“Just come, sit with me.”
Saerileth sat in a soft chair next to Aramina’s, and the Princess Royal looked at Saerileth with wide, blue eyes full of unshed tears.
“Please, Saerileth, tell me why you think His Grace loves me.”
Finding such directness both refreshing and a sign of Aramina’s desperation, Saerileth reached out and patted the Princess Royal’s hand. “I told you part of it while we were yet celebrating your new child.” She glanced down at Aramina’s rounding belly. “You love His Grace. That is clear. And you know, always, where he is in the room with you, even when you are not looking at him.”
“Yes.” Aramina clutched at Saerileth’s retreating hand. “That is so.” Roses bloomed in the Princess Royal’s cheeks. “I did not expect to love him, but nor did I expect to be a mere concubine.”
“That is another similarity between us.” Saerileth allowed Aramina to keep hold of her hand. “I was raised a Lotus, and we are not usually concubines, either.”
“How did you bear it?” Aramina’s anguished pride was evident to Saerileth in the flash of Aramina’s eye and in the hitch in her breath.
“For me,” said Saerileth, “it was not difficult. My heart flew to my master the moment I saw him. I cannot be his wife; he is Sunjaa. But I can be his concubine, and when love is so great as my master’s is, what wife could be dearer?”
“So your master – that large, handsome captain, yes? – has taken no wife then? Do you think that he will in future?” Aramina’s words seemed to carry an old fear.
“No, I do not fear it.” Saerileth did not allow her breath to speed up. “He loves me. Do you fear it for yourself?”
“Not really.” Aramina caressed her belly. “In fact, it was in the peace treaty with my father that His Grace not take any other concubines, nor take any woman to wife.”
“You do not fear that His Grace would break his written oath surely?” To break a written oath was the last thing any Sunjaa would do, let alone the king himself. Even the first Sunjaa captain who had helped Saerileth escape Ulen’s ship had done so only under the influence of a Lotus.
“No, but I fear that he will wish to do so. He is the king. Surely he will wish to have a queen to share his throne?”
Saerileth smiled gently. “You love him very much. His Grace wants no other.”
Aramina’s pale blue eyes filled with tears. “I want to believe, but love is not for concubines, only for wives.”
“Does His Grace ever say or do anything that might make you think he considers you … less than a wife?” Saerileth was confident, based on her observations of the king, that the answer would be negative, for she had seen strong marks of love in the king’s eyes.
“No, though I doubt that, were I his wife, he would couple with quite so much force.” Aramina’s cheeks were flaming now.
Saerileth laughed. “That might simply be his predilection.”
“Perhaps, but Sunjaa wives have certain rights of refusal,” said Aramina. She dropped her eyes. “Not that I would dream of refusing him.”
“Then why would you doubt his love, Aramina?” Saerileth disengaged her hand to lift the Crown Prince onto her lap. Crown Prince Jahen babbled in a mixture of Sunjaa and Vadal, chattering to the pretty stranger who understood him in whatever tongue he spoke.
“Because his people hate me.” Aramina began to cry. “Four years I have been here. I have lived in his castle, learned his tongue – when I came here I could not speak three words of Sunjaa! – given him a son, and still they hate me. I am not Sunjaa, and I never can be. The king’s sons have Vadal blood, and the next king of the Sunjaa will not be pure-blooded.” The Princess Royal’s weeping escalated into harsh, racking sobs. “And I wish that I were Sunjaa so that he could have sons to be proud of!”
“He is proud of his son.” Saerileth bounced the boy on her knee, trying to keep him from noticing his mother’s tears. “Surely you see this.” But even as she said the words, she knew that the Princess Royal would not believe her. Aramina had been born a princess, had expected to be wedded to one like herself, if not a Vadal then the ruler of some other young nation. The Sunjaa were the oldest nation of men, with a history longer than most other nations combined, with pride to match their national glories. They had never, in all their long history, been conquered, and yet they rarely made any attempt to conquer. Aramina felt inferior to her master, and no matter how he loved her, she would always doubt his affection. Pity moved Saerileth, pity for this woman who, no matter her love for her master, would never know the perfect trust that she had for Darien.
