Prince Anadin’s eyes sparkled. “I am, aren’t I?” His eyes slid to Tifen. “This one I don’t know.”
Sir Palan rested a hand on Tifen’s shoulder. “This is—”
“Tifen, a servant. That’s all,” Tifen said for himself.
“My son,” Sir Palan said over him.
Anadin’s mouth formed a silent O, and he winked at Yeshton. “Family feuds are familiar to me. I well understand.” His eyes flicked to King Jetekesh, still cloaked, sitting slightly apart from the other prisoners. “That one intrigues me, but he appears not to speak. Do you speak, cloaked man?”
King Jetekesh took a long drink of wine.
Prince Anadin shrugged. Set aside his goblet, stretched luxuriantly. Moved lithely to his feet. “Tomorrow evening I will spend one hour alone with Sahala. You will allow this for her sake, Yeshton.”
Yeshton frowned. “And if I refuse?”
“You know the result. I made myself plain enough.”
“But you won’t tell me why you want to speak with her?”
The prince shrugged. “If she trusts you, perhaps she will tell after we converse. Goodnight, each of you. Pleasant dreams.” He slipped into a second chamber of the tent, behind an airy swath of curtains.
“Strange man,” murmured Tifen.
Sir Palan nodded. “Agreed. What will you do, lad?”
Yeshton looked down at Rille, sound asleep on his lap, her pale hair tumbling down his leg and across the cushions. When it came down to it, he had no choice but to comply. The alternative was death for himself and exposure for Rille. Whatever Prince Anadin’s interest in the child, it could not be worse than Emperor Gyath’s.
Yeshton looked up and met the knight’s eyes. “I suppose we must go along with the prince’s wishes for now. If there’s the slightest chance of making him an ally, we must try.” He smoothed Rille’s hair. “And my lady here may be the one to accomplish such a feat.”
“True enough.” Sir Palan grinned. “She’s as odd as he is.”
27
The Shepherd of Shing
A remarkable dinner was followed by the two lost knights performing a delightful array of folk music.
Jetekesh had never heard the songs before, but there was a familiar air about them. Ashea sang the last song of the night, her small, high tones giving voice to the stars overhead as she wove words in a tongue Jetekesh couldn’t understand, yet the meaning was plain. It was a love song, achingly tragic, filled with longing and regret. It climbed higher, higher, crescendoed—and stopped all at once. Jetekesh felt as though he stood upon a star, overseeing the vast heavens, dazzled.
A laugh brought him back to the world, strange and dazzling in its own right. The wind held music; otherwise, a hush lay over the woods, like the reverence of the cathedrals back in Kavacos.
“You appear to have enjoyed my ballad, Princeling.”
He bobbed a nod. “Very much. Though calling it a ballad feels belittling somehow.”
“Oh, indeed? That may be so.” The fairy sat beside him, atop a large rock placed there for her particular use. Against the firelight she glowed, though not the amber gold of flames, but an almost silvery purple hue. He blinked and wondered only now if she herself was glowing. She beamed up at him, her delicate features fair beyond words. “‘Tis an old song of my people, when first we woke from the flowers and trees. ‘Twas the second song I learned.”
Jetekesh tilted his head. “What was the first?”
Her smile grew, and the light around her heightened. “I will sing it to you some other evening, Princeling. I think it will be better heard another night.” Her eyes darted to Jinji, who laid upon his bedroll and stared into the flames of the campfire. He looked pale as snow.
“I thought…” Jetekesh hesitated.
“You thought that he would be healed if he transcended Nakania for Shinac?” asked Ashea.
He nodded.
“So he would, except that Shinac is not as it should be. And there is another factor as well. Though Jinji longed more than anything to enter this realm, yet he maintains a claim on Nakania even now. Between the growing taint passing between your world and this, and Jinji’s own torn heart, he remains ill and will soon die unless something can be done about both.” The fairy’s eyes flicked to Aredel across the campfire. Her voice lowered. “I believe this is why yon Blood Prince came into this realm; he owes Jinji a life debt. Did you know this?”
“Truly? The storyteller saved his life?”
Ashea nodded. “It was five years ago. They met in Shing.”
