by Kirby Crow
“Stay but a moment, Nazheradei!”
The voice that rang out was calm, controlled, and haughty. It was the voice of a prince. Vladei rose from his seat, resplendent in gold and red, his House colors.
We look so much alike, he and I, Liall thought. Almost, I can look at him and see Nadei.
Almost, until Vladei opened his mouth and any pity Liall might have had for him vanished.
“Princes of Druz,” he said, addressing both Liall and Cestimir at once. He made a show of a bow, a little thing so deftly tossed that none could mistake it for obeisance. “If we are to be ruled by an untried boy, a youth who has not once spoken at the Council of Barons or made his voice heard at any meeting of the Moot Lords, might we at least know his mind in some matters?”
Liall wondered what Vladei was getting at, and held up his hand when Cestimir would have answered the older prince. “Be plain, Vladei. What is it you want to know?”
“Only that which is most important to Rshan; whether or not we are safe in this boy’s hands.” Vladei drew himself up to his full height and pitched his voice to its full power, full of subtlety and nuance, silken in its persuasion. “The Barony of Uzna Minor houses one of our most sacred shrines to our ancestors. In grandeur, it is surpassed only by Nauhin. In the hearts of our people, only Fanorl –the oldest of our dwelling-places, the very birthplace of the Shining Ones– stands higher in esteem. Uzna Minor is my charge. What she stands for is mine to protect, and only death can relieve me of that duty. What I would hear from this prince is this; will he honor what our ancestors intended for their sons and daughters? Will our lands remain sacred and apart, or are we –like every other land of Nemerl– to be infiltrated by foreign influence until the very memory of our culture is destroyed?”
“Yes,” called out a man in red. He had a voice like a horn and Liall recalled that he was some captain of Vladei’s. “This we must know. Will our most sacred laws be safe? Let the silent prince tell us!”
Cestimir flinched and Liall made his expression amused.
“These laws you speak of have not been questioned by any ruler since Ramung’s time. And, I remind you, Vladei, that Ramung the Usurper was your ancestor, not Cestimir’s. Why do you believe that my brother would threaten our legacy?”
“You give me reason,” Vladei said meaningfully, pointing at Liall. “Is it not our law that no lenilyn may set foot on the mainland? Even those Arbyssian captains who we trade most closely with have never been allowed closer than the island of Sul-na. Yet, you, Nazheradei, have brought a Hilurin to our very court.” Vladei turned to address the barons, walking up and down in front of the tables. “And I hear our Crown Prince is quite taken with this outlander. Who knows what lenilyn filth that creature has polluted the boy with?” He stopped in front of Baron Ressanda and looked down, clasping his hands behind his back. “Who knows why the lenilyn was sent here, or to what purpose?”
“He was not sent here,” Liall grated out, controlling his temper. “I brought him with me, and even that was not intentional. He was to be put ashore in Morturii, but he fell ill and could not be left alone. By the time he had recovered, it was too late to turn back.”
“He appeared to fall ill,” Vladei countered, as quick of tongue as ever. “How do you know his illness was not feigned, so that you would have to bring him here where he could get close to the throne? For what purpose? To bring it down! How do we know he is not an assassin?”
Liall hid a laugh behind a cough. “Pardon me, Vladei, perhaps you have not met ser Keriss.” He placed his hand below his shoulder to approximate Scarlet’s height. “He can be fearsome when roused, but as long as you keep a civil tongue in your head and your hands to yourself, you will be safe enough in his presence.”
A titter of laughter chased around the room. From the corner of his eye, Liall saw Lady Ressilka smiling and whispering something aside to her father. Apparently, she had as little love for Vladei as for Shikhoza.
Vladei gritted his teeth, and Liall wondered at the man’s anger. It took Liall a moment to comprehend that Vladei actually believed what he was saying, and he was shocked. He wondered how a man as educated as Vladei could see menace in someone like Scarlet, simply because of the color of his skin.
“This bigotry does not become you, Vladei,” Liall said. “Keriss has a gentle spirit. He would never harm anyone, save to preserve his own life.”
“Gentle spirit.” Vladei smiled thinly through his anger. “So gentle that one mariner aboard the Ostre Sul is disfigured for life, and three others suffered harm at his hands.”
“Only after he nearly suffered rape at theirs,” Liall shot back, but he was worried that Vladei apparently knew so much about the events that occurred during the voyage from Volkovoi. That alone told Liall whose hand had been behind the bravos at the port and the pirate attack at sea. “And it was Oleksei who scarred ser Keriss’s face as well. For that alone I should have killed him.”
“And how do we know even that is true?” Vladei said. “The mariners denied it.”
“I saw them at it with my own eyes. Now, Vladei, call me a liar.”
Vladei bowed only enough to deflect the challenge, again giving the Druz princes that trifling gesture that said anything but politeness. “I would not insult you so.”
“But you will insult my t’aishka quickly enough.”
Again, the red-garbed man with the loud voice stepped forward. “He’s only saying what everyone is thinking.”
Liall decided he had had enough of him. “Everyone, or merely the mercenaries in his pay?”
