The Sand Prince

by Kim Alexander

  "You might as well tell me," she said. It was bound to be some superstitious nonsense, but it might come in handy one day.

  "Madam," Diia looked Hellne in the eye for the briefest instant, then at the floor. "They say he will bring back the rain."

  Hellne laughed bitterly. "The rain? Really. Do they think he can turn the calendar backwards? Or do they say he’ll suddenly manifest as a great Mage? Will he make the flowers bloom again? Will he tear The Door down while he’s at it?" She glared at Diia, angry at herself for allowing her futile anger and frustration to surface. "Did you and Jaa have a hand in this?" At the time, she had agreed a little word dropped here and there by a friendly voice would do no harm, and possibly some good. This was far beyond ‘a little word.’

  Diia blanched. "No, Madam, to all of it. I am merely repeating what I’ve heard in town. Jaa and I, as you agreed, made sure his name and yours were honored. We spoke of your hard work and love for all your citizens." She cleared her throat. "The other, they’ve been saying all on their own."

  "Well then they will be disappointed. I mean, obviously no such thing will ever happen. At least, not because of anything that boy does." Hellne took a sip of water. Bring back the rain. The poor thing can barely manage a fork.

  Diia swallowed nervously. "Shall I try and put a stop to it?"

  "Of course," she began, and then paused. If the people in the Quarter painted Rhuun to be some sort of potential hero, well, the key word was potential. That could mean anything, and there was no expiration date. If they believed in him, they would, naturally, want to protect his beloved mother against anyone who might think to cause her harm. She thought again of Yuenne, and his little smile. And the Mages. They’d been quiet lately but they were always there, literally underfoot. "No." Diia looked confused. "No, let them talk. Better they should tell themselves he’s different and special. After all, he doesn’t appear to be simple, and he’ll one day have some sort of place at my Court, Light and Wind alone knows what would be appropriate."

  Malloy, though, she thought. He wasn’t simple. He was clever. He was cleverer than I was. He tricked me into taking his spark, and that’s a long step past clever. Malloy, are you still alive? I’ve got a weapon of my own now, and I still have your little book. Remember? It’s the key to our being together.

  She smiled and helped herself to another sliver of ice. "Let them talk, Diia. He may not bring back the rain, but that doesn’t mean he won’t bring us something important, one day."

  Chapter 14

  Eriis City

  14 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  70 years later, Mistran calendar

  Royal Library

  "Rhuun, I know you're in here. Where are you?"

  He heard Aelle calling from the door of the library. He was leaning against a far wall, the big slabs of yellow stone had somehow retained some coolness. He was reading a biography of a general named Kaata. General Kaata had died during the War, and he had heard a rumor that one of his mother's generals had been his father.

  Rhuun had become quite a collector of rumors. His transformative ability had never manifested in any meaningful way, but he had a little reactive trick he could always count on, a way of blending into the background. It didn't make him invisible as much as unnoticeable. It was a mean sort of gift, but it worked very well for him. He found he enjoyed eavesdropping. It was so much more satisfying to hear people call you 'simple' and 'a shame, really' and ‘a cripple’ and 'something to do with The Weapon, it must have been' when they didn’t know you were listening rather than hearing it whispered behind your back. Right now he was examining the book more than actually reading it—it was slow going indeed for a supposed man of action—and looking for clues. So far his mother hadn't appeared, it was just a list of battles and how he'd provisioned his troops for them. Lots of grain and sheep. The most interesting part were the things that no longer existed. Grain and sheep. He was close to putting it aside, and when he heard Aelle call for him he was glad for the distraction.

  "Back here," he called out. "Come and look at this. I took it from the kitchen."

  She appeared around a corner. He held up a dark brown bottle. "You took sarave? Is it good?"

  "No, it’s awful," he acknowledged cheerfully. "Try it."

  She shot a thunderous scowl at something in the corridor behind her, then reached for the bottle.

  "Give me that." She took a long drink, making a horrible face. "Not good." She took another drink, then motioned sharply for someone to join them.

