A shadow fell across the tent opening. Tifen stood there, torment written in his brow. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I cannot find your son.” His voice was tight with grief.
King Jetekesh strode to him. “Come in, Tifen. Out of the sun. You’ve done all you can for the moment.” He turned to Rille. “While we cannot resist the might of KryTeer, I cannot leave my son here.”
Rille shook her head. “But he’s not here, Lord Uncle. He’s in Shinac and might not return at all. I’m not certain how it works.”
Shouts sounded outside.
Sir Palan glanced toward the door flap. “It appears the KryTeer army has been spotted.”
“But isn’t this part of KryTeer’s army?” asked Yeshton. “Why would they be alarmed?”
“It’s Prince Anadin’s banner,” Sir Palan said. “His forces are only mobilized to destroy undesirables, and long has Emperor Gyath feared the strength of his son and heir. It’s just possible Prince Anadin has come to dispose of that threat if he possibly can.”
“But,” said Tifen stiffly, “the Blood Prince isn’t even here.”
“That he’s not,” said Sir Palan, nodding. “Which bodes ill for us. I’ve heard Prince Anadin’s temper is explosive. Should he not claim what he seeks, we may all suffer for it.”
“What can we do?” asked Yeshton, looking between Rille and King Jetekesh.
The king shook his head. “Should we run, one or the other KryTeer force will cut us down. We can do nothing, as much as I’m loath to admit it.”
“You’ll be killed, sire,” said Tifen.
“Not necessarily. None in KryTeer knows my face. Remember that my name is Setwesh, and you do not know me well, and perhaps I will not be drawn and quartered.”
Yeshton glanced at Rille. The words might have stirred memories of her father’s death. But the little girl was staring at the tent wall.
“I cannot see the future, Sir Knight. I cannot see it at all.”
The thundering of hooves rumbled in the air. The dread forces of Prince Anadin had arrived. Yeshton caught Rille’s arm and pulled her close.
The thunder ceased. Horses whinnied.
“Brother!” cried a voice. “Brother, it is I, Anadin. Come forth to greet me!”
Yeshton raised his brow. “That doesn’t sound like a man at odds with his brother. He sounds friendly.”
Sir Palan nodded, brow drawn. “So he does but be on guard. I’ve heard many strange reports of KryTeer’s spare, and feigned friendliness would not surprise me. What second brother doesn’t feel tempted to stab the heir in the back?”
“Mine never did,” said King Jetekesh.
Rille firmly nodded her agreement.
Voices carried from beyond the tent, formal and reverent.
“Holy prince, your brother is lost! We cannot find him. He vanished in the night.”
A muddled chorus followed, and words were lost in the din.
A command rose above the rest. Silence fell.
“What say you, Shevek?” Anadin’s voice.
“My lord prince. My master has gone beyond this world, following a path of pillars made from sand. I beheld it at full night from where I kept watch. If I am not mistaken, my lord, the High Prince has entered the fabled land of Shinac.”
Silence again. A faint laugh followed. “He found it? Truly? He found that ancient place? Then his storyteller wasn’t mad?”
Murmurs rose. Protests. Accusations. Mockery.
The command came again, sharp as a cracking whip.
“When will he return?” asked the amiable voice of Prince Anadin.
“I…I am uncertain, my lord prince.”
“Well.” A pause. “There is no sense in waiting around. If and when he returns, he’ll have a grand tale to tell, I’m certain. We had best return to KryTeer forthwith. Lord Father will be furious, but when has that ever prevented Aredel from doing as he wished?” He laughed. “Dismantle the camp, or however you call it.”
“My lord prince?” Ledonn’s voice, if Yeshton didn’t miss his guess. “We do have prisoners belonging to the Blood Prince. Shall we bring them or release them?”
“I will assess for myself. Bring them hither.”
Yeshton and Sir Palan backed away from the tent flap, and Yeshton turned to catch Rille’s arm. “You are my sister, not Lady Rille.”
She nodded as the flap swept aside and Prince Aredel’s two Blood Knights slipped into the tent, hands on their sheathed blades.
“Come with us.”