The red man subsided and cast his eyes to the floor. Vladei could look for no further help from there. It alarmed Liall to see a powerful man like Vladei so hostile to Scarlet. Vladei was a determined man with great intelligence, which meant he would make a formidable enemy.
We were close once, Liall thought. There must be some way I can reach him.
“Vladei,” Liall began, stretching out his hand in a gesture of friendship.
Vladei turned on his heel and pushed past the barons in the hall, leaving a stir of whispers behind him.
Liall sighed and Cestimir shot him an apologetic look. As the barons and their attendants filed out, Cestimir helped Liall to gather the papers he had scattered about the table.
“I have never been a neat scribe,” Liall said.
“They like you,” Cestimir mused, nodding towards the retreating barons. “And at least one of them likes looking at you,” he added, flashing a smile.
He is an astute one, this unknown brother of mine, Liall thought.
Cestimir was young, but not frivolous, and with that aura of seriousness and devotion to duty that reminded Liall of Nadiushka. Yet, as Liall saw from the flash of his teeth and the wicked gleam in his eyes when he smiled, there was still a streak of mischievous youth in Cestimir.
“As a novelty, perhaps. Like an heirloom that everyone talks about,” Liall said, hoping to deflect any ideas Cestimir might be harboring that Liall found Ressilka desirable, or vice versa. “But you are their heir. They have high hopes for you.”
“But they respect you, which is a rare thing. You seem to have won them over, which brings me to a point I did not raise earlier: You are the Blood Prince of Rshan, the only one alive with a right to the throne that none could doubt. Why do you not simply claim it and end this uncertainty?”
Liall froze. “Never. I will never claim the throne of Rshan.”
Cestimir gave a sigh and looked suddenly depressed. “And why would you? Why would anyone? Even now, as we speak, Khatai Jarek has taken a battlefield to the north. She carries my name on her banner. To many of my people, that name will mean death. That is not what I would have chosen, but it is what I must do if I am to keep what my ancestors have passed down to me in trust.” He held his hand out to the last members of the hall as if offering them a plate. “They would all want to be king. Do you know what it means to be king, my brother?”
Liall did, but he kept si
lent. He had also not known about Jarek winning the field in Magur, but she was Cestimir’s general, not his. It made him worry: the more defeats Vladei received, the more desperate he would become.
“It means being born with the power to do whatever you want, but none of the freedom. I will never see the kingdom of Minh or the high mountains of Morturii. I can’t even go on a sleigh ride when I feel like it. I am hemmed in here, and I will be a prisoner of my crown until I grow old and die or someone kills me.” Cestimir shrugged. “So I take small pleasures when I can: my books, racing my horses, eavesdropping on the court, which is sometimes better than watching a horse race. You are the same. I’ve seen you with your t’aishka. I’ve heard of the small things you seek out for him, the Byzan music for example.”
“Cestimir…”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Tell me about the music.”
“It was more difficult than I thought,” Liall said, honoring his wish. “There are no Hilurin musicians here. In Byzantur, Hilurin families are what we would call virtuous: very proper and chaste. The only Byzan music I could find was erotic love songs and street ditties that would not be sung in public.”
Cestimir was silent for a moment. “Ser Keriss is this way? Virtuous and proper?”
“Yes. I had a devil of a time even getting a kiss for months,” Liall grinned, saving that story for another time.
“Oh,” was all Cestimir said.
Now Liall was curious. “What?”
Cestimir looked embarrassed. “It just makes my first words to him all that more insulting,” he said apologetically. “When Keriss and I first spoke, I insinuated that he was a paid lover.”
“Then it is a wonder you do not have two black eyes.” Liall was amused that Cestimir used the more polite term rather than whore. “Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because I was angry at you. You’ve been away all my life, but ever since I could remember, I’ve heard stories about you and I’ve wanted to meet you. Finally you came, but you had no time for me.”
“Oh, Cestimir,” Liall said, greatly ashamed. “I never meant—”
“The little pleasures,” Cestimir interrupted, as if Liall had not spoken.
Cestimir was turning the subject, but it took Liall a moment to realize he meant the music, or perhaps more than that. He could not tell. Cestimir was at turns subtle and direct, and Liall mused that his brother would be a ruler that many trusted, but few understood.
“They are all that a king can really expect in life,” Cestimir continued. “Keriss wants to go on a sleigh ride, did you know? I’ve promised him an excursion in my new one.”
“When it can be arranged,” Liall said, not wanting to forbid it, but the thought of Scarlet and Cestimir alone, outside the palace, made his heart beat faster. Assassins live in hope of just such an opportunity.
Cestimir sighed, knowing the adventure had been put off. “If you ever leave Rshan, I will long to go with you.”
There was little he could say to that, yet Liall was glad for his brother. Cestimir would have no period of short-lived bliss after he ascended the throne. No aborted happiness destroyed in bits and pieces by the slow, dawning knowledge of what it truly meant to rule. He was going into kingship with his eyes open. “I am sorry.”
Cestimir waved that away. “Not every eye will shed tears for me. Poor lad, he must stop his whining and become a king.” Cestimir laughed and touched Liall’s arm. “I will be fine, Nazheradei.”
