Shadow Prince, page 16
part #2 of Demon Hunter Series
"It's nearly noon," said Heron. "It took you some time to return."
"After last night’s attack, we sheltered in the city. Forgive me for taking so long,” she said.
"No need to apologize, Melissa.” Heron smiled. “I'm glad you're safe, given the circumstances."
"Your concern is noted.” Melissa smiled and nodded. Elaine stifled a laugh.
"It wouldn't do for any of my mages to be easily embarrassed or defeated.” Heron paced back toward the head of the table. "I think you’ve earned more than a day's wage by bringing us a new ally." He nodded to Galocai. "Allow me to offer you my hand in friendship, sir."
Galocai held out his hand and Heron shook it. Melissa stole a scrap of bread from one of the remaining breakfast plates. She ate it quickly, relieving her hunger a little. Heron, Niba, and Galocai discussed possible approaches to the princely claim. Melissa tuned out, too tired to listen closely. Her eyes closed until Elaine shook her again.
“The meeting’s over.”
Melissa blinked. “Did things go well?”
“I think so. Care to spar?”
“Always,” said Melissa.
Despite training, practicing their resonances and essence muscle enhancements, Melissa always held the edge in strength and speed. Thanks to her shatter sprite and her iron bane’s powers, she could diminish pain and enhance her fortitude. She recovered faster than most, and training took less of a toll on her.
She and Elaine trained less intensely back in Soucot. The techniques they used in a magical sparring match took her back to where she first learned magic. Too many people she’d met there had died.
Melissa and Elaine broke off their practice as the sun rolled into afternoon. Hunger returned soon after, but they still returned to practice before long. By the time Niba called to them from the doors of the great hall, Melissa was tired and hungry once again. "It's time. You two train hard.”
Melissa and Elaine made their way into the great hall for the night’s feast.
DUSK FELL AS THE WIND picked up. Deckard descended upon the palace at the center of Alliance. The halls were mostly vacant with only one surviving member of the princely household remaining to serve as regent.
Kizoni Duhikzo had arrived from the desert of Rosado, and her time in Alliance had been brief to this point. She married Prince Saviron just months before his death.
Deckard had questions for her.
He flew through a flock of milling birds that circled over the walls, then descended onto the balcony to enter the palace. Though there were guards, the palace nevertheless seemed more at ease than Deckard expected. The halls inside were vacant, except for a few gentle servants setting out and lighting the lamps for the evening.
Deckard made his way through the halls, approaching the chambers of the ladies who once stood beside the princes of Alliance. The spousal chambers were traditionally reserved not for the prince’s brides but for the dowagers of the household. Each regent held power in their own way. Deckard wondered if Kizoni would ever wield that kind of authority.
A cluster of guards waited outside Kizoni’s chambers. One of them stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Deckard recognized his stern, ruddy features.
"Stay where you are, immortal. I am Terrel Varder, his majesty's sword, servant, and the regent’s chosen protector."
"His majesty lies buried," said Deckard. "His spirit is at peace. I’m here to offer condolences to his wife."
"His wife?" Varder frowned. "You speak poorly, my lord. If Saviron still lived, perhaps I’d forgive you.”
“My apologies, Sir Varder. But I have little patience to discuss etiquette with guards, no matter how high of station or what sword they carry, even one belonging to a prince." Deckard stepped forward with confidence born of centuries of dealing with noble oafs.
Varder grimaced.
"Be at ease," Deckard said. "No one is going to harm your lady tonight. I have come to ask the nature of her marriage. For this, I require privacy for the two of us, Terrel."
"Guards.” Varder’s face became a thunderhead. "Stand aside and let this man pass.”
"Thank you," said Deckard.
"Indeed," said the man.
"You make a fine sword servant, Terrel.” Deckard nodded to him. "Stay close to witness what I ask. That way there can be no doubt that I am doing Mother Mercy’s work tonight."
The sword servant bowed his head. "As you wish, Lord Hadrian."
