Prisoner

by Megan Derr

  Realization struck him so hard it made him gasp. He felt Sol's arm tense around his waist, but barely noticed what else was going on around him. He couldn't identify the Breaker. Without his eyes, his magic was dead. There would be no way to tell if the Breaker was present without it. Which meant he was completely useless. How could he have been so stupid?

  "Iah?" Sol asked softly, and Iah realized suddenly that it had once again grown quiet. "What's wrong?"

  The words lodged in his throat, choking him. Iah forced himself to take a deep breath, but it did not dispel the misery of realizing that he was really and truly completely useless. "I can't—I just realized—there's no way for me to identify the Breaker. He could be standing next to me, and I'd never know."

  "Nonsense. You rely too much on your magic being controlled by your eyes. Control and source are not the same thing, are they? There is no doubt in my mind that you will be able to sense him."

  Iah nodded stiffly, unconvinced. Mixed into the misery and the fear was the surprisingly bitter realization that if Sol had not thought him useful in identifying the Breaker, he would still be in the dark and completely at Tawn's mercy. Surely Sol was not so cold as that.

  He was a spy, though, and one who played three sides. A man who, according to the beliefs of his country, did not know who he was. And for the first time the ideology began to make sense. How could one man trust another when no one knew who he really was? Iah desperately forced the insidious thoughts aside. He would do himself no favors by doubting his rescuer now.

  But the doubts lingered.

  *~*~*

  Sol contemplated Iah. Ever since his fears regarding the Breaker, Iah had been silent and withdrawn. Though they'd only been together for little over a week, Sol realized he missed their conversations. It was rare he had anyone other than Dal for conversation.

  Iah, he'd found, was hard to read. Many emotions and reactions could be anticipated, given what he knew of Iah's situation and, of course, personal experience with being thrown into deep, murky waters. But outside of that, he had no glimmer of Iah's thoughts.

  It was more than a little frustrating, but what had he been expecting? Had there ever been a time when the three countries were not raised to loathe one another? Every year more men went to war and too many families were left crying. Never mind what Tawn had done to Iah's eyes—which was at least as bad as declaring a Salharan nameless, if not worse. Of course Iah would withdraw as the disorientation faded and his senses returned to full strength.

  Sol bit back a sigh and schooled his expression. Master the outward, bury the inward. When he was reasonably certain he had everything under control, he spoke. "Are you feeling unwell, Cousin?" Outside in the hallway were the sounds that were normal for a busy inn. This time of year everyone from the country was moving into the nearest village or city. Those who could afford it, like Lord Grau, were headed for the Winter Palace. No place in Kria was finer for enduring the seemingly endless cold.

  "I am well," Iah said slowly. A knock at the door cut him off before he could say more.

  "Come in, come in," Sol said, smiling and chatting with the women who brought in food for them, politely turning down the invitation in their glances. They took it in good grace; there were plenty of other rich men to choose from.

  One girl knelt and arranged the food before Iah as Sol had dictated to her earlier. She muttered to herself and fussed over Iah, who started at the unexpected attention. "Poor, poor thing," she said. "Such a waste of a handsome man." She turned to Sol. "Your cousin is very brave to continue on like this."

  "Yes, Erhard is quite brave. He would have made a fine soldier, if not for the loss of his eyes."

  "Sad, sad," the woman said and fussed with Iah's hair for a few minutes, before she finally was shooed away by her companion. "Enjoy. Tell me what you think of my cooking!"

  Iah shook his head slowly. "That was," he fumbled for the word, "unexpected."

  "They felt sorry for you," Sol said and laughed. "They also thought you handsome, and if you had been able to see they would not have let you refuse any offer they made you."

  "I see," Iah said, clearly amused.

  Sol smiled briefly. "Your plate is in front of you. Sausage north, potato cakes east, bread to the south. Have you ever had Krian food?"

  "No, I haven't. It smells strange, but good."

