by R. J. Larson
A few weeks in prison had wreaked havoc on years of courtly training. Yet the damage was done, and an uncomfortable fact nagged at Kien.
He had to apologize to Ela of Parne.
Thus far, she was his one hope to maneuver an escape from this place. Or to acquire some sort of weapon—though she’d just proven he could arm himself with the prison’s rolls. Well, at the very least, she might be able to smuggle him extra food. Kien’s stomach growled, as if on cue. “Disgusting.”
Now he was talking to himself. At least talking to the mouse in his previous cell was partially excusable. However, conducting a solitary dialogue must surely be a symptom of failing sanity. Soon he would be banging his head against the wall, Kien was sure.
Why had he been so stupid?
Tired of his own thoughts, Kien shut his eyes for a nap. At least his dreams were often interesting. He might even see home. Father, Mother . . . Beka.
The sound of jangling keys woke Kien. Bleary-eyed, he noticed the deepening shadows in his cell. Was it time for the evening meal? Bad as the meals were, Kien wished he could have several servings at once. How could he organize a coherent escape plot while suffering from malnutrition?
“Tracelander! Step to!” A big, genial guard opened his cell door and grinned. “Well, look at that eye—beaten by a girl! And a scrawny one at that.”
“I’m glad you’re amused.” Kien stood, yawned, and shook out his cloak. “Lead on. I’m ready to eat.”
The guard exuded a rude noise. “We’re not going to feed you—it’s too early for that. You’ve been called for by the king.”
The guard hurried Kien through the dim passageway by jabbing him in the ribs. The pain was tolerable, which was good. In a few more weeks he’d be fully recovered from the beating inflicted upon him by the palace guards. He feared, however, that by that time, he would be too weakened by starvation to escape.
If only . . . Kien stopped mid-thought and mid-step as he entered the main entry’s yard.
Ela of Parne waited there, clothed in a clean linen tunic and neatly draped mantle, all simple but very well made. With the exception of a water bag, her staff, and that now-missing sword, she hadn’t been carrying any extra gear when Kien first saw her in the small inner courtyard. Who had supplied her with new clothes? And where was the Un—the child?
She saw Kien and shut her eyes, as if disgusted.
Considering his previous offense, and his ruffian appearance, he couldn’t blame her. Regardless, he intended to apologize in his most courtly and winning manner.
It helped that the guard was goading Kien to stand beside the offended girl.
Matters would also be helped if—for pity’s sake—this Ela of Parne would open her eyes and acknowledge his existence.
He stared at her, and waited.
10
Ignoring the Tracelander, Ela kept her eyes shut and leaned heavily on the branch. She’d overexerted herself today. Myriad pains raked through all her muscles, and the dizzying headache persisted, consuming much of her ability to think. And the sunlight, despite its blessed warmth, was making her headache worse. If only she could curl up in a dark room and beg the Infinite for relief.
However, her ailments were short-lived physical miseries. Nothing compared to the spiritual needs of others. Unnerved, Ela began to pray.
The king had summoned her to dispel his fears. Ela saw him in her thoughts now, weeping over his cousin’s body and contemplating his own death with such terror that his hands shook. Regrettably, only Tek An could end his fears . . . if he would simply forget his pride and listen to the Infinite.
Within this muted fragment of a vision, Ela watched Tek Lara kneel beside General Tek Juay’s body. Like the king, Lara was crying, but without Tek An’s terror. Lara needed Ela’s presence this evening—
Ela’s vision ceased, somehow disrupted by Kien Lantec’s continued stare.
Audacious man! Why was he there?
She allowed Kien a sidelong glance. Immediately, her headache worsened. He was staring at her, and his eyelid was deeply reddened and puffy. This was the first time she’d ever truly hit someone, and she was appalled at his appearance. Really, the prison’s hard rolls should be offered to the Istgardian army as sling stones.
Of course, she was being ridiculous. Her temper, not the rolls, had caused Kien Lantec’s injury. “I’m trying to be remorseful for injuring you,” Ela told the Tracelander.
