The Sand Prince (6 page)

Blue didn’t mind hearing about money, but he hated when his master talked about the other place.

va'Everly laughed. "I keep all my transactions private. So that takes the sting out of this season. But those nasty little creatures over there were good customers. What else have you got in mind?"

"We thought you might be interested in an experiment," the cleric said. "I know the va'Everlys have not been blessed with a Fifth in quite a long time. However, I understand you have a Third at home."

A Fifth, thought Blue, was the very best thing you could be. A child born fifth was always promised to the Order, while he, a Fourth, only arrived here after a long trip through the dark.

"A Third, yes, a spare" agreed va'Everly, who had calmed considerably. He sat back down across from the cleric, smoothing his gorgeous peacock-blue silk tie. The shade was famous, it was called Ever Blue. "My First is already sitting in on meetings, a shame she missed this one."

"Why not send your Third here to serve as a Fifth?" The merchant frowned, not wanting to appear too eager. "There's more." The cleric reached under his desk.

"I'm listening."

So was Blue, who forced himself to continue to sweep the hearth. Hearing about the other place made his heart race, but he couldn't turn away.

"Before we sealed The Door against those villains, we procured some very special toys. Well, they were toys to the demons, they aren't to us." The cleric pulled up a leather strapped metal box and opened it, revealing what appeared to be baby socks tied with ribbons. "These are called
chlystrons
," the cleric said, "and they are used by demon children to bring along their evil gifts. We are hoping they'll do something similar here, bringing good gifts to good human children." He paused, frowning. "We haven't had much luck with adults. It does something to the mind. The brave volunteers will receive excellent care." He brightened. "We've had interesting results with children though. The
things
they have in their minds. We haven't had one break through to transformative magic, but we feel it is only a matter of time. How would you like your Third to be the one that has magic? A va'Everly, gifted with the power of the hand. Think about that. Oh, and we'll waive the fees, of course." Blue wondered why the cleric neglected to mention that the things the children had in their minds usually were alive, and had teeth. There had been several unfortunate incidents.

va'Everly poked one. "What are they, full of sand or something? What do you do with them?"

"Hold them in your hand and thus manifest." The cleric and the merchant looked over at Blue, who stared at the
chlystrons
with wide, blank eyes. "My Princess had her own, given to her by the King himself, in a special box on her mantle."

The cleric rose to his feet, ringing for assistance.

***

B
lue spent another few weeks in his cell before his mind was quiet again. The
chlystrons
produced nothing but monsters and madness, and within a few months all the children had either been buried or sent home, and the experiment was deemed a failure. It was decided the minds of the demons were so depraved a proper human brain couldn't conceive or control their dark gifts. All efforts to learn or acquire the power of the hand were halted. Instead, the Guardhouse turned its attention to a different kind of magic—the kind that erases an entire race of people from the history books. Demons moved onto the pages of the same volumes that held dragons and unicorns—mythology and fairy tales. It was surprisingly easy. Only a few humans had ever seen a demon in person, and after a few seasons, Eriis and the demons became a metaphor for the worst of human behavior, and The Door, the gateway to Hell. And with the passage of time, the Guardhouse remained, the Order remained, but as to what was behind The Door they held shut? No one remembered.

The little demon toys were locked safely away.

––––––––

E
riis City

5 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

25 years later, Mistran calendar

Royal Quarters

The child was a disaster.

He listened to everything, repeated everything, and understood nothing.

"You must never say anything like that ever again," Hellne snapped at him. She paced back and forth—it was only the work of three or four steps to cover distance in the boy's room. And the window veiled night and day with heavy dark silk to keep the dust out of his unusually delicate eyes.

The child's huge red eyes were at the moment full of tears and he rubbed his face where she'd slapped him.

"But I just said what you told me, I'm different and special," he wailed.

"Stop that noise, and if you cry it'll be the last thing you do with your eyes. And stop acting as if I hurt you, it’s ridiculous."