“You are kind to speak so, you who are honored by the Sunjaa yourself.” Aramina wiped her eyes. “Lord Ulen Ahnok himself wanted you, and he is the one who hates me most. He told my master to throw me over!”
“Perhaps you should go refresh yourself, Aramina.” Saerileth kept her arms around the Crown Prince. “I will comfort the boy.”
The Princess Royal suddenly seemed aware of her lapse before her son. She pasted on a smile and rose. “I will return shortly, Saerileth, and we can drink milk together.”
Saerileth nodded and continued to play with the child. She listened as the Princess Royal’s footsteps slowly left the room. But at the door the footsteps stopped with a suddenness that frightened Saerileth. She glanced up and saw the Princess Royal falling to the floor. Blood poured from the princess’s body, and Saerileth saw the two masked assassins behind her.
The Lotus did not hesitate. With a few quick jabs she rendered the boy in her lap unconscious. She wrapped him three times in her pallav and bound him to her back. Still without speaking she slipped off the edge of the balcony. She clung to the underside of the stone, grateful that Darien spared no expense when it came to her. Her pallav was pure silk, and the weight of the boy would not rip the fabric. She held her breath, listening to the footsteps of the assassins.
They approached the edge of the balcony.
“No, no one is here. The boy must be with his nurse. Back inside!”
The voice was Sunjaa, and Saerileth knew she could not go back into the palace. Once the footsteps of the men had faded, she swung herself back up onto the balcony. She still had not spoken, and she still did not allow herself to think beyond her immediate escape. The silk draperies of the room would serve her turn, and she tied one to the balcony’s edge. Hand over hand she lowered herself down. There was no uproar, no outcry. So far no one must know the Princess Royal had been murdered.
Then cries and shouts did reach her ears, but they did not come from the palace. They came from the streets.
“The king is dead!”
Saerileth’s heart lurched, but she forced herself to breathe evenly, to maintain her facade of calm. She walked away from the dangling silken drapery. She walked deeper into the garden. She knew that the garden connected with the great library, and from there she slipped out and among the crowds. The cries in the street were becoming riots, and Saerileth knew she would not be able to return to her litter.
“Abrexa and Melara be my guides.” She breathed the prayer and made for Darien’s house.
****
Saerileth saw the smoke before she reached the street. Her heart seemed to die in her chest, but she did not yet despair. She threw caution to the winds, however, and ran the rest of the way. The weight of the Crown Prince on her back was as nothing. The weariness of her legs, the aching of her feet – nothing.
“Darien!” Saerileth screamed his name. “Darien! Darien!” She rounded the last corner, and there she saw Darien’s stately house with its wide halls, its spacious corridors, burning.
Burning.
Burning.
Darien.
He was to have waited in the house for her. He was to have been there. He would have been resting. After such a night of passion as they had shared, he would have been resting. Asleep. Asleep in his bed, the bed where he had loved her.
“Darien.” Sobs shook her.
“Where am I?” Th
e Crown Prince stirred in her pallav. Clearly he had passed from unconsciousness to slumber, for he awoke easily. “Where is Mamma?”
“Darien.” Saerileth had intended to answer the boy, but no words would leave her lips but Darien’s name.
Crown Prince Jahen peered out of the folds of silk. “The sea!”
“Lotus?”
Saerileth whirled around. “Darien?” She had recognized the voice. She knew it was Kamen who addressed her, but still her mouth could speak no other words.
“It is Kamen Itenu.” Clearly Kamen thought she had gone mad.
Perhaps she had. Madness would be better than life without Darien in it.
“Darien.” Saerileth began to unwind her pallav. She thrust it, and the boy inside it, out to Kamen. “Darien.”
“Wait!” Kamen must have seen her purpose in her eyes. “He wouldn’t have wanted that for you!”
Saerileth shook off Kamen’s arm and started toward Darien’s burning house. If he were still alive in there, she would find him and rescue him. If he were not, she would at least die in his arms.
“Saerileth!”
