Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  “Majesty,” whispered Jetekesh as he allowed Jinji to pull him to his feet. “I’m your king now.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. So you are.” Jinji led him to the ladder, climbed down before him, and helped him find each rung until Jetekesh was upon solid ground.

  “Kyella, will you bring some salve for his cheek? Yeshton, if you would please, warm some water for a bath. Come, Your Majesty. This way.”

  When the bath was ready, Jinji helped Jetekesh to scrub himself clean and hauled him from the tub. The farmer produced rough clothing from a chest in the corner, and Jetekesh dressed, then allowed himself to be tucked into bed.

  Jinji smoothed back his hair. “Sleep, Your Majesty. Your mind will be clearer tomorrow.”

  “He’ll have a powerful headache,” said the man called Yeshton.

  “He’ll deserve it,” said Cousin Rille.

  “Hush. Come away.”

  The voices retreated.

  Jinji appeared above the bed. He dabbed something cold on Jetekesh’s cheek.

  Jetekesh blinked up at him. “For a coward and an escaped prisoner, storyteller, you aren’t horrible.”

  The man smiled. “Thank you, sire.”

  Jetekesh rolled onto his side. “If you’re from Shing, why do you have light eyes? Shouldn’t they be black?”

  “An inheritance from my father. He was Amantieran.”

  “So then,” Jetekesh laughed, “I really am your king.”

  “Yes, sire. You are.”

  “Where is your father? Why didn’t he speak for you when you were captured?”

  “He never cared for me,” said Jinji.

  “It’s rare for an Amantieran to wed a Shingese.”

  “Yes, sire, it is.”

  “An arranged marriage? But you’re a shepherd, you said.” Despite the coarseness of the bedding, Jetekesh nestled into the coverlets and welcomed sleep as it drifted over him.

  “There was no marriage, sire.”

  His tone implied something but Jetekesh was too sleepy and too drunk to comprehend what. Did it matter? Father was dead. Nothing mattered. Tears leaked from his eyes.

  “Shh. Sleep, sire. Just sleep. Tomorrow will be hard, and so will many other days, but time will dull the pain. Be brave and endure it. You aren’t alone.”

  “Y—you’re wrong,” whispered Jetekesh. “I’m alone in the dark. Lost. Alone.”

  “Hush. Sleep. The dawn will come.”

  He didn’t believe Jinji, but he tumbled into sleep anyway.

  “If you’re on the mend, we’d best consider our next step.” Yeshton handed Jinji a cup of water.

  “I told you,” said Rille from where she sat at the table, “we must go south.”

  Jinji took a seat as Yeshton reclaimed his own chair. The storyteller was still pale, but he moved easier this evening.

  “I must go south myself,” said Jinji, and took a sip. He set down his cup. “You may come with me if you please or go your own way.”

  “We ride with you,” said Rille.

  Tifen hovered near the doorway to the bedroom where Prince Jetekesh slept. If he had an opinion, Yeshton couldn’t find it in his face.

  “And the prince?” asked Jinji.

  Rille scowled into her cup of fresh milk. “I suppose he must come too. To remain here is death. And for my dead uncle’s sake, I can’t let his son perish at the hand of bloody KryTeer brutes.”

  “It is best that he come,” said Jinji, perhaps to himself. “Is it true the Blood Prince has come to Amantier?”

  Yeshton nodded. “It’s true.”

  Jinji sipped his water again. “He is in Kavacos?”

  “So the rumors say,” said Kyella as she set a plate of food before the storyteller. “Care to try something hearty in your stomach?”

  “I do, yes. Thank you.” Jinji speared a stalk of asparagus. “It smells wonderful.” He nibbled the greens and smiled appreciatively. “The taste does not disappoint.”

  Kyella beamed and moved to serve the rest of the table.

  “If my cousin comes along, we shouldn’t supply him any sort of spirits to drown his sorrows.” Rille pulled a face. “He’s hard enough to handle sober.”

  Jinji lowered his fork. “A little compassion would serve you well, Lady Rille. He lost his father this day. We each cope with grief differently. While I agree that intoxication is not a wise answer, kindness is our best defense against his habit.”

