by Gwynn White
If Lukan could have killed him, he would have.
What stops him? Meka wondered with a strange sense of detachment.
He shrugged. No answers there, either.
Mother Saskia droned on.
As Meka wriggled again, he caught Count Zarot watching him.
Zarot actually nodded!
But before Meka could react, the count turned to the elderly woman next to him. More like a hag, really, her face was sunken and wrinkled. Only the glint of her sapphire next to her eye and her lavish, bejeweled gown indicated that she was a woman of any status. Zarot whispered something to her, and the old hag examined Meka as if were an unpleasant something attached to the sole of her shoe.
Being the resident palace “freak,” he was used to people scowling at him, but he wasn’t the only one getting a visual beating. The old woman glared at Grigor, too. If eyes were weapons, Grigor would have dropped dead at Mother Saskia’s feet.
Tired of all this weirdness, Meka resolved to talk with her after the ceremony.
Grigor stood. Face the color of milk, he turned to the crowd. He swayed before stiffening like a board.
Meka’s stomach clenched in sympathy. He hissed at Grigor. As soon as he hooked his brother’s attention, he mouthed, “Focus on me.”
Grigor locked eyes with Meka as if he had just thrown out a lifeline. Mother Saskia gave Grigor a gentle nudge, and he stumbled over to sit next to Meka.
“I have to get out of here,” Grigor groaned, tugging first at the sash wrapped across his right shoulder and then at his cravat.
“As soon as he leaves, you can duck off,” Meka said, gesturing to Lukan, who had risen from his throne.
But before Lukan had even left the hall, Felix sidled up to Grigor. “Congratulations, Crown Prince. Perhaps you will allow me to introduce you to the councilmen.” He started to lead Grigor away.
Meka was about to follow when he noticed Zarot offering the sour-faced witch his hand. He helped her to her feet. Soon, they would join the throng of high-born leaving the hall. As much as Meka wanted to support Grigor, he also wanted to question her. Meeting Zarot would be good, too. He pushed his way through the crowds toward them.
An enormous shadow moved between him and his targets. “Ah! My dear prince.” Count Vasily bowed, then oozed, “How delightful it will be, having the honor of escorting you around the wonders of Zakar Province. Please be at the palace garages tomorrow at dawn as we have a great distance to travel.”
Meka groaned at the terrible timing. He poked his head around Vasily’s bulk to keep track of Zarot. The count had vanished, leaving the hag by herself.
Vasily took his arm. “Your visit will be an education like none other.” The monster of a man actually winked.
Could the day get any crazier?
Meka pulled his arm out of Vasily’s fleshy grasp. “I’m really looking forward to it. But right now, I want to speak to that lady.” He pointed at the hag. With the help of a walking stick, she made her way slowly down the aisle between the chairs. “Do you know who she is?”
Vasily lumbered his head around to look where he pointed. Cunning eyes settled back on Meka. “Now what would a young prince like you want with Mott’s old mistress?”
“Mott?”
“Your grandfather, dear prince. Lady Tatiana was his mistress.”
Meka had never considered that he had once had a grandfather. Probably two grandfathers, as Kestrel also had to have a father. He wondered if her father was still alive, somewhere in Norin. He pushed the useless thought aside to focus on the ancient, rickety witch. His opinion of his unknown paternal grandfather plummeted. What had Mott seen in her?
He shrugged and started moving away from Vasily when he remembered he would be staying in the man’s house. Offending the count would probably not make for the most pleasant visit. “The honor is all mine.”
He was about to slink off after Lady Tatiana when that rock, Count Zarot, appeared at Vasily’s shoulder.
The rock bowed to Meka and then spoke in clipped tones, “You will be coming to stay with me, too, Your Highness.”
Torn, Meka dithered between meeting Zarot and going after his grandfather’s mistress.
Vasily’s vast body shook as he emitted a braying sound. It took Meka a moment to recognize it as a laugh. “You are holding our dear prince up, Stefan. He has business to attend to.”
The rock’s eyebrow actually flickered.
“Don’t look so shocked, my dear Stefan. It seems our young prince has taken a fancy to Mott’s old squeeze.”
