Exile (42 page)

Ty snorted, though with good humor. “I’m familiar enough with my Queen’s reticence, especially if it means doing something she doesn’t like. I’d say she’s angry with you, Draken, and trying to prove the point.”

“Of course she’s angry! I fair killed her, didn’t I? Curse us, how were we brought to this?” Draken snapped the shutter slats down and turned to find them watching him. He looked away, uncomfortable under their scrutiny, the new earrings in his ears clinking gently. He was still self-conscious in Brînian attire, but Halmar had suggested he make these gestures to fit in.

Draken shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re among friends, my lord,” Va Khlar added. “No one here expects you to be stoic at all times.”

Draken ran his hand over his head. “Truth, I’m not quite myself. I believe I’ll retire for the night.”

The others rose as he left the room, murmuring, “Good night, Prince Draken. Sleep well.”

Osias hurried after to speak with him in the corridor, keeping his voice low. The tiled hallways sent every word bounding down them, often to unintended ears. “Do not be troubled, friend. You brought peace to Akrasia and it will hold; I’m sure of it.”

Draken bowed his head. “I’m not sure what to do next, Osias.”

“Answers will come with rest. You’re exhausted. Come, I’ll walk you.” Osias kissed Draken’s cheeks when he delivered him to his bedroom door.

He watched the Mance walk back down the hall to rejoin the others, the silvery strands in his hair catching the low torchlight. He had been essentially exiled from Eidola for a long time, searching for a King who would have killed him for his loyalty to the gods. Draken wasn’t the only one with a city to put into order, and he could not hold his friend in Brîn much longer.

Once in bed, he tried to not wish for his friends’ warm presence. Osias didn’t think it befitted the Crown Prince of Brîn to sleep with a Mance and a former slave. Draken reckoned he was right, though found Osias’ sudden obsequience to custom ironic. In the end though, not even Osias’ touch could ease the worries rolling through his head.

At last, he threw back the covers and tread on bare feet across the expansive rug to smother the incense burning on a carved table. Usually he liked it; the aroma smelled like Gadye smoke. But tonight it reminded him of Galene, one of many who died by Truls’ hand. Would she have approved of him as Prince? Would Shisa? Or Lesle? In that moment he couldn’t make himself believe it.

He lifted the latch on the shutters and opened them, stepping out onto the long, narrow balcony accessible by all the upper rooms at his father’s house, which attached to the domed Audience Hall by a private, lush courtyard. A faint stream of smoke emitted from the altar chimney of the white royal temple on his left. Horses whickered as they bedded down for the night. A bird cooed overhead and took to the air. He glanced up and down the shadowy, flag-stoned terrace, but he was alone. The feeling was even more potent without Bruche’s constant banter. Even the yard below was quiet, lit by few torches. Like in Elena’s Bastion, no sounds reached him from the city beyond. Four waning moons illuminated the trees with quiet light.

“A beautiful night, don’t you think?”

Draken spun at the whispered voice, drawing the dagger from his arm brace.

“You can put it away. I’m not here to assassinate you.” Aarinnaie eyed the dagger and smiled, stepping closer. “Not tonight anyway.”

“Aarinnaie! Gods, girl, it’s been three days. Where have you been?”

“Well, things got tricky when you left me, but I found a horse and ran from the field.”

“And the banes?”

Her smile faded. “Osias had helped me on the ship, and I remembered the feeling. Took a bit of doing, but I fought it off. Perhaps we do have a fair touch of the gods about us, like everyone says, aye?”

Draken nodded. If anyone was stubborn enough to fight off a bane, it was his sister. And he was past denying the gods’ influence in his life, and hers.

“Oddly enough, I found your own troops and the Akrasians took me in as one of their own.” She smiled and gestured toward her lined eyes. “Osias’ glamour worked. I must see to having it undone.”

“I’d forgotten,” Draken said. “You did look odd when you untied me.”

“Not half so odd as you,” she said. “I’m sorry for your worry, but I wasn’t quite ready to be found. I had things to see to. Besides, I expected you at Seakeep, with your Queen.”

“You went to see Elena?”

A shrug. “Not so she knew. Imagine my surprise when I did not find you there.”

Aarinnaie was still smiling, knowingly. No use in pretending with her. He gripped the smooth metal railing, thinking of his audience with Elena the next day. “Find me hanging from the gates with my throat slit, you mean.”