  Sol nodded and began to cut into his own sausage. Everything in Kria was heavier than in Salhara, stronger than anything in Illussor. "It's very good. But different, especially as Illussor food tends not to use the spices or the quantities favored by the Krians." He paused. "Except for that spicy dish I refuse to eat. It nearly killed me the first time I had it."

  Iah paused then burst out laughing, throwing his head back and shaking with amusement. "Kimmi? I have not had that in months. I would have liked to have seen a foreigner try that for the first time!"

  Sol caught himself staring and forced his attention back on his food. "I am glad you are laughing, though it is at my expense," he said teasingly. "You have been somber since this morning, and it troubled me."

  The laughter faded; Sol immediately missed it. "My mind will not settle," Iah said quietly as he hesitantly began to eat. "This is good," he said, surprised. "A little overwhelming, but I could get used to it."

  "Your mind will not settle?" Sol pressed.

  Iah played with his fork then set it carefully down. "It is nothing," he said whisper soft, speaking Illussor. It was a clear indication that the discussion was one best not overheard. Sol followed the trail of his thoughts easily enough. Nor could he blame Iah. Sol was not the sort of person to be trusted, least of all by those who employed him. If they could not trust him, why should Iah?

  It was only reasonable. He shouldn't have expected otherwise. So why had he?

  Chapter Four

  "Lady Esta!" The breathless maid all but fell over in her haste to deliver her message.

  Esta smiled at her in the mirror. "A lady walks, Trul."

  "That's because if they run, their skirts'll have'em going downside-up."

  Laughing, Esta set aside her brush and stood up. "What has you running in here like a cat fleeing the kitchen with a scrap in its mouth?"

  "A really tasty scrap," Trul replied. She licked her lips for effect, making Esta shake her head and chuckle. "Rumors have it you're going to be appointed the Grand Lady of the winter ball!"

  Esta's amusement died. "I don't want to be the Grand Lady."

  Trul rolled her eyes. "But my lady! Everyone knows the prince has his eye on you! Why are you so recalcitrant?"

  "Recalcitrant?" Esta quirked a brow. "Have you been slipping into the beds of library boys again, Trul?"

  "They're so cute," Trul said and gave a grand sigh. "You don't know whether to love them or tuck them in and read them stories." She leered. "But they generally make their preference clear."

  Esta was forced to laugh. "Trul!" she reprimanded gently, "My delicate ears!"

  Trul snorted and manhandled Esta back into her seat, in a way only Trul ever got away with. She grabbed the brush from the dressing table and, completely at odds with her rough mannerisms, began to brush out Esta's floor length, white-gold hair gently. "How did you want it, my lady?"

  "Braided and bound. I don't want it getting dirty while I'm out; I won't have time to wash it again before tonight." Esta sighed and began to play with the jewelry spread out across her vanity table: beautiful, ornate weavings of gold and silver; a gold chain, so delicate in places it looked as though it had been made by a spider of rare ability, and interspersed with silver roses of equal beauty. Her dress for that night would be of frosted pink silk, accented at the raised waist and hem with a slightly darker pink. With her hair decorated with more gold and silver roses, she would make her mark.

  And feel utterly nothing for it. She detested the endless parties, and there was never a man who wanted truly to dance with her. Esta sighed and studied her face in the mirror. It was a stern face, but she
knew it was also pretty. Her features were not as delicate as was preferred in women, but the added strength helped lend authority. Her skin was perfect, flawless and fair, and her eyes pale blue. She scowled. Behind her Trul chuckled. "Practicing to scare off the men again, my lady?"

  "No need," Esta said with a grimace. "They all frighten easily enough anyway—except for the one I want to scare off, because he knows all my tricks."

  Trul tsked at her. "Only my lady would begrudge having the prince for a friend." She set the brush aside and began to weave the long hair into an intricate braid. Her voice was tart as she continued, "He's angling for more than that, and here you sit scowling!"

