As they entered the town proper, the main street was lined with people eager to get their first official look at the prince. Some had lain eyes on him a few times over the years, but most of them would have been hard pressed to pick him out of the pack had it not been for his clothing.
They were cheering and seemed in good spirits. The prince suspected it had less to do with him and more about the fact his father was dead. Keiran gave occasional small nods to the strangers, feeling conspicuous and awkward.
As they moved down the street toward the cathedral, Keiran started to feel the first pangs of what would develop into acute stage fright. He’d never been the center of attention to this degree. His hands knotted up in his horse’s reins to try and stop their shaking. The prince began to hyperventilate, making his arms and legs start to tingle. Realizing that he was putting himself on the verge of passing out and falling from his mount, Keiran forced himself to stop it, trying to regulate his breaths. He wasn’t enjoying this experience in the least, and it wasn’t going to get better from there he realized with an inward groan. The little boy that still resided in the back of his mind was urging him to turn his horse around and run off for any good hiding place. Preferably, somewhere dark.
Despite being caught up in his own thoughts about how much he didn’t want to be there, either, Jerris could pick up on Keiran’s anxiety. He broke formation despite his father’s warning and moved up to Keiran’s left side. He eyed his friend and noticed the awful color of his complexion.
Keiran glanced over for just a moment, keeping his voice low. “I want to go home. I want to go home right now.”
“Well, it’s what you get for being royalty,” Jerris said, trying to give up a reassuring grin. It probably wasn’t the right thing to say at that moment, but he decided to encourage him with the classic notion of impressing a girl. “Besides, what would Thana think if she heard you ran off before doing this? Women eat up this sort of thing.”
“Urgh, never mind.” Keiran frowned and grit his teeth, silently cursing Jerris for daring to go there of all places.
When the procession arrived at the cathedral, Keiran dismounted his horse. In the small plaza before the cathedral, his father’s body had been placed on a funeral pyre. The prince neared it, repulsed at once from the small glimpse he got of the old king’s face. Jerris had come up with him and stood there, looking right at the dead king with morbid fascination. Their preservation methods were crude at best, and the king wasn’t looking very appealing after several days.
Keiran held his place, his eyes focused on the tangle of wood and briars that surrounded the bottom of the pyre. The crowd grew quiet as Father Beezle appeared, carrying a lit torch. The tiny priest was in his ritual white vestments, matching his few remaining wisps of hair.
He held the torch out to Keiran and bowed deeply. “You may light the fire.”
With a small nod, Keiran took the torch. He knelt and ignited the tender at the lower perimeter of the pyre. Once convinced it was going to catch, he tossed the torch into it and stepped back. The flames climbed quickly, soon engulfing the king’s body and sending a column of black smoke straight up into the still air. At first, the smoke only smelled of the aromatic wood the pyre had been constructed with, but eventually, the acrid and awful stench of burning flesh started to taint the air.
Keiran did his best to stand there with reverence and dignity, regardless of the personal feelings he’d carried toward his father. He gave a sidelong glance to Jerris beside him, moderately impressed that the guard was behaving himself well. He wasn’t so much as making a weird face from the smell of the cremation. Keiran tried to make a mental note to let Jerris know he was proud later on. He’d forgive him for the Thana remark earlier.
Everyone stood and watched the pyre burn in silence for a long while. Finally, Randall started to move back toward the interior of the cathedral, indicating that Keiran should follow suit. Jerris and two other guards went along as well, unwilling to let Keiran get too far out of reach.
There was another bout with his stage fright as they moved into the building. Keiran’s heart rate escalated sharply. There was a wine-colored runner along the center aisle they walked down to reach the altar. The inside of the building was packed with spectators, all there to watch his ordeal.
Randall moved up the stairs to stand at the altar, Keiran stopping to kneel before him when instructed. Jerris and the other guards stopped a short distance off, turning to keep a watchful eye on the crowd gathered. Kanan was at the opposite end of the cathedral, staring straight ahead with his arms across his chest, making sure Jerris continued to behave.
The priest looked down at the massive book containing the rites placed on the altar. He started to read off the ceremony, aware that aside from himself and the priests, Keiran would be the only one in the room to understand. It was in the old language of Tordania, which was rarely used and actually illegal to teach to anyone outside of royalty or clergy.
The prince remained there on his knees for over an hour as the rites went on. There were a few places where he was required to respond verbally, and he did so without issue. Still, his mind wandered from what Randall was saying, anxiety eating away at him. At least he couldn’t see all the people in the building, as they were to his back. Keiran was glad for it, but he convinced himself that he could literally feel their eyes staring at him.
The whole experience felt surreal to him. His nervousness, the discomfort from being situated like he was, and not having eaten all started to interact and make him feel utterly disconnected from his body. It seemed like it wasn’t going to end, and his eyes drifted closed.
Keiran opened them again only when he was finally instructed to stand, feeling light headed as soon as he complied. He managed to keep upright, his world ceasing to spin before he keeled over. Randall left the altar and quickly strode back down the aisle of the cathedral toward the pyre once more. Two other minor priests approached Keiran and undid the right sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up to expose his brand. The prince fixed his sights forward, making the conscious effort not to focus on anything.
