Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  “Stay out of this, precious.”

  Jetekesh’s eyes flashed. “Why should I? Am I not to be king when my lord father dies? And won’t you bow to me, your lord son?”

  Bareene curled her hand into a ball, nails digging into flesh. “Not today, dearest. This man is not a toy, but an enemy.”

  “Honestly, Mother, you sound paranoid. He’s one man, if that. How much harm can he do?”

  “You might be surprised,” Bareene said. “He came through Kavacos last Autumn, didn’t you, Wanderlust? You stirred up a lot of trouble then, telling tales of pretend princes coming to claim what belongs to them. Oh, you might have fooled the masses, but you don't fool me. I know a KryTeer sympathizer when I hear one.” She rested a finger under the prisoner’s chin. “You thought to hide your heritage under that filthy Shingese face, but I smell KryTeer on your breath.”

  “I am not of KryTeer,” Jinji said. “Perhaps you smell the onions I ate for breakfast.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Was he mocking her?

  “Mother.” Jetekesh rested a hand on her shoulder. “Let me have him. Please?”

  She whirled on him. “Why?”

  “Because he interests me. Let me have him, and when I’m bored, you can torture him, or boil him, or whatever else you had in mind.”

  She studied her son’s face, the curiosity in his eyes, and she smiled. It might be a good teaching opportunity. “Very well, Jetekesh, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s a menace and a threat. Be careful and don’t let him escape.”

  Jetekesh waited until Mother was gone before he ordered the captain and his guards to depart. When they hesitated, he sighed. “Tifen is nearby. Leave us. I’m fine.”

  When the doors closed after the guards, he turned to Jinji. “What a fascinating figure you cut.” He moved to the settee and threw himself against the pillows, then snapped his fingers. His protector stepped from the deepest shadows of the room and approached. He bowed. “This is Tifen, my bodyguard. If you try anything, Wanderlust, he won’t hesitate to spread your guts across my courtyard. Do you understand?” He motioned to a decanter and Tifen poured him a goblet of bloodred wine.

  “Yes,” Jinji said, “I understand.”

  “I understand, Your Highness would be more respectful.” Jetekesh sipped the wine and licked his lips. “But then, the Shingese aren’t a respectful people, are they? Shing doesn’t consider any of its conquerors to be worth respecting, so my tutors tell me. Odd, that. You would think that a people constantly trampled by other countries would understand their place in life.”

  “The people of Shing respect those who respect others,” Jinji said.

  Jetekesh swallowed a second sip of wine and chuckled. He sank deeper into his pillows. “Tell me a story.”

  Jinji smiled. “Your mother forbade the telling of stories.”

  “My mother isn’t here. Besides, that law has been in effect for some time, and yet you seem to have a reputation for the trade just the same.” He stretched out a foot and kicked a nearby chair. It wobbled before it settled back down. “Sit.”

  Jinji sat. “How old are you, Your Highness?”

  “Fifteen. Why?”

  “So young.”

  Jetekesh straightened with a scowl. “I am eligible to wed next spring.”

  “So you are.”

  “You don’t seem very old yourself.” Jetekesh studied the white in his hair and the light color of his eyes. “Or perhaps you are very old. I can’t quite decide. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two,” Jinji said.

  “But your hair is turning.”

  Jinji fingered a snowy lock. “Yes, it is.”

  “What a meek creature you are.” Jetekesh stretched across the settee. “You remind me of my mother’s pet birds. Are you going to tell me a story or not?”

  “What would you like to hear, Your Highness?”

  “Oh, anything.” Jetekesh waved a hand. “How about that pretend prince Mother mentioned? The one coming to claim what belongs to him. Is he meant to oust me?”

  “He is not a prince of this land,” Jinji said. “His name is Sharo of the land of Shinac.”

  Jetekesh laughed into his goblet. “Shinac? And where is that?”

  “Nowhere and everywhere.”

  “How…evasive. What would it be like to rule a land such as that?” Jetekesh sat up and handed the goblet to Tifen. “Is it like Tifen here? So near, yet easily forgotten?”