Deckard swept past the other guards and entered Kizoni's chambers. She turned as he crossed the threshold. Her maidens waited on either side of her, both of them Rosadon in heritage, like their lady.
The Rosads were of dusky complexion, but nowhere near as dark as the inhabitants of lands further to the southwest. They belonged to the desert from which they took their name and of a strong heritage all their own.
Kizoni stood in her fine black mourning gown. She’d just removed, the veil a second ago, but raised the black gossamer and set it back into place with her shawl as Deckard entered. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
"Lord Hadrian, what brings you here?"
“I have questions for you, poor lady."
"I suppose that makes sense. Mercy knows that when a prince dies, the world wonders.”
"When anyone dies the world mourns.” Deckard bowed his head. “And when any soul passes through the gates of remorse, every spirit must pay heed or lose part of themselves."
"You would know more of life and death than any other human yet living," said Kizoni.
"Except for one other," said Deckard.
"Cyrus Bode, yes. But no immortals can say what lies beyond, the same as those who have passed."
“Those who dream have an inkling, perhaps."
"Dreaming is not the same as death," said Kizoni. “Sleep is closer.”
"Under those terms.” Deckard sighed. “I have little knowledge of death."
"The Sleepless Lord," said Kizoni. "The prince of dreams, and yet you can never experience them."
"That title was given to me under unfortunate circumstances, ones I do not wish to recall.”
“Neither do I relish recalling the death of my husband," said Kizoni. "But here we stand."
She put a hand to the side of her neck, touching the edge of the ruby-inlaid choker that emerged from beneath her dark blue scarf. "He gave me these two jewels as a sign of our oneness, more than the crowns we both wore."
"And the veil you now wear.” Deckard stepped past Varder and Kizoni’s maidens. He paced closer to the dowager regent. "I need to know, what happened and what transpired between you and Prince Saviron before he perished."
"I saw him die and watched my world evaporate.” Tears beaded in her eyes. She reached toward one of her servants who offered her handkerchief. The maiden retreated as Kizoni wiped her eyes. "My Lord Hadrian, it is difficult for me to talk of such things."
"I understand.”
"Do you?" said Kizoni. "I've lived thirty years and you over three-hundred. What is loss to one who has seen everything he knows disappear before his eyes?"
"The loss of one is always felt. The loss of a lifetime happens in a lifetime. If I dwell in the past, I lose myself there." Deckard looked into Kizoni’s eyes.
She gazed up at him, meeting his stare. "You wouldn't go back even if you could?”
"I would not dare," said Deckard. "Living in the world one cannot change is not a fate worthy of any human, either mortal or immortal."
"No mortal nor immortal can change what has passed.” Kizoni lowered her eyes, then hung her head. Dark hair fell in trails from around her veil. "My Lord, I think you understand me better than you know."
“Illuminate something for me," said Deckard. "Tell me so that all becomes clear."
"Yes, gladly, but not with ease."
"Take your time.”
Kizoni handed her handkerchief back to the maiden beside her. The Rosadon maiden folded the cloth gently, then retreated with reverence.
"I married Prince Saviron at the behest of my brother, the Prince of Ettayeed," said Kizoni. "But when I arrived here in Alliance, Saviron made me feel welcome to the point where I was glad to have come. I left my home, and I left my people. He compensated perfectly for both."
"You loved him," said Deckard.
"Yes."
"Take your time."
"I have," said Kizoni. "Now, I will share what I can.” Kizoni brushed away the tears from her face. She straightened her back. "I loved the prince in every way. Yet until a few weeks ago, I did not realize how fruitful my time in Alliance had been."
"How fruitful?"
Kizoni touched her stomach. "What grows within me now is Saviron's heir.”
Deckard's eyebrows rose. "This is news to me. Who else have you told?"
"No one but those present," said Kizoni. "I carry the next Prince of Alliance within me. And whether he or she should someday take the throne is dependent on if she is born in the first place."
"Yes," said Deckard. "I understand."