Sir Palan led the procession outside. Yeshton guided Rille on his heels, and Tifen came next, with King Jetekesh in the rear, shadowed by his cowl. Against the sun towered a black-clad figure atop a war charger of the same deep black. Yeshton squinted against the halo of sunlight to study the second prince. Anadin was not a well-built man like his brother, but rather slim and lithe, with angular features against black eyes and long, straight black hair. He was garbed, not in armor, but in the traditional apparel of KryTeer nobility: billowing, and open to reveal his chest, though he lacked the turban about his head.
The prince’s eyes traveled across the prisoners as they lined up before him. When those eyes reached Yeshton, their gazes locked for a heartbeat. Anadin turned his attention to Rille.
“Why are these people my brother’s prisoners?”
Shevek stepped forward. “They traveled with the storyteller, my lord prince. All but the cloaked man at the end. He traveled with the Blood Prince from Kavacos. What his reasons are, I was not told.”
Prince Anadin nodded and looked them over again, one by one. “Significant or not, I doubt my brother would thank me for releasing them. So, on to KryTeer they will come.” His black eyes flicked to Rille. “I will call them my guests for now.” He pointed to Yeshton. “You, is this child your daughter?”
Yeshton blinked. Did he look the fatherly sort? “No, my lord. My sister.”
The royal eyebrows shot up. “Sister? She looks nothing like you.” He shrugged. “It hardly matters. Let’s move along. I grow impatient.”
The sounds of the servants’ packing grew louder, though the camp had been half dismantled already, and they could go no faster than they went.
Anadin nudged his horse to the last standing tent just as two servants began to take it down. “Hold fast. I’ll need the two of you to stay here and wait for my lord brother to return. Let him know I was here and took his prisoners for myself. Ask him kindly to return to KryTeer, or he’ll miss them.”
The servants exchanged startled looks. “My lord?”
“I won’t change my mind.” Anadin wheeled to face the wagons. “Unpack enough food for these two to live on for two weeks.”
The wagon was swiftly unloaded again.
Shevek approached the war charger and bowed low. “My lord prince, can the servants not wait at Keep Falcon? I’m certain that is where Prince Aredel will head once he returns.”
Anadin tapped his chin with a finger. “An excellent point. Reload the wagon. Dismantle that tent. Quickly now. Hurry. We’ve not got all day.”
The orders were obeyed at once. Yeshton eyed the prince, trying to weight the man’s disposition. Was he addled or cruel? He seemed pleasant enough, but Yeshton had known cruel men in his life who hid behind the kindliest smiles.
At last the wagon was repacked, the last tent stowed, and the two servants were on horseback cantering toward Keep Falcon to await their prince’s return from fairyland. No one said anything as Anadin organized the remaining servants to begin the long march to the west coastline, where a KryTeeran ship awaited the second prince’s return. When he’d gotten everyone facing west, one distressed servant bowed and spoke.
“What of the palanquin, my lord prince?”
“Should we send it back to Keep Falcon, Your Highness?”
“Nonsense. We’ll use it for my new guests.” He gestured toward Yeshton and the rest. “Can’t very well have them walk, can I? And a wagon will jostle the sense from their heads. Get them insi
de the palanquin and organize men to carry it.”
Yeshton found himself ushered inside the luxurious contraption. The interior was all silks and gold twining over plush cushions. Rille settled back, quite at her ease, while Tifen sat rigidly beside her. Yeshton felt his discomfort well as he tried to find a way to sit back and not scuff the fragile cloth. Sir Palan kept clearing his throat and shifting.
King Jetekesh melted against the cushions, accustomed as Rille was to the luxuries of royal living.
Soon the palanquin took up a swaying rhythm that eased the tension of Yeshton’s shoulders despite himself. Tifen too began to slump back and enjoy the ride. Sir Palan alone remained tense, and Yeshton realized that the knight might not be uncomfortable with the grand interior, but with the situation. West to KryTeer. The king of Amantier bound for enemy lands. Rille, the gifted child and target of Emperor Gyath. It wasn’t good, and Yeshton cursed himself for letting down his guard, even just a little.
“What do we do?” he asked in lowered tones.