“I wish you success.” He smiled, not the least bit sarcastic. “I’m pleased to report that I am remorseful for offending you. I apologize with all sincerity and vow to never repeat the offense against anyone. Do you wish me to kneel before you and openly proclaim my wrongdoing and my regret?”
Despite his smile, he was serious. And entirely too glib. Ela muttered, “Don’t you dare!”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Kien grinned, all his previous charm intact despite the incongruous eye. “Has the king also summoned you?”
“He’s summoned you?”
“Yes. No doubt to charge me with more crimes because he’s affronted by some misdeed he imagines my country might commit.”
“Infinite,” Ela complained in a whisper, gripping the branch tight, “couldn’t You have warned me?”
The young man leaned near. “I’m sorry? I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Nothing.” Ela sighed. It seemed that the Infinite had plans for this talkative young man. Well, whatever those plans were, she didn’t care to know. The guards opened the far gate, drawing her attention away from the troublesome Kien.
A contingent of red-cloaked guards marched into the entry yard in two columns, bearing huge red shields and wearing plate armor and swords.
Tsir Aun commanded them. His uniform was different today, Ela noticed. Instead of the ordinary soldier’s squared plate armor, he wore gleaming fitted armor. The crest on his new helmet was longer, and a thick gold stripe bordered his red cloak. His sword too was more elaborately decorated. Ela doubted Commander Taun had been so impressive.
His voice deep and ringing, Tsir Aun ordered his men to halt. After surveying their ranks, he instructed them to turn and face the entry gate. Then he approached Ela, eyeing her sharply.
She almost hopped to attention. Despite her headache, the realization made Ela smile. “Commander. I’m glad to see you are well.”
“Thank you.” With a formality that clearly required her to offer more than a courtesy response, he asked, “How are you?”
“I’ve a severe headache, dizziness, and exceptional bruising.”
“No surprise. Will our walk to the palace be too much?”
“I think not—if I don’t walk too quickly.”
“Good.” His stern eyes allowed a hint of a smile.
Quietly, she asked, “Have you been promoted?”
“Yes. I’m a high commander.” He grimaced as if displeased. “How is your sister?”
“She is recovering, thank you. She’s staying with the warden’s wife this evening.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best, considering the situation at hand.” He studied Kien disdainfully, as if deeming him unfit for duty. “Who is this?”
The Tracelander offered an elegant half bow. “I am Kien Lantec, former ambassador of the Tracelands, now the king’s prisoner. I have been summoned, it seems, to be charged with further crimes.”
Looking only a little appeased, Tsir Aun spoke to Kien, with a nod toward Ela. “She was injured during a street skirmish several evenings past. You will assist her. Alert me if she seems unable to continue.”
“Yes, sir,” Kien agreed, sounding so respectful and soldierlike that Ela stared. Did the ambassador have military training?
Pivoting on his heel, the new high commander raised his voice. “Let’s proceed.” He led them to the center of his deputation of guards and motioned them to halt.
While they waited for their guards to receive and respon
d to Tsir Aun’s marching orders, Kien gave Ela a serious, quizzical glance. “You were injured?”
“Knocked unconscious,” Ela admitted.
“I never would have guessed it earlier today.” The Tracelander’s observation sounded like a compliment. Though Ela suspected that everything he said would sound like a compliment. How could anyone trust such a man?
He offered her his arm. Ela frowned. “Thank you, sir, but there’s no need.”
Kien returned her frown. “Accept my assistance and don’t be stubborn. I won’t have your soldier-friend crushing a few more of my ribs just because you’ve tried to be brave.”
“Hmm.” Not a bit of a compliment in that order. Perhaps her previous opinion of his character was wrong. Perhaps. She accepted his arm, but depended equally on the branch.
Pleasantly, as if they were enjoying a tranquil stroll while accompanied by soldiers, Kien said, “Quite a few guards they’ve sent for us. I wonder why?”
“You don’t want to know.” She wished he would hush.
“You’re wrong. I do want to know.”
