Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  Jetekesh gritted his teeth. “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not,” said Jinji softly. He fell silent for a while. “Your Highness, I cannot help but feel that we are similar. Do I assume correctly that Lady Ashea also told you a little of my own history?”

  “She did.”

  “Then you know of my mother.”

  “…Yes.”

  “When I met your own mother, I could not help but notice a certain…aspect…that each had in abundance.”

  “Such as?”

  “They were very selfish creatures.”

  Jetekesh’s shoulders slumped. “So they were. What of it?”

  “Perhaps you don’t know it, for you have long been sheltered against life beyond your palace walls, but most mothers are not as ours were. Most are loving, selfless, strong. There is nothing so inspiring, so laudable, as a mother who loves her children above herself. Most children are reared by such venerable women. We were among the unlucky few. And so I feel a kinship to you, my prince. I feel as though we harbor a secret pain, one we might heal from, perhaps together.”

  Jetekesh glanced at the storyteller and found those strange, light eyes on him. Heat scaled his face again. “You and I are nothing alike.”

  “We are different in many regards, it is true. I was not raised among riches, but upon the streets of ChinWan. But in feelings, I suspect we are much the same. At your age, I felt the same anger, despair, confusion, longing—all those raw, haunting emotions—just as you do now, if I am not wrong.” He caught Jetekesh’s gaze again. “Am I, Your Highness?”

  Jetekesh looked away. “…No. But how can that possibly help me? Or you?”

  “We might be friends, Your Highness. I know it is a presumption on my part to even say it. But still, I ask once again.”

  His cheeks burned like fire. “Why would you want to—?” He bit his lip hard. “You say the strangest things, Wanderlust.”

  Jinji laughed. “I cannot dispute the fact. But I will not let you alter the subject, my dear prince. What say you? Will we be friends? For my part, I should like it very much.” A leaf drifted from an overhead branch, and Jinji reached out to snare it between his fingers. He twirled the leaf. “Do not consider what propriety or tradition might think. Choose only what you desire, for feelings should never come second to opinion. What do you wish, Your Highness?”

  Jetekesh bowed his head as loneliness washed over him, nauseating, cold. “I…should like a friend, I think. I-I’m not familiar with how to, to be one.”

  That laugh sounded again. “Each friendship is different, my prince. It is the act of kindliness one toward another. What your kindliness is, only you decide. So it is for me.” He halted on the road, turned to face Jetekesh, and held out his hand. “Friends, Jetekesh?”

  Jetekesh hesitated. But an impression of hope washed away the fear, the disdain, and he clasped the frail hand in his fingers. Jinji cupped his other hand over Jetekesh’s and squeezed.

  “‘Tis done, my prince. We are friends.”

  A different warmth spread over Jetekesh, strange and welcome. A smile tugged at his lips, and he allowed it. He blinked back tears and pulled free of those fragile hands. “Well, we should keep walking.”

  As Jetekesh moved now, there was a lightness in his step. A flutter in his chest. The world was brighter, warmer. He had a friend. Someone cared, like Father. But Jinji wasn’t obligated. He simply wanted it.

  I like friends, he thought to himself, and his smile deepened. The weight on his shoulders had fled.

  “Off the road. Hide.” Sharo’s sharp tone struck Jetekesh’s ambling thoughts like an arrow to his chest. The knights dove right, into the thick foliage, and Jetekesh followed Jinji down an incline, and up, into the treeline while Aredel and Sharo took the rear and came last, scrambling into the sheltering forest.

  Jetekesh crouched beside the storyteller just as the hooves of horses sounded ahead on the road.

  The riders whipped past, black helmed, astride dark mounts. Over a dozen black knights, cloaks billowing in their swift canter.

  Jinji inhaled a sharp breath.

  Jetekesh looked at him with alarm. Was he in pain?

  The storyteller’s eyes stared after the passing knights. “Lord Peresen’s men,” he whispered, tone so soft Jetekesh read more than heard the words on his lips.

  Jetekesh jerked his head back around to inspect the force of arms, but it had moved on, and he saw only the winging cloaks and horse tails streaming far down the road. What were they doing here? He glanced at Jinji, hoping the man would recognize his silent question.