Sir Palan glanced at him. “Nothing for now. In the port of Kilitheer we stand the best chance of escape. It’s a busy place. Crowds milling to and fro. We might slip away unseen along the wharves.”
Yeshton nodded. “That’s a few days from here, isn’t it?”
“Three, at our present pace. Five if I guess rightly about our host.”
“Is he mad?”
“Eccentric, so they say. Not at all a stickler like his elder brother. Whimsy leads his daily life, so we may…stray from our course a little.”
Yeshton crooked a smile. “Well, it will be at least interesting.”
“Oh, yes. No doubt of that.”
It was two hours to sunset when Prince Anadin called a halt. Camp was arranged with practiced swiftness, and Anadin ordered his new guests brought to the head tent where he lounged upon a pile of cushions behind the same long, low table Prince Aredel had used the previous evening.
Yeshton kept Rille close as he and the others were led by a guard to the table and commanded by their guide to sit beside the prince.
Anadin lifted his eyes from the goblet of wine in his hand. A smile spread across his lips, and his dark eyes danced with private mirth. “Come. Sit. Eat.”
Servants poured into the tent and placed tureens and platters of food across the long table. Steam rose from dishes Yeshton had never seen in his life. There was no sign of Amantieran food; only the strange, spicy delicacies of a far away land. Warily he prodded at a white cream, while Rille reached for a kind of meat in a translucent red sauce. The little girl nibbled, and her eyes lit up.
“It is rather tasty, Sir—” She cut off. “Try some, brother.”
He sampled the meat. Flavor exploded in his mouth. Strange, but juicy, rich, and robust against his tongue. He swallowed and speared another strip of meat, but a faint gasp from Rille stopped him cold. He dropped his utensil and whirled to find Rille red-faced and teary-eyed.
“H-hot. My mouth is burning up.”
Fire leapt across his tongue, as though to prove her right. Tears seared his eyes and leaked down his cheeks. Merciful saints! Was it possible to die of a scalded tongue?
Tifen was gagging. Sir Palan spooned dollops of the creamy white sauce into his mouth, as red-faced as the rest.
“I forgot,” the knight gasped. “I forgot how spicy it is.”
Laughter resounded from the stack of pillows near Yeshton. He craned his head to find Prince Anadin in a fit of humor, his hand pounding a pillow beside him as he watched the Amantierans. “The yogurt. Eat the yogurt, as your large friend is doing. Go on.” He waved a hand, like they needed his permission.
Rille knocked over a goblet to reach the nearest dish of creamy white sauce. Yeshton got to it first and brought it closer, while a servant appeared and leaned in to mop up the puddle of liquid.
“Dip the flatbread in it,” said the prince. He broke off a strip of bread and plunged it in the yogurt. “See? Like this.”
Rille ate the yogurt straight, as Sir Palan was doing. Yeshton managed to snare a piece of flatbread and doused it in the yogurt. Shoved it into his mouth. The fire smoldered on his tongue. Another bite of bread, a heap of yogurt, and the fire became embers.
The second prince of KryTeer was in stitches of laughter. The KryTeer soldiers, scattered throughout the tent, looked on with silent mirth, eyes bright, though none laughed aloud.
The rest of the evening meal passed at a crawling pace. Rille would only eat the yogurt, and Yeshton couldn’t blame her. He managed to sample several spicy dishes between mouthfuls of yogurt to fight the heat, while Sir Palan did the same. Tifen refused to eat at all, but instead nursed a goblet of wine while tears seeped from his eyes from his single bite. King Jetekesh alone appeared unfazed by the foreign fare. He ate steadily, a smile of appreciation on his lips.
Finally, Prince Anadin set aside his utensils and clapped his hands. Servants slipped from the shadows to clear away the food in a matter of moments, and a handful of sparsely clad women moved to the center of the tent and began to dance while musicians played merry tunes.
Had the second prince of KryTeer truly brought dancing women on his campaign?
Rille yawned. Yeshton shifted to let her lay her head on his lap, and she curled up at once.
Eyes watched him. He looked up to find Prince Anadin staring between him and Rille, rather than the dance.
“She looks nothing like you.”
Yeshton’s shoulders tensed, but he nodded. “So you’ve said.”