  "Don't start up again," Esta said tiredly. "Friends do not make for good lovers. He's just too lazy to find someone else. I don't want to be a queen. I would be terrible at it." An unladylike snort was Trul's only response, her mouth too full of hairpins to reply properly. Esta frowned and began to toy with the bottles of perfume on the vanity, deliberating on which she would wear that night. Rose, perhaps. Matthias hated her rose perfume.

  Honestly, what was he thinking? Her the Grand Lady. She was going to kill him.

  Of the five duchies that had once existed in Illussor, only two remained. The other three titles and lands had been reclaimed by the crown. It made sense, then, that the remaining two dukedoms should be close to the royal family. Iah and Esta had been the prince's playmates growing up alongside Kalan, the only other child of a Duke.

  The three boys had done their very best to torment the only girl in their little group. Later, as the group expanded, they still had done their best to torment her, though somewhere along the way it had been made clear to all the other boys that they were the only three allowed to do so. When Kalan had drifted off into government and finances, and her brother had taken himself off to fight, Matthias had remained—perhaps not by choice, but he was there all the same. When her father and Iah had both decided to surrender the title, Matthias had seen that it went to her.

  It was a pity he was trying to ruin a good friendships with something as silly as romance. So definitely the rose perfume. That, at least, would make it clear where she stood, as her words seldom had any impact. "I really would make an awful queen."

  Trul rolled her eyes. "Yes, my lady." She shoved the last hairpin into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. The braid, done by dividing the hair into seven sections and weaving them slowly together, shortened it by several inches. With judicious use of hairpins and a few ribbons, the mass was then coiled and looped around the back of her head in an elegant, complicated knot. "You're ready."

  "Thank you, Trul." Esta stood up and shook out the skirts of her black riding habit. "Where did I set my jacket?" She smiled when Trul fetched it from the bed and allowed Trul to help her into it and fasten the gold buttons. "I'll be back before evening bells. Be ready, because I'll have to change in a hurry. Have a quick wash ready; I'm sure I'll need it."

  "Of course, of course." Trul shooed her off. "Just see you keep that hair clean!"

  Esta laughed as she entered the hallway, nodding politely to a few passing servants. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the colored glass windows, adding strange patterns to the blue carpet lining the hallway. She hummed the tune to her favorite waltz as she walked.

  Passing by a window, she paused. Outside was a glaring lack of green. A few trees clung pathetically to the last of their yellow and orange leaves, but overall everything had turned gray and brown and flat. Clouds filled the distant sky, promising that soon all that barren land would be filled with snow. Once it fell, there would be no traveling. It also meant the soldiers would be returning, free until spring forced them back to the battlefield.

  Sometimes she wondered why they bothered to continue fighting. More often than not it seemed childish, compulsory. Unfortunately, she knew all too well why it continued and wished she did not. Forcefully resuming her humming, Esta continued through the palace. She ran over all that must be done before that evening, silently offering prayers and wishes for a smooth afternoon.

  A familiar voice broke into her mulling. "Esta," Prince Matthias said and bowed. He smiled.

  Despite her ongoing frustrations, Esta had to smile back. "Matthias," she greeted. Then she glared. "My servant is spreading unamusing rumors. I assume, of course, that they are merely rumors."

  "Of course," Matthias said immediately. "I would never dare to hint that I'm angling to make you the Grand Lady of the Yuletide ball. Not on my life."

  Esta glowered. Had they been alone she might have given into the temptation to hit him. Matthias was considered the classic idea of royal beauty, and that smile could lethal on the unsuspecting—even occasionally on those who should have known better. She, however, was immune; growing up together made them immune to many things in regards to each other. "It had better be a rumor," she replied. "What are you doing now? Court shouldn't be out of session yet. They talk longer than that."

  "Don't I know it," Matthias said, and around him, his retainers chuckled. "I told them I had more urgent matters."

  "Like spreading rumors."

  Matthias turned and grinned at the nearest of his retainers, Duke Kalan of Ferra, the last of their little group of lifelong friends. "I'm in trouble."