  A mild smile stole over Jinji’s face. “Lord Peresen knows I have come. He can guess which road I would take, and in whose company.” His eyes flicked to Prince Sharo.

  The party climbed to its feet. Jetekesh rose with Jinji.

  “Lord Peresen knows of you?”

  “Oh yes. We have known of each other for several years now. It has been a kind of race: Would I reach Shinac first, or would he escape from it before I found the way here?”

  “But how does he know what you’re doing? I thought your gift was unique.”

  Jinji’s smile flickered. “There are many ways to See, my friend. After all, this is Shinac, citadel of magic, where the gifted are more abundant than the mundane; and Lord Peresen is not above heartless tactics to gather information. Were your cousin here, she would be dearly sought by many such men as he.”

  Prince Sharo crept near. “We will wait a moment more before we return to the road. How are you faring, Master Jinji?”

  “Well enough. Thank you, Your Highness. I shall manage.” Jinji reached out and rested a hand on the fae prince’s shoulder. “You didn’t sleep last night, I think. How fare you?”

  Sharo laughed and batted away his hand. “I see you are the worrying sort. Never fear, Master Teller; I could bear up for many more days than this and still outwit Lord Peresen in his own estate. I have before.”

  “So you have, with the aid of a dragon.” Jinji cocked his head. “How is Taregan?”

  Sharo’s eyes glowed like sunlight upon an ocean. “Much improved. He shall be wheeling about once more in the sky before much longer.”

  Jetekesh started, looking between them. “What happened to him? Was he injured?”

  Sharo grinned. “Oh yes. He’s enormously proud of himself. He had a tussle with a sea dragon bewitched to swallow me. Taregan doesn’t well tolerate such behavior and took it upon himself to break the spell. He won, too, but his wings were battered in the fray, and he’s mending now. Should not be much longer, and he’ll be right again. He’s a sight better than the sea dragon, I will tell you.”

  “Did he kill him?” asked Jetekesh, riveted.

  Sharo laughed again. “No, no. Nothing so horrible. He just put the fear of the elders into poor Kethalas, which caused the witch’s spell to shatter. Come to that, the witch shattered too. Thus, all her bound souls were freed, and Lord Peresen is frightfully angry about it. The witch worked for him, you see.”

  Jetekesh realized his mouth hung open. “A witch? Elders? Who are the elders?”

  Aredel strode closer to the three conversing, his hand draped casually over his sword hilt. “I, too, am curious about these elders. Jinji hasn’t mentioned them before.”

  Jinji shrugged. “I would need to spend every waking moment of my life explaining Shinac to share even half its aspects, Aredel. It is, after all, a world unto itself.” He motioned to Sharo. “Will you explain the elders, Your Highness?”

  Sharo’s eyes twinkled. “Must I keep insisting that you leave off my title, Master Jinji?”

  “Only when you have ceased to call me master,” was Jinji’s patient reply.

  Sharo laughed. “Fair enough.” His blue eyes fastened on Jetekesh. “The elders are the firstborn of any magical race. The fairies have elders, the elves have elders, the dragons have elders. It is the last of these to whom I refer. Taregan is an elder of his kind in Shinac. He bows to no other dragon, sav
e the Rokahns of Sirinhigha. That Kethalas provoked him was proof of bespellment and cause for Taregan to invoke his full strength, until the very ocean rose in torrents beneath his rage.” The twinkle in his eye brightened. “It gave the mermaids quite a scare.”

  Jetekesh sucked in a sharp breath. “Mermaids?”

  Sharo winked. “Indeed, Prince Jetekesh. Mermaids. Fair and treacherous in equal parts.”

  “Oh, hush,” said Jinji. “They are only treacherous when you’ve stolen their hearts unrequited.”

  The prince of Shinac blushed crimson. “It was never my intent. I had no notion…”

  Jinji chuckled and looked at Jetekesh, a glint in his eye. “Prince Sharo is a clever man, bold and brave against dragons, dread lords, and great armies. But where women are concerned, he is a lost cause. He does not know just how many hearts he has broken in human villages, elven vales, and underwater cloisters.”

  The blush on Sharo’s cheeks brightened with every word. He ducked his head, cleared his throat, and pushed past Jetekesh to march toward the road. “We should not dawdle. Quickly, my friends.”