Ela braced herself, saying the words while fighting off the memory. “A few days past, I found General Tek Juay’s body in the borderlands. He’d been murdered. This evening, the king’s soldiers brought his remains into the palace—as I said they would. The king is near mad and wishes to assure I’m not killed before he can confront me.”
The Tracelander missed a step and hushed.
“You brought this disaster upon us!” Tek An stormed toward Ela, his voice ricocheting off the marble and gleaming mirrors. “You are the cause of our pain! So now you will gloat, seeing your scheme come to pass. Do not think we will forgive you!”
He was perspiring, trembling. A wave of compassion swept over Ela. More so as she looked down at the general’s mummified body—at Lara huddled, weeping beside her father’s corpse. Tears burned Ela’s eyes, and she allowed them to fall freely as she faced the angry king once more. “I do not expect your forgiveness, and I am not gloating. Do you think I haven’t mourned, O King? I do! Istgard will suffer because an evil man took your cousin’s life!”
Before Tek An could say another word, Ela kneeled beside Tek Lara, hugged her, and cried, the Infinite’s sorrow pouring through her soul.
All the hairs on Kien’s scalp tingled as he knelt on the marble floor near the general’s body. Wails lifted around him as if unleashed by a signal he hadn’t heard, but fully understood.
General Tek Juay—always so vital, amiable, and quick to laugh or argue politics with Kien—was truly dead. Kien couldn’t bear to look at the preserved body, half curled beneath his military cloak in sleeplike peace. Instead, Kien stared at the girl who claimed she’d found the general dead in the borderlands.
Ela of Parne. Three days ago, no one in Istgard had even heard her name.
Now he’d seen this Ela defy the king and exchange hugs with Tek Lara as if they were sisters.
Incredible. A citizen of lowly Parne had entered the royal courts and now mixed with the royal family as if she’d lived among them for years. How could anyone possibly explain something so astonishing?
A flurry of motion caught Kien’s attention. The king hurried from the chamber with his guards, as if he could no longer bear to remain near his cousin’s body. Beneath the doorway’s arch, however, he turned and pointed at Ela of Parne. “We will speak to you! And your miserable conspirator! Lan Tek, you will follow us.”
The king’s heir strode from amid the mourners. “My lord-father, may I attend you?”
“Yes, but you will be silent.”
Lips pressed tight, his expression mutinous, the heir stalked out after the king.
A swift-whispered squabble erupted among the king’s men. Two green-cloaked guards stepped forward, motioned to Kien and to Ela, and led them into the corridor.
Kien noticed the girl lagging. Her face went ghastly, as if she were ill. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and helped her along. The instant they stepped into the king’s smallest antechamber, however, the little wretch elbowed Kien’s ribs. Painfully. He released her.
He might have been at home, quarreling with Beka.
“We are correct!” The king seemed infuriated, yet oddly triumphant. “You two have planned a conspiracy against us.”
Kien nearly growled. More royal conspiracy madness. “Forgive me, O King, but I’ve never spoken to this young lady until today. One of the guards at the prison can describe our conversation—we suffered a misunderstanding.”
The heir snickered. “She bashed your eye?”
“I deserved it, young lord.” Kien hoped he could keep his temper. He’d always disliked the youth, who was far more arrogant than the king.
Tek An flicked his son’s arm. “If you cannot control yourself, you will leave us.”
The heir turned away in a sulk.
Determined to speed up this foolish interrogation, Kien prompted, “What conspiracy are we charged with, O King?”
“Do not pretend ignorance!” Tek An reached inside his robe, extracted a scroll garnished with numerous wax seals, and flung it at Kien’s chest.
Kien caught the scroll and recognized the seals. Father’s tower-etched signet imprinted the largest wafer of wax. Twenty smaller seals were affixed alongside Father’s—one from each Tracelander in his nation’s Grand Assembly. The sight made Kien grin. Without asking permission, he opened the scroll and skimmed it. An ultimatum.