"When Saviron fell," said Kizoni. "I did not know yet that I was with child,"
“No one else knew either, then.”
"Almost no one," said Kizoni. "Only the few guards and maidens I trust, and my sword servant.”
"Is that why you've closed the palace?" asked Deckard. "Why you refuse to take visitors?"
"I've said I’m still in mourning," said Kizoni. "Which provides good cover to protect my child."
"Protecting you and your child,” said Deckard.
He listened carefully, inclining his head and waiting for the sprite songs within Kizoni to tell what kind of child she carried. The process of creation required much energy and labor, even more than the kind of magic wielded by mages both skilled and powerful.
"Your child is still half-formed but the time is coming, when a new soul will be born within you."
"Soul?" asked Kizoni.
"The essences Mother Mercy gives do not arrive until birth," said Deckard. "What happens before that is a mystery. Your essences feed the spirit within you."
Kizoni said, "the spirit I’m carrying is small, still weak, and fragile."
"Yes." Deckard bowed his head. "But trust me, your secret is safe."
"Thank you, immortal."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?” Any other secrets I can help you bear?"
Kizoni bowed her head. "You have my greatest secret already,” she said. "But Lord Hadrian, with your protection, I’m confident my child will be safe."
HE RETURNED TO FULSTER with Osestra. The road grew dark as they approached the town walls on horseback. Better to keep their honor in clear view, and never in doubt, than to risk anything by returning later than sunset.
The two of them rode through the gates, then gave their horses to the servants for care, before joining Osestra’s family for supper.
Vual was once a frequent guest here, but not since he was a boy. He remembered visiting the keepers Ruar and their mother. The three of them and had enjoyed the keepers’ company once a week in those days. Despite the ten years gone by, he still recalled playing with Osestra. Her older brothers, heirs to the family, always lurked, waiting for the right moment to shove him over or mock him.
They once chased him up a tree, when he was just days older than eleven. From the branches, he’d used his essences to strike them from above. Despite his inexperience, they eventually fled, rather than climbing to catch him. Ruar and Osestra had helped him down after hours of him being trapped and afraid. He’d been too scared to come down.
Vual hated weakness and no weakness more than his own.
In the present, one of the brothers was talking.
"To Vual Kuldettan," said the older of Osestra's brothers, Tomas, raising his wineglass from the table. "For his honorable bearing, and his refusal to ever put down that damn sword."
"Have you been listening to Catricha Maltos?" asked Vual in a hiss. "You sound as if you're quoting her."
"What if I am?" Osestra's brother sneered. "She has a good sense of humor about her. Beautiful to the eye and ear. and I even read her plates occasionally." He laughed, waving a hand through the air beside the table. "Of course, who wouldn't around the city? We don't dwell in Alliance, but we bear a great weight for you who do."
"Oh?" Vual glared over his plate at Tomas. "What manner of burden do you consider yourselves to carry, keeper’s son?"
"Be still," said Osestra's father, nodding to his son. "Our guest does not deserve your ridicule, Tomas. They returned before nightfall.” The keeper smiled. “I take it the two of you had a fine day?"
"We found things," said Osestra. "Apparently, the steward of the city, Lord Halth, was a meticulous note keeper. He has countless sets of records at his estate. Looks like he kept track of every party there. Almost all the guest lists are still present."
"Oh?" asked Osestra's brother. “That’s interesting, I suppose.”
The younger of the two brothers snickered. “Vual probably doesn't know what to do with a woman. He only thinks about investigating old news."
"He didn't investigate anything too deeply," said Tomas. "Right, Osestra?"
“Don’t.” Osestra flushed, looking down at the table for a moment. Her eyes pinched together as frustrated tears welled in her eyes. She pushed herself from the table, then fled the room, wiping her eyes.
Vual rose, leaving the remains of his plate unfinished. He followed Osestra outside.
"My brothers are awful," said Osestra, as he emerged from the family hall. "I'm sorry for both of us."
"Don't worry," said Vual. "They're only petty because they’re weak."
"My brothers have always had it in for you."