  Jinji and Aredel exchanged a look.

  “He reminds me of you, Jinji,” said Aredel quietly.

  Jetekesh followed Sharo’s back as the man called to his horse. Now that Aredel mentioned it, there were distinct similarities between Jinji and the Shinacian prince. Not physically, for Sharo was taller by several inches, and his hair was long and fully white, his eyes clear blue rather than the blue green of Jinji’s, and there was a vitality in his step—but their presence and mild manners were much the same. Even their laughter held that soft, watery lilt of someone containing magic within themselves.

  Jinji’s meek smile mirrored Sharo’s as well. He offered that smile now. “I have long watched Prince Sharo from afar, and if I resemble him in any way, I am glad of it. I confess that he is my hero.”

  Jetekesh glanced back to the road and found Amaranth trotting toward the Shinacian prince. Somehow Jetekesh suspected Sharo would say the same of Jinji if he were asked.

  On impulse, Jetekesh moved away from Jinji and Aredel, drawn to the prince of this magical realm. A prince who strove to find the rightful ruler of Shinac, rather than take the throne for himself. What caused a man to feel such loyalty toward another?

  Sharo looked up from stroking Amaranth’s coat, an easy smile on his fair face. “You wear a question, young prince.”

  A thousand questions leapt up in Jetekesh’s mind, clawing for attention. But none raged louder than one. “Do you hate your father for banishing you?”

  Sharo stroked Amaranth again, brow creased. “No, Prince Jetekesh. Of all things he might be hated for, that would be the least profitable or just.”

  “That doesn’t stop hate.”

  Sharo tilted his head and bobbed a nod. “True enough. I admit I was wounded by his actions. But I have never hated my father. He is a blind, narrow thinking, arrogant wretch, and so I pity him for all that he has become; but his father was no better, nor his father before him. I began that way myself, but by the blessed spirits, I was spared. ‘Tis my mother I thank most, for she is my salvation.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “With her people.”

  Jetekesh blinked. “Oh. I thought she might be—”

  “Dead? No. Nor did she remain with my father, once I was exiled. There was no need, so she left with me and returned to the forest fae. I visit her when I’m able.”

  “Your father must have been very angry.”

  “No, he wasn’t. It is much more likely he was relieved. Long had he feared my mother, when he knew what she was; and he is married anew to a woman well suited to his sour disposition.”

  “Married? But your mother is still alive!”

  Sharo chuckled. “You look dumbfounded, my friend. Their marriage contract was magically bound, and thus breakable under the proper conditions. It was annulled by my fae grandsire once proof was obtained that my fair mother was forced into matrimony by the tyrant Darint, and there was no love between them.”

  Jetekesh stared, certain he had never heard anything so shocking, not even when he’d learned Shinac was a real place. “What has love to do with marriage?”

  Sharo pulled back. “What a question. Do your parents not love one another?”

  Jetekesh shook his head. “Not at all. I mean, they didn’t. My mother is dead now. It—It was an arranged marriage.”

  “Ah,” said Sharo. “I had heard Nakania’s traditions are strange. Here, within Shinac, a marriage is contracted and magically woven together by a covenant of love. Without it the magic cannot stick, and all will know it is a farce. To force another to wed you would not be binding, and therefore not legal. Magically, that can harm the offender. It is why dark witches rarely wed. Years ago, my lady mother agreed to wed King Darint, and so the magic bound them, until she said aloud how she felt.”

  Jetekesh grimaced. “But that’s horrible. It means that should anyone fall out of love, they can simply break the magic contract and walk away? What sort of promise is that? What is the point in marriage if it doesn’t last? Why marry at all?”

  Sharo laughed. “Why indeed? For love, of course. And what I’ve said does not mean it is an easy thing to break a marriage vow. A man and woman will many times fall out of love, but we do not mock magic by breaking such a covenant for so petty a grievance. Love is action, always. It is the agreement to strive together even, and especially, in challenging times. The covenant cannot be broken on a whim or by one half of a partnership wanting escape from momentary difficulty. The covenant is studied by one of the magical, usually an elder, who determines the truth of their love and commitment one to the other, and a judgment is made. But this is rare in Shinac. Marriage is sacred, Prince Jetekesh. None take it lightly, save those who are greedy like my father.”