Meka started at the insult and glanced at Zarot to see his reaction.
Despite evidence of being friends with Lady Tatiana, the rock’s face remained expressionless. It remained so as he said, “Prince Meka, Lady Tatiana was present at your and your brother’s births.”
“She was?” Meka licked his lips, intrigued by this gem of information. Could Lady Tatiana have known about Tao? “Was my father there, too?”
Face as bland as his voice, Zarot replied, “Unfortunately not. I understand he was in the Serreti Forest when you were born.”
“Pity, that,” Meka said, matching Zarot’s disinterest.
“Yes, the emperor does enjoy the hunt,” Vasily gushed.
Meka ignored him and focused on Zarot.
The count looked back at him with impassive eyes. Nothing else was forthcoming. Hiding his disappointment, Meka was about to leave to go after Mott’s mistress.
“Highness, I am sure Lady Tatiana would enjoy meeting you.” Zarot’s words surprised him.
It sounded like Zarot intended to furnish the introduction. Meka’s heart drooped. With this brick of a man hanging around, he doubted Lady Tatiana would open up to him. He was about to make an excuse to edge away.
“Come, Boris,” Zarot said to Vasily, “let us go over and congratulate the crown prince on his inauguration.”
This tactful exit was even more astonishing.
“Of course, my dear Stefan, we would be remiss if we failed in that delightful duty.” Vasily bowed to Meka. “You will excuse us, dear prince?”
“Be my guest.” Meka scampered away before either of them could change their minds.
Despite prodding everyone in front of her with her stick, Lady Tatiana hadn’t made much progress up the length of the hall.
Meka fell into step next to her and offered her his hand. “The floor is very slippery, Lady Tatiana. Can I perhaps escort you to your destination?”
She shot him a stare pinched with suspicion. “Why? I am not that decrepit . . . Prince . . . Meka.”
He was sure he noted a definite pause around the word prince. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and an even deeper chance, and replied, “The title of ‘prince’ doesn’t sit so well with me either. I don’t think it’s entirely deserved.”
Lady Tatiana’s head jerked up. She seemed in no hurry to start walking again even though the crowd opened up a little ahead. He allowed her to set the pace. She shambled with painful slowness, and soon the gap between them and the rest of the high-born widened.
Lady Tatiana leaned in and whispered, “So, Meka, tell me more about this aversion to titles.”
This was it. He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t making an irrevocable mistake. “Well, to be honest, Lady Tatiana, I was kind of hoping you would tell me why I feel this aversion to titles.”
“Always hedging. It’s the Avanov way. The ones in this palace can never come out and be honest.”
There were other Avanovs who didn’t live in the palace? Intrigued, he ventured, “I guess it’s in the genes. At least of the ones who live in the palace.”
“No, Meka, it is not in your genes. Never impugn your father like that. He was the most honest, decent man to draw breath.”
Her sharpness shocked him. “By that, I assume you mean Tao.”
“Of course I mean Tao. Are you an idiot to think I mean the one who banished your father to the forest and then stole you at birth?”
> Meka forgot how to breathe. Walking was impossible.
Lady Tatiana tightened her grip, pulling him along with her. “Keep up, boy. Do you want Felix and his bloodhounds after us?”
He stumbled on. “Lady Tatiana, maybe you can tell me about—” He closed his eyes and grimaced. Was he really going to ask this stranger about Nicholas? It seemed insane, but how else was he ever to get answers if he didn’t ask questions?
The old hag glared at him. “Spit it out, boy. Don’t they teach you to communicate?”
Meka glared right back at her. “Why is Nicholas not here today?”
Lady Tatiana almost barked at him. “What do you know about him?”
“Almost nothing. Except that he is Lukan’s son. And that would make him the true crown prince.” He had said it, and his fate now rested in the hands of this bad-tempered old woman. He waited for a reply.
She was in no hurry to supply it. In fact, she stopped walking and leaned heavily on his arm.
“Lady Tatiana—”
“Shut up, boy. Look like you’re helping me. Can’t you see every guardsman in the room staring at us?”