  A young male demon stepped from behind a bookcase. He looked to be a slightly smaller version of Aelle, and very attractive—even by their look-alike standards—with eyes that leaned towards the darkest garnet. Aelle's were much lighter, her eyes were touched with pale rose, like her mother. The boy's appearance was somewhat diminished by a freshly burned cheek—so fresh it had barely started healing. The boy stepped forward with a smile.

  "I'm Ilaan. You must be The Beast." Aelle gasped and Rhuun rose to his feet, the book tumbling to the floor. The boy raised an appraising brow and made a show of craning his neck.

  "Aelle, you were not even kidding." He looked from one to the other, seemingly surprised that Aelle looked like she wanted The Weapon to vanish her, and that Rhuun was about to commit some sort of uncategorized violence. "Oh, sit down. She just says that because you're so tall. She thinks you're the rain, why else would she drag herself down here all the time? For the books? Aelle, do you even know how to read?"

  She had gone a funny color.

  "Aelle," said Rhuun, "who is this?" She thinks I'm the rain? Really?

  "This," she said with all the adolescent distaste she could muster, "is my brother Ilaan. I'm to look after him. For obvious reasons."

  "Can I have some of that sarave?" asked Ilaan.

  "No!" they said in unison.

  "What happened? To your face?" asked Rhuun.

  "Niico," the boy answered. Rhuun passed him the bottle.

  "He's got a thing for Niico," said Aelle, with an impressive eye roll.

  "I appreciate perfection," said Ilaan. "He hasn't come around to my way of seeing things." He took a tentative sip of the sarave. "This is disgusting."

  "Ilaan hasn't come around to keeping his mouth shut," Aelle added. "So Father said he should spend more time with me to learn how to behave. Also, to keep him from being dismembered."

  "Next time I'll get you sarave that tastes like something, not that your Dirt Brew here isn't a fine choice," Ilaan told them. They both looked at the boy.

  "What? The cook likes me. She won't tell anyone if a bottle here and there vanishes. And who would she tell? Your mother? Doubt it. That's a conversation no one wants to have. Although, she is pretty amazing. Your mother, I mean, not the cook."

  "How has he not already been dismembered?" asked Rhuun.

  Ilaan grinned and pointed at the ceiling. Instantly a very narrow band of focused fire leapt from his hand and a tiny hole to the sky opened. It was no wider than a finger. The thin shaft of light pierced over three feet of rock and made a pinpoint circle at their feet. He said, "For some reason no one wants to practice with me. Niico only did this," pointing at the quickly fading burn, "because I was distracted. He actually spoke to me."

  "Big day in Boy Town," said Aelle. "I am sorry, Rhuun, but I'm stuck with him."

  "I hear you can't do much of anything at all. Tough luck on that, Beast." They ignored him.

  "Doesn't your father think I'm a bad influence, what with my ‘tough luck’ and all?" Rhuun had often wondered about that, and since they'd already brought up the subject of their father, he figured he could ask.

  "Oh, no," said Ilaan before Aelle could speak. "No, just the opposite. I mean, if you were the child of some poor peasant or soldier or something, you'd be even bigger target practice than you are now—no offense."

  "Too late," murmured Rhuun.

  "Aelle wouldn't have come within a hundred miles of you. Your
mother, being your mother—now that makes you the very best kind of friend for Aelle to have—according to Father. It was his idea. Got big plans, does our dear father. High seat shaped plans."

  Aelle threw her hands up and a sheet of fire blasted towards the boy's face. He waved his hand at it and it vanished.

  "That," gritted Aelle, "is the only reason he's still alive."

  Rhuun sat back down against the wall, watching the two of them argue. He felt as if he were watching a performance at Court, except he could follow what was going on and no one was looking at him or whispering behind their hands. He understood that Aelle's friendship hadn't been completely her idea—she was too pretty and too conventional to seek him out. It was just luck that she’d decided to keep coming back. And she thinks I'm the rain? No, that can't be true.

  And her brother? There was something about Ilaan that said he'd stick around, if only to be the center of a gossip whirlwind when they'd appear anywhere together.