  Jinji met the prince’s gaze with a smile. “You mock, and yet you almost understand.”

  Jetekesh shrugged. “I guessed; that is all. So, how did Sharo lose his kingdom?”

  “He was exiled.”

  “By whom?”

  “His father the king.”

  Jetekesh clicked his tongue. “Sounds like a foolish prince.”

  “No. His father was more the fool.”

  Jetekesh eyed Jinji through narrowing eyes. “Be careful what you say.”

  “I speak of the king of Shinac, not of Amantier.”

  Jetekesh folded his fingers over his flat stomach. “Why was his father a fool?”

  “Because he feared his son and threw him out.”

  Jetekesh sighed. “We’re going in circles. Why did the foolish king throw his son out?”

  “He was afraid. You see, in the king’s greed, he took whatever he pleased. He never cared about the consequences. But all actions carry weight, just as a stone plunging into a lake will cause ripples. One day as His Majesty King Darint returned from hunting in an ageless wood, he beheld a maiden fair above any in his kingdom. She disappeared into the woods, but he could not forget her beauty. He was already wedded, but his queen was barren. Seizing his chance, King Darint ordered the woman found and brought to his castle. By the time she arrived, the present queen had met with a horrible accident. King Darint commanded the fair maiden to wed him. She could hardly refuse. One year later Prince Sharo was born.”

  Jinji’s eyes found the fire.

  “Well, go on. Why did the king exile his own son when he had no other heir?”

  Jinji stirred and met the prince’s gaze. “You must understand something about Shinac. It is what most folk call fairyland, a realm of magical beings and magic itself.”

  Jetekesh chuckled. “I recall tales of Shinac, I think. I had a maid servant who often recited rhymes of fairies and dragons and other rubbish. Is this what you do, sell fairytales to my father’s kingdom? And my mother actually thinks you a danger?” His gaze drifted across Jinji’s face, then his clothes. “You appear ready to splinter. Can you even lift a sword?”

  “I’ve never tried,” Jinji said, a faint smile touching his eyes.

  “Never mind. You were telling me of Shinac and its magical prince.”

  “Just so. And you are more right than you know. You see, Shinac was once part of this world. It was in the place now called the Drifting Sands.”

  “Shinac is a desert?”

  “No. It disappeared years ago, leaving only desert behind.”

  “How?”

  Jinji spread his hands. “Magic.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot; this is a fairy story. Pray tell, why did Shinac leave our world?”

  Jinji’s smile faded. “Because we were greedy and wanted its magic for ourselves.”

  “And the people of Shinac wouldn’t share?”

  “They couldn’t share. We aren’t magical. We cannot wield magic unless certain conditions are met.”

  Jetekesh sniggered. “You almost appear to believe Shinac is real. Indeed, you almost make me believe it’s real. That’s quite a gift you’ve got, Wanderlust.”

  “It is real.” Jinji’s smile was back, quiet and reflective and almost sad.

  Jetekesh threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, you are something else! Utterly mad, aren’t you? So, Shinac is real and it’s…everywhere? And nowhere, so you said. Does it just float somewhere above our heads, invisible?” He leaned forward. “Are there fairies dancing around my head?”


  “Magic is difficult to understand, even for those who believe in it.”

  “So, then, this prince of yours, this Sharo; his father threw him out. It seems to me your Shinac is no different from our world, even for all its magic.”

  “There were some who lived in Shinac who wielded no magic but vanished with the land just the same. King Darint’s line was among those privileged few, but then his ancestors usurped the throne of Shinac’s true kings.”

  “Oh, so he’s an impostor king, like KryTeer’s emperor. But how did non-magical people defeat magical creatures?”

  “By very dark means, my prince. King Darint was aware that his line was not the true one, and he had been careful to silence any stirring whisper of the true king’s return. But he was not as careful as he thought. Indeed, he brought his own undoing upon himself when he caught the forest maiden, a descendant of the fae kings of old. Through her—”

  “Fae kings? What are they?”

  “Magical beings.”

  “Like elves?”

  “In a way.”

  “All right. Go on.”