"I remember," said Vual. "Again, because they can never have the blood of Hadrian in them."
"They can't," said Osestra. "But I don't feel the same way.”
Vual sighed. "Perhaps," he said. "You and I are of an age, and the two of us aren’t rivals. We’re..."
"Friends?" Osestra’s eyes beaded with fresh tears.
"Not precisely.”
She flushed deeper, her face turning dark red.
"Don't be embarrassed, please," said Vual. "I've noticed you for some time."
"You never let on that much before," said Osestra. "Not like they do."
"None of us can read minds," said Vual with a sigh. "Your heart is always a mystery to me."
"It shouldn't be," said Osestra. "We have known each other for a long time, Vual."
"That we have. But, I fear the time is coming when we can’t be friends or allies any longer."
"Perhaps we can become something else instead," said Osestra softly.
"Perhaps.” Vual put his hand on the small of Osestra’s back. He felt her breathing and a quick pulse of life beneath the skin. “I must catch my friend’s murderer first. I have to know the truth."
“Then, will you tell me how you really feel?”
"I already did,” He closed his eyes, focusing on her touch. "Someday I may become Prince of Alliance, as my mother wishes. If so, you’ll never inherit the keeping of Fulster. Instead, you’d inherit the city’s throne."
“We truly are allies," said Osestra, wiping away lingering tears. "But don't lead me on, Vual. Surely there are more eligible women in the city?"
"Not to my eyes.” Vual’s face grew hot. "I’ve never dueled over a woman before, and I’ve fought duels over less."
"What do you suggest?" Osestra’s breath quickened.
“We ought to finish dinner," said Vual. “Then, I’ll teach your brothers a lesson."
“Don't hurt them. I don’t need that."
Vual rubbed his palm along Osestra’s shoulder. "I won’t damage anything but their pride. If I chose to duel them, it would only be to first blood."
"A duel?" said Osestra. "With my brothers?"
"Perhaps with one of them," said Vual. "Either of those bullies will surely accept a challenge. Just watch."
"You plan to fight, is that it?" asked Osestra, frowning. “Please, don’t bring greater trouble on yourself."
"Don’t fear. I'm confident I can best either of them."
"As long as you can do so without killing or crippling, they deserve a lesson. I don't want their blood or suffering on my hands. You don't need to defend my honor."
"I do," said Vual. "I won’t let someone I care for be insulted without the pain being returned."
"You mean—"
“Yes.” Vual pressed himself against her side. "I truly mean I care for you, Osestra."
"You have an odd way of showing it.” Osestra leaned against him. "You haven't visited in weeks.”
"I don't want people to talk," said Vual. "But I’ll write more often from now on.”
"I'd like that. We need to keep our flame alive, Vual."
"We can agree that if I don't test your brothers for honor, there can be no correspondence without shame."
"Should there be shame between us? You said it yourself, we've been friends since childhood."
"We are no longer children." Vual gazed into her eyes.
She craned her neck, their gazes meeting. "I just wish time didn’t change so much."
"I know.”
“Shall we go inside?" asked Osestra. Her tears had dried on her cheeks.
"Let us," said Vual.
The two of them walked into the hall. The family was eating, their plates almost cleared of the meal.
"You return?" asked the older brother, Tomas. "Do you plan to take another lashing from us, Vual?"
"That's Lord Kuldettan, to you," said Vual. "Keeper Nim-Fulster.” He turned to the head of the family. “Your sons do you no favors.”
"They're rude," said the keeper. "But I disciplined them often in their younger days, and this is the best I could get."
"Father?” said Tomas. "I merely jest at the expense of this man. He’s bitter and worthy of ridicule for his absurd carrying of that cursed blade."
"You carry a bow when you travel," said Osestra. "Don't mock him further, please."
"Why shouldn’t I?" said Tomas. "Are you really so head-over for him?"
Osestra turned scarlet but then shook her head. "It isn't that."
"Which is it? You don't care for him, or that's not why you're upset?" asked Tomas.
