SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) (3 page)

No, his great-uncle did that a century before when the Breach tore Seladyn to pieces.
Seladyn had been a beautiful, prosperous land, or so all the tales said. Now it was so barren and desolate, it was called Worldsend. That great-uncle had also been a Prince of Sorrows.

And now so is Nylan.
Shize.
But he was strong—his reaction to the news proved that—and Jarlyth’s eyes stung with his own unshed tears.
I’m so proud of him. He’ll be a wonderful prince. A wonderful king.

A few days later, a
fter the excitement died down, Jarlyth arranged a morning for just the two of them. Tension defined every line of the boy’s small body, and he needed a break badly. He needed to get as far away from everyone as it was possible to go.

Winters ran mild along Serathon
’s southern coast, and in the sheltered cove where the priory had been built, it could be almost summery. To Jarlyth’s relief, the day he’d chosen turned out to be especially beautiful. The wind blew softly across the beach as the sun cleared the eastern horizon. The sky was pure blue and speckled with flights of birds rather than clouds, and the distant glints of light from the Breach sparkled over the water to the west.

At this distance, no one would have guessed the Breach w
as such a nightmarish thing. A spidery crack in the surface of reality, it had ripped apart a kingdom and damaged the Ashlian Ocean and the Gulf of Souls to the point where no ship could sail those waters without a wizard navigator. Within a year of its creation, the Breach had divided the world, separating the One Kingdom from its western colonies hundreds of posts away. But this morning, it glittered prettily, and the sight of its sparkling made Jarlyth smile.

The horses they
’d ridden to reach this remote spot had wandered a little way away to graze idly on the scrub grass. Jarlyth, doubting he could have chosen a more beautiful morning for this excursion, brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled at his young charge.

Nylan, for his part, was oblivious to the beautiful day.
Instead, his attention was completely absorbed by the piles of sand his warder had been attempting to shape into some semblance of Karonsmoor Castle, though they looked little like that magnificent place. He ran gentle fingers along the top of one of the sand pile wings. “Where’s my room?”

“
Rooms, actually. That’s why they call them your ‘royal apartments’ and not your ‘royal room,’ Nylan.” Jarlyth grinned as the prince shot him a disapproving look, his eloquent black eyebrows dipping down and almost meeting over his nose before he gave in and echoed Jarlyth’s grin.

“
Right here.” Jarlyth poked a finger into the sand at the far eastern corner of the east wing. He scooped up one of the cats who had accompanied them that morning and who seemed about to step on the west tower, and set her down again well away from the sand castle. Jarlyth could picture the rooms in his mind for they had once been Nylan’s Great-Aunt Primrose’s, and she had been Jarlyth’s mother’s second cousin. His mother had often taken advantage of this royal connection when Jarlyth was a small boy.

Nylan
tugged on Jarlyth’s sleeve. “Let me see, Jary. Please?”

Jarlyth reached over his shoulder to check on his sword and Nylan copied him, laughing.
They both knew it was a “give-me-a-moment” gesture he made when thinking or stalling. He grinned at Nylan’s teasing. “All right. This time.” Jarlyth pulled his memories of his great aunt’s apartments together and tried to organize them. Nylan, unlike most other Sensitives, didn’t even bother to close his eyes. His powers were very strong and even the Prior had been heard to say he thought Nylan the most powerful Sensitive he’d ever known.

“
He can smell the flowers others are sniffing,” the man had said, and most of the warders had laughed, thinking this an exaggeration. Jarlyth knew better.

“
I don’t want everything all pink.” Nylan made a valiant effort not to sound disappointed.

Jarlyth laughed at his wincing expression.
“You look like you’ve eaten something sour.” he teased. “But don’t worry. You can have them decorated any way you wish. I’m remembering them from when your Great Aunt Primrose lived in them. She was very fond of pink and ruffles and flowers everywhere.”

“
It isn’t so bad.” Nylan’s attention shifted away from Jarlyth’s remembered images and back to the sandcastle. “But I like purple! And green and red and gold and—”

“
Sounds very imposing,” Jarlyth teased.

“
No, it won’t be!” Nylan exclaimed, so caught up in his new plans, he missed Jarlyth’s joking tone. “I’ll show you when we get back. I’ll draw it for you, and you’ll see. It’ll be really nice and warm and comfortable.”

Jarlyth grinned.
“Warm, huh? That will be nice.” Nylan always seemed to be cold and in need of an extra blanket or a pullover or coat. His describing something as warm was akin to describing it as a paradise. “I hope I’ll get to see it after you finish redecorating. It’ll be something, I’m sure.”