  Rille’s grimace deepened. “I will tolerate my lord cousin, storyteller, but I will not show him kindness when I shall get none in return.”

  “Is kindness bought or freely given?” Jinji returned to his food.

  Silence wafted over the air.

  “Do we leave on the morrow?” asked Yeshton.

  Rille looked down as she nodded. “Yes. We’re much too close to Kavacos for my comfort. Let us leave at first light.”

  11

  A Battle of Wits

  At last her husband was dead.

  Bareene was not as pleased as she deserved to be. By now she should be on her way to wed Emperor Gyath. How had everything fallen apart?

  The Blood Prince was to blame! He’d blockaded all routes in and out of Amantier, and only those with his written permission could come and go at the border. Bareene’s request to travel to KryTeer had been twice denied. And the beastly man had refused to see her or explain his reasoning.

  A knock sounded on her door. At last! She’d sent a handmaid an hour ago to sniff out news of the Blood Prince. Bareene trotted to the door and wrenched it open, a string of insults ready on her tongue.

  Prince Aredel stood at the threshold. Instead of full armor, he wore sirwal, a sort of baggy trouser. His chest was exposed, save for a half-length vest lined with gold and gems. He wore gleaming cuffs and jewels on his belt, bracelets along his arms, and a circlet around his forehead. His shoes were of gold cloth, curved upward on the toe.

  Bareene’s jaw slackened. He looked stunning.

  “My condolences on your husband’s death,” said Prince Aredel. “I know what a trial it must be for you to lose him.”

  Bareene drew her shoulders back and raised her chin. “I am bearing it as well as I can.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that.”

  “What brings you to a lady’s chamber?”

  His lips curled upward. “No need to fear. You couldn’t tempt me if you used every art you’ve perfected.” His gaze flicked to the bed. “Alone, my lady?”

  “Of course. Would a mourning queen be otherwise?”

  “I suppose it is daylight for a few hours more. I have come regarding your journey to KryTeer.”

  Bareene’s eyebrow arched. “I thought you had already answered my request.”

  “So I did. Twice. Yet you sent a third missive with a demand to see me promptly. That was yesterday, I think. What can be so urgent that you required my attention, Lady Queen?”

  Bareene turned her back on him. “If we are to be a province under terrible KryTeer, I would know your customs and traditions.”

  “Not if, my lady. You are a province under terrible KryTeer, and by your hand, you may recall. And I do respect your sense to know when defeat is inevitable. Still, I hear you’re not a very popular figure to your own people. Your statue upon the steps of your god’s cathedral has been pulled down, beheaded, and thence crushed to dust. All save the head. I hear it was mounted on a stick, doused in oil, and lighted on fire. You are called she-demon. That is the correct term, yes? Also, treacherous fiend. Spawn of the two hells. What else? Ah yes, Jevalla, as well. Isn’t that a woman in your holy scriptures who sold her soul for a man who was not hers to have?”

  Bareene set her jaw and curled her fingers into fists. She longed to run a dagger through the hateful man’s heart and eat it! But she wouldn’t lose control of herself in front of him. Despicable, loathsome creature. He would not have that victory today.

  “Setting that aside,” he went on, “I wanted to let you know that I will not now, nor ever,
approve your request to visit KryTeer. If my lord father requests your presence, that is something else. Write him if you please. Laud your praises. Intrigue the old goat. But it will not be said of me that I unleashed a vixen, however old, upon my own people. Good day.”

  She whirled to watch him leave and caught the flash of a smile on his lips before he slipped from the room.

  That pox-ridden, churlish, dog-headed death token!

  She would write to Emperor Gyath and entreat him to rescue her from Amantier. She would claim her life was in danger for bringing the kingdom into the arms of his great empire. And once he learned her husband was dead, wouldn’t the gluttonous swine crave entrapping a woman so vulnerable and helpless as she would lead him to believe?

  Let the Blood Prince think he had won. She would outwit him and become Empress of the world. Then he would bow and scrape for favor whether he liked it or not.

  12

  The Journey South

  Rille always felt small. Not because she was, but because others treated her as she looked, rather than how she ought to look. She had never been a child, so far as she knew. She had always seen what others couldn’t, and most people viewed her with fear and suspicion. Not her lord father or lady mother. They knew and understood. But they were gone now.