  Jinji’s eyes darted to the hearth. “If you please, Your Highness, I’m chilled from recent illness. Might I sit a little closer to the fire?”

  “Tifen, move his chair.”

  “I can manage, Your Highness.” Jinji took up his chair as Tifen moved toward him.

  “Nonsense. You’re my guest. Besides, I doubt you have the strength to carry it far.”

  Jinji allowed Tifen to take the chair, and they walked together to the hearth. Jinji sat and stretched out his hands to warm them near the flames. “King Darint first began to suspect his son was different when the boy kept vanishing from his lessons at an early age.”

  Jetekesh shrugged. “I vanished from mine all the time.”

  “He didn’t hide, Your Highness. He disappeared. Into the air itself.”

  Jetekesh considered that. “Lucky boy.”

  “At first the king refused to believe his own eyes, but the boy became stranger and stranger with each passing year. In his early years, he was close to his father and, if you will allow, quite a spoiled child. His mother did not know what to do with him. Sharo bullied the servants, and whipped his horse, and did all the sorts of things refined young men shouldn’t do.”

  “He’s a prince,” Jetekesh said. “He can do what he likes.”

  Jinji nodded. “So he felt. But remember what I said of ripples in a lake. There are consequences for every action.”

  “Please.” Jetekesh slumped against his pillows. “Your stories were interesting at first, but now I see the truth of them. You’re not telling tales; you’re selling morals, which is altogether different and much less pleasant.”

  “Forgive me if I seem to preach. I mean only to tell stories, and you asked after Prince Sharo yourself.”

  Jetekesh snorted. “Don’t think me a fool, Wanderlust. You tale-weavers always tweak the story to accommodate the present audience. What is your goal here? Teach the heir apparent to mind his manners? ‘Say please and thank you and don’t beat your horse, else the goblins will eat you.’ So my tutors used to warn.”

  “It isn’t a bad way to live,” Jinji said, “but it isn’t my purpose. I did not intend to come to the palace, Your Highness. Remember, I was arrested by your queen mother.”

  “It wasn’t your plan, perhaps, but you’re taking advantage of your misfortune as any sensible man would. However,” Jetekesh leaned forward, “you would fare better to flatter me, rather than teach childish morals. I’m of half a mind to throw you in the dungeon.”

  “You may do as you wish, Your Highness.”

  Jetekesh snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t know how to treat royalty. First you preach and then you patronize.”

  Jinji bowed his head. “My apologies if I offend. It is not my intention. Indeed, I didn’t intend to tell any stories this day. I feel…rather weak.”

  The prince rose and paced the room, passing his hand over silken drapery. “What is your intention, Wanderlust? What is your purpose in coming to my kingdom and feeding lies to my people?”

  “I only wish to give them some happiness.”

  “By telling them of a land that allegedly abandoned us because we weren’t good enough? Such an inspiring thought!”

  “I tell them of people who daily overcome struggles much like their own.”

  “You are a madman, Wanderlust.” He stepped to the window and stared at the waning sun. “What changed the prince? What made him stop whipping his horse and bullying his servants?”

  “He learned to care for others above himself,” Jinji answered. “He learned that a leader serves his people, not the other way around.”

  Jetekesh turned a quiet sneer on the storyteller. “Mother was right. You are a danger. You bring your Shingese philosophies into my country, convincing the masses that they need a benevolent and weak-willed ruler to serve them. Well, we don’t need that. We need strength. We need power. We need absolute fealty, and you are undermining everything my lady mother and I are working for. I hope you find my dungeons to your liking, Wanderlust. They certainly suit your purpose.”

  3

  The Dying King

  “Very good, Your Highness. That’s enough for today.”

  Jetekesh set aside his rapier and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. His instructor, a willowy, aging man, bowed and strode off across the private courtyard to change clothes. Jetekesh turned to find his own quarters and change from his drenched fencing outfit. The trees surrounding the courtyard stood still, their leaves curled in the heat. Jetekesh glanced up at the sun. Not yet nine o’clock. Perhaps he should stay indoors today.

