Prince of Malorn (Annals of Alasia Book 3)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Ernth peered suspiciously at his plate. “What’s this white stuff?” He dipped a finger into his mashed potatoes and stuck it into his mouth. “I don’t like it. It doesn’t taste like anything.”

  “Oh, come on; it has more flavor than lumjum. Try the part with the gravy on it, or eat it with the meat. You’ll like it that way. And it’s good manners to use silverware.” Korram held up his knife and fork.

  “Is that what these metal things are called?” Thel picked up her fork again. “What do you do with them, exactly?”

  Korram demonstrated, and she tried, but the results were comical – and messy. He had never realized that handling silverware correctly was a learned skill, but to someone who had been raised eating with her hands, the technique obviously wasn’t easy.

  Finally Thel gave up on the fork and held the meat down with one hand, slicing it into strips with the knife and simply picking up the strips with her fingers. Ernth, who hadn’t bothered to try his silverware at all, was using his napkin to hold his beef. “Look, the cloth thing works like a leaf,” he told Thel, taking a bite. “It’s easier this way.”

  Everyone at the table was staring at them once again. Smiling apologetically, Korram dug into his own meal in the Lowland fashion.

  “This drink tastes funny,” observed Thel, sipping from her cup. “Don’t Lowlanders drink milk?”

  “Yes, but they don’t usually offer it in taverns,” Korram explained. “And anyway, it would probably be cow milk.”

  Ernth took a swallow of ale, choked, and spewed the rest of his mouthful out onto his plate. “Disgusting! How can people drink this?”

  Korram caught the eye of the serving boy, who was watching them discreetly from across the room. “Could you bring my friends some water?”

  The lad disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two tin cups of water. “You’re not used to this kinda meal, are you?” he observed as he set them down in front of the Mountain Folk.

  Thel shook her head. “No, but it’s interesting. I like the meat and the white stuff. Now I’m going to try the other thing.” She picked up her bowl. “What did you say this is called?”

  “Soup,” Korram told her. “You eat it with your spoon.” He demonstrated.

  “The silverware didn’t work too well for me.” Thel brought the bowl to her lips and sipped thoughtfully. “It’s good. What are all the different things floating in it?”

  The boy, still watching, chuckled. “They’re vegetables. Carrots, onions, green beans, and squash.”

  “You eat something called squash? Squash is what I do to biting insects.” Ernth picked up his bowl as well and tilted it to peer suspiciously at its contents. “Did you put insects in here? I think I see some.”

  “No insects,” the boy assured him. “Just the vegetables, broth, and seasonings.”

  “Then what are these dark speckles? I think they’re bits of squashed insects.”

  The boy bent over to see what he was pointing at. “Oh, that’s just dried parsley. It gives the broth a nice flavor.”

  Ernth fished one of the little pieces out on a fingertip, sniffed, and made a face. “Why don’t Lowlanders eat normal food?”

  The boy chuckled. “What’s normal for you folks?”

  “Rabbit and lumjum cakes and goat milk,” Thel told him over her bowl. “And whatever nuts or berries are in season in the part of the mountains we’re in.”

  “So you’re Mountain Folk?” The boy’s eyes lit up with interest.

  “Only you Lowlanders call us that,” Ernth muttered, picking a slice of carrot out of the broth with a finger and thumb. He nibbled, shrugged, and pulled out another. “These orange things aren’t too bad.”

  The boy eyed Korram curiously. “You’re dressed like them, but you’re obviously from ’round here, not up there. Why’d you bring your friends to Sazellia?”

  Thel drew breath to reply again, but Korram nudged her under the table once more. “I came to buy supplies,” he answered quickly, “and they wanted to see what it’s like in the city.”

  “Thel wanted to see. I didn’t.” Ernth was still fishing carrots out of his soup and licking the broth off his fingers.

  The boy cocked his head to one side, staring at Korram. “How long d’you say you’d been away?”