  She must be brave. To show her fears and sorrows would cause Sir Yeshton to treat her like a child rather than as his mistress. Already she must contend with her cousin lest he seize command over the party and leave her bereft and unimportant.

  I am important.

  So she told herself every day, but somewhere inside she doubted. Oh, the Blood Prince sought her. Had murdered her father to find her. Her gift was important, but not her.

  She had hoped Jinji Wanderlust would understand, but he’d taken her lord cousin’s side instead, coddling and protecting the prig like he deserved it. Pah!

  I’m jealous. Truly, Rille, are you any less pathetic than Jetekesh?

  But she longed to hear kindness from Jinji. To peer into those clear, calm eyes and feel his radiating love, as he bestowed it so willingly on that sopping ninny.

  Dawn came slowly. News of King Jetekesh’s death had stirred up every tender, grief-stricken memory of her own dear father, and even of her mother. She envied Jetekesh his wine-induced oblivion. Not that she wanted to be drunk. But she did long to escape pain for a brief time.

  A floorboard creaked behind her. She’d taken up residence on the porch, away from Yeshton, the snoring farmer, the creepy Tifen near the bedroom. Turning, she expected to find Yeshton. Dear Yeshton was the closest thing she had to a kindly figure in her life, after everything.

  She blinked. Jinji Wanderlust stood in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand, a gentle smile on his gaunt face.

  “May I sit with you awhile, my lady?”

  She turned away. “If you please.” Her heart galloped. Had he come to comfort her? To impart the affection she craved? Don’t let your hopes run away with your good sense.

  He sat near. She could feel the warmth of his body. Jinji set the drinks aside and unfolded a blanket he’d draped over one arm. “Here,” he said, wrapping the thin blanket over her shoulders. “Don’t catch cold.” He offered one of the mugs. “Warm milk with cloves of cinnamon and a drizzle of honey. A childhood favorite of mine.”

  The creamy sweet taste warmed her like a tonic. She cradled the mug in her small hands and basked in the scent of spices. A bat squeaked somewhere in the woods.

  “I must apologize,” said Jinji. “In my efforts to aid Prince Jetekesh I’ve caused you distress.”

  “Oh, no. No.” Had he read her thoughts so clearly? “I was being foolish. Of course he deserves your compassion. With that witch of a mother, what chance had he, really?”

  “Exactly my thought. Not much chance until now.” He glanced at her. “But that we already know. Let’s not discuss your cousin just now. I owe you my thanks for rescuing me from that dungeon, my lady.” He bowed his head low. “I am in your debt.”

  “Nonsense. I—I had to do it.”

  He smiled. “No one has to do anything, Lady Rille. You chose to, and that matters to me. Thank you. I shall do what I can to repay you.”

  She looked out at the trees. “Let me come with you. You travel south. Let me go with you as far as I must, and we shall call your debt paid.”

  Jinji fell silent. “It may be dangerous.”

  “Yes,” said Rille. “It may.”

  “Very well, my lady. You are welcome.” He rested a hand on her arm. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, Lady Rille. Duke Lunorr was a good man.”

  “He and King Jetekesh both,” said Rille, voice thick with emotion.

  “Yes, King Jetekesh as well.” His tone was strange, and Rille glanced at him.

  He smiled. “You see the what of things, my lady. That is not my gift.” His eyes strayed toward the fading stars. “I see the why.”

  Dawn struck Jetekesh with all the mercy of a battering ram. His head exploded with pain and he moaned as he retreated beneath his pillows. Someone shook him.

  “Get up, slug-a-bed. We’re losing the day!”

  How could anyone lose what had barely begun? He crawled from under his pillows to glower at his cousin. She regarded him with her usual derisive expression, hands on hips.

  “Hurry, or you’ll miss breakfast.”

  He hardly cared. His head pounded and his stomach lurched as he sat up. He knew why he felt sick, but his mind skittered away from the memories of yesterday. He was a king now, so he’d claimed last night. But he had no kingdom. Amantier was defeated, and no mustered army would be enough to take it back from KryTeer.

  I’m nobody now. I’m nothing.

