Dedication
For my parents.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Rhuun and Lelet will return with more adventures in Mistra and Eriis in 2016. Until then, here’s a peek at what’s coming up:
About the Author
Prologue
“Let us begin," said the Duke. "Talk to me of this wench. Is she fair? And if she is not, is her father a wealthy man?"
"The family has much land, and the girl is....young."
The Duke smiled, his teeth straight and white in a face darkened by many long rides on his great horse, Mammoth. "You may send for them."
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 5
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra City
Greenleaf Gate, va’Everly Residence
The Great Gorda River swung south out of the mountains and, having expended its energy on the downhill trip, turned itself into the Flat Gorda. Despite its new name it was actually at its widest, exchanging the cold peaks for the calmer midlands. With the great walls of the Guardhouse high above, you would need a good boat and the better part of an afternoon to cross the Flat Gorda, and hopefully a pole or a net, because the fish were fat and the water clean. After passing through farms and fields, the river turned east and changed its name again, this time to the Little Gorda. At this point you could exchange your boat for a pair of boots, because even at its outskirts, Mistra’s builders had loved their bridges. Once inside Mistra City proper, it branched out in every direction, mostly little brother and sister canals seeking to rejoin each other on the road to the sea, but a few finally gave up, either too shallow or too narrow to find their way. If you kept your boots, you’d need them to follow the track of one such nameless canal past the Greenleaf Gate. If you were looking for a leaf or something green you’d best look elsewhere because there was nothing to see but the damp backs of buildings, slimy retaining walls, aged cobbles and one huge wrought iron gate. The lights from the house it protected were dim and distant at the top of a winding path.
At the bottom of the path and much closer to the canal than she would have liked, Lelet va’Everley—Lelly to her friends—was having what those friends referred to as a "High Snit."
On a normal evening, her driver gathered her at the front door, which, if she wasn’t wrong, was the exact purpose of a front door. So why, she asked herself again, had she been rerouted to the Greenleaf Gate? She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d come this way. Certainly the maid had been supremely apologetic in relaying his last minute change of plans, but Per would have to answer for this. The smell, for one thing. And there was mud on her shoes—her white shoes. She held her wrap up out of the dirt—that would be all she needed, stains and who knows what on silk, she’d have to ask Father for a new one. Maybe she’d do that anyway....
She thought she heard the moaning gasp of water brakes some distance away in the damp darkness. 'Crying brakes are happy brakes', she'd heard Per say that often enough, along with a million other little sayings—‘A horse can tell,’ for instance. Tell what? she'd always wondered. That she was going to be late and with dirty shoes and the smell of canal rot in her hair? And she was almost out of cigarettes—less than half a stack left. She abhorred the habit of twisting off the lit end and saving the rest for later but it was better than running out. She tucked the stub end neatly into the shiny little metal pocket.
She definitely heard a horse snort. It sounded annoyed.
"Finally." She continued composing her little outraged speech, and plucked up the hem of her white silk dress. "How many of us will have mud on our gowns tonight, Per? Is that what is done now, Per?" Spattered with mud wasn’t festive but she was hoping it might turn out to be funny, particularly if Per tried to argue with her. Everyone would be wearing white tonight for the Quarter Moons party, but she imagined she’d be the only one with muddy satin slippers, white, black, and brown.
The trap had stopped well out of sight. She hissed between her teeth. "By the Veil, Per, you’ll have to carry me on your back." She peered through the murk. Outside the half circle of smudgy torchlight at the back gate, it was quite dark. She took a step. Something breathed quietly in the darkness. Was that the horse? She took another step, two more, and walked into a wall. The wall moved, and before she could scream she found herself looking at her own feet, as she had been swung over a shoulder. One of her shoes lay shining and dainty on the muddy stones.
"Don’t scream, wench. It will go worse for you."
Instantly she screamed long and loud, echoing between the leaning brick walls.
Did he just call me a wench?
She heard the wall? Person? Kidnapper? mutter something she couldn’t understand—something about a Duke? He began to half-run into the dark alleyway, bouncing her head off his back. Her screams attracted the attention only of the rats.
My shoe! Someone will find it. She kicked off the other and tore at her dress, shredding the stiff little white satin roses from the fragile bodice. She could see them like stars on the black path, receding into the darkness.
She smelled the horse before she saw it, and struggled to twist around and face her captor.
"Please," she said quietly. "My family has money. You must know that. Whatever you’ve been paid, they will pay more. Just set me down and I’ll walk away. No one will know. Let me go."
In response, the dark figure lifted her over the side of a cart. She felt herself falling as if from a great height. He is tall. She thought. He won’t let me go.
Her head struck the side of the cart as she landed and then it got very dark and quiet.