The prince’s eyes glittered. “She’s rather dainty. You’re not.”
Yeshton nodded again. “True, that.”
“If you were her father, I’d understand. I’d think she had a pretty mother to give her slight features. But brother and sister? I don’t quite swallow the idea.”
Yeshton shrugged. “You don’t have to, Your Highness.”
The prince propped his chin on his palm and studied Rille for a long moment. “I know her name.”
Yeshton prayed his face remained calm as his heart missed a step. He said nothing.
Prince Anadin nodded and took up his goblet to drain the last drops of wine. “Sahala, in my tongue. The girl who sees true. I believe you call her Rille.” He turned and motioned a servant to fill his goblet again. “Send the others away. I wish for privacy.”
The servant finished pouring from a large jar, then backed away to whisper to a second servant, who raised his hand and struck a golden gong. It rang out through the tent, and the men seated on cushions around the interior rose at once and slipped out through several openings.
Yeshton watched them leave, senses taut. His fingers twitched, yearning for his sword, but that had been taken by Prince Aredel’s men in Keep Falcon, along with his boot knife, his dagger, and the bit of twine he always kept. Here he was weaponless and powerless.
Drawing a deep, quiet breath, he turned to the prince. “Is that what her name means?” He was glad he sounded politely interested.
The prince nodded as he sipped his wine. He lowered the goblet and licked his lips. “I will call her Sahala. It is the old tongue of KryTeer. Only the scholarly know its meaning. I’m confident my holy father would not recognize it for what it is…unless he were told by someone, of course.”
Yeshton laid a hand over Rille’s head. “And would someone tell him, I wonder?”
Prince Anadin flashed a smile. “That would depend on whether someone was provided a reason to speak or not.”
“Money would probably persuade a man, but I know how light a purse can be.”
“Oh, money wouldn’t interest the scholarly sort.”
“What would?”
The prince leaned across his pillows. “Information.”
Yeshton set his jaw. “What sort of information?”
“The kind that can only be gleaned by speaking with Sahala directly.” He leaned back against his pile of pillows, content as a cat. “What say you, soldier?”
Yeshton was
n’t surprised that Anadin had sniffed him out for what he was. Soldiers had a certain scent, that ageless, iron badge of blood, as well as a certain air. But how had he known who Rille was? Even if Prince Aredel had sent word from Keep Falcon to KryTeer of Rille’s capture, Anadin had already been on his way southeast and likely wouldn’t have waylaid any missives. Unless…
Rumors claimed that the magicians of KryTeer used spells to send messages from great distances in mere seconds. Was it true? If so, the Blood Prince could have alerted his brother to Rille’s capture at once, and even told Emperor Gyath that she was on her way to him as a gift. But would the Blood Prince do so? Hadn’t Anadin been coming this way in search of his brother? Why do that if the empire believed their crown prince was returning with Rille in his grasp? And why would Prince Aredel instead drop everything and run off somewhere with Jinji and Prince Jetekesh?
“You’re wrong, you know.”
Yeshton met those black eyes.
The prince was still smiling. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true. My holy father doesn’t know a thing about Sahala’s presence here, nor do I intend to tell him…if we can reach an accord.”
Yeshton rested his hand on Rille’s back. Her body rose and fell beneath his touch. “She can’t tell you your future like some soothsayer.”
The prince snorted. “I don’t need some fortune told to me. I know my fate. I’ve always known it.”
“What then do you want?”
“Only to understand.”
“You can do better than that, Your Highness. Surely.”
Prince Anadin’s smile turned crooked. “Let me speak with her. No more, no less. I’ll not harm the little girl. I recognize her worth.”
“Her worth to me or to you?”
The prince laughed. “So suspicious. What is your name, soldier?”
“Yeshton.”
“Son of whom?”
“Yarmir.”
The prince’s eyes traveled past Yeshton. “Sir Palan I already know. He’s been an elusive thorn in the side of my brother for a long while. One of few who can genuinely grate upon his nerves. I commend you, Sir Knight.”
Sir Palan inclined his head. “You’re most gracious, Your Highness.”
Crownless Page 19