She was furious with the boy for simply not understanding it was in his own best interest to remain unheard by her court and the less they saw of him, well, why borrow trouble? And she was even angrier at herself for losing her temper with the child—again. But she reminded herself that what little grief she caused him now would pay off when he managed to survive to adulthood without his secret—their secret—coming to light. She couldn't think of that morning with the Zaalmage without being gripped by nausea.

She sighed and kneeled down to catch him in a rare embrace.

"Rhuun, when I tell you about being different and about being special, that is for your ears only. That is for you to put away in a little book in your head that no one else gets to see. Other people don't understand like we do."

He leaned against her shoulder, his sobs trailing off against her neck. She stroked his soft hair. At least that was normal—not coarse and shaggy like his father’s. But when she patted his back to soothe him, she felt only the sharp bones of his shoulder blades. No knobbed ridges where his wings ought to have been. Nothing there at all.

"Couns'ler Yuenne says I'm ugly. He saw me looking at him when he said it. You told me never say an’thing bad about someone when they can see you. That's why I said about special."

Rushta
! she thought,  
Damn Yuenne. If only he'd do what he was supposed to do and leave and never come back.

Hellne recalled the week leading up to Rhuun’s Naming Party. Yuenne had come to call, bringing a gift—a bottle of
sarave
—and found her at her desk, working on the speech she was expected to give. The baby was in his basket at the far end of the room, away from the windows and covered by a sheer muslin blanket to keep the dust out. Yuenne headed straight for it. Diia rose to her feet and blocked his approach.

"Leave him be, Yuenne. I’ve just gotten him to sleep. If a jumpmouse in the Quarter twitches its tail, he wakes up. You’ll see him at the party, along with everyone else."

He nodded pleasantly at Diia, who folded her arms and remained standing, and went back to lounge in the seat across the desk from Hellne.

"Have you decided on a name?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "I have a few things in mind."

He looked surprised. "I would have thought you’d name him for your father. Am I mistaken?"

She set down her pen and looked up at him
. He is lying,
she thought.
He didn’t think that at all.
And with absolute certainty,
As long as I am Queen, everyone will lie to me.
She felt a wave of dizziness, and very alone. She folded her hands on the desk to hide a tremor. "My father. Remind me, Yu, since I think you know your histories better than I. How many kings called Fadeer were there? Including my father, I can think of only two."

He tapped his chin. "Well, your father, of course. And the big one, Fadeer who ruled when the city wall was designed. And I believe there was a third, very early in the regency, before the humans came."

"Three then. I think that’s sufficient. Three, including Father. Rest him now." He didn’t reply—she knew he often let people shovel sand into their own mouths by simply not replying. "After all, he failed to see the threat the humans posed. And after the Weapon, he made up for his failure by successfully turning his face to the wall. Three Fadeers are enough."

He nodded, his precise smile never budging. "Then the little heir will have a new name. And, I am pleased to tell you, possibly a playmate in a few months."

"You and Siia? I am delighted to hear it." She was. She liked Siia. Everyone knew Yuenne had done well for himself by marrying into her clan. Although of course, now it didn’t matter, as most of her clan was gone. "They won’t be alone. Did you know, they are calling it the Ash Born, there are so many babies on the way?"

"Do you know what they call it outside the Arch?" She shook her head. "They’re calling them Dust Bunnies."

She laughed. "I like that. I should try and use it in this speech." She leafed through the pages on her desk. "People could use a smile. I’ll have to talk about the attack first, and how the humans tricked us, I’m not looking forward—"

"Oh, but you mustn’t." She thought he looked genuinely concerned. "No, they didn’t trick us." He templed his fingers. "Think, Hellne. Would you rather be the leader of a clutch of ragged victims, or the Queen of a proud race, vanquished only by treachery after a vicious battle?"

She cocked her head. "I’m not sure I follow. The human people attacked us unawares."

"Let me ask you a question. What colors do we wear?"

"Somber colors," she replied. "The colors of Eriis; ash, smoke, dust, sand. As you know, you helped me craft the law...."

"Indulge me," he said. "Why do we wear only these colors? And what would happen if you made yourself a new gown of, say, blue and green?"

"I would be breaking my own law," she said. "And it would be extremely vulgar." She could scarcely remember those terrible weeks after the Weapon, at the time she’d signed the law because bright things, new things, seemed an added insult to those who were lost.

"But you could do it," he said, warming to his topic. "Because inside the Arch, we have our food and drink transformed by others. We have the spare energy to create whatever we like. But we don’t, because we must set an example. If a transform farmer decided to stop working and make his wife a pretty dress, before long we’d have a city full of starving people in bright clothes."

"What has this to do with—"

Yuenne shook his head. "We were never tricked by those hairy beasts. They don’t have the capacity. It was.... it was a secret battle. Fought out of sight by the Mages. Who ultimately were defeated."

Hellne raised a brow. "Let the Mages take the blame?"

He shrugged. "I rather doubt they’ll raise any objections, since they’re all dead. The old ones, anyway. The new ones? Time will reveal their worth."

"A war," Hellne mused. "The War of the Door?"

He smiled his cool little smile. "Well done. Control the message, Hellne." He tapped the desk. "Or it will control you."

She’d finished the speech, and prepared to introduce the young prince to his remaining people.

On the occasion of the Naming Party, everyone who survived the Weapon (who was of the right clan, of course) was invited to share
sarave
, water, and bread. As a treat she'd even had the Mage's work for three days and nights to put meat, and greens, and even bites of sweet ices on the tables. That nothing tasted quite like it used to, well, things were different now. And the story of how Hellne had sent a complaining courtier to the Crosswinds was making the rounds as well. It was said the young man had remarked over a small state dinner that the bread tasted like sand, and the cheese tasted like a different flavor of sand. Everyone around him at the dinner table had laughed, but Hellne hadn't smiled. She had called one of her family guards over, whispered something in his ear, and the guard had escorted the apologizing man away. His increasingly hysterical sobs echoed down the corridor behind him and no one had seen him since. No one said anything unflattering about the royal table now, not even in private. The food they ate, it was generally and loudly agreed, was superior in every way to whatever had gone before. There were quicker and less embarrassing ways to dispatch oneself than to insult the Queen.

The Great Hall of the Royal Quarters was decked with her family colors—black and cream (the old colors, black and scarlet, had been retired after the Weapon). Not like the old days, when the crowds on a Naming Day would fill the Hall and spill onto the grounds outside, and there would be as many gifts handed out as received, and everyone tried to outdo their fellows in the fineness of their silks and the brightness of their decorations. The parties would last for days, with food and drink sometimes brought over from the human world—marvels like ice cream and something called beer. She wondered if her unnatural proclivity for the humans had begun with a taste of their food. No need to worry about that anymore, at least.

Well, it may not outshine the sun, but it’s a start
, she thought.
And these people need something to look at that isn't covered with dust
. There were even black and white flowers, her own design, materialized by the Zaalmage himself. Hellne had to force herself to visit the Raasth, but understood the value of keeping an eye on one’s tools. Helping to design the flowers had been a good excuse to see what they were all doing down there. As far as she could tell, it was all scribbling in books and experimenting—on sand, on jumpmice, on each other for all she knew. They'd created a flying mouse, and a small flock of the little winged creatures had been debuted at this party. In the new prince's honor, they'd been dubbed Rhuumice. Of course, the Mages had never seen her son, nor would they. It was far too dangerous.

At the moment the Rhuumice were grazing on the flowers. She'd have to dispatch a maid to shoo them away.

She eyed the crowd, a nicely balanced mix of old families who'd survived the Weapon and the rising families who'd abandoned their now-dead fields to live in Eriis City. It looked to her like a river of sand, a moving field of grey, brown, and ashy colored silks. She’d written the colors into law with Yuenne’s assistance but thought she needn’t have bothered. Whatever she wore was copied at Court and in town. Many of the ladies wore black and cream hair ornaments, and some of the men affected scarves in the same colors.