  "So," said the boy, bored with arguing with his sister, "What’s good to read down here in the Book Mausoleum?"

  He picked up the fallen biography. "General Kaata? Really? I'd rather take my chances out there," he nodded in the direction of the practice yard. Rhuun said nothing. "I see," Ilaan said. He noticed the scars Rhuun had already collected up and down his arms. "Aelle, why don't you and I go see the cook and I'll get us something without quite so much dust in it. Beast, don't move. We'll be right back."

  Beast, thought Rhuun. I guess it could be worse.

  He leaned back against the wall, the General forgotten, and waited for his friends.

  Chapter 15

  Eriis City

  14 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

  70 years later, Mistran calendar

  Inside the Arch

  As Aelle and Ilaan walked arm in arm through the royal wing, arguments momentarily set aside, Ilaan said, "I like him. Strange but deep, I think. Doesn't say much, though, does he?"

  "Please do not call him Beast," Aelle asked, although she was pretty sure the sand was out of the bottle. She was mentally burning off her hair for ever letting Ilaan hear her say it.

  "Are you joking? He liked it."

  She laughed, her face a perfect mask, and nodded at an acquaintance of their fathers. Lady something or other. She had two maids in tow, all richly dressed in shades of sand and grey. Since they had learned to control their internal temperatures, the fashion had returned to pre-war embroidered and brocaded robes and gowns. Both maids carried baskets; one of flowers and the other of bread. Neither had any fragrance whatsoever, but that was what you got when you transformed sand. Flowers were a huge luxury, she must be having a party. The bread—Aelle suspected—was for the poor. That was how it worked—wealth with one hand, charity with the other.

  Aelle's smile vanished as soon as the woman was out of sight. "Liked it? When you called him a beast I thought he was going to pull your arms off."

  "Unlikely! Anyway, if we called him Tiny or Lumpy or Slim or something, that would be insulting. Beast, though. That's a proper name to strike fear in an enemy's heart."

  She hesitated, then said, "Father will be pleased that you like him."

  "Father will be pleased when you take the High Seat."

  She pulled him to a halt. "Don't say that," she hissed. "Someone might hear you. That Lady or one of her maids might have heard you. Maybe you want an audience with the queen...."

  "She is amazing."

  "Rushta!" she swore, "Shut up! This is just what Father is talking about."

  "You know it, I know it, Father invented it, your big friend back in the books certainly knows it. Does he think you're spending all your time with him because he's so pretty? He may be a beast but he's hardly stupid. What do you think he tells himself? 'Oh, Aelle, she can't resist me'...."

  Aelle opened and shut her mouth a few times. Finally she looked at the ground and said, "I like him. Really. A lot." She fixed her brother with a burning look. "If you say something clever you're dead where you stand."

  He crossed his arms and put his chin in his hand. "Just tell me how I can help."

  She let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you for turning down your...'you-ness' for me."

  "You really do think he's the rain! Oh no, how embarrassing for you!"

  "And it’s back."

  The boy laughed and took her arm as they continued towards the kitchens. "Just because it’s what Father wants doesn't mean we can't make it into something for ourselves. Let's get some sarave that won't kill us all and go read some books."

  Chapter 16

  "All these dresses and no one to wear them—honestly, darling, people are starting to talk. One mad woman shouldn’t put you off an entire gender." Cybelle dos Shaddoch popped a chocolate in her mouth and shut the wardrobe.

  The Duke glared at her from the doorway. "When I want your opinion... never mind," he said. "It’ll never happen."

  She laughed. "You depend on me and you know it. And I’m of the opinion you need someone other than your horse to talk to."

  -The Claiming of the Duke, pg 12

  Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

  Mistra

  80 years after the War of the Door, Mistran Calendar

  16 years later, Eriisai calendar

  Va’Everly Residence

  "... and they got red eyes, see?" The little girl looked up from the floor and held out the book she’d been drawing in for her older sister’s inspection.