“During KryTeer’s conquest of Shing.” Jetekesh nodded. “It was Emperor Gyath’s last campaign.”
“Just so.” Ashea’s eyes lifted to the stars. “Just after the country issued its formal surrender, Emperor Gyath left Shing’s southern hills for the warmth of the north. Prince Aredel was charged with dispatching the last pocket of the south’s resistance, but his father had not provided him enough men or provisions for the task. Those who did remain with the prince were disobedient and self-serving. They pillaged and raped every village they came to, and Prince Aredel struggled to stop them. Finally, his own men turned on him and, vastly outnumbered, he was beaten senseless and thrown in the Tindo river to drown.
“As you might easily guess, Jinji lived near the Tindo, and from the hill where he watched his flocks, he spotted Aredel’s limp form floating out toward the south sea. He raced to the bank, dove in, and fished the Blood Prince out. Aredel was half dead, but Jinji revived him.”
Jetekesh’s gaze flicked toward Aredel over the flames. The Blood Prince was listening to Sir Chethal’s description of a mighty fortress nearby, heedless of his own story told so near. Jetekesh glanced at Jinji. His eyes were closed now. “And thus, the Blood Prince of KryTeer became indebted to a shepherd.”
“It was not just one incident,” said Ashea. “While Aredel recovered strength after his beating, a group of villagers from nearby came to Jinji’s hut, demanding he turn over the dread prince.”
“But how did they know Aredel was even there?”
“Alas, Jinji did not live alone. His mother, once a great lady of Shingese nobility, now an outcast like her own unwanted son, had come to dwell with him when Shing was conquered by KryTeer. In her thirst for vengeance, she told the villagers of her son’s deed. Now the villagers had come to demand recompense. Jinji attempted to reason with them. Show a man mercy, he said, and he will learn mercy. Show a man hatred, and he will likewise hate. So reasoned the wise shepherd. None listened. The villagers beat Jinji with sticks until he could not move, and they set fire to the hut wherein Aredel lay sleeping.”
The fairy’s voice faltered. “Do you know how ugly mobs become, young Princeling? Jinji learned it that day. Angry, drunk with it, humiliated by Amantier and KryTeer in turns, bruised by both, the mob of villagers raped Jinji’s mother and killed her. He watched, helpless, held by two men he had once called friend. Aredel emerged from the hut amid the flames, wielding nothing but two kitchen knives. He killed three villagers before they scattered, leaving the ruins of Jinji’s home, the corpse of his mother, and the two wounded men of vastly different worlds: a great prince and a humble shepherd.”
The little fairy tilted her head. “Do you know, Master Jetekesh, Jinji should have been a prince himself? Had Shing not been occupied by Amantier, his mother, Princess Linglia, would have wed her cousin, heir of Shing. Had Jinji been born legitimate, and had KryTeer not invaded, he would have been the heir of a once-grand nation. But his mother was used and abandoned by the selfish man who once pledged his love to her.
“When Jinji was born, he was sent away to grow up among other discarded souls unwanted by their noble mothers. He lived in poverty and fought for his bread on the streets of a port city far from his mother’s house. Princess Linglia was not disgraced, but she did not wed the heir of Shing either. Her younger sister gained that privilege instead.
“It is to Jinji’s credit that, despite his hardships, he owns
a poet’s soul, and he molded it into a power. Among the Shingese he became known as a storyteller after the fashion of ancient times. He left the streets and was groomed and sponsored by a pretty young noblewoman to present before the court of Emperor Majinglee.
“During his stay with the noblewoman, Jinji and the beautiful lady fell in love. Her name is Naqin. She desired to wed him once he was accepted at court, but alas, Jinji’s mother learned of his origin and feared for her own honor. Upon his appearance before Emperor Majinglee, Lady Linglia accused her son of theft and of playing with the heart of Naqin. The crime of such was the removal of his hands, but the lady Naqin pleaded for mercy before the emperor. Jinji was banished from court and allowed to live the life of a shepherd, but he was never to see Lady Naqin again.
“It is a wonder that Jinji did not thenceforth feel bitter. You see, he fought against such feelings, knowing well the ugliness such begets. A year after Jinji’s banishment, he heard of his beloved’s marriage to another. His heart broke. It is said that is when his illness first fell upon him.
