Cold, efficient fight drained from Shianan, and anger rushed to fill the void. “You came from Alham—for me? Didn’t you think I’d left Alham for a reason?” He gestured toward the door. “You rode from Alham on horses, drawing attention to yourself all the way—didn’t you think of bandits and robbers? The Ryuven?”
Soren looked surprised. “Becknam—”
“King’s sweet oats, if I’d wanted to be at beck and call, I’d have stayed in Alham! I took my leave, the first leave of my life, so I could escape the barking and the staring and the scraping. I thought when I saw those horses that there must be a battle, another Luenda—but no, it’s only my sovereign prince come out to risk his royal neck, and for no reason more than to drink my wine!”
Soren stared, and then his cheeks rounded. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he looked at the glove on the table.
Shianan’s anger swelled. “What is it that amuses you?”
Soren gave in to the smile. “Not amused, no. But I think I am pleased.” He made a small nod. “You’ve stopped distancing yourself with honorifics and planned speeches and little dances of etiquette.” He shrugged. “I’m glad you trust me enough to shout at me.”
Shianan’s throat closed, and for a moment he could not respond. What had he done—shouting at the prince? His prince, and the lord he’d sworn to obey?
“As far as the bandits go, yes, I’d heard something about several new troubled roads. But I didn’t think a day’s ride from the city with Philip and my own sword was inviting too much trouble, not when we pay our army good wages to keep the roads safe.” He pointed a finger. “And you’re not the only one who might appreciate time away from Alham, either.”
Shianan’s voice was hoarse. “Your Highness, I shouldn’t have—”
“Shianan,” Soren interrupted, “come and sit.”
Shianan obeyed. They sat shoulder to shoulder for a moment, keeping their eyes on the table, and then Kraden entered with a tray, followed by a young dark-eyed woman bearing another. “Ah, master, you’re here! I’ll bring another cup. My lords, here is the wine, and some excellent cheese, with seasoned pork and bread and fresh herbed butter, and I have apples and honey for you as well.”
Neither of them answered, and Kraden made a nervous little bow before departing. The dark-eyed woman waited just a moment, looking at count and prince, before following.
“About what happened...” Soren began at last, his eyes on the food between them. “I meant to get there before you. I thought it might not be a propitious day. But I didn’t know in time to warn you.”
Shianan clenched his fists. He had spent most of the last few days determinedly not thinking of this. “Propitious... A foul mood might snap at a servant. A foul mood does not raise taxes or wage war. Important decisions reflect the man, not the mood.” He shook his head. “The king does not intend to allow me to marry. I’ll be fortunate if he doesn’t have me gelded.” He rested his forehead upon the heels of his hands. “He may even let Alasdair wield the knife.”
Soren snorted. “Is that why you’re hiding here?”
Shianan tensed. “I’m not hiding. This is my own estate.”
Soren said nothing.
Shianan looked away. “If you came all this way only to tell me—”
“That I’m sorry?” Soren stared at the untouched food on the table. “I am. You didn’t deserve that. And I’d encouraged you.”
Shianan flexed his fingers. “I wish you hadn’t been there.”
Soren bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You said as much already.”
“It’s still true. I owe you a certain responsibility, you know, as sworn lord.”
“You can do only what’s in your power, my lord.”
“And sometimes I wish it were more.” Soren sighed. “This isn’t finished, Shianan. I will solicit on your behalf.”
Shianan cringed. “Don’t make me a beggar.”
“Never. But there might be a way to persuade him. You swore to serve me, and I intend to be a lord who serves his servants. And I promise I’ll protect you from Alasdair.” He grinned.
“Do you?” Shianan looked at him seriously. “Can you?”
Soren sobered. “Dear Holy One, what is he—is it something since he made you swear that stupid oath?”
Shianan looked at the table. “You know about the mercenaries at the public matches?”