  “But why did your mother ever agree to wed him?”

  “He gave her no choice,” said Sharo softly. “Let us leave it at that.”

  Jetekesh bit his lip and nodded, lowering his eyes. “I’m sorry for my outburst. It’s just…so strange.”

  Sharo rested a hand on his shoulder. “Just as I find your customs. Questions are always welcome. Do not keep silent.” He pulled his hand back. “Ah, so the rest of you have decided to join us on the road. Shall we recommence our exercise?”

  “Your Highness,” said Sir Blayse, “Lady Ashea has returned.”

  Jetekesh turned in time to see a little orb of light flit from the lost knight’s shoulder and dart across the air, past him, to light upon Sharo’s outstretched palm.

  “How went it, my lady?”

  The light around the fairy dimmed until Jetekesh could make out her delicate form. “A great force of arms has gathered outside the fortress, Sharo. Dark clouds hang close. The air is poisoned with bloodlust. Foul things have been summoned by Lord Peresen, that he might unleash them upon Nakania with his sacrifice.” She turned to face the others. “It appears he intends to hasten his goals, Master Jinji, now that you have come. He is not taking any chances. The sacrifice will be tonight, by dark arts that may hide the moon. He need not wait for the natural moonless night.”

  “Tonight!” cried Sir Chethal. “We cannot possibly make it by then, my lords.”

  Sharo’s eyes darkened as he turned his gaze to the ground. “Not using our present route, no, Sir Knight. But we may chance another way.” He caught up Amaranth’s reins and led the horse off the road and back into the breathing woods. The rest of the company trailed after him, curiosity burning in their eyes as clearly as Jetekesh felt it pounding in his chest—all but Jinji, whose knowing look vexed him far less now than it might have yesterday.

  Friend.

  Jetekesh smiled to himself.

  Prince Sharo led them deep into the forest, only stopping when the road was hidden, and the sound of the birds and the wind above enveloped them. “I trust each of you as I trust no other creature, save my fae people alone. Thus, I bestow upon you k
nowledge only the wise and ancient keep written in their hearts.” His blue eyes stopped on Jinji. “Come, friend. I will show thee the pathway of the elder fae.”

  Jinji’s eyes were like lightning in a storm. He strode forward, not the frail man Jetekesh had seen until now, but straight and ethereal. He belonged to this world, this fairy country, where souls harnessed powers beyond a mortal shell. He stood beside Sharo, who turned his attention west with a wave of his hand.

  “Step betwixt yonder holly trees, Master Jinji, and thou shalt see the old path.”

  Breathless, Jetekesh watched Jinji move toward the two trees. As he passed between them, nothing at all changed. He merely disappeared beyond them into shadow.

  Sharo turned to the four remaining men. “Who enters yon wood next?”

  The knights held back, eyes darting between Jetekesh and Aredel. The Blood Prince glanced at him. Jetekesh shook his head. “Go first, Your Highness. You came to protect Jinji.”

  Sharo laughed. “Where Jinji stands now, none would harm him.”

  Aredel nodded. “Go, Prince Jetekesh. I think Jinji would wish you to join him next.”

  Inhaling, Jetekesh turned and padded to Sharo’s side.

  The fae prince waved his hand at the berry-laden trees. “Step firm, be courageous, and all shall be well with thee.”

  Chewing his lip, he rubbed his hands over his pant legs to wipe away the sweat and walked forward until he stood before the holly trees. Against the deep green, the red berries glistened under the light and shade of the sun beyond the limbs swaying overhead. He held his breath as he passed between the two trees and felt the branches against his sleeves.

  Before him stretched an aisle columned by tall dark trees, crawling beyond sight. His step faltered, but a hand caught his wrist and pulled him forward as he uttered a protest.

  “Do not fear, my friend.” Jinji’s voice. Meek, soft. Laughing.

  Jetekesh followed the shadowed figure of the storyteller, grinning. The air felt thick against his lungs, and the scents of green and damp filled his nostrils. His heart hammered in his ears. The trees leaned close, confining. Water gurgled somewhere nearby, out of sight, beyond the arcing trees.