Chapter 1
Eriis City
20 years earlier, Eriisai calendar
100 years earlier, Mistran calendar
Dzhura Square
"An orange? But what do you do with it?" Yaanda held the huge dimpled globe between her h
ands and looked at her mistress curiously. Hellne, the princess of the kingdom-city of Eriis, had only recently tasted the fruit for the first time, and took it from her maid.
"First," she instructed, "one peels off the skin. Then you may eat it. That’s what it’s for." She handed it off to their chaperone, a sour faced older woman called Beete, whose black robe stood in contrast to Hellne’s sapphire and silver silks and her maid’s floral headpiece. "It’s a bit messy, though. Beete, would you mind?"
The woman glowered at them but began to work on the thick skin, juggling the orange and her shopping basket, full of whatever caught the princess’s eye. Hellne was used to her sour face and ignored her.
"Madam, if you’ll allow me, I’ll have it done for the ladies." Beete gave it up with a scowl to a young man, the fourth of their party. He took the fruit and began dismantling it quickly and neatly. As he was the only human present, he had the advantage of experience.
"Malloy, you continue to astonish," said Yaanda. Hellne smiled sweetly at her maid and reminded herself to talk to the girl about familiarity when they had a moment alone. As it was, the market square was not the place for correction, since, as Hellne had intended, they were the center of attention. She knew she was overdressed for a day of shopping, but the jewels that held the veil to her hair caught the light in such a pretty way, who could blame her? And the glittering gems she’d fastened to her wings, she knew by the end of the week the girls who watched her through lowered lids and half glances would be flaunting bits of glass and shiny stones on their own leathery wings.
No, she thought, it was her obligation to draw as many eyes as possible when she ventured out into the Quarter. And today she offered a gift: not only did the residents get to see their princess and her retinue, but on this day the demons at the market square got to look at a human, and that was rare indeed. And if you had to look at a human, this was a fine one—young, and as pretty as they came. Of course, ‘pretty’ for a human was grotesquely ugly for a demon. Still Hellne had gotten used to Malloy’s looks, even to appreciate them. She smiled to herself. If her father or his counselor knew how much she appreciated them, there wouldn’t be enough of him left to sweep up. It was terribly exciting.
The woman who had presented her with the oranges was talking with Malloy—something about climate? And how it agreed with the trees. Trees? Ah, Hellne thought, so that’s where the oranges come from.
"The air," the woman was saying, "it moves all night, and the trees like that."
Hellne pouted. Just because he drew all eyes shouldn’t mean he was allowed to let his own eye drift away from her.
"Malloy, we’ll be late for dinner, I need to get ready." He nodded at the older woman and the party continued through the market. "I know, let’s make the orange a gift for Daddy. He loves things from Mistra." They all knew her father the King did not love things from Mistra, and did not care for the young assistant to the ambassador, most particularly. The human gave him no specific cause for complaint, though. Malloy was scrupulous in his behavior in public. This was not his first assignment.
"Yaanda, it needs to be the sage and gold for dinner, would you pull it down? I think it’s in the back closet. It may need a pressing." Yaanda was about to answer when Beete stepped in front of the group with her hand out. A bright, hot flame danced above her palm.
"Light, Wind, and Rain, Beete, whatever’s gotten into you?" Hellne looked around for an unseen assailant.
"This one," Beete nodded at Malloy, "was about to lay hands upon Her Grace’s person."
Malloy went pale, and with good reason. This was a serious offense.
"Pardons, Your Grace. And apologies for troubling you, Beete. I was offering Her Grace some of this fruit. I regret my hand came too close to her. I am in the wrong and stand corrected."
Beete frowned but then shrugged and flicked her wrist, putting out the flame. "Accepted, on behalf of Her Grace."
Hellne stared at Malloy’s near-panicked expression, and despite herself, she burst out laughing. Yaanda waited until she was sure it was safe and no one would be incinerated, and joined in. Malloy laughed with them, a good deal more weakly. Hellne, meeting Malloy’s eye, gave him a private smile. They had plans to meet that night, and he would do a good deal more than lay his hand upon her person. He tossed the half peeled orange into Beete’s basket and they continued towards the palace.
Chapter 2
Eriis City
20 years earlier, Eriisai calendar
100 years earlier, Mistran calendar
Palace, diplomatic residence
After enduring a late dinner with the King, his Chief Counselor, the Princess, her brother Araan, and a collection of those currently favored by the High Seat, Malloy returned to his temporary quarters in a part of the palace far removed from the royal family itself. The king, unsurprisingly, had sampled a slice of the orange and pronounced it ‘delightful’ before pushing it aside. If it was up to the king, it was said, The Door, the mystical portal between Mistra and Eriis would be shut, locked, and boarded over. As the ambassador’s assistant, it was Malloy’s job to make sure that the king did not have his way, and part of that meant entertaining Hellne, because as much as the old demon disliked humans, he doted on his daughter, the princess. Malloy’s father would have said the king let that girl run wild, a fact for which Malloy was grateful. He hadn’t seen or spoken to his father in many years, a fact for which he was also grateful.