She stopped. “Darien!” Whirling around she ran toward him. She threw herself in his arms, sobbing. “Darien, Darien!”
“Hush, my love.” He cradled her, kissing her hair, murmuring words of love in her ear.
“Where were you?”
“I was at the great library,” said Darien, and she saw his relief that her eyes had at last cleared. “I had thought to meet you as you left, but you never came out. Then came the riots.”
“Where’s Mamma?” The Crown Prince struggled in Kamen’s arms.
“You have the Prince?” Darien pulled back from Saerileth.
“I was there when the assassins came for his mother.” Saerileth, now that she saw Darien alive, began to think quickly. “And we must get him out of the city.” She took the boy from Kamen and began murmuring quiet words in Vadal.
“But why did I get here before you, my love?” asked Saerileth.
“Someone asked me for help, and I had to hide him on my way.” Darien’s voice was almost diffident.
“Abrexa’s chain, but I love you!” Saerileth, her arms still full of the Crown Prince, leaned up to kiss Darien. “Only you would save someone and consider it a thing to hide. Whom did you save?”
“The Vadal ambassador, cousin to the Princess Royal.” Darien looked around quickly. “And we can’t stay here. We should meet with him and fly the city.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going with you.” Kamen raised his hands to halt any protest.
“But you’re not a known supporter of the king.” Darien gestured to his house. “Obviously that’s why they targeted me.”
“We can think of the whys later.” Saerileth tied the boy back onto her back. “We are going to visit your Mamma’s people, Your Grace.”
The boy nodded. “Mamma told me that someday we would visit my grandpappa.”
“He’s a precocious child,” said Kamen.
“He is the king,” said Saerileth.
“Run!” Darien swept Saerileth up into his arms, and she leaned against him, trying only to keep hold of the child. The sound of soldiers’ feet filled the street behind them.
As they hid in another alley, Darien whispered to Kamen. “You aren’t known as an ardent supporter of the king. You’ve not made any particular move in politics, and you’ve talked with Ulen Ahnok recently.”
“Yes, but Darien, I had nothing to do with this!” Kamen laid his hand on Darien’s arm, and Saerileth wanted to slap the Itenu lord.
“I know. But you won’t be followed, not yet. Go to your house and collect money and supplies. Meet us outside the North Gate when the sun has set. We must not let these rebels succeed in their attack on the Sunjaa nation!”
“It was Ulen Ahnok,” said Saerileth. She had seen it, clear as glass. “He is the leader of the primary opposition to the king, the one who most opposed the Princess Royal.”
“Kanfiran eat his eyes!” Darien smashed his fist into his open palm.
“I will do everything you ask, Darien.” Kamen leaned his forehead against Darien’s, and Saerileth wanted to kill Kamen. “At evening, outside the North Gate.” Then he slipped away into the maze of Arinport’s streets.
“Now come, Saeri.” Darien helped her to her feet and took the heavy child from her. “And you, little king.”
“I’m not the king. Pappa is the king.” Jahen fidgeted in Darien’s grasp, and, perforce, Darien surrendered the boy back to Saerileth.
“We can’t get him out of the city this way.” Darien stroked Saerileth’s hair. “And what were you doing with Kamen?”
“I? Oh, Darien!” Saerileth shifted the boy to her hip and put one arm as far around Darien as she could reach. “He was there when I got there. He must have seen the smoke and been afraid for you.”
“If I see him looking at you, I’ll strangle him.” Darien kissed Saerileth again.
“I want to see His Grace!” the boy said.
“You are the Grace now.” And Saerileth, with a heavy heart, rendered the boy-king unconscious again.
“We can collect the ambassador along the way.”
“I will keep His Grace bundled on my back,” said Saerileth. “We should be able to get out of the city without trouble.”
“Saeri, if you want to go back to the guild—”
“Darien!” Saerileth stopped still and stared at him.
“The rebels won’t go after you, and you have no vested interest in this war. With Ulen in charge, not only have I lost my house, I won’t be able to access any of my wealth from the temples. He’ll make sure I’m barred. I … I lost everything, Saerileth.”
