Nevertheless, Reia kept up a steady stream of soothing words and questions to distract the boy while she tended his wounds. A little iretel sap took away the sting, and she applied strips of toom leaves held in place with dandi sap as a bandage. By the end of their short conversation, Reia learned the boy’s name, age, family history, occupation, and favorite pastime. As she finished, Reia asked the anotechs to summarize. She’d never asked them to do something like that before.
They affected a nobleman’s voice as they reported.
Eight-year-old Tyler McDooley lost his father three years ago in a graveground accident on the McQuinten Farm out on the Kevil Plains. Since then, he has worked as a personal messenger for Second Lord Andul. Tyler loves running, so he doesn’t mind carrying messages between Lord Andul and the man’s various lady friends scattered throughout the other city Quarters. Sometimes, Tyler runs just for fun.
Reia had mixed feelings concerning personal messengers. On the one hand, she appreciated that children like Tyler could help their families, but she also knew messengers sometimes suffered mistreatment. Reia didn’t need the anotechs to tell her such things. The bruises on Tyler’s arms spoke volumes as did the wary expression that came over his face when he mentioned his master. Tyler shyly thanked Reia, bowed, and sprinted away.
She wanted to shout for him to be careful but stopped herself.
“Excuse me. Are you a Ranger?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reia replied, turning to face the speaker.
“Oh, thank goodness!” The woman grasped Reia’s right arm. “Can you heal Kemloth Fever?”
“I can.” Reia extricated her arm from the woman’s grasp and dug through her caydronan sack until she came up with two astera petals. She pressed the blue petals into the woman’s hands. “Stick these in boiling water and make a broth out of them. Wuzle roots should be enough to hide the bitter taste, but if you prefer, vegetables and salt would also make a nice soup.”
“I don’t have any wuzle roots.” The woman’s voice went high with alarm. “Will it still work? Both my
boys are sick.”
“Of course.” Reia scolded herself for not considering that possibility. “But I have some extra roots here if you’d like them.” She retrieved three wuzle roots from her caydronan sack, gave them to the woman, and added two more astera petals. “Throw everything in a pot of water and bring it to a boil for about ten minutes, then let it cool and serve it. A weak broth can actually make Kemloth Fever worse, but these should be enough.”
“Thank you.” The woman dashed at some tears, whirled, and hurried off.
Word of Reia’s presence spread throughout the Southern Quarter like wildfire. People poured from their homes, ready to receive whatever aid she could offer. She picked a street corner and set up a makeshift clinic. Reia doled out herbs and instructions for common illnesses, made some of the more complicated cures, cleaned and patched infected wounds, and occasionally, used anotechs to fix the serious injuries. She used the anotechs as little as possible since she didn’t know their true limits.
Her caydronan sack quickly emptied of remedies for fever, pain, and stress. She had started out short of sannin and corlia anyway from her efforts for the McNoughtens and Lieutenant Fericin. The weeks of travel had allowed for some herb gathering but not nearly as much as she would have liked.
As Reia started turning people away, a short man with brown hair and black eyes pushed to the front. A neat mustache and beard softened his otherwise angular face.
“Make way! Make way!”
“Wait your—” a young mother began to protest. The two small children in her arms lay limply, their dark eyes as dull as stones.
“I have orders to follow,” the man interrupted.
“Says who?” demanded another man.
“The Dulad Prince,” declared the man.
Reia couldn’t help thinking he looked like a puffed up little kyrie boasting of a great catch.
“What orders have you, master?” Reia asked, noting the man’s fine robes.
“Doctor, actually. Dr. Ezzai Dentelich, head doctor for the royal family.” He inclined his head.
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