  "What? Who has red eyes?" Lelet va’Everly was more interested in rooting through their oldest sister May’s jewelry box than what Scilla was working on. She found a pearl earring and held it up. "Wonder where the other one is."

  "Lelly! Look. I drew this for you. It’s demons." Scilla pushed the book in front of her sister’s face.

  "What are you doing with my journal? Are you writing in it?" Lelet snatched it out of her sister’s hands. "Oh, Scil. You drew all over it. Did you go in my room?"

  "Rane gave it to me, he said you’d like it," said the girl. "He made me." She paused. "Am I in trouble?"

  Lelet slammed the little notebook shut, remembering not to swear in front of her sister. A child of seven should be spared the kind of language she wanted to use, and as she was frequently reminded, she was a lady of thirteen and might consider acting like one. She took a deep breath. "Rane is not allowed in my room. And you are not allowed to draw all over my journal! Scil, you should know better, you’re not a baby." She opened the book again to assess the damage. A long, narrow face dominated by glowing red eyes and sharp teeth looked back at her. "Is this supposed to be me?" she asked.

  "No, it’s demons," answered Scilla. "I know all about ‘em."

  Lelet pushed a hairband decorated with dainty pink silk roses aside and found the matching pearl. She put the pair in the pocket of her dress. "Are you going to have nightmares now?" She picked up the rose band and held it up to her hair—which she wore cut just below her chin and dyed pale blue. She thought the pink roses suited her and they joined the earrings in her pocket.

  "I don’t have nightmares," said Scilla indignantly. She picked up her red pen and began to draw eyes on her hand. "Red eyes and they can make themselves turn into fire."

  Lelet shoved May’s bureau shut and turned to see what her sister was doing. "Quit drawing on yourself, May will have a fit."

  "I wish I could turn myself into fire," Scilla added.

  Lelet sighed and shook her head. Her little sister was always going on about something bizarre. Fire, demons; where did she come up with these things? She supposed it was for the best that in just a few years Scilla would leave for her new school, The Guardhouse, out near the coast. From what Lelet could tell, all they did was sit around all day and talk about things that didn’t even exist. Scil and her new classmates would probably get along famously.

  May, the owner of the bureau, earrings, hairband, and room, walked in and found them in their usual po
sitions: Scilla sitting on the floor gazing at Lelet, who was ignoring her in favor of whatever May left unlocked. She stood behind Lelet at her dresser.

  "Hand it over," she said.

  Lelet rolled her eyes and fished the earrings out of her pocket.

  "And what else?" May asked.

  "She took your hairband with the pink roses," Scilla said.

  Lelet glared at the girl and tossed the headband on the dresser. "Rane was snooping in my room. He stole my journal." She folded her arms. "And Scilla’s talking like a crazy person again. Honestly, I am the only normal one in this family." She picked the band back up and began to fasten it in her short hair. "Can I borrow this? I’m going to dinner at Althee’s."

  "Can I come?" asked Scilla.

  "No," replied Lelet. "Only normal people allowed."

  "Take that back at once," said May. "Scilla, I know it’s a considerable step down from dining with Miss Lelly, but please consider having dinner with Rane and me. We can talk about how boring it is to be so normal." She made a dreadful face behind Lelet’s back and Scilla giggled.

  "Fine, sorry I said you weren’t normal." She picked up her journal and opened it so May could see Scilla’s artwork. "All little girls draw things like this."

  May glanced at the drawing and said, "Good use of negative space, Scil. Would you make me one?"

  "Ugh!" Lelet headed for the door. "I won’t be out late."

  She left her sisters and headed out the door and down the drive towards the boulevard. It was a cool late spring evening and the walk to her friend’s house would give her time to rewrite the scene, making Scilla even more strange and May more calming and motherly. All the blame of course would fall on her evil, depraved, wicked brother Rane. (She didn’t know exactly what ‘depraved’ meant but it sounded dramatic.) How one family could produce someone as perfect and kind as May and as hideous as Rane—plus a big freak like Scilla—well, it didn’t bear contemplation. Of course there was the eldest, Pol, but he was already a grownup and hardly ever around, he didn’t count.