“You haven’t lost me.” She kissed his lips. “I would not care if you were a beggar, Darien. I love you, and I would – I was going into the house after you.”
Darien’s eyes grew soft, and she knew he understood her full meaning.
“I love you.” He took her hand, and they made their way through the riots and the smoke and the crowds.
And Saerileth was not afraid.
Chapter Twelve
Darien sat by the fire and wiped away his eyeliner with a damp towel. He had smeared kohl beneath his eyes to shield his vision from the glaring desert sun. He could still feel the heat of the day on his skin. Through the flickering of the campfire’s flames, the Vadal ambassador seemed to Darien smaller than he had appeared in Arinport when he would stride about the palace grounds in his rich northern fashions – billowing white shirts with long sleeves that tied at the wrist and long breeches. Perhaps it was the way the ambassador sat huddled up in his cloak, his cowl pulled up around his ears, as he stared into the dancing fire.
“You all right, Excellency?” Darien asked, pulling a spit of fish-meat from the fire.
The ambassador looked up with a start. “I’m fine. It’s just that I’m not sure if this is going to work. Smuggle Jahen out of the desert? Assassins will be looking for him everywhere.”
“I know the sands.” Darien peered off into the night, letting his gaze fall on the purple slopes of moonlit dunes. Not long did he ponder the wastes, instead turning his attention to Saerileth. She sat bouncing Jahen on her knees with the lad facing her. She covered his tiny hands in her own, clapping them together as she sang to him a catchy Zenji tune.
They were far from not only Arinport but the river as well. Darien had decided it best to follow the course of the river only long enough to catch some fish, gather enough water for their trek, and collect vegetables by raiding nearby farms. They had spent the rest of the day in the blistering heat, trudging across the trackless, burning sands. Darien had kept the sun on his left, ensuring that they were heading north. But he could handle it; he knew he could. He had marched with his regiment across these dunes during the last war. Now that night had fallen, he unwrapped his head and laid his long linen scarf out on the sand.
Darien glanced over at Saerileth ag
ain. Her skin was pink. “Make sure you keep yourself shielded from the sun tomorrow, too, Saeri.” He worried for her; people of her complexion could not take too much of the sun.
Saerileth nodded. “I will.” She paused in her play with the child long enough for Darien to see the love shining in her eyes.
The ambassador, however, was worse off. He had had no pallav like Saerileth had, and though Darien had helped him wrap his face in a long scarf, the ambassador had not been vigilant in keeping his skin covered. His cheeks were flaming red with small blisters clustered on the skin.
“Excellency,” Darien said, “I need you to be very careful tomorrow. Wrap your head up as if you were being mummified. It’ll be hot, but it’ll protect your skin.”
The ambassador nodded, his mouth a grim line. Darien wished he had some lotion or ointment to offer him, but he had fled Arinport with little more than the clothes on his back.
“How long will it take?” The ambassador tore the cooked perch from the stick with his teeth.
Darien looked up, and his thoughts raced to the future, over the next week. He nodded toward the darkness ahead of him. “About a week, I estimate. We’ll have to be careful. Water and sunburn – those are our biggest dangers.” Had he been alone, Darien would not have even considered sunburn an issue, what with his dark skin and all.
“Can we not move faster?”
Darien shifted his gaze to the ambassador, who seemed irritable and distracted.
“Not safely.” Darien would not risk Saerileth’s health even for a hundred little kings. “We will swing through an oasis town to resupply.”
The ambassador’s attention snapped to Darien’s face. “Won’t that be dangerous? Surely they’ll be looking for us there.”
Darien shrugged. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take.” He had had no time to plan this escape; it had been thrust upon him with the destruction of his house. Ulen was bolder than Darien had ever thought – and more foolhardy, for he could not hope to succeed at this coup. Darien would go to the Vadal with the boy-king and raise an army in his name. And then he would lead that foreign army back to Arinport and crush the usurper. Still the ambassador stared at Darien. “Leave everything to me, Excellency. I have friends in the oasis town. I’ve gotten you this far, haven’t I?”
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