Nylan looked up into his
warder’s face, his bright golden-hazel eyes wide with worry. “You’re going to be there, aren’t you? I’ll need you to help me.”

Jarlyth silently cursed his carelessness.
Keeping a secret from Nylan was difficult and took discipline. He wished again that he hadn’t learned who Nylan’s father really was, but the boy was far too young to know. Time enough for that disillusionment later.
Someday I’ll have to tell him the truth. If I don’t, and he finds out some other way, he’ll hate me forever.

“
I want to be there, Nylan. But we’ll have to wait and see. The king may not want me around. He’ll want to be the one who helps you. That’s what parents do.”
Liar,
he told himself.
The king doesn’t care, and he won’t care about him any more just because he’s in the castle.
But his warning to Nylan was still true. Just because he might not want to honor his vow to his late wife to take care of her child, that didn’t mean the king would want Jarlyth to continue in his role as caretaker instead.

Nylan seemed mollified by Jarlyth
’s answer. “He’ll want you around,” the boy said firmly. “I’ll tell him he has to let you stay.” He ran his finger along the sandcastle wall again. “And your rooms can be right here next to mine.” He looked up, making what Jarlyth had come to think of as his Prince Face—one eyebrow raised and a small, indomitable half-smile—and added, “You can have them decorated any way you wish.”

He continued on in that same vein for some time, describing what
he imagined his life would be like in Karonsmoor. “Healer Bairbre and Flannery can live here.” He pointed at the tower. Jarlyth was fairly certain the Wizard Royal’s traditional quarters were located in that particular tower, but he didn’t mention this. It would be good to have established allies nearby—the boy was right about that.

T
he sun was reaching up into the sky, beginning to outshine the glints of Breach-light spangling the distant southwestern horizon by the time Nylan had assigned various bits of the castle’s sand-pile wings to every person he knew. Emphasizing the hour, the faint toll of the priory bells reached them.

Nylan leapt to his feet and spun toward the sound.
“I’ll be late for class!” He seemed about to dash in three directions at once as he looked around for his horse.

“
Calm down,” Jarlyth laughed. “That’s just morning meal, and we’ve had that. We’ll be back in time for your—” His laughter died as Nylan whirled again, toward the beach. The boy’s face went white, and he thought, oddly detached,
So that isn’t just a figure of speech.

Jarlyth
turned to see whatever it was that had so terrified his charge, reaching for his sword without thinking, and so he met the first attack prepared for it.

#

Their thoughts roiled up as suddenly as a squall, flipping Nylan’s attention away from the bell. The surprise had spun him toward the noise. Shock at what he then saw froze him in mid-turn.

.:
Where did they come from?
:. Nylan thought the question at his embattled warder.

.:
Run. NOW!
:. Jarlyth shot back.

And Nylan understood that this was bad.
Worse than bad. This was—
Oh, Vail.
He tried to run, but it was no use. There were so many men—pirates, Nylan guessed. Six or seven of them, maybe more, and all shouting, all running at them with upraised swords gleaming in the morning sunlight, looking—with the lightning-like glimmering flaring out behind them on the horizon—as if they’d run right out of the Breach itself.
We don’t have a chance.

The pain stabbed into him hard, and he gasped,
falling headlong onto the sand where he rolled onto his back, clutching at his arm.

.:
Jary?
:.

“
Don’t look, Nylan. Just
don’t look
!”

Nylan obeyed his
warder’s command as he had done all his life. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought against every impulse to open them. More pain slashed at him, seeming to come from everywhere, and he screamed. .:
There’s too much, Jary. I can’t block it out!
:. A hand grabbed his arm, pulling an even more desperate shriek from him.

“
Shut up,” a stranger’s voice snapped. “Nobody’s hurtin’ you, boy.”

.:
Nylan? Are you all right?
:.

.:
No! He’s touching me! Jary, HELP ME!
:. But Jarlyth didn’t answer.
Vail, let him be all right, please let him be all right, PLEASE!

“
Don’t touch me.” Nylan tried to pull away, but the man’s mind had already tumbled into his, and everything hurt now. The noise and the feelings and thoughts and sensations—it was all unbelievable. Unimaginable! He’d had no idea
this
was what Tanara existed to protect him from. The man must know who he was or, failing that, what he was. “You’re not supposed to touch—”

The man ignored him, pulling him up from the sand.