“Of course.” He hadn’t, but he looked around as he inched her along. They were attracting some attention. He dropped his voice. “You were saying, Lady Tatiana?”
“I’m not addled,” she snapped. “I can hold a thought for more than a few seconds. Remember that if you wish to spend time in my company.” Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Now, talking of company, you will be staying with my old friend Stefan Zarot. If you are wise, Meka, he will become your friend, too. Don’t be fooled by his gruff look; Stefan is ready to befriend you. Ask him to introduce you to Axel. Axel will answer all your questions about Nicholas.”
Axel?
Wasn’t that the name of the boy with the ruby next to his eye on the picture? How did he fit into all this?
Meka whispered back, “Who’s Axel?”
Making a show of resting on his arm, Lady Tatiana leaned in so close he could feel her breath tickling his ear. “The love of your Aunt Lynx’s life. Count Felix’s estranged son. Head of the Pathfinder Alliance fighting in Treven for Nicholas. Ask Axel to tell you about a man called Dmitri.” She looked at him like he was a small child. “Repeat the name, Meka, so I know you have it.”
He suppressed a smile. “Dmitri, Lady Tatiana. I think even I can remember that. As uncommon as it is in Chenaya.”
“Uncommon! Banned, more like it.” Her face creased into a worn smile. “If Axel gives you any trouble, tell him Tatiana said she’s not too old to wallop him.” She sighed. “If I ever have the joy of seeing him in the flesh again.” She rubbed her hip as if it pained her. “Can you do that for me, Meka?”
“Sure. I just wish I understood—”
“The guardsmen are restless, boy. See, one of them is coming to meet us. I am high risk. The last person the emperor would want you associating with. It is only thanks to Felix that I am still alive.”
Felix stood between Mott’s old mistress and Morass’s blade? Meka wished he understood more of what wasn’t being said.
No time to worry about that now; a guardsman bore down on them.
Tatiana whispered, “Just because Felix protects me, he will feel no such loyalty to you. Never let him or Lukan know that you know about Nicholas. That will be your death warrant.” She turned away and shouted at the guardsman. “You idiot. Do you intend to carry me? This boy is useless. Go. Bring me a chair, at least.”
The guardsman shuddered to a halt and called to his colleagues, standing at attention along the edges of the great hall.
One of them ran over. He bowed at Meka.
“My Ladyship, we have no chair, but maybe we can support your arms better than Prince Meka can.” The guardsman’s voice was as flat as Stefan Zarot’s.
“No doubt about that.” Tatiana sounded sour, but she offered him her arm. Then she shouted at him, “You’re crushing my gown. By the Dragon, do you guardsmen all share one brain cell? Which one of you morons has it today?”
Lady Tatiana certainly had a way of making her presence felt, but she had just become one of Meka’s favorite people. Thrilled that he had spoken to her, he turned to find Grigor. It was time to share this bounty.
Catching a quiet moment with Grigor wasn’t as easy as Meka hoped. It seemed every high-born in the palace wanted five minutes with the new crown prince. Looking like a stunned catfish, Grigor allowed himself to be passed from one well-wisher to the next. Why the sycophants bothered, Meka didn’t know. Surely, he wasn’t the only one to recognize that Grigor wasn’t listening to a word they said?
Someone nudged his arm. “Can I join you?”
As he looked into Natalia’s soulful brown eyes, his stomach swooped and his blood raced. “You also waiting to get a chance to talk to Grigs?”
She nodded, then bit her lip. “He looks so . . . imperial. Doesn’t he? And that’s not just because of the sash and brooch.”
“If you call pale-faced and glazed-eyed ‘imperial,’ then yes, I guess so.”
Natalia pinched him lightly on the arm. “Meka! How you can call your brother glazed? A little pale maybe, especially during the presentation, but now he looks every bit a crown prince.”
Meka glanced at her to see if she was serious—she looked it—and turned back to Grigor. Sporting his sash and brooch, Grigor stood ramrod straight in front of a man and woman, to all appearances listening with rapt attention to everything they gushed.