“No doubt she’s annoyed,” Aarinnaie said. “You treated her poorly, killing her and all.”

“Heard about that, did you?”

“Oh, I heard enough. I hung round the taverns for half the day before coming here, listening to tales of my brother, the Crown Prince.”

“You weren’t recognized?”

She gave him a familiar scathing look.

“Sorry.” He paused. “For more than just....I’m sorry about leaving you. It wasn’t right.”

“Fair turn. I handed you off to Father, after all.”

“Look,” he said. “I know how he was. I realize you must have thought I was the same as him.”

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re nothing like him.”

“Thanks.” The back of his neck was sore and stiff with tension. “At least he had some semblance of control over Brîn. I don’t have the foggiest idea what I’m about.”

“Oh, I think you’re doing well. Songsters trill a joyful story.” She brushed a lock of curly hair aside as a breeze lifted it. “They do brisk business selling your tales.”

Draken’s chuckled deep in his throat. If they only knew the half of it. “How absurd.”

“Well, you’re more exciting than the Queen, who pouts and will not eat. I think she’s worried. Or ill.”

Draken’s tone turned sharp. “Ill?”

Aarinnaie smiled slyly, her gaze on the courtyard below. “Pining for her Prince, no doubt.”

Draken chose to ignore that. They passed a few moments in silence, Draken thinking of Elena. Reconciliation seemed a distant dream. Why would she ever want him again? Gods, why did he even want her? Guilt? he thought. But he didn’t need Bruche to tell him that he was lying to himself.

“Can I ask you a question?”

She nodded.

“How did you know who I was, when we first met?”

“We were attacked outside Auwaer by a Monoean criminal.”

“Damn. Sarc.”

She nodded. “It’s not all. Father used to speak of you sometimes, when he lamented I was a female and unable to take the throne. He always regretted leaving you behind. When King Truls started talking of someone else who could maybe work the sword, someone to lead Brîn and kill Elena, and especially after I saw you, I put it all together. You look quite like Father, you know. That your fellow prisoner tattled about a sundry Monoean-Brînian murderer who was related to the King of Monoea didn’t hurt.”

He should have killed Sarc when he had the chance. “Did Geord know?”

“He suspected. I told him he was a fool to think it.”

“Truls killed my wife in order to get me here, aye?”

Aarinnaie nodded. “And used blood magic to ensure you would be implicated and banished here.”

Draken cursed under his breath and stared out over Brîn. Smoke obscured towers and spires in the city.

“Khel Szi, do you mind if I speak frank?”

“When do you ever not?”

“Your wife, King Truls, Monoea. It’s all in your past—”

“You’re asking me to forget?”

“I ask you to never forget, for I think it will make you a good Khel Szi. But it cannot be your main focus. You are Szi now, by blood and by right. Our people need you crowned to feel secure again.”

Draken bristled. “It’s only been three days.”

“Even so, five thousand Akrasian servii and horse masters hanging outside the city gates alarm your people. You need Elena’s sanction, and quickly.”

He sighed, thinking of the attack on the wall. “Tyrolean says I’m to see her tomorrow. They have Father’s body.”

She sobered. “I heard.”

“I’m surprised Osias didn’t know,” he said.

She laughed. “Oh, he knew. Don’t you realize by now there is much the Mance does not say?”

Draken laughed, too, despite himself. “Gods, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it’s damned good to see you, Aarin.”

She reached out to jingle his new earrings with a forefinger. “Well, I’m off to make mischief before Osias removes the glamour and takes away all my fun.” She slipped a leg over the railing.

“Don’t get into too much trouble,” he said. “I might need you around here soon.”

She gave him a saucy smile and climbed down out of sight.

Draken stared out over his city, watching the moons and listening to the noises of the people. His people. Then, for the first night in weeks, he fell into a sound sleep for hours, barely stirring even when the early chambermaid opened his shutters and relit the incense. He only lifted his head long enough to breathe its scent, and he fell asleep again until midday.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

D
raken dressed and strode to the domed Audience Hall, empty because “Khel Szi was indisposed.” He found Osias and Setia waiting for him, standing by the sword, which rested on an altar on the dais. A quiet, stiff Brînian soldier stood nearby, brawny arms crossed over his chest, guarding the sword.