He wondered what his friends would say if he showed up with the demon princess on his arm back at the Guardhouse in Mistra. They were already asking a lot of questions—"Can they really shoot fire from their hands? Are they all red-eyed? Have you ever seen her wings? You’ve got to be twice her size! No wonder she likes you!"
He wished he could answer his friends with the truth of what it took to be the Princess' lover. She was so tiny, so delicate and perfect looking, he assumed he'd have to take great pains not to hurt her.
He was mistaken.
He found out for himself months earlier and shortly after his arrival. It was after one of the countless ceremonies, rituals, events, and parties that filled the days and nights of the royal family, and which he was expected to attend. In this case it was The Ceremony of Fire and Wings—the Viewing of the Moons (it had some longer, more complicated name in the old Eriisai tongue, but later he found he couldn't recall what it was). She'd allowed him to reach under the long brocaded sleeve of her black and scarlet gown and touch her fingertips with his own. That was when he knew she was his for the taking—on Eriis; one did not touch the hand of a casual acquaintance. Malloy figured it was because the hand was their primary place of power—their fire came from their hands (he spent a sleepless night trying to figure out how to use that in his writing, finally making his hero, the Duke, into an ex-bare knuckle brawler. It wasn't the same, but still). She looked over at him with that blank mask they all affected, and then gave him the barest suggestion of a smile. If she'd been offended, one of her father's guards would have escorted him back through The Door in disgrace if he was lucky, or to someplace called the Crosswinds, if he were not. From what he heard, there was no coming back from the Crosswinds, except in a dustpan.
The twin moons reached their zenith, one just below the other, and lit the rocky valley below the castle walls in stark, dramatic black and white. The demons and their few human guests murmured their approval. Everyone drank a glass of sarave, a sort of sweet wine, and then the King rose first and everyone followed him back into the castle to the receiving courtyard for the after-viewing party.
The courtyard was an open atrium at the heart of the palace, surrounded by many stories of private rooms, audience chambers, kitchens, and lecture halls. Directly behind the courtyard was The High Seat, the place of power, the seat of the king. Malloy got the impression you had to pass under the eyes of Light, Wind, and Rain (their local elemental deities) before you got to see the king. The whole structure formed a huge T. To reach the courtyard it was a
straight shot down the main boulevard of the city itself, then through the Royal Arch, on into the palace and down the Great Hall. The Arch was carved into the wall separating the palace grounds from the city proper. Part of the inside face of the wall was left unworked. The demons loved that section of bald rock, decorating the space around it with statuary and ceremonial viewing stations. There was even a statue of the king himself, decked out like a warrior. The demons had gotten that idea from the humans, finding the thought of armor, plate, and helmets amusing. The king’s statue was already old when Malloy arrived on Eriis, and there was much talk recently of Araan and a new king, and more negotiations. It was said that the king kept his wits only with the help of the Mages. These Mages, the native magicians, lived somewhere close by, under the ground, but he had never seen one.
Malloy knew there was some unspoken understanding of who got to live where on Eriis. It seemed to him that it was largely the whim of the royal family that moved their friends and followers from the Old City through the Royal Arch and into coveted palace quarters, and, if you didn't please your benefactor, that same whim could toss you back to the common folk just as quickly. He'd made the mistake of asking after a familiar, now absent face at dinner, and was answered with polite, blank smiles. There was no reply because to the demons, he had never spoken. Here on Eriis, he thought, there really are no stupid questions.
Hellne had bid her father a pleasant evening after only a few minutes at the party, and to Malloy’s surprise, she'd vanished. He gave a mental shrug, he'd been wrong before, or maybe she was playing a little game. A tug on his sleeve and a slip of paper in his pocket proved him wrong. He didn't see who had delivered her note, but the invitation was in her hand, although of course unsigned.
He followed her directions, feeling very large and clumsy passing the elegant, slight men and women who actually lived there and knew where they were going. None of them quite looked at him—although that was just one more thing about them, they never stared. Still, it wouldn't do to look like he was lost.
Following her directions, he turned from the main hallway to a narrower one he recognized as mainly being used by her servants, and stepped out of the dim tunnel onto a nearly hidden, side entrance to her balcony. Her room was on a high floor and faced the Arch and wall and the city. If she wanted to, she could step off the edge and fly to the market on her little wings, but he knew she never would; that was considered vulgar. He'd been there before, usually with Araan or her father or maids and friends in attendance, but never at night, and certainly never alone. She'd lit the bowls of glowing stones they used instead of lanterns or candles, and he thought she'd never looked so pretty. In the soft light, her golden skin and red, tilted eyes glowed, and with her silky, black hair down, she looked almost human.
The Sand Prince Page 1
