10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Until next time, Challen,” her new friend called.

  "Hmm, and O'klan said you found it difficult to make friends,” Shazzur muttered as they reached the hall. “I can't imagine what you were doing wrong."

  "Not the technique, Father, but the material I worked with.” Challen tugged her arm free to hug him. “Thank you."

  CHAPTER 9

  Third Descent Moon

  Three nights after the moon fullness festivities ended, Elzan escorted Princess Cayeen to a room in the lower levels of the Healers Temple to visit her full-blood brother, Rushtan. Though Rushtan's body had healed, his mind still wandered, under attack from whatever magical influence had moved him to attack the girl in the fountain plaza. He had hours when he was lucid, fully in control of his mind and body, and then in the blink of an eye he would be a raging beast, struggling to break free of his comfortable prison. The most chilling part of the episodes, which Elzan had witnessed several times, was the utter blackness that filled his half-brother's eyes.

  Ordinarily, Cayeen could have visited her brother with just her eunuch guard for escort during the day, and two members of the Host of the Ram in the evening. However, the ambassador from Chadrasheer was in the city, seeking a bride for his king. All three princesses had been dismissed as unacceptable, but the barbarians might still try to snatch one and carry her off. A woman stolen had more value to them than a woman won through negotiations.

  Cayeen wore a slave's robes and bound her silvery blonde hair under a turban of rags. She slipped alone out of the palace's kitchen entrance to meet Elzan. The prince laughed at her disguise, and then regaled her with tales of how he escaped his guards when he was a boy. Four of the Host of the East Gate, disguised as laborers, escorted them through the warm evening shadows to the Healers Temple.

  A woman sat with Vandan in the front room of Rushtan's quarters, when the guard at the door let the royal siblings enter. Dark of skin and eye, her hair fell to her ankles in a midnight river, twined with golden threads. Her robes held a dozen colors and she played a harp. Rushtan lay on a pile of cushions, eyes closed, listening to the woman play, and looking more relaxed than Elzan had seen him since the black arrow struck him. The prisoner opened one eye when the music stopped. He grinned and sat up and held out his arms to his sister.

  "Prince Doni'Mayar, this is Song Weaver Veerian,” Vandan said, while brother and sister embraced and caught up on news.

  "Ah, yes. Mother mentioned she would ask if you could help. Your talents reach into the mind.” Elzan bowed to the woman.

  It amazed him, how much power resided in such a small package. He prayed the woman's gifts to reach into the mind and bring healing would save his brother. How long could Rushtan live as a prisoner before he truly went mad without magical influence?

  "Forgive my impatience, but have you seen success yet?"

  "We have just begun, Highness,” Veerian said, bowing in her turn. Her voice was low, sweet, with a sighing undertone like the desert winds.

  "She's been too busy slaughtering me with her totally unorthodox strategy,” Rushtan said. He gestured at the table, where a Draktan board waited, set up for four to play.

  "Can't handle the challenge?” Elzan asked, pretending disinterest in the game.

  "I'm good enough to challenge you. That means everyone else bores me. Until Veerian.” He settled into a chair at the table and spread his hands. “What are you waiting for?"

  "Women against men?” Cayeen said as she sat down next to her brother.

  Veerian laughed and sat down opposite the princess, leaving Elzan the last place, opposite Rushtan. Vandan bade them a good night and wished Veerian luck.

  "You must be improving, if he leaves you alone for the evening,” Elzan observed. He stepped over to a long table set up against the far wall, where pitchers of wine, a bowl of fruit, small loaves of bread, and other dishes provided refreshment.

  Rushtan grunted and snatched up a Draktan marker carved from onyx. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the game piece.

  "Rush?” Cayeen gasped and leaped to her feet. “Elzan!"

  Elzan turned at the same time his brother jumped from his chair, kicking it out of his way. Rushtan's eyes were as black as the Draktan piece. Veerian ran for the door, shouting for the guards and Vandan. Elzan stepped forward to push Cayeen out of the way, sure that Rushtan would go after the most vulnerable person in the room.