Randall appeared a few minutes later, holding a metal plate in his hands as he walked back to where Keiran stood. On top of it rested a bed of glowing embers, amongst which sat King Turis Lee’s seal ring, pulled from the remnants of his cremation. The gold ring was glowing red, heated nearly to the point of melting. There was another priest at Randall’s side, carrying a bowl of water.
Randall passed Keiran and set the plate on the altar, before picking up a pair of small tongs already waiting there. He grabbed the ring with them and returned to Keiran’s right side. He eyed the prince’s familial crest brand, seeing the unmarked center portion of the design that had been left to receive his father’s seal one day.
Father Beezle checked the alignment of the ring in the tongs, before looking up at Keiran. “Are you ready?”
Keiran gave no verbal reply, offering up a nearly imperceptible nod that only Randall saw. He wanted to announce that no, he wasn’t ready and really didn’t want to do this, but bit his tongue. He closed his eyes again and tried to make himself relax, though it was an ill-fated attempt. There was a cold sweat on his skin and he held his breath. Keiran started to feel the pangs of nausea stirring up.
The priest wasn’t actually too keen on doing this and hurting Keiran. He felt it was a barbaric practice, his duty or not. Still, he pressed forward since Keiran seemed ready to accept it. The ring was brought up and pressed against the appointed spot, the image of his father’s seal forever burning itself into his skin.
The second the metal touched him, there was a sickening hiss before he started to feel any pain. Keiran was fighting every instinct he had to pull away, as it had always been impressed upon him that this was supposed to be a display of his strength to the onlookers. It hurt like hell, though, and the scent of his own burning flesh quickly made him glad his stomach was completely empty. If he’d eaten, the prince was sure he would have thrown up.
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Jerris winced when he heard the sizzle, more than happy to be facing the other way. While he generally could laugh and make fun of Keiran when he got hurt, this was pretty rough even by his standards.
Randall pulled the ring away after a few moments and turned, dropping it into the bowl of cold water being held by the other priest. Upon hitting the water, the temperature shift from hot to cold caused the ring to shatter with a loud crack. It fell to the bottom of the bowl in dozens of glistening shards. These would be kept and melted down to cast the ring Keiran would be given during his coronation after the hunt.
The priest looked up at Keiran. Without moving his lips and being quiet enough so that no one else could hear, he asked, “Are you all right?”
Keiran’s eyes peered open slowly, his lips pressed so tightly together that they’d gone white. He let out a shaking breath and once more gave up a nod. The pain was less now that he wasn’t actively being burned, but it still hurt. The prince gave a fleeting thought to outlawing this practice, even if it was too late for him.
Father Beezle gave him a warm smile and moved back up to the altar. One of the other priests hurried forward and quickly put a bandage over Keiran’s new brand. The inner surface of the wrapping was coated with a purple pigment. It would be absorbed into the burn to add color to the seal design once it was healed. When that was done, he pulled Keiran’s sleeve down and retied it.
Randall stood there and looked over the crowd, instructing Keiran in the common language to go out and prove that he could provide for his people.
“When you have completed this task, Prince Keiran, you shall be made king,” Randall finished.
Giving one small bow, Keiran agreed and turned. Jerris caught the prince’s expression, instantly understanding that Keiran was very close to collapsing. Wanting to get him back to the castle, Jerris wasted no time in turning with the others and heading out. He helped Keiran onto his horse and told his father that they shouldn’t ride too fast given Keiran’s state.
Kanan agreed and they got underway, taking their time to get back.
Keiran rode staring forward, not making any conversation at all. The burning in his arm kept him tuned into his senses, but that was about it. The experience had drained whatever energy he might have had for the rest of the day. Though part of him wanted to head out instantly for the hunt, worried that the white stag might leave, he knew it wasn’t going to happen until the following morning. He wouldn’t have made it far, anyway.
Back at the castle, Keiran slid out of the saddle, staggering slightly. Jerris rushed down from his horse and quickly moved to support the prince. After giving a few curt orders to some of those still loitering around the courtyard, Jerris moved to help Keiran back to his room.
They’d just gotten inside when Corina appeared, immediately starting to fret over Keiran’s condition. Jerris had to assure her that he’d done a perfect job in the cathedral and had kept it together until they’d gotten back.
The old woman didn’t seem particularly comforted by that in the least. She sat on Keiran’s bedside, fussing with him and pushing up his sleeve to look at the bandage. She wasn’t happy with it and insisted on taking it off so that she could treat the brand with something to dull the pain and seal in the color that had been added.
Keiran wasn’t thrilled when she pulled the bandage off, as it hurt horribly. However, once she dabbed one of her ointments onto the wound, the pain dulled a bit as the skin around the area went numb. For the relief it gave him, he decided to be a good sport, and he let her wrap his arm back up to her own liking. He was legitimately too weak to fight her off, anyway.
Afterward, Corina relented, and agreed to let Keiran sleep for a while, though she expected him to eat when he woke back up. Jerris almost physically ushered her out the door before locking it, knowing that Keiran really just wanted to be left alone at that point.