  “A couple of months,” Korram replied. “Thank you for bringing the water.” He turned his attention to his plate, hoping the serving boy would get the idea and leave. The lad’s direct gaze was starting to make him uncomfortable.

  The boy went off to clear empty plates from another table as Korram and Thel finished their meals. Ernth ate only carrots and meat, wiping the gravy off onto his napkin, then went back to darting suspicious glances around the room. “Can we leave now?”

  “Not yet. I want to find out a little more first,” Korram reminded him. “Besides, we haven’t had our dessert.”

  When the boy reappeared with a tray full of coffee cups and plates of pie, Korram leaned forward to talk to him again. “You must meet a lot of people and hear a lot of conversations in this tavern.”

  “Oh, I meet people and hear conversations most everywhere.” The boy set his tray on the table across from them in the spot just vacated by the man and his wife and reached across it to hand out the pie and coffee. He grinned. “I only work here now and again, when old Bertam needs extra help or I need a hot meal. I do odd jobs for people all over town.”

  Korram raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you go to school?”

  “Now and again,” the boy repeated. “When I’ve got nothin’ else to do.” He shrugged. “I know how to read and write, and that’s the main thing, isn’t it? Anyways, I learn plenty more on the streets than I ever learned in a classroom. And I get paid for a lot of it, too.” He grinned again. “So whaddya want to know?”

  Korram hesitated. This lad could be a helpful resource. But would he think it odd if they asked too many questions?

  “I’m curious about what’s going on in the city,” he said finally. “I’d like to know what’s been happening since I’ve been away.”

  The youngster glanced over his shoulder to see if Bertam was watching, and then seated himself on the bench across from them. “The army’s been recruitin’ a lot more soldiers,” he confided, “and folks’re sayin’ how Regent Rampus is so smart to be extra well prepared in case the Alasians attack. Some o’ the officers I know think it’s strange, though. They say, why would the Alasians try to attack when everyone knows Malorn’s stronger anyways? They’d never beat us, and they’ve gotta realize it.”

  “Have you heard anything about how the royal family is doing?” Korram asked with deliberate casualness.

  “Well, I guess you know Prince Korram vanished awhile back.”

  Korram wasn’t sure he liked the way the boy looked directly at him, as though watching for a reaction, as he said this. “I heard something about that,” he replied vaguely. “I don’t know any details.”

  “Neither does anyone else,” the boy told him, still watching him closely. “Apparently he went traipsin’ off into the Impassables with a servant to try to recruit more soldiers for the army, and then he just up and disappeared. Folk say he’s probably dead.”

  Beside him, Ernth smirked, and Korram gave him a sharp kick under the table. “Ow,” his friend protested. “What did you do that for?”

  “What about the queen and the princess?” Korram inquired, ignoring him.

  “I saw ’em ride down the street in a fancy carriage last week, on their way to some event or ’nother.” The boy shrugged. “And then yesterday the queen made a speech at a gatherin’ in the town square. They’re doin’ fine, so far’s I know, though they never seem to look too happy anymore.”

  “And what about Regent Rampus?”

  “Oh, he’s a different story. Every time I see him, he looks like he’s busy plannin’ somethin’ excitin’ that will make his life even better. It doesn’t matter where he is in town or who he’s with; he’s always wearin�
� that expression these days.”

  “Jeskie, where are you?” called the tavern keeper from the other end of the room. “I’m not paying you to sit around.”

  The boy jumped to his feet and hopped over the bench. Leaning forward to seize their empty supper plates as though for evidence that he had been hard at work, he scurried off to the kitchen.

  Korram picked up his fork and started in on his pie, his brow furrowed in thought. Ernth and Thel had both finished their slices already and were eyeing his hungrily.

  “Finally, something good about the Lowlands,” Ernth remarked, lifting his dessert plate to lick it clean.

  “That was the best part of the meal,” Thel agreed, rinsing her sticky fingers in her cup of water and wiping them dry on her tunic. “What’s the hot black liquid? It smells strange but good.”

  “It’s coffee. There’s sugar for it in this bowl, and cream in the little pitcher. You probably won’t like it, though,” he warned.