  But Rushtan attacked him, ignoring Veerian and Cayeen, and the guards who burst through the door. Elzan ducked and went to his knees, rolling out of Rushtan's reach. He snatched up the fallen chair and swung it hard, aiming for Rushtan's head.

  Veerian reached Rushtan first, thumping him hard with a long rod as thick as her arm. Rushtan crumpled. The Song Weaver pulled a small flask from inside her sash, yanked the plug free, and poured the contents down his throat.

  "You knew this was going to happen,” Elzan said. That was the only explanation for how quickly the guards had rushed in, Vandan's speedy return and the drug Veerian used on Rushtan.

  "We needed to test our theory,” Vandan said. He knelt beside Rushtan and helped Veerian sit him upright, so they could pour more of the potion down his throat.

  "What theory?” Cayeen demanded.

  "You think you know who the target is,” Elzan guessed.

  Vandan led them from the room while Veerian and two of the guards tended to Rushtan. The three ended up in Lady Mayar's office, where the High Priestess waited. Elzan and Cayeen took seats and listened while Vandan related what had happened.

  "Our enemy is strong and clever, but not infallible,” Lady Mayar said, nodding. “The magic controlling Rushtan awakens whenever certain people come near him. Or when he thinks they are coming to visit."

  "The magic also grows more ... selective, as time goes on. At first, Rushtan attacked anyone wearing healer green. Now, he only loses control when Lady Mayar enters his cell,” Vandan said. “At first, he attacked anyone wearing the Ram insignia. His friends in the Host had to come without their armor and weapons. Now, the change only comes when we tell him a member of the royal family is in the room."

  "Or when our dear Shazzur comes to examine and question him,” Lady Mayar added. “I fear Kena'Shazzur is also a target."

  "That's why she's in the Sanctum,” Elzan guessed. “To protect her, not for the Sacred Marriage."

  "That poor girl,” Cayeen muttered. “It's hard enough being a princess, but to be the daughter of the Seer and know people will try to hurt you to hurt your father. And then to be locked up in the Sanctum ... Does she have any friends?"

  "Yes. The ones who matter,” Lady Mayar said with that small, secretive smile that had always irritated Elzan. He hated feeling like a little boy left out of many wonderful secrets. Experience had taught him not to pester his mother for answers, because she wouldn't speak until the time was ready.

  "Will the Song Weaver be able to help him?” Cayeen asked.

  "The potion she gave him immediately after the attack works to counter the magic while it is still active,” Vandan said. “In time, we hope Prince Rushtan will be free of its control."

  "In time. You hope.” Elzan suddenly felt as weary as if he had spent six days on the march. “Until then, it really won't be safe to visit him, will it? No one of our family, not Shazzur or our friends in the Host."

  "We may need you to help us trigger more attacks, to test how the treatment is working,” Vandan said. “But no, ordinary visits will not be wise. I am sorry."

  "Don't be sorry for us,” Cayeen said. “We can move about freely without fear of harming the ones we love."

  When they left a short time later, Elzan wondered briefly about the acolyte who had been the target of Rushtan's first attack. He wondered where she was, if she lived in fear, if her superiors had punished her for being so foolish. In a way, it was fortuitous she had slipped out to wade in the fountain. They might never have discovered the magic waiting to control Rushtan and destroy the royal family,
if she hadn't innocently wandered into his path.

  Elzan wondered now if Rushtan had come looking for him, and had been distracted by the girl. Or if Rushtan's first target had been Lady Mayar, and the girl's green robes had drawn the attack instead. By this time, he supposed such questions were meaningless. He hoped the girl slept well tonight, wherever she was, whatever her duties were.

  He knew he wouldn't sleep well tonight. Not with all these new questions and discoveries running through his mind. Thinking back to the arrow attack that had first brought this trouble on Rushtan brought another memory to Elzan—the maiden with hair like flames. Hunger for her struck him at the oddest times. He didn't want to just touch her, taste her kisses, hear her voice. He wanted to look into her eyes and know her heart and thoughts. Deep inside, where certainties were written without words, he sensed that she was key to so many concerns and problems. Not just in his life, but in Bainevah.