With the room quiet, Keiran sighed and rolled onto his left side before dropping off for several hours.
Jerris took back up his vigil in his usual chair before the fireplace. He wasn’t looking forward to the hunt the next day, and had his honest doubts whether or not Keiran would be able to handle the physical stress of it. The prince’s idealism be damned, he thought Keiran was a fool for still denying himself human blood. He really felt there was a good chance that the upcoming ordeal would overwhelm the prince and do him in.
He supposed they’d find out soon enough.
* * *
Keiran ended up having a rough night. While Corina and Jerris had gotten him to eat something later in the day after his branding, he really wasn’t up to much else. If he’d been left alone, he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. By that evening, his arm was bothering him badly, and no amount of Corina’s topical anesthetic seemed to do anything for it. Part of him wanted to drink, and he gave passing thought to sending Jerris out to bring him something. He refrained, however, not feeling like he’d be able to cope with getting sick to the point of throwing up again. Especially given what he had to go out and get done in the morning.
All around, he wasn’t happy.
After calling it a day and going to bed, he found himself unable to sleep despite his continued fatigue. Keiran was a creature of habit and liked falling asleep on his right side when left to his own devices. Every time he forgot and started to roll over, though, the pain that shot through him from his brand forced him onto his back again. The whole region of his upper arm had set into a dull, constant throbbing, making his sleep fitful at best.
He was also suffering from a good case of run-away brain, not able to shut off his thoughts for any length of time. Keiran worried about finding the white deer, going through the official coronation, and dealing with Peirte once and for all, amongst other things. The prince had an overall sense of dread, sincerely wishing he could just skip out on the next week and leave it all to someone else. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone who could stand in for him.
And there was Thana. Always Thana. He’d be damned if he had even the slightest idea of what he was supposed to do in regards to her. Ignorant as to how she felt about him, he was unsure what he should say to her—if anything. Then again, what he wanted with her was forbidden. He knew he should try to put it all behind him, but his heart didn’t seem to have any intention of listening to logic. It would be easier if he asked and she turned him down. If he knew she wasn’t interested, and it wasn’t going to happen, it would force him to move on.
Dwelling on it wasn’t helping sleep come any sooner.
Only in the morning did he finally drop into something along the lines of real sleep. It was short lived, though. The sun clawed its way over the horizon, a sliver of the dawn light making it between the curtains over his window. When the beam cut across his face, Keiran found himself rudely torn out of a dream and cast into reality.
He sat up and looked around his room, seeing Jerris sprawled out on the floor in front of the cold fireplace. The guard had given up trying to sleep in the chair at some point, and he’d gotten down on the ground, wrapping himself in one of the blankets stolen from the bed. Jerris didn’t seem to be having any problem at all sleeping, if his snoring was any indication.
Determined to get up before someone was ripping him out of bed forcibly, he scooted to sit on the edge, until he was confident he’d be able to stand. Once he was up and moving, he got dressed in his hunting gear as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to wake his guard. Jerris had been diligent about staying with him, and Keiran felt bad for all the nights of bad sleeping arrangements he’d endured.
His outfit was dark in color, somewhere between green and black. It was a rudimentary attempt at camouflage, the dark colors harder to see in the dense forest that covered the surrounding mountains. With his hunting knife clipped to his belt and a heavy, woolen cloak around his shoulders, he unlocked his door and stepped out into the hallway.
Despite the early hour, a lot of servants were out and working to finish the prepara
tions for the party to be held the next day. Keiran walked freely amongst them down to the kitchen, his mind still in a daze from his lack of sleep and general physical condition.
He knew he needed to get a little something to eat, but had no desire to be fussed over and provided a full breakfast in the dining hall. The prince went straight into the kitchen and got a piece of bread. The servants within just watched him and didn’t bother the prince, knowing the man didn’t usually have much to say in the morning even on the best of days.
Thana was there working and offered him a demure smile. Keiran blushed and waved back. He didn’t dare speak, knowing that his words would have been hopelessly jumbled in his present state of mind.
Food in hand, he moved outside into the courtyard, looking up at the sky. There were clouds present, but the sun was still breaking through. It might rain later in the day, but for the time being, it seemed like the weather was going to cooperate. Keiran was happy enough with that, not wanting to be out any longer than needed.
The ride out to the old trading post would take until late in the afternoon under the best conditions. By the time he tracked down the deer, assuming he could, Keiran realized the hunting party would have to spend the night out and come back to the castle the following day. The prince had never been one for time constraints and hadn’t faced many in his lifetime. Now, with the banquet slated for the next day, he found it stressful to think that the whole ordeal was contingent on him getting back to the castle with an animal. He understood exactly why so many of his predecessors had gamed the system by having a hunter go out for them ahead of time. It was one of those instances when Keiran regretted being the honest sort.
Still, running a country surely had greater challenges to it than this hunt, so he figured he needed to suck it up and get it done. The thought of turning around and going back to bed did have its appeal, though.
Thana moved quietly down the stairs behind him, coming to a halt. “My Lord?”
Keiran looked around before spinning to face her. His thought process immediately fell apart and he felt his cheeks burn. “Thana, hello.”
The Phoenix Prince Page 13