“Of course. Some say you hired them to make a name for yourself, but the more common rumor is that the king wanted to surprise you and test your skill.”
“It was Alasdair. Using the royal seal.”
Soren blinked. “’Soats, maybe you should stay out here after all.”
Shianan sighed. “In truth, I don’t know where I should be. But I can’t stay and see her day after day.” He sank his head in his hands. “What if Alasdair learns? What if he torments her with her bastard admirer? I couldn’t see her humiliated like that.”
“Don’t allow it. Won’t your inexplicable absence permit more speculation on what drove you from the city? But if you’re there, fulfilling your duty as always, that suggests there is less to the story.”
Shianan cast him a sidelong glance. “And you want me to return, anyway.”
“I do,” confessed Soren. “And so, I think, does your lady. I’m told she passes by your office each night on her way home from the Wheel.”
“You’ve had her watched?” demanded Shianan.
Soren held up a hand defensively. “Only, let us say, observed. You left suddenly and without word of where you were going, and we didn’t know what had become of you. I thought you might have informed her, at least.” He gave Shianan an accusing look. “But you didn’t, did you.” It was not a question.
“It would not have helped her. She was better not to expect me to return soon.”
Soren shrugged. “If you say so. I don’t pretend to know much of women. Perhaps they prefer their most ardent admirers to depart without warning.”
Shianan flushed hotly. “And what would you have me do? Should I stay and bathe in the shame of being a slave, forbidden to love or marry where I choose?”
Soren looked away. “If that’s how you think of it. But if you’d stayed, she wouldn’t wonder.”
Shianan rolled his eyes. “Ariana’s sensible. She isn’t going to mope and cry that I found her unworthy. Any man would be pleased to court a lady mage of her standing.”
“You’re sure she isn’t shaken? That she wouldn’t prefer you demonstrate your lasting affection by at least consulting her on a point which concerns the two of you so intimately?”
Shianan clenched his jaw. “You do have a way of stating things in your own light. Is that a skill taught to young royals?”
“With grammar and counting,” snapped Soren.
“As it happens, I don’t want to demonstrate my lasting affection,” Shianan retorted. “I want her to be happy, and it’s plain a tie to me would give her endless grief. I won’t let her be hurt by Alasdair or anyone else. She’s a beautiful and intelligent woman, well-placed; she was too grand a prize for me, anyway, and she’ll find a better match elsewhere.”
Soren hesitated. “You mean that?”
Shianan blew out his breath, his eyes fixed on the table, staring at nothing. “I mean that. I won’t be selfish enough to bring her misery.” There was a long moment of silence. At last, to occupy his hands, Shianan began to slice an apple. “My lord?”
“Thank you.” Soren chewed the offered piece, keeping his eyes from Shianan. Finally he spoke. “You must tell me what it is like, loving someone enough to die for her, and then, to give her up.”
Shianan drizzled honey over slabs of apple. “It’s wretched.”
“All those beautiful tales of unfulfilled love...?”
“They lie. Written by drunken bards who never loved anything but the sound of their own voices.” Shianan took a bite, honey sweetness mixing with tart.
“I see.” Soren took a pie
ce of the honeyed apple.
They were silent a few moments, helping themselves to the food. Shianan rubbed fretfully at his sweat-slicked hair. The wine was good but not what he wanted after running.
At last Soren spoke. “If you won’t come to quell rumor, then I should tell you to come to escape the plague.”
“Plague?”
“There’s plague starting—not in the city, but in villages and towns through the countryside. It’s not one we’ve seen before. It’s a terrible flux that leaves its victims weak and dry.”
“Where is it?”
“In the central region, mostly, north and east of Alham, right where every trade caravan is going to carry it through to everywhere else.” Soren shook his head. “We’ve been getting reports. Not many dead so far, only the weak—children and old ones—but that may change with time. And those it doesn’t kill, it weakens, and if it spreads as planting comes... We won’t have much of a harvest to feed those left.”