  When he was younger, a visit to the concubine's hall had been an easy answer to sleepless nights. Nowadays, with his commission from the King resting on his shoulders, Elzan tried to make use of his restlessness and inability to sleep. He studied until he was bleary-eyed with exhaustion. Besides, lately, he found all the girls unappealing. None matched the maiden from his vision. He suspected if he did try to sate his needs with a concubine, he would be incapable; the flame-haired girl was the only one who could awaken any kind of interest or hunger in him.

  Most of his half-brothers never seemed to have that problem. They didn't care if they used a different concubine each night, or that the half-brother they hated the most had been in her bed two hours before. Only the King's concubines were inviolate; no prince dared try to keep a girl for his sole use. Showing favoritism for a particular girl could make her a target for abuse, or a prize in the constant petty battles among the King's sons.

  Elzan wished the Chadrasheeri were as indiscriminate as his half-brothers, and would take their woman-centered difficulties from Bainevah and the Court and the King's Council. He wished the ambassador would take the first lusty, plump, nobleman's daughter who offered herself, and hurry back to his master. No one was good enough; no one fit the requirements of the barbarians, and that made no sense. The problem frustrated the entire palace, and Elzan wasn't surprised when Cayeen brought up the problem again, just before he left her at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the princesses’ quarters.

  "He wants a priestess and a princess combined,” Cayeen said, her voice growing sharp. “I overheard him complaining that Lady Mayar hadn't given the King any healer daughters."

  "Thank the Mother she didn't.” Elzan shuddered. “My dear Mother would skin the ambassador alive if he touched a daughter of her blood.” He shivered as an image slid into his mind.

  "What is it?"

  "Kena'Shazzur is the daughter of a priestess, and the King promised to dower her as if she were his own daughter. Equal to a princess. Her status as Shazzur's daughter makes her nearly royal, anyway. She fits the ambassador's requirements."

  "Chizhedek and the King both refused the ambassador's demands for a Sanctum Bride. She's safe."

  "We should hope so.” Elzan shook his head. The Chadrasheeri had been too polite lately. Too quiet. Perhaps they planned something and didn't want anyone to notice them? The barbarians showed just how foolish they were, because changing their habits and manners only attracted more attention.

  Elzan made his farewells to Cayeen and waited until she was safely inside the guarded doorway of the princesses’ quarters. Then, with his worries growing stronger in his mind, and a plan forming to counter them, he hurried to meet with his closest friends in the Host of the Ram, the East and Water gates. The City Guards would have help tonight, and every night until the Chadrasheeri went home. If the Mother blessed them, no one but the weary volunteers would ever know the help had been given.

  * * * *

  Challen sighed and rolled up the scroll she had been trying to read for the last two hours in the Brides’ common room. What was the use of coming to this cool room full of shade and quiet if it wouldn't stay quiet? She might as well stay in her warm, stuffy suite of rooms. The arguing voices in the outer courtyard under the window weren't actually loud enough to make out words, but loud enough to break her concentration. She wanted to finish the scroll before she returned to the Scribes Hall. She had spent all yesterday with Lady Mayar and hadn't been able to read a single column. This was a particularly dry historical commentary, as Haneen had warned, and hard enough to study without the distraction of heat and angry male voices.

  Correction ... one male voice and one whining eunuch voice. She could identify Agrat's anywhere. It irritated her like the time she had fallen into the sand head-first and had no water to spare to wash it out. She slept with sandy hair and found sand in her clothes for the next three days.

  "Who's out there?” Amilia raised her gaze from the decorative netting she made for her hair.

  "Agrat is fighting with one of the princes,” Challen said. She sat up in the window seat couch and bound the scroll.

  "A prince?"

  The blonde girl's lethargy vanished. Gathering pale pink robes around herself, she scurried across the dimly lit room, tripped when she lost a slipper, and clambered up into the window seat with Challen. Her full lips pouted when she could barely see anything through the thick vines and leaves blocking the view.

  "How do you know it's a prince?"

  "Who else would talk to Agrat with such an arrogant tone?” Challen slid the scroll into its embroidered leather sleeve.