“It was a few years after that when he fetched Prince Aredel from the waters of Tindo. Days later, while his hut burned and his treacherous mother lay dead, Jinji fell ill once more and, fevered, called a curse upon Nakania in his grief. It is my suspicion that Prince Aredel has since put it upon his own shoulders to conquer the world for Jinji’s sake, to end the tyranny of kingdoms, including his own. But that is my own feeling. I do not understand the mind of the Blood Prince.”
Ashea softly sighed. “Alas, poor Jinji feels that his grieving heart did indeed call a curse upon Nakania, and it may be so, for that world has long been sick. A cleansing, I would call it, and none should fault him for his feeling. Would you, Prince of Amantier, knowing all that he has suffered?”
Jetekesh sat still. What did he feel about Jinji now? What should he feel?
“No,” he whispered, half to himself. “I couldn’t fault him. Only pity him. It’s horrible how he’s been treated.”
“So it is.” Ashea shook her head. “When Majinglee was overthrown by KryTeer, and a magistrate ruled instead, Jinji was invited back to the court. There he saw Naqin once more, and she begged him to forgive her. Of course he did, for he loved her still.”
“I’d not have forgiven her,” said Jetekesh, ears burning. “She betrayed him.”
“She had no choice. Her marriage was arranged to keep her from following after a humble shepherd.”
Jetekesh fell still again. “It isn’t fair.”
“No, prince. It is not. Bear such in mind, for one day you too will have such power to lift or condemn a man. Choose well the fate of another, for it impacts more than the one standing before you.” Ashea stood and fluttered her delicate wings. “I bid you goodnight. I must find the hollow of a tree for my rest. I shall see you upon the morrow.” She leapt into the air and flitted off. He watched her until she vanished in the darkness.
He felt eyes upon him and turned to find Prince Sharo.
“Now you have heard truth, Prince Jetekesh. Here in Shinac Jinji is honored as the prince he ought to have been. Not because he has noble blood, but because he wields a noble heart.”
Jetekesh lay down on the blanket he’d brought from Amantier and stared up into the glittering night sky. His mind played out the fairy’s story over and over. What ill had Jinji ever done a living soul? Even his mother, cruel as she was, had been allowed to live with him when no one else would take her in. Mercy was always Jinji’s way. It had cost him all, yet still he kept it. Was Jinji a fool? A madman? Or was Jinji the only man not afflicted with one or the other disease?
Jetekesh rolled onto his side and studied Jinji’s sleeping face against the firelight.
I just don’t understand you. I would hate everyone who made me suffer. I’d want to tear them to pieces.
He turned away from the storyteller, heart clenching. Disgust burned inside him. But was it directed at Jinji or himself?
I don’t want to know.
28
The Way of the Elders
“The fortress is three days from here,” said Prince Sharo, who led his charger ahead of the walking party. “If we do not rest, we may cut it down to half that and arrive well before the moonless night.”
“I approve of that idea,” said Sir Blayse.
“If Jinji can keep up,” said Prince Aredel, glancing at the storyteller who walked beside him.
The storyteller smiled. “I will manage, my friend. No need to slow our pace on my account.”
Jetekesh walked behind them. His eyes danced between the Shingese shepherd and the KryTeeran prince while he thought of what Ashea had told him. His gaze fixed long on Aredel. For the past five years, Jetekesh had heard horror stories of the Blood Prince of KryTeer. He and his Blood Knights were invincible, like a great tidal wave sweeping over the countries of Nakania, leaving nothing untouched. The Blood Prince was said to be as strong as the KryTeeran gods; his people called him a mortal deity: one who had condescended to take mortal form and convert the world through force of arms.
Yet Ashea’s tale made Aredel sound human.
He was defeated by his own men and thrown into a river.
The thought gnawed at Jetekesh. He wanted to ask the man how strong he really was. Had rumors exaggerated the magnitude of Aredel’s skill?
The sun was climbing above the trees, lighting the path in patches. The company around Jetekesh conversed as they kept a steady gait along the root-rutted forest road. No one heeded his silence. Perhaps they didn’t notice.