“Stop it!” Nylan opened his eyes to glare up at the man and tried to sound severe and princely.

But the man only lifted him as if he weighed nothing, and Nylan found himself slung over the stranger
’s shoulder like a feed sack. This even more inescapable contact made everything much, much worse.
I’m going to be sick,
Nylan thought, and he was. A tic later, his so recently-eaten picnic morning meal decorated the man’s back. This was not at all how he’d imagined his first battle.
I didn’t even hit him.

He reached out for the comfort of
Jarlyth’s beloved presence. It had always sounded clearly through Nylan’s senses, but the stranger’s mind screamed over everything else, amplified by the man’s physical contact, and only the faintest hint of Jarlyth’s sounded through the maelstrom.

“
Let go of me,” the boy managed, and he tried to kick free of the man’s hold.

T
he brief, spiraling vertigo he’d long been taught preceded a death caused him to falter, and he sobbed out a cry of agony.

He
’s killing me he’s killing me he’s killing—!

A new terror distracted him, and he
redoubled his efforts to block out the minds around him. .:
Jary?
:. His warder’s mind soothed him for a fraction of a moment, and Nylan breathed again.
I’ll be all right as long as he’s all right.

Another death caught him unprepared, and he went boneless
, slipping from his captor’s grasp. The man stopped and eased him down to the sand where he collapsed completely, retching up bile. The third and fourth deaths came almost at the same moment, hitting him like huge, relentless fists, and nearly caused a fifth death with Nylan’s own.

He reeled back and tried to stand
—tried to run—but he fell onto the sand again without having moved very much. He clutched at his head, distantly amazed at just how much pain he was suffering, and ignored the tears pouring down his cheeks. His captor caught him up and slung his slender, unresisting form over his shoulder once more.

Nylan
’s mind reached out, stretching out as far as he could manage and then a bit farther still. .:
Please, Jary! Don’t leave me!
:. He felt the receding edge of his warder’s presence and tried to follow it, tried to reach it with flailing mental fingers, but it slipped away from him.

The ensuing shock came almost as a blessing, insulating him from the inescapable horror of the truth.
For the first time in his brief life, he was completely alone, unprotected from the minds which now surrounded him and which only meant him harm.

Jarlyth was dead.

# # #

Nylan had a confused impression of being carried onto a small boat and rowed out to sea, but the press of bodies and minds around him was too overwhelming.
The man who had carried him away from Tanara never released him, and the rough handling and constant, forced contact with the man’s violent mind became more and more physically painful as time passed.

The
pain became too great to bear, and a long time passed before it subsided enough for Nylan to begin taking notice of his surroundings again. He found he’d been left alone at last, and the constant movement of the tiny room around him and the sharp, briny scent in the air told him that the pirates had taken him back to their ship. He saw how torn and stained his clothing had become and shuddered. The once-fine garments hung in such tatters he could barely be said to be dressed anymore. It had all happened so fast. Too fast.

He decided not to try to stand up
just yet. There were no windows, though regular slits in the door let in enough light for him to clearly see his surroundings. The ceiling slanted low over him even though he was sitting down and very small, besides. His cell seemed no bigger than a closet.

The pirates
’ noise rumbled dully in his head, and Nylan made a vague attempt to block them out. His shock had not entirely worn off yet, and he was able to look at all that had happened as if he had not been the one it had happened to. But it still didn’t make any sense.

I can
’t believe this. I thought we were supposed to be safe.
He’d never heard of anyone invading Tanara Priory before, and he’d always been led to believe he and all the rest of the priory’s inhabitants were too far away from the wars and raids that plagued the rest of Serathon, his father’s kingdom, to ever have to worry about them.

It
’s my fault. If I hadn’t been messing around with that sandcastle, we would have gone back sooner. Jary wouldn’t be dead, if...

He bit hard into his lip and tasted blood
, but he kept his tears from falling. He was a SanClare prince. He would be strong and make Jary proud of him, no matter what the pirates did.

His cell door opened outward, startling him.
A brief frown creased his forehead as he wondered why he hadn’t sensed the pirate’s approach, but that thought quickly vanished, chased away by his terror. The man who had carried him off now stood over Nylan, a cruel smile twisting his dirty face which was also marred by a very recent wound slashing across his cheek down to the tip of his chin.
Jary did that.

“
Well,” the man said, an unnerving look glittering in his eyes. “All hail the Prince of Sorrows, indeed.”