Shianan licked his lips. “I suppose that next to a kingdom of starving sicklings, a refused match and a bullying young prince are insignificant.”
“No! King’s oats, that wasn’t my meaning at all.” Soren drummed his fingers on the table. “No, I only meant—never mind.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“It’s only... I won’t order you back. It’s your leave, after all. But what are you doing here?”
“I’m not sure.” Shianan rubbed at his forehead. “I had not really visited this place since... since it was mine. I like the quiet here. And it is good, I think, to be away from my duties for a time...”
Soren turned to regard him frankly. “Didn’t I once say you were a poor liar?”
Shianan’s shoulders drooped. “Abominable was the word, I think. But I don’t think that’s accurate.”
“Regardless, I don’t think you have any purpose here other than a desire to stay out of Alham—and that only because of the king’s denial.”
“And what if that’s so? Isn’t that enough?”
“Certainly, if you wish. After all, it is your leave.” Soren took a breath. “But I’m asking you, and not as your prince and lord, but—I’m asking you, will you come again to Alham?”
Shianan stared at the pork, his mind curiously blank. What did it benefit him to be here, anyway? True, it would be difficult to see Ariana, but he was no stranger to having his failures flaunted. Rumor that he had overstepped his bounds might dog him, but that was no novelty, either. And in Alham he would not be reduced to running circles about his land like a mindsick animal.
And perhaps, maybe, Ariana would still welcome him to supper and to walks, and he could cherish what little he could claim.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll come back, my lord.”
“I didn’t ask as your lord.”
“I’ll come regardless.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Soren nodded. “I almost brought a horse for you, you know.”
“What?”
Soren chuckled. “By the look of it, that would have made a worthy bribe.”
Shianan flushed. “Yes, probably,” he confessed.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to fetch you.” Soren reached for a piece of cheese. “So, my friend, will you share the hospitality of your house, or should Philip and I start back yet today?”
“I couldn’t let you start on the road this late, even with horses. And I cannot have it said that I refused bed and board to my prince. You are of course welcome, though I am not certain our accommodations will be to my prince’s custom. I have been a rather lax lord, I fear, and I hardly know my own house.”
Soren shook his head. “After a day in the saddle, all I want is a bath and a soft bed. Philip must be made of leather and iron. I assume you country folk do have baths? A half-barrel of rainwater, perhaps?”
“Chilly rainwater, of course.”
“Good enough.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
SHIANAN SANK INTO HIS familiar desk chair, feeling a vague despair.
There had been stares as he walked into the wide military yard, as he’d expected. No one had asked openly where he had been or why, but he could read the question in countless eyes. Still, that mattered little. It would be the king’s next audience which would cost him the most.
But when he’d returned to his office and found his desk stacked high with accumulated paperwork, it was insult upon injury. It would take him a week or more to catch up.
With a sigh he began to sort the papers from their stacked chaos into a sort of organization. Briefly he considered requesting an orderly. He had previously declined one because he liked the privacy of his office and quarters, and because of a slight fear that one might report on him to officers or king, but he had found Luca’s invasion less troublesome than he’d feared.
Of course, that had been Luca.
He missed Luca—missed his efficient organization and his steady friendship. He hoped his friend had found his footing in his homeland. Perhaps, when this piled work was finished, Shianan would send a letter to the Wakari Coast to confirm all was well.
He sighed. By the time this work was finished, Luca might have settled on the coast, started his own merchant house, and raised children.
He took a sheaf of training reports from Captain Alanz, flipped through them, and set them aside. The fourth squad needed work, but that was nothing new. Shianan would schedule a few extra hours with them when he had the chance. Torg could handle this request to help Sergeant Parr evaluate a handful of recruits who showed unusual promise. Shianan would see to this second group himself, though, as they had come from another company...
He had been working for a couple of hours when there was a knock at the door. “Come,” he called.
It was Harl who entered. “Good evening, sir. Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Harl. What do you need?”