  Ernth lifted the cream pitcher to sniff its contents, took a sip, and poured from it into his mug until the creamy coffee overflowed into his saucer. Thel tasted a pinch of sugar and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, Ernth, try this white stuff. You’ll like it.” She reached across Korram to hand him the sugar bowl. Ernth scooped some out with his fingers, crunched, grinned in delight, and then dumped half the bowl into his cup.

  Korram stirred a little cream into his own mug and took a sip. Unexpectedly, the taste brought him back to the evening he had spent in Lantil’s village, helping the coffee farmers become friends with Ernth’s family. Such an accomplishment. This room with its stone walls and low roof and Lowland supper smells seemed a world away from the brisk mountain air, open skies, and majestic snowcapped peaks gleaming in the starlight.

  Oddly, Korram felt as though he had been torn in half. Am I a Lowlander, or one of the Mountain Folk? A suspicion rose in him that he might never feel completely at home here in Sazellia again.

  But that was ridiculous. He shook it off. “Let me have some money,” he told Ernth, who was stirring vigorously, sending waterfalls of coffee surging over the rim of his cup into the saucer, which had become a small pond overflowing its banks onto the table. “I need to pay for our supper, and then we’ll go find somewhere to spend the night. I’ll think of a way to send a message to my mother in the morning. Maybe we can buy a sheet of parchment and pay someone – like this Jeskie – to deliver a note to the palace.”

  “Surely we’re not going to sleep in a building,” Ernth pleaded, setting the spoon aside. “I have to get back into the fresh air again. “I can’t breathe properly in this place. It feels as though the walls are starting to close in on me.” He lifted his cup and took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened. “Oh!” Drawing a deep breath, he tipped his head back and gulped down the entire cupful of now lukewarm sugary liquid in one long draft.

  “We’ll find an empty field or park to camp in,” Korram assured him. “There are plenty of those in this part of town, and it’s cheaper than renting rooms for the night.”

  “There’s a park down the street,” offered Jeskie, reappearing behind them as Ernth plopped his empty cup down into the puddle of coffee, panting as though he had just run a race. “Bertam says to tell you it’s one ten altogether for your suppers.”

  Ernth dug in his pocket. “I’ve changed my mind,” he announced to no one in particular as he pulled out a handful of coins. Some of the same coins, most likely, that Korram had paid his family for milk and information all those weeks ago. “Coffee is the best thing about the Lowlands.”

  Korram picked one silver coin and ten coppers from his friend’s handful and passed them to Jeskie. “Tell Bertam we enjoyed the meal.”

  An hour later, the two Mountain Folk were noticeably more comfortable. Thel lounged beside Korram on the dewy grass by the campfire they had lit in a clump of trees. Ernth, full of energy after his first encounter with coffee, paced back and forth, pausing now and then to leap and catch hold of a tree limb, pulling himself up in a chin-up. Their horses grazed contentedly nearby. From off in the distance, the faint strains of a folk song could be heard as some musician entertained late-night passersby outside a tavern.

  “I’m still hungry,” Ernth complained, swinging one-handed from a low branch and nearly kicking Korram in the shoulder. “We should have brought bows.”

  “There wouldn’t be anything to hunt here in the city,” Korram told him, scooting safely out of the way, “except maybe squirrels. You should have eaten more of your supper.” He laughed. “Listen to me. I sound like my mother.”

  “What’s that?” whispered Thel, nudging him.

  Korram sat up straight. “What’s what?”

  Dropping to the ground, Ernth pointed at the horses, who had lifted their heads and were staring into the darkness, ears pricked.

  At first, there was nothing but the breeze in the grass, but then Korram heard it too. Footsteps, coming their way. Clinja whinnied in greeting, and they heard an answering whinny from beyond their little clump of trees.

  Korram scrambled to his feet and they all reached for their spears. We shouldn’t actually need them, though. Yes, it was unusual for people to light a campfire in a park, but there were no rules against it. Why should anyone care if three travelers camped here for the night? Some curious citizen was probably wandering over to see what the light was.