Nylan suppressed a flinch at the sound of his
royal sobriquet. He hated his prince-name. No Sorrows had ever had a good or happy life, and most of them ended up destroying something before they died. But he supposed this likely explained what was happening to him now.

“
They never mentioned just how beautiful you are,” the man continued, taking a swaggering step farther into the tiny cell and squatting down in front of him so his face was only inches away from Nylan’s. “It’s all I can do to keep my men away from you. They ain’t seen a woman in moons.”

Nylan had the odd feeling the man expected him to say
“thank you,” but instead, the boy lifted his chin and stared back, playing at a defiance he didn’t feel.

Though he wished for it desperately, h
e had no reason to expect rescue. No one at Tanara would even begin to look for him or Jary for hours, and once they did find Jary’s body, what could they do? There were no wizards at Tanara to cast finding spells. And even if one could be found nearby to help, why would they look for him rather than assuming he was dead? His father had never so much as visited him, and his grandmother was too far away to know he needed help. Still, he knew he must trust in Vail. A miracle could happen. He was a prince, after all...that had to mean something.

“
Too good to speak to a lowborn merc?” the man demanded, grabbing his upraised chin in bruising fingers to force his attention. “I’m the captain of this ship, if that means anything to a pampered landling prince like you.” The physical contact opened the man’s mind wide to Nylan’s knowing again, but he understood little of what he saw and felt. The emotions were harsh and mostly unfamiliar; the images violent and bloody. He closed his eyes and wished closing his mind’s eyes were as easy.

The captain
heaved himself up, catching Nylan by the arm and yanking him out of the cell and to his feet. His fingers sank into the boy’s arm, pressing more bruises into the soft skin.

“
No one’s coming after you, little prince, so if you want to survive this, you’d better do as I say. I’m the only one who can save you.”

“
Why are you doing this to me?” Nylan looked up to meet the man’s frightening eyes. “I’m not even the heir.”

“
Don’t underestimate yourself, princeling. You’re the Voyan heir—we mustn’t forget that. Not that I care much either way. I’m just doing the job I was paid to do.” The pirate captain eased his grip and reached out with his free hand to catch a stray lock of Nylan’s raven-black hair which he fingered thoughtfully.

Nylan bit his lip
again, fighting back the urge to shout at the man. Never before this day had anyone dared touch him without his permission. He was a prince of the blood of SanClare—not to mention of Voyavel, the most ancient and highest-born family in all the world. It was against the law to touch him. Against
two
laws, for he was SanClare and a Sensitive. His father would hang these men from the highest scaffolds ever built for what they had done to him.
If he knew...if he cared.

The captain let go of Nylan
’s arm and reached around to undo the clasp holding the boy’s hair back. Freed, his long hair fell around his face in limp strands, and he unconsciously tucked it behind his ears where it only half-stayed. The captain studied the clasp, seeming pleased with it.

“
Give it back.” Nylan tried not to cry. “Please.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, the cruel smile flashing once again.
“His Highness said ‘please’ to me. We are making progress.”

“
It’s mine. Give it back!”

Anger struck him first, followed quickly by the back of the pirate
’s hand. Nylan staggered and fell to his knees, his hands holding his throbbing face, but he didn’t make a sound. His eyes had closed reflexively, and he kept them shut, trying to find his silent center and block out the captain and his mind and everyone else on the ship. Blood filled his mouth and dribbled in a tickling trickle down his chin. The pain distracted his efforts. He wanted to scream—had screamed, in fact, but he’d trapped it in his throat, stopping it before it could escape and betray him.

“
Everything on this ship is mine, Highness, including you and everything you think you own. You’d do well to remember that.” The anger had vanished already, replaced by a jarring satisfaction.

The huge, rough hand imprisoned Nylan
’s arm again and a noise escaped him, something between a sob and “no.” The captain dragged him across the tiny hallway, shoving him into the cabin opposite his cell. Nylan stumbled a few steps then caught himself and stopped.

“
Clean yourself up,” the captain ordered. “There’s water in that tub, enough for you to take a bath. And there are some clothes for you to change into once you’ve washed.” He gestured around the cabin, pointing to the appropriate things. “I’ll guard the door, but don’t dawdle. I’ll be back in when I think you’ve had enough time.”

The moment the door closed behind the man, Nylan staggered to the tub, grabbing hold of a chair back and the table
’s edge to steady himself against the ship’s constant rolling. Leaning against the tub’s edge, he yanked off the ragged remains of his clothes, and then climbed in.