Meka wasn’t fooled. “Maybe I just know him better than you do. Trust me, right now, he’s trying his best not to throw up on that woman’s dress.” It struck Meka that his comments weren’t designed to engender love in Natalia for Grigor. He laughed. “Don’t believe me. It’s a brother thing. Grigor has this totally under control.”
Natalia rubbed her arms. “I don’t know you well, but Grigor loves you so much that I feel I can ask you a favor. Can I?”
Meka shrugged. “Sure. Whether I can help or not remains to be seen, considering I’m leaving tomorrow.” He forced his eyes away from the swell of her breasts.
How Grigor had resisted kissing her for so long, he could not imagine. If she had shown any interest in him, he wouldn’t have been so coy. But she hadn’t shown any interest in him and she clearly fancied Grigor, so he was relieved when she spoke again.
“Oh, you can help. Please, will you take a letter to my cousins?”
“Huh? What’s a ‘letter’?”
He also had no idea whom she was referring to. She couldn’t possibly be related to either Vasily or Zarot; she was way too beautiful for that.
She smiled up at him. “Just as well you’re such a handsome wolf, Meka.”
His eyes widened even further. “Pardon?”
“You remind me of a wolf I love to watch in the moat. Only, I think at times he’s smarter than you.” Her laughter bubbled as she nudged his side with her shoulder. “My cousins are in Treven. They’re Stefan Zarot’s children.” She held out a square of parchment sealed with wax. “And this is a letter. It’s considered polite not to read them unless they’re addressed to you. Hopefully, when you come back, you will bring their reply.”
He took it with a wry smile to cover up his embarrassment and slipped it into his pocket. “Seems I learn something new every day.”
“The purpose of life.” She rolled her eyes. “Or so my mother keeps telling me. One more thing. Could you please give my Aunt Mali a hug from me?”
“A hug?” He snorted a laugh. “I’m a wolf, remember? So what are the Zarots like?”
“You’ll love them.” Her voice dropped. “They are so free.” She glanced at the massive black, red, and gold Dragon leering down at them from its lair on the far wall of the great hall. “So removed from control.” Her hand trailed to her sapphire. “My cousins don’t even wear these stupid gemstones.” A sigh. “I guess you can say I envy them.”
Meka rocked back on his heels. The day had certainly turned out to be in
formative. Who knew the stolid Stefan Zarot could be so intriguing? Going to Treven suddenly seemed like the best thing to happen to him since Tao had wafted into his life almost a year ago.
Only trouble was, he would be leaving Grigor alone to fend off Lukan, Felix, and his new title. The whole notion irritated him, especially as Felix kept Grigor doing the rounds among the high-born until the meal was served.
Then he whisked Grigor off to a private dining hall with the Sixteen. Meka wasn’t sure if he should be offended by the exclusion. It seemed like one more schism, designed by conniving hands, to split him and his twin.
As long as we keep focused on the same goal of finding Nicholas, they can’t harm us.
By evening, Meka had almost given up any hope of speaking alone with Grigor. He doubted he’d get too much opportunity until bedtime either, because a ball had been prepared in Grigor’s honor. With absolutely no interest in dancing, Meka drifted away from the great hall.
A sudden urge to visit the lake gripped him. He hadn’t been back there since being sprung from the cage. Going back to the scene of so much unhappiness seemed crazy, but he allowed his feet to carry him there. The sun had set, and the first stars that delineated the Northern Constellation gleamed in the purple sky.
Nicholas the Light-Bearer, he corrected. He looked up at the constellation his cousin was named for. We’ll find you, Nicholas. I promise you that.
The stars winked down at him as if they understood the desires of his heart.
The gate to the cage was open.
He took a deep breath and entered. Although early spring, large chunks of the lake were already ice free. Slowly, he ambled along the path at the water’s edge, looking for fish rises in the glasslike water. With a buzz of spring mosquitoes across the sheen, the fish didn’t fail him.
He spoke to the water. “I never did say goodbye to you all. Thanks . . . for everything.”
“Talking to yourself now?”
Meka looked up and smiled.
Grigor, still wearing his sash and brooch, had crowded his overgrown frame into one of the swings Lukan had given them as children. The links on the chain were rusty and squeaked as he kicked backward and forward.