He tried to watch his feet as he walked, but that made him dizzy. Looking ahead brought his gaze back to Aredel. He lifted his eyes to the sky above the branches. His toe caught a rock, and he stumbled into Jinji.
Aredel snatched the storyteller before he crumpled. “Are you all right, Jinji?” He glowered at Jetekesh. “Be careful how you step.”
Jetekesh flushed. “Don’t order me about.”
The Blood Prince raised an eyebrow. “It was a word of caution, Your Highness. But next time it might be something else.”
Jetekesh’s hands curled into fists. “You’re not as frightening in person as you’re made out to be. I’m not afraid of you, Blood Prince. I’ve heard you were even beaten by your own men in Shing.” What am I saying? He took a step back as ice raced through his blood. Even if Prince Aredel wasn’t as strong as he looked, he could still pound Jetekesh senseless. He was a warrior, not some pampered prince whose mother wouldn’t let him ride a horse, or use a blade, or learn to swim, for fear he’d damage himself.
The Blood Prince regarded him with an expression cold as the southern climbs. “That’s a dangerous tongue you’ve got, Highness.”
Jinji rested a hand on Aredel’s shoulder. “It is all the weapon he has been allowed to use, Aredel.” The man from Shing turned to Jetekesh. “Your words are used like a blade, and yet Aredel gave you no cause to unsheathe your weapon.”
Jetekesh opened his mouth to protest, but Jinji raised his hand.
“Let me finish, Your Highness. I feel that you have misunderstood something especially important. I assume Lady Ashea is she who told you of the incident in Shing to which you’ve just alluded?”
Jetekesh lifted his chin. “Yes.”
Jinji nodded. “It is true that Prince Aredel was overpowered by his malcontent and hungry men: a number exceeding three hundred in whole. Over a dozen were responsible for torturing their own prince, while the rest watched and did nothing.” He glanced at Aredel, then back at Jetekesh. “Alas, not one of those 331 men lives today. Upon his return to KryTeer, Prince Aredel exposed their cowardice and treason and executed every last one.”
Jetekesh folded his arms. “I’d always heard the Blood Prince could singlehandedly take down a force two thousand strong.”
Aredel barked a laugh. “My reputation has turned me into a god.”
Jinji smiled at him. “You are a modest soul at your core, Aredel. In truth, Prince Jetekesh, with gr
eat cunning the Blood Prince has done just that. It required a mountain path, an avalanche of rocks, the illusion of a greater force than he had, and a fair bit of running about atop the very heads of his enemy. Alone in that mountain pass, Prince Aredel did indeed cause an army of two thousand men to turn tail and retreat back into their own country.”
“Clever,” said Sharo, who had leaned against his stallion to watch the exchange unfolding upon the road. “That isn’t a story I’ve heard about you, Blood Prince. I did hear about the betrayal of your men whilst in Shing, though. A lesser man would have died.”
Heat crawled across Jetekesh’s cheeks. Of course everyone would take the side of Prince Aredel. Apart from his own father, no one in Jetekesh’s life cared about him or worried for his feelings. Not even Mother, now dead and buried, had shown him concern for his sake. She’d only cared about appearances. Vanity was the very air she breathed, and Jetekesh was an extension of her, thereby important.
He turned from Jinji, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. “I apologize for my rude comments, Prince Aredel. I was thoughtless.” The words stung. He didn’t believe them himself, but he and the Blood Prince were traveling together, and he couldn’t allow hostility to isolate him from the few people he knew in this strange land.
“You may say what you please, Prince Jetekesh,” said the Blood Prince. “Just expect that I might retaliate accordingly. If you can hold your own, I have no issue contending with you in any matter. Just be certain of what you say first and ponder if it is worth the saying.” He swept his hand toward Sharo. “Please, continue on, Your Highness. I regret causing a delay.”
“Not at all,” said Sharo with a bright smile. “Onward we go.”
The company began walking again. Jinji fell back to stride beside Jetekesh. “You must feel unjustly used, Your Highness, and perhaps undervalued. Please know that, for my part, I dearly appreciate your companionship.”
Crownless Page 20