“How fare you this day, Prince Draken?” Osias asked.

“Quite well, thanks,” Draken said. “You were right, as usual. Rest helped, as well as a certain nighttime visitor.”

Osias smiled and reached out his hand. As Draken grasped his forearm, he felt the cold metal around the Mance’s arm.

“How did Truls get his fetter off, do you think?” Draken asked.

Osias turned his head and looked back at Seaborn. “It surely takes one magical instrument to destroy another. Once he killed Reavan and glamoured himself as him, he had access to the sword at the Bastion.”

“I thought you couldn’t work magical items?”

“I couldn’t. The Mance King is far more powerful.” He gave Draken an enigmatic smile

“And you, Mance King? Don’t you want yours removed as well?” Draken lifted his sword, but did not sheathe it.

“I’m content to stay as the gods intend.”

“Something’s been bothering me. The web…at the Bastion. Was that Truls, as well?”

Osias nodded. “Aye. It had to be.”

“It would have killed me. He needed me alive.”

“No. It would have killed
me
. I believe that was his intent. If you recall his standing right outside the door and bolting inside…he was close enough to save you. And it would have looked as if I killed you with Mance magic.”

“Neatly done,” Draken said dryly. “Did you know who I was?”

“I guessed, over time.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t want to be Khel Szi.”

Draken sighed. True enough.

Osias clasped his hands behind his back. “We must go home today.”

Draken turned to the guard. “Leave us, please.” He waited until the guard had bowed and stepped from the room. “I don’t have to like it, but of course you must. You’re King at Eidola now.”

“I know you’ve been worried, but my home is near yours, aye? We’ll see each other often enough.” Osias gestured toward the mountains looming over the city. Draken could see a glimpse of them through the gap at the top of the high wall, which allowed airflow into the hall.

“Two Mance will stay to see to the fires,” Osias added. “They made progress overnight, I believe.”

“I saw a report claiming most of them were out,” Draken said. “Osias, Setia, I mean to say...Gods, it sounds trivial to say it like this. But thank you.”

“We did what we could,” Osias replied. “I wish it had been more.”

Draken glanced away, at the tiled interior of the dome and the throne on the dais, carved from the wood of an ancient victorious warship. He swallowed his sorrow at the road of death leading him here. Perhaps it was as Aarinnaie had said. It belonged in the past. “You brought me home, and it was quite enough.”

Osias smiled. “We’ll see each other soon.”

Draken stood for a long while in the empty hall after they’d gone, thinking of Elena and the coming day. Korde curse him, he dreaded his father’s funeral. Burial at sea, he supposed. He turned his sword slowly, studying the blade. It silently reflected back the multitude of tile mosaic around him, looking as cluttered as he felt. He put the sword down on the altar and turned away from it.

“What does she want from me?” Draken asked himself, unconsciously aloud.

He poured water and drank, but lowered the cup when his carved wooden throne caught his eye. His father had sat there. His grandfather. Men, going back in a long line, maybe back to one sired by Khellian Himself, if the legends told true. How many had been cruel as his father? How many had chased trails of death as Draken had? Was it something bred in the Khel line, some fault like a harelip or a misshapen spine?

In a sudden fit of frustration and mislaid grief, he threw the flagon at the dais, where it clattered to the floor.

“Khel Szi?” A kitchen maid had arrived with a meal, but she hung back in the doorway, tray in hand.

“I just...sorry.” He waved a hand toward a table. “Thank you.”

She inclined her head, set the tray on the table, and started to leave. She was a pretty girl with high color on her round cheeks, her dark hair bound back into a thick plait from which curly strands had escaped.

“Wait,” Draken said. “If you were Queen Elena, would you hate me?”

She blinked. “Truth, Khel Szi, I could not hate you.”

“But if you were her…” his voice faded. What was he doing, harassing a slavegirl about what a Queen might think? Just because she was a woman? Fools all. “I’m sorry. Be about your day.”

She hesitated. “Prince Draken, might I speak?”

“Freely.”

“Is it possible,” the maid said, “the Queen thinks you hate her?”

Draken shook his head at the notion. “I can’t imagine…” But he stopped, thinking hard. Could it be right? Did Elena think he hated her? After all he’d done… Draken grinned bitterly at himself. Given his own lowly origins, it was fitting that a kitchen maid give him the insight he had failed to see on his own.