  But just to be on the safe side, Korram gripped his weapon tightly. “Who’s there?” he called.

  The footsteps stopped. “Sergeant Sanjik of the palace guard,” replied a voice from just beyond the ring of firelight.

  Korram’s jaw dropped. Sanjik? What’s he doing here?

  Thel, noticing his reaction, frowned and called out, “What do you want, Sergeant Sanjik?”

  There was a pause. Then, more softly, “To be of service, if I may.”

  How in the world had the guard found him? And was he trustworthy, or would he report their whereabouts to Rampus? Perhaps he already had.

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man. If the regent had found out Korram was back, he could easily have sent fifty soldiers to drag the prince in, or to kill him outright, for that matter. Just one is a good sign.

  “All right, come here,” he ordered finally.

  But two figures dismounted from the single horse that stepped into the circle of firelight: a man and a boy. A curly-haired, freckle-faced boy who turned to his companion with a dimpled grin. “I told you he’d be here, Sarge.”

  The sergeant stepped close enough to get a good look at Korram and then dropped to one knee. “Your royal Highness. Welcome back to Sazellia.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Korram gestured for him to rise and frowned at the boy. “How did you know who I was, Jeskie? And why did you bring this man to me?”

  The boy grinned again. “I could tell. I’ve seen you around the city before, and I’m good at rememberin’ faces. Besides, all the clues fit, and I dunno anyone else who’d wear a ring like that.” He pointed at the signet ring on Korram’s finger. “After the three of you left Bertam’s, I watched where you went and then hurried to meet my friend the sarge here on his way home from work. I brought him to see you ’cause I know how he feels about Regent Rampus and about you.”

  Korram turned to the guard. “Who else knows you’re here?”

  “No one, your Highness.”

  “And why did you think I’d want your service?”

  Sanjik hesitated. “You were wise not to come straight back to the palace, Sire. Regent Rampus –” He hesitated again, glancing around as though to make sure no one was listening. “Well, as you can imagine, he’s been quite happy being in charge since you’ve been gone.”

  Rampus has always been in charge, thought Korram bitterly. And if he has his way, he always will be. Aloud, he inquired, “Are the queen and princess all right?”

  “Yes, your Highness, though they’ve been worried about you. And about what the regent might be planning.”r />
  “Which is?”

  Sanjik shrugged. “If I knew, Sire, I would have told them already too. I’m not privy to whatever goes on in those High Council meetings, though I do know there have been more of them than usual lately. And strangers keep coming and going from the palace; messengers who won’t talk to anyone but the regent and the councilors.”

  “You’re not saying you think Regent Rampus could be plotting something,” Korram challenged, testing him. Speaking against the regent was a dangerous thing to do, and everyone in Sazellia knew it.

  Jeskie chuckled. “Rampus is obviously plottin’ somethin’. And knowin’ him, it’s somethin’ that’ll help only one person: himself.”

  Sanjik, more tactful, shifted uncomfortably. “Far be it from me to speak against our kingdom’s ruler, sire. But – it’s you who should be ruling soon, and yet the regent doesn’t act like a man preparing to give up power in a few months. It’s more like he’s trying to build his power any way he can. I believe he had been doing so even before you left for the mountains, actually. I’ve often been part of his escort when he’s visited important businessmen and the heads of major industries, not to mention all the highest military officers. I don’t know what they talked about, but I know he usually brought heavy bags with him – bags that jingled – and he always came back empty-handed. And now –” The guard chewed his lip worriedly. “To be honest, your Highness, I’m concerned for your safety.”

  Korram nodded, an idea growing in his mind. A farfetched idea, but one that might just solve one of his biggest problems. “So am I, Sergeant. Are you concerned enough to do something about it?”

  “Yes, my lord. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Something dangerous – something that Rampus would consider treason?”

  “Sire, I’ve often wished I could do more to serve your family, especially after your father died and I watched the regent gain more and more power. I’ll do anything you ask.”