“I think you will be,” Liall said honestly.
“I will. But be assured, Nazheradei... if I do ascend the throne, I will not be the ruler that my mother is. She wanted progress and change in her rule. I want only what was once ours. In this, Vladei and I are very much alike. We differ only in the times we wish our people to return to. Vladei longs for the days when we fired on foreign ships that were sighted closer than Sul-na. I don’t want that. I want a return to the age when we feared no one and nothing, least of all the color of a man’s skin.”
Liall stared at Cestimir for a long moment. “Spoken like a king,” he murmured.
“Or perhaps a fool,” Cestimir said, grinning suddenly. “I would not be the first king who was more charmed by an idyllic past I had never lived than by a present I found myself trapped in. You must lesson me against false nostalgia.”
Liall linked his arm with Cestimir’s, liking the boy greatly. “Come. It grows late and there is an interminably boring day ahead of us tomorrow. I will see you to your room.”
***
As it turned out, Liall was not able to seek his bed just yet. Baron Ressanda was waiting for him in an alcove not far from Liall’s apartments. The Baron was alone, his daughter presumably retired, and he had come without guards, a matter which did not escape Liall’s notice.
“Ser,” Liall greeted casually.
Ressanda bowed deeply. “Blood Prince,” he said, his voice weighted heavy with foreboding. “I come on a grave matter.”
“Oh?” Liall looked up and down the hall meaningfully. They were empty, and Ressanda and he were alone.
Ressanda touched his ear with a fingertip. “Even stone walls can hear,” he quoted. Liall took his meaning and turned on his heel. Ressanda followed. There was a room not twenty paces from the apartments, a small salon that Liall had searched thoroughly the night before. It was safe as any room could be in a palace.
Ressanda stood watch by the door as Liall found a lamp and struck a spark for its wick. Blue light flickered around the room as he settled the glass over the flame, then motioned for Ressanda to come forward. Liall found a chair and pulled it up to the small table. This was a bare room with only a little furniture and no ornament, no tapestries or paintings, nothing to hide behind. With a final, suspicious look at the room’s contents, Ressanda sighed and heaved his bulk into the single remaining chair. It creaked under his weight and the wooden legs popped and groaned before submitting to support him. Ressanda put his elbows on the table and folded his arms.
“There is a matter,” Ressanda said. “I would have brought it to you before, but I was not sure of you yet.”
“And now you are?”
The Baron held up a hand. “Not so quickly, my prince. I may be reassured, but I am not totally reconciled with your return. I knew Nadei from the time he was a boy.”
Liall felt his teeth wanting to clench. “Then you knew how he naive was, how delicate his pride and how easily he could be lead, or insulted.”
Ressanda nodded, his ruddy hair tumbling across his forehead. “I did, but he was still my prince. That he would have made a poor king does not excuse you.”
Liall bowed his head. “No. It does not.”
He was surprised to feel Ressanda’s hand on his arm. “But there is nothing you can do to recall that. What’s done is done, and we are here and Nadei is burned to ashes, and whatever future he would have taken us to is dust. Now we must look to you to carve a new future.”
“Not to me,” Liall argued. “Cestimir—”
“Is a boy, still,” he finished. “I, for one, believe you when you say you will turn the throne over to him in swift manner, but many do not. Not truly. Yet... they are content to have their prince back, disgraced or otherwise. It is enough, after so many years of uncertainty, to have a strong man of the pure blood to look to. Vladei!” Ressanda said the name with loathing. “There is not one man of honor in all of Rshan who would back him, but we both know that honorable men have never been in the majority.”
“So he has followers,” Liall said slowly. “More than I have been led to believe.”
Ressanda nodded. “Much more, though they are gathered to the north. We all saw Khatai Jarek and her army leave the Nauhinir, but we were told she was headed south. Now my spies tell me different.” He leaned a little forward. “Is this true? Has she gone north to clean out the rat’s nest?”
Liall knew how much was riding on his reply, and what a mistake it would be if
he misread Ressanda.
True, he thought. The army belongs solely to the queen and she may aim it where she will, but if word gets loose that fighting has broken out and none of the nobles are notified, there will be a bloodbath within the court. “You ask a lot of me when you ask for my trust.”
“Then take this as proof of my trust,” Ressanda said at once. They understood one another. “I am not of the pure blood. That is easy to see, with my red hair and my uncouth body. I am not a pale-haired and elegant Druz prince, but I did manage to marry a woman who is: Winotheri.”
The name was known to Liall. “My cousin,” he said in surprise. Many things had changed in his absence. He had not even known they were kinsmen. “I did not know.”
Ressanda patted Liall’s arm brusquely before withdrawing. “And as Winotheri is an only child, my daughter, Ressilka, inherits her titles, which includes the name of Druz. She, like you and Cestimir, is a vanishing breed. How many Druz are left now? Seven? Eight if you count that rag-tag second cousin of yours who went seafaring. And Ressilka’s youth and unmarried status –not to mention her wealth– make her a very valuable commodity.”