  "Which one?"

  "I can't see anything but his hands, thanks to these vines. And I can't tell the color of his ring stone, the way his hands flash. It's like he talks with his hands more than his mouth. From the nasal whine, I wish he would talk with his hands.” Challen grinned when her words prompted giggles from her friend.

  That thought stopped her short. Amilia was a friend, wasn't she? After nearly four moon quarters in the Sanctum, she actually had found people she could talk to, whom she could learn from. Amilia, Challen discovered, wasn't stupid—just limited in her experience. She was willing to learn, eager to improve her life, but not at the expense of others. When she teased, it was good-natured, not vicious like Vashina.

  Yes, Amilia was her friend. Perhaps not as close and reliable as Haneen or O'klan, but a friend she liked to have around and was willing to help.

  Challen turned in her seat so she had her back to the pink marble. The nice thing about marble was that shade kept it cool. It was also dust-free; not like the stone of the tower where she had grown up.

  "I wish I could see his face,” her friend said with a sigh.

  "What difference does it make? All the princes look like the King, to some degree or another."

  "I know, but some look like the priestess dropped them on their faces when she delivered them and some look like they were raised among the demi-gods."

  "Nine princes,” Challen mused. “And three princesses. Where will he find enough royal-blooded wives and husbands for them?"

  "Kings marry Sanctum Brides."

  "Only if the girl is willing to be a concubine for years, and if she produces the heir. He's not allowed to marry anyone but the mother of the Crown Prince. My father told me stories of concubines murdering babies or poisoning each other, simply to ensure they ended up as Queen Mother. It's ridiculous.” Challen sighed. “All politics are ridiculous, but that doesn't stop people from scheming and fighting, does it?"

  "It's almost worth the chance,” her friend whispered.

  "Amilia!"

  "I said almost.” She sat up and turned her back to the window. The two men continued arguing. “They sound furious."

  "I think they must be friends."

  "What?"

  "Even Agrat isn't powerful enough to argue with a prince unless he knows the prince won't punish him."

  "Oh. I didn't think of that. Do you think of those things because your father is a seer?” Re
spect tinged the younger girl's voice.

  "Father trained me to think of reasons behind everything. Or rather, he tried to train me.” Challen sighed again, this time in self-pity instead of frustration.

  At her last visit to the Scribes Hall she found both Cho'Mat and her father busy elsewhere. She had enjoyed her time with Haneen, examining the master list of the archives and choosing what to bring back to her rooms to study. Still, she missed the long hours of conversation with her father. She couldn't just go to him anymore to ask a question or discuss a half-baked theory that had popped into her mind. Shazzur was either busy with the King or examining reports brought in by messengers from across the vast kingdom of Bainevah or attending to the thousands of tiny details that were part of managing the land. And even if he were free, Challen always had to wait hours for Agrat's permission before she could leave the Sanctum.

  "You know what I think?” Amilia asked after a short gap of silence. The conversation outside died, followed by the sound of sandals slapping on stones, fading rapidly into the distance.

  "Hmm?"

  "I think it isn't a good thing for a prince to be friends with the Chief Warder. Especially when Agrat's so eager to rise in social status. Especially with the moon dark ceremonies only days away. What if the prince wanted to ... to come in and use one of us? Who would stop a prince? All sorts of evil happens during the moon dark."

  "You're not the daughter of a merchant anymore, Amilia,” Challen said, grasping her friend's hands and squeezing gently. “You are protected here. If anyone tried to force you, there are armed eunuchs in every hallway to respond to your call. Your virginity is the property of Mother Matrika now and she will guard you because of it."

  Amilia's fear of Agrat turning the Sanctum into a brothel was closer to the truth than she could guess. Shersia had brought evil magic into the Chamber of the Suns and blocked the Sacred Marriage from taking place. What if she had been just as much an unwitting tool as the prince who was now kept prisoner in the Healers Temple? What if all it took was an illicit visit, disguised as a lover's tryst, ending with another girl infected with evil magic to use against Bainevah? O'klan had even told her there were rumors the lots had been manipulated when Shersia was chosen for the Sacred Marriage.