  Jinji Wanderlust entered the bedroom, a clay cup in one hand, his smile brighter than the dawn glow through the open window.

  “Good morning, sire. Take a sip of this. The herbs will settle your stomach and help a bit with your headache as well.”

  Jetekesh accepted the cup. For a wastrel storyteller, Jinji was perceptive. The bitter concoction racked Jetekesh with tremors but he downed the cup in a few swallows. He sighed as he lowered the cup. The light wasn’t so bad now. “We’re really leaving? Where will we go? It’s not safe.”

  Jinji’s smile remained. “Nowhere is safe, but I must go southward.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I must.”

  Jetekesh arched his eyebrow and glanced toward Rille. The little girl watched Jinji with a light in her amber eyes. He turned away, eyebrows pinched together. “Why does everyone want to go south? There’s nothing there but desert.” An itch started in his head. “Wait. The Drifting Sands are that way. Is that why you’re going? To exhume some evidence of your fairy kingdom?”

  Jinji took the cup from his hands. “Hurry and dress, sire. We must go soon, or we’ll miss the cool of the morning to start our journey.”

  Jetekesh scowled. “Won’t you answer my questions?”

  “There will be plenty of time for conversation as we travel.” Jinji left the room, Rille on his heels.

  Jetekesh groaned but rose and climbed into the homespun rags provided by the farmer. The clothes were too large, itched like fleas, and smelled musty. Better this than looking like a prince, with KryTeer’s soldiers running up and down the roads. As he smoothed his hair, he tried not to think of Mother’s reaction if she could see him now. There was no looking glass to check the scratch on his cheek. It would heal. Most things did.

  But not death.

  His heart throbbed. He hurried out for a last hearty meal of cornbread, heaping eggs, and slices of ham before the journey.

  Once fed, the party entered the yard, where Farmer Drinel and Kyella bade them farewell. The girl lingered at Yeshton’s side until he mounted his horse, and she reached up to brush her hand against his.

  “Be safe. And come back sooner than last time, you thoughtless creature. We don’t see near enough of you.”

  Yeshton smiled wryly. “Hard to say w
hat will happen now that we’re a province of a heathen nation, Kyella. But I’ll do what I can.” He looked at Drinel. “Don’t remain for long. The pillaging will start soon.”

  The farmer sighed. “Alas, it’s true. We’ll be run out if we stay a day or two more, I’d reckon. Don’t worry. We know where to go.”

  “My thanks for your hospitality,” said Jinji from Rille’s horse. The girl had offered to teach him how to ride as she managed the reins herself.

  “Not at all.” Drinel smiled, showing his teeth. “You, storyteller, are welcome at my hearth anytime—assuming my home remains when all of this is settled.”

  Rille shifted in her saddle. “Well,” said the girl, “we should get along. Daylight is wasting.”

  They rode into the trees, leaving the little farm and its family behind. Jetekesh glanced back and saw Kyella waving after them until she disappeared as the trees closed in around the travelers.

  Jetekesh rode alone. Drinel had sold Yeshton a fourth horse for a song, despite its good breeding. Jetekesh had been shocked to find the farmer in possession of such good stock. Yeshton took that horse for himself, leaving the royal mounts to the rest. Now the knight rode in front, with Rille and Jinji next, Jetekesh following, and Tifen in the rear. No one now feared Jetekesh and his protector would steal back to the capital. Indeed, why should they? Returning to Kavacos now would only signify death.

  The company held a steady pace. Jetekesh was a good horseman, but Mother had forbidden him from riding this past year. Now his muscles protested the constant jostling motion. He would be sore tonight. He grimaced. No one would heed his complaints, so why voice them? Of all the people in Amantier, he rode now with the most tyrannical, unsympathetic curs alive.

  His one comfort was knowing Jinji would feel the same soreness when they camped for the night.

  Camped. Jetekesh’s grimace deepened. Don’t think about it just now. Endure each trial in their turn, else you’ll go mad.

  Perhaps that was Jinji’s matter. Whatever evils the man had suffered must have broken his mind. That’s why he’s so disgustingly kind and patient. Jetekesh would much rather carry on sour and proud and sane, for it would serve him better as king.