  "It's remarkable you noticed for once," Kalan replied. "I told you extra sleep would do wonders."

  Laughter filled the hallway; Esta rolled her eyes. "I will leave you men to amuse yourselves. No doubt I will see you this evening."

  "Easy journey, Esta." Matthias grabbed her hand as she passed and squeezed it briefly. They shared a look, and Esta squeezed back.

  "Stay out of trouble, Matthias." Esta said and left them.

  She encountered no other interruptions on her way to the back of the palace, and the garden was empty, as everyone was off preparing for the night's festivities. Humming softly, Esta wove her way through the garden to the very back. She pulled out a key and unlocked a hidden door, then slipped through it and locked the door behind her. She slipped the gold key—one of only three of its kind—back into its hidden pocket in her black riding skirt. From the pocket of her jacket she pulled out a pair of soft, black gloves. Her fingers trailed lightly along the stone wall as she traveled down a short set of stairs.

  At the bottom was a tunnel. The underground road had taken many men many years to construct, and they had done so in utmost secrecy at the command of Matthias' great-grandfather.

  From memory and habit Esta lit a torch. The road was damp and smelled of mold and age and stale air. It was not quite as bad as the dungeons she and the others had sneaked a look at when they were young, but very nearly. Beyond the torches, there was no light and no sign that the tunnel was ever used. An endless path of shadow. When she was eight, and her mother had first begun to teach her what must be done, Esta had cried the entire four-mile journey. Not once in those first trips had she let go of her mother's skirt.

  That fear had never died; it had merely shifted from fear of the strange to fear of the all too familiar. Every time she made the trip, she thought this time I won't be scared. She was always wrong.

  Humming, Esta forced her feet to move. On and on she walked. The journey always seemed as though it would last forever no matter how many times she made it. Usually once a day; sometimes twice. And always with the hope that each journey would be her last, that someday they would find the Breaker. But it was a dim hope, and after so long, what were the chances?

  She continued walking, the unrelenting dark broken only occasionally by the torches that had been left burning by the owner of the third key. He did not have access to the door at the tunnel's end, but Matthias had made sure the man was more than capable of taking care of the tunnel. He liked her walking the dark road even less than she did.

  Her humming shifted between different dance tunes, and every now and then her steps were interrupted by a quick dance step as, in her mind, she spun around the ballroom on the arm of a mysterious, exotic stra
nger. Someone different and exciting who liked to dance and didn't care about who her friends were and the power she held. A man who simply wanted to dance and stroll through the rose garden.

  Well, soon enough she would have a suitable dance partner again. Even if she did have to brow beat Iah into it every single time. Her mood cheered as she thought of her brother who, despite his life as a soldier, had never failed to find something to smile about, and who could make her smile no matter what.

  By the end of the walk, much of her anxiety had been soothed away. As always, dancing eased everything. Taking a deep breath, Esta set her torch in ra sconce and withdrew a silver key from a second hidden pocket.

  The door clicked open, the sound of it resonating loudly in the dead silence of the tunnel. Inside was a room full of pale silver light. Rather, the light was in the center and reflected off the crystal lining the chamber.

  The source of the light was a large, round crystal—or at least the object looked crystal. What it actually was no one who would know remembered. So many details had been lost. Holding the crystal in place was a man. He sat, unmoving, in a chair carved from the same rough crystal that lined the chamber. His age would have been hard f anyone else to determine, but Esta knew he was now twenty-eight.

  Five years younger than his brother. His name had been Benji; now he was only called Keeper. His pale green eyes were open, but saw nothing. In all but fact, the man once called Benji was dead. Were she to touch him, his skin would be like ice. Esta shivered. Never would she grow used to this-this—

  Horror. Abomination. To think—

  She turned away and mentally reprimanded herself. Duties. She had duties to which she must attend until the solution could be found. It still disgusted her, however, to think of what their ancestors had done. What had continued to be done until the current king had declared enough was enough. Maybe he and Matthias could fix it. At least they were trying.