. . . Innocent lives have been destroyed. Peaceful citizens have been abducted from their homes and enslaved in Istgard. In response to this outrage, it is the will of the Traceland’s people that we not submit to such unwarranted and deplorable violations of our most elemental rights. The Tracelands must defend itself.
Our motive is not one of conquest, but concerns the protection and well-being of our people. . . . Free those you have enslaved . . . return, unharmed, those you have imprisoned. . . .
Kien stopped skimming the document and eyed the king. “If you restore my office and release me from prison, we can begin negotiations to prevent war.”
“Why?” Tek An blustered—a defensive tactic, Kien knew. “Your country has long planned this invasion! You seize any excuse, even turning our own self-preservation against us.”
The Parnian girl finally spoke, low and stern. “Istgard’s justification concerning Ytar is a sham. A lie to excuse your greed. I saw Ytar burn. It was not a battle but a savage butchery!”
Kien stared, stunned. She’d seen Ytar burn? No doubt she had—he saw tears in her eyes. Kien listened hard as she continued. “Do you think your actions will be excused and forgotten?”
“This was another vision,” the king accused her.
“It reveals the truth!” She pressed a hand to her forehead, looking ill again. “Three nights ago, I told you that the slaves from Ytar must be freed. Nothing has changed.”
Tek An protested in an obvious attempt to sidestep the issue. “You disturb us extremely!”
“I am meant to disturb you!” Ela frowned at the king, her courage stealing Kien’s breath. “Do you think I want to see you die—watch your kingdom fall? Your safety and your eternal soul concern the Infinite. Extremely!”
The Infinite? Kien’s admiration fell into a swamp of confusion. Wasn’t this Infinite the God of Parne?
Tek An, however, was listening to Ela. Until his heir interposed. “My lord-father, forgive me, but why should we take note of this foreigner? This Parnian. She’s nothing to us!”
“We told you to be quiet!”
The heir began to wheedle, his face a younger, craftier image of his father’s. “Sire, forgive me. I will be quiet—I simply could not bear their insults and lies any longer! How can they have your best interests at heart, as I do?”
Tek An thawed a bit toward his son. “We know you are concerned for us. Nevertheless, obey our wishes—listen and learn in silence. Have you not perceived their conspiracy? This former ambassador demands we free our slaves
. The Tracelanders threaten us with war unless we free our slaves. This girl-prophet declares her Infinite will curse us if we do not free our slaves. It is clear they have plotted together to rob us of our victory!”
Prophet. Kien exhaled. So Ela of Parne had proclaimed herself a mystic and the king probably believed her. Interesting.
Straightening, Ela said, “We have not conspired together, O King. Freeing Ytar’s captives is the Infinite’s will. Of course, you can choose to believe or disbelieve us. However, if you reject the Infinite and refuse to follow Him, you and your son will die with General Tek Juay’s murderers. The Infinite will bring new and honorable leaders to power in Istgard.”
The heir seethed. “Your Infinite discounts me, and that is a mistake! Forgive me, my lord-father. I cannot obey you if I remain. Please, excuse me.”
To Kien’s relief, Tek An waved his son out of the room. “Yes, take your distractions and leave. What will you ever learn of being a king?”
“You have said more than you realize, O King.” Ela of Parne leaned upon her staff, obviously listening to the heir storming along the corridor outside. His echoing footsteps silenced as the guards closed the antechamber door.
Glad to be rid of the heir’s unstable presence, Kien waited for Tek An’s rage to ease. Perhaps he could begin peace negotiations now and free himself from prison in the process.
The king, pacing and fuming, eventually perceived the Parnian girl’s words. “What? Explain what you meant—that we have said more than we realized.”
“You are in despair over your son’s failure to learn his royal duties. Rightfully so. As we speak, he is making choices that might destroy his future.”
“How can his foolishness be prevented?” Tek An’s demand made Kien gawk. The king was asking this girl for advice? Tek An’s cronies would go into fits if they heard.
“Talk to your son,” Ela urged the king. “Remove his so-called friends and advisors from the palace, then give him official duties and encourage him to follow General Tek Juay’s example in leadership.”