  His boots slapped cobblestones as he trotted toward the eastward corridor, but as he lowered his head his steps faltered. Mother stood in the open doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Her lips pulled in a pucker. She was draped in a pale gold gown and her long blonde hair twisted in a braid that fell past her knees.

  Jetekesh inhaled, squared his shoulders, and imagined gliding.

  “Good morrow, Lady Queen. How was your rest?”

  “Until this moment I was in perfect repose, dearheart,” came her smooth, watery tones. “But alas, when I came to wake you, I discovered you were dueling again.”

  Jetekesh throttled the handkerchief in his hand. “Yes, Mother. I’ve been carrying on my lessons in secret.”

  “But why, Jetekesh? Your hands.” Mother caught his wrist to bring his palm up for inspection. “Look at those calluses! And see how damp you are with sweat. You reek and princes mustn’t ever reek.”

  Jetekesh bit his lip. Best not mention battles or fox hunts or all the other times a prince, just as any other man, might break into a sweat. There was no point. She couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t let herself understand.

  “Wash yourself.” Mother dropped his hand. “Make yourself presentable. Your father has summoned you this morning.”

  Jetekesh’s heart soared until his head grew light. “He wants to see me?”

  “Only for a few moments. You mustn’t excite him. He’s delicate, dearest. Don’t forget.” She sighed. “I shall see to your instructor. He’ll be sent away directly.”

  Jetekesh’s heart stuttered and fell. “Mother?”

  “No, darling, you shan’t duel. I won’t abide it.”

  “But Mother! Father is an excellent duelist. Kings for ages now—”

  “Your father lies upon his deathbed, Jetekesh!” The queen’s voice cracked like a whip. “I won’t subject my son to the same weakness of body. You will not push yourself so cruelly.”

  He opened his mouth to argue. Her words were preposterous. Fencing would hardly wind him, let alone drive him to his death. It kept him active, graceful, healthy. But with the king’s illness, Mother had become unreasonable. Jetekesh could do nothing that might mar his looks: not lose his temper, not run down the corridors, not ride a horse. And what could he do but submit? But only until he was king.
After that, he would not indulge her mad requests any longer. Yet the very idea of becoming king horrified him, for it would signify the death of Jetekesh’s hero.

  “Fine.” He stomped past her.

  “Your posture, pet!”

  He slowed until he turned the corridor, then sprinted to his rooms. After sponging himself off, Jetekesh found his way to Father’s dark chambers.

  The smell of death lingered close, as though the Driodere—grim death itself—hovered above the grand four-post bed, waiting to claim King Jetekesh the Fourth. Prince Jetekesh hated this close and dismal room and what it held. The king was not as he had always been. Rather than the strong arms and broad shoulders, the bright cunning eyes, the meticulous thinker, the lord and ruler of Amantier, here lay the papery ghost of a man: haggard, skeletal, with sunken eyes and harsh, clipped breaths.

  Jetekesh squared his shoulders and dragged in a breath. He approached the bed, hands damp with sweat as he clenched his fingers into fists. His heart clattered in his ears.

  Father slept, breaths rattling.

  Jetekesh wet his lips. Lately, pain had made Father’s rest difficult. Should Jetekesh leave him be and come on another day? It was so rare to see him, to hear him, to speak with him. The prince was no fool. Time was wearing down, and soon he must bid Lord Father farewell forever.

  The putrid scent of rot washed over Jetekesh. He gagged. I hate this. I want to leave!

  “My son…is that you?”

  Jetekesh’s heart took flight as he leaned across the bed. “Yes, sire. It is I.”

  Lord Father’s eyes cracked open and caught fire in the candlelight. “I can…hardly see anything. Draw aside the curtains, Kesh.”

  “Should I, sire? Lady Mother said the sunlight is too harsh for you.”

  “Non…sense… A little sunlight won’t harm anyone.”

  Jetekesh strode to the window and let in a crack of light. “Better?”

  “Yes… Now stand…where I can see you…”

  Jetekesh traced the light across the floor and stood in it, aware of the sun playing against his gold hair. Mother would love the effect if she saw it.