The cabin was small but much larger than his tiny cell.
He felt rushed and frightened of not being finished when the captain returned, and the clock hanging on the wall, loudly counting off every passing tic only made him feel more rushed.

As a consequence,
he took in very little of his surroundings, but he thought it must be the captain’s sitting room or office or whatever they called such a thing on a ship because a large table piled with papers and valuable-looking trinkets and baubles dominated the dark, wood-paneled room.

The tub was small and round
but big enough for him. The water was lukewarm and chilled him immediately, but after he’d rinsed his aching mouth several times, he washed his face, then scrubbed at his skin, using the harsh soap and rough cloth provided. He ducked his head under and rubbed the cake of soap on his head then did his best to wash his hair. He hadn’t realized he was so dirty, but the cleaner he became, the darker the water grew.

He climbed out, dripping, onto the cabin floor, and dried off as quickly as he could with the equally rough towel while steadying himself against the tub
’s edge. The water had awakened the scrapes and cuts he’d suffered, and they stung and hurt, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as his nerves took up their duties again. Blood welled up in a few places, staining the skin around the wounds and staining the towel. He could see the bruises on his arms clearly now, and he almost cried then, the fear suddenly choking him.

How can this be happening?
How can Jarlyth be dead? What are they going to do to me?

Still damp and with drops of water running down his back from the ends of his hair, he pulled on the clothes he
’d been left. They were much too big for him, but he made do, tying the drawstring trousers around his slender waist and rolling up the cuffs. The blouse hung down past his knees like a night shirt, and he had to roll the sleeves several times to uncover his hands.

The door opened, and Nylan whirled around to stare wide
-eyed at the captain. A younger man stood behind him, craning his neck.

T
o get a good look at the royal prisoner
, Nylan thought. He could feel the younger man’s anger from across the room.

“
What right’s he have to such luxury?” the young man demanded.

“
Go on. Get back to work,” the captain growled. He turned back to Nylan and said, “I had them sweep out your cell and put a chamber pot in there. You’ll have a blanket, too.”

“
Thank you,” Nylan breathed. He could feel himself beginning to shake, though he told himself it was from cold rather than fear.

The pirate captain grinned.
“Only one little lesson and already His Highness has learned such pretty manners.” He crossed the room, placed an oddly gentle hand on Nylan’s shoulder, and guided him back to his cell. Nylan didn’t resist. What could he do, after all? Even if he could escape the pirate captain, the boat was filled with men who might be even worse, and beyond them lay only the treacherous waters of the Gulf of Souls.

From then on,
Nylan kept track of the days by counting his meals. The captain visited him twice every day, bringing him water and some sort of strange, hard bread and carelessly calling that a meal. The man allowed him one brief respite from his tiny cell each day, too, during which he could run a comb through his hair and make use of a bowl of cold water and a cloth to wash up. That was when the room was swept out and the chamber pot emptied, for the captain didn’t allow any of his men to enter Nylan’s cell when he was there.

The blanket proved to be thin and completely inadequate to the task of keeping him warm.
His hunger only made him colder, and it seemed to Nylan that he was given smaller and smaller bits of bread at every meal. By the third day, he was hungry all the time.

He could smell the wonderful odors of the hot, rich foods the captain ate in his cabin just across the corridor, and that made his hunger worse.
He didn’t understand why he wasn’t given more food—not even more bread. He didn’t understand any of it, but he knew better than to ask.

In
spite of the hours he spent trying to find it, his silent center was proving elusive, too.
I’m too young for this. I’m too young to be away from Tanara. Don’t they know that?

But he was not too young to understand how bad his situation was.
He’d been raised as a prince, and princes had to grow up quickly, or so Jary had always said. He’d sounded sad when he’d said this, but he’d never wavered. He’d been determined, he’d said, to prepare Nylan for whatever he might face once he left Tanara for good.

Thanks to this,
Nylan understood complexities and dangers far beyond those a normal child his age would. And he knew that, away from the safety and protection not only of his own warder but of Tanara Priory itself, his chances of survival were very poor. He shouldn’t even have been exposed to the painful din of non-Sensitive minds until he’d learned to access his silent center—something that only rare Sensitives had ever done before their tenth year.

Aside from
Healer Bairbre and Flannery, he’d had no contact with anyone outside of Tanara.
Well, I’ve met Durran a few times, but...
His brother’s visits had been short and formal. Even with the Llorkas, Jarlyth had always been there with him, blocking out the noise of their minds for him, making it possible for him to spend time with them.