“I was just to give you these, sir. That’s all.” He set a stack of papers on the desk.
Shianan eyed them resentfully. “I see.” He glanced up at the soldier, still waiting behind the desk. “If that’s all, Harl, then you may go. I have enough to keep me tonight.”
Harl nodded slowly. “Sir...”
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say, sir, that we, I mean, there’s a lot of us who are glad to be under you, sir. If ever you need something, just say the word, sir.”
Shianan looked at him for a moment in surprise. “Thank you, Harl.”
The soldier nodded stiffly.
“Tell me, then.” Shianan laced his fingers together. “What are they saying about my recent absence?”
“All of it, sir?” Harl looked up thoughtfully. “There’s a few who said you left after seeing the king, so there was some trouble there. That’s only a few, though. Others suppose the king gave you a mission of your own. Or it’s said you went on another task for the Circle, as you’ve brought the Shard back twice.”
It was better than he could have hoped. “I see. Thank you.” He made himself smile. “If anyone asks, you may tell them on excellent authority that I’m not speaking on it.”
Harl smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s all, Harl. Thank you.”
He sat for a moment after the soldier left, wondering if this quiet confidence from his men made him more valuable or more dangerous in the king’s eyes. Finally he shook his head and bent again over the desk.
He had lit two candles against the deepening twilight when another knock sounded. “Come.”
He caught a glimpse of three men as the door opened, but only one entered. He was difficult to see behind the candles placed to light the paperwork. “Come closer, please. What can I do for you?”
“You Shianan Becknam? Bailaha?”
The speaker was unfamiliar. Shianan slid his hand nearer the knife on his belt. “I am. Who are you?”
“I’m Benton Madden. I’ve come about a missing slave.”
Shianan relaxed an
d tried to hide his annoyance. “If you’re looking for a runaway, the officer you want to talk—”
“No, not mine, m’lord. Yours. Your own slave who’s missing.”
Apprehension washed over Shianan. Had someone finally noted that he’d stolen and sent away Luca? “I’m not missing any slaves.”
Benton Madden gave a long, disappointed sigh. “I was afraid of that. I should have known better than to believe a slave trying to avoid the mines.” He shook his head. “I wish he’d been yours, though. Frangit will be sharp, and we’ll be lucky to get our own money out of him again. Sorry to bother you, m’lord.” He turned to go.
Shianan watched him, wondering. A runaway slave had named Shianan Becknam as his master? Had someone fled Fhure? Only Luca had ever served him here in Alham, and Luca was safely with his brother across the border.
The door closed, and a few seconds passed. Then Shianan heard raised voices, a strained shout and then an angry retort.
The door was of heavy wood, but the tone caught Shianan’s ear. It was probably just the suggestion, but... Impulsively he rose and went to the door.
Benton was a few paces into the yard. Beyond him, one man held another in a close grip, twisting his arm to control him as he protested and keeping a handful of hair at the back of the neck. He turned as the door opened, dragging the struggling figure with him, and Shianan’s chest spasmed.
Three men looked at him, framed in the doorway, and a quick, eager voice urged, “Master Shianan!”
Even in the faint light Shianan could recognize the bent figure. “Let him up!” He reached for Luca, steadying him as he straightened. “King’s sweet oats, Luca—what are you doing here?”
Luca gave him a wobbling tentative grin beneath a bloody nose. “I couldn’t help it, master.”
Benton Madden stepped forward again. “We found him in Cascais, m’lord, saying he was stolen and needed returned to you. He said you’d ransom him for a thousand pias.”
“Eight hundred,” Luca said quickly, and his eyes went to Shianan’s. He looked uncertain, hopeful, afraid. “Eight hundred pias, to redeem me...”
Shianan’s mind whirled, but the overwhelming thought was to secure Luca. “I don’t have that much coin here. I can draw against my name tomorrow, if you’ll come then.”
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