Prince of the Blood (32 page)

Miya sat behind Erland in the pool, rubbing the tension from his neck and shoulders. They were alone, as Erland had sent away the others. While he had taken advantage of the willingness of the Keshian servingwomen available to him, he had discovered himself returning more and more to Miya’s company. He felt nothing he would call love for the young Keshian servant, but with her he felt the comfort of being able to relax and speak of what bothered him. She seemed to know when to stay silent or when to ask the probing question that cleared up his own confusion. And their lovemaking had progressed from the excitement of newness and raw clashing of desire to a more sedate familiarity of two people who understood one another’s needs.

Another servant entered and said, “Highness, the Lord James asks permission to enter.”

Erland felt like refusing, but realized he would have to speak with James sometime today, so he nodded once. A moment later, James entered the bathing room.

James looked down upon the nude pair, and if he was startled to discover the girl with Erland, he hid it. He didn’t ask anything of the servant who remained in the room, but removed his cloak and handed it to the young woman, who took it from him. He then crossed over to a small stool, picked it up, and carried it himself to the pool’s side.

Putting the stool down, James sat on it and said, “Well, then. Feeling better?”

Erland said, “No. I’m still angry.”

“Who are you mad at, Erland?”

For a silent moment the frustration was clearly etched on the young man’s face. Then it seemed to wash away as Miya continued to probe at the knots of tension in his neck and shoulders.

“The universe, I guess. The gods of fate and chance.
You. My father. Everyone.” Then his voice fell away. “Mostly I’m furious with Borric for getting himself killed.”

James nodded. “I know. I feel that way, too.”

Erland let out a long sigh of tension released and said, “I guess that’s why I did what I did. I just couldn’t see that boy killed by that lion. Maybe the boy’s got a brother—” Words failed him as tears came unbidden. For a moment, Erland sat in the warm pool, his grief manifested for the first time since the bandit attack. James waited while the young Prince cried for his dead brother, neither showing nor feeling embarrassment at the display. James had done his crying a week before, in the arms of his wife.

After a moment, Erland looked at his teacher with red-rimmed eyes. “Why, dammit?”

James could only shake his head. “Why? Only the gods know and they aren’t talking. At least not to me.” He reached down and stuck his hand into the water. A moment later he withdrew it and wiped his brow. “Some things make sense, others don’t. I don’t know.”

James was reflective a while, then said, “Look, I’ve not told you this. Your father saved my life. A couple of times. Now I’m no more an expert on why a Prince of the Isles should save the life of a boy thief than I am on why another Prince of the Isles should die in an ambush on the way to a birthday party. I can only tell you that no one ever told me,
ever told me
, that life makes sense. It just is.”

Erland sank back against Miya’s soft body and let warmth infuse him. He sighed and felt something leave from within, an ache that had been there every minute since the ambush. “It’s so odd,” he said quietly. “It just hit me now that Borric must be dead. Yet …”

“What?” James asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Erland looked at James and there was a question in his eyes. “How is it supposed to feel? I mean,
Borric and I haven’t spent more than a few days apart ever. It’s like we were … just part of each other. I thought that if I lost him, or he me, we’d … feel it. Do you know what I mean?”

James got up. “I think so. At least, I think I know as much as anyone can who has never had one in their life to be as close with as you two were with each other. But I’ve watched you since you were babies and I’ve seen you fight and play. I think I know what you mean.”

Erland sighed again. “I just thought it would feel different. That’s all. It’s not like he’s dead, you know, just very far away.” Erland’s eyes got heavy and he closed them. A moment later his breathing became more regular and he dozed.

James motioned for the servant who held his cloak to return it. To Miya he said, “We dine with the Empress again, tonight. Wake him when it’s time.”

She nodded, not speaking so as not to wake the sleeping Prince. James folded his cloak over his arm and departed.

Erland finished dressing as Miya announced Lord Jaka. The Prince was not surprised, as he had a feeling there would be a reaction from Diigai’s father over the afternoon’s business. Erland motioned for the servant to admit the Keshian noble and a few moments later the tall warrior entered. Miya moved a discreet distance away, out of earshot but close enough should Erland need her.

Jaka bowed before Erland, then said, “My lord Prince, I trust I have not come at an inopportune minute?”

“No, Lord Jaka. I was just finishing my dressing in anticipation of dining with your Empress.”

Jaka made a gesture with both his hands, held parallel and moving them downward and out, the meaning of
which Kafi had told him was, “May heaven protect,” or “May heaven give bounty,” an all-purpose benediction.

The old warrior said, “I have come to speak to you of this thing you did this afternoon.”

“Yes?”

Jaka seemed to struggle with the words he wished to say. “As a hunter of great reputation, it would have been a shameful thing to my family for my son to have failed in his manhood hunt, today. It is difficult to accept such a thing.

“There are those who will say that you robbed my son of a courageous death, or that his kill is tainted because of your interference.”

Here it comes, thought Erland. He had half expected something like this.

“Yet,” continued Jaka, “you did but annoy the animal, distracting it long enough for my son to recover his spear.”

Erland nodded. “The kill was his.”

“This is true. So, while I am partially mixed in my feelings as to the elegance of the kill, as a father of a boy I love deeply, I wish to thank you for allowing him his manhood.” Softly he added, “And for saving his life.”

Erland stood motionless an instant, struggling with what he should say. Then he took the course that would allow the father the most pride possible under the circumstances. “I acted impulsively. As you know, my brother was recently lost to me, and your son in a way puts me in mind of him. In another time, I might have merely observed. But your son showed nothing but courage. Perhaps he would have regained the spear without my aid. Who can say?”

“Who, indeed?” said the old man. “It was a young cat, inexperienced and in great pain. A more experienced hunter would have struck it in the face with the flat of the shield, no damage, but noise and pain. If the cat attacks
the shield, the experienced hunter lets him and attempts to recover the spear. It is a thing we teach, though in the heat of the moment, it is easily forgotten. Easily forgotten, Your Highness.

“I must leave, my lord Prince. But before I do, know that should you have need, I am in your debt.”

Erland could think of nothing appropriate to say to such a straightforward offer of thanks, so he merely said, “Thank you for the courtesy of your call, and the honor of your presence, Lord Jaka.”

The Commander of the Imperial Charioteers bowed to Prince Erland and departed. Erland turned to where Miya stood, and said, “I will see you later this evening, I expect.”

Miya came to Erland and stood a moment, adjusting his tunic, more for the closeness it brought than for any true need, and said, “I will see you sooner, my Prince. I am ordered to the Empress’s presence.”

“Something’s amiss?”

Miya shrugged. “Nothing. All who serve in the palace of She Who Is Kesh are occasionally permitted to share the glory of the Empress’s court.”

“Good. I will see you there.”

Erland motioned for the doors to his apartment to be opened and two young women swung them wide. Outside, four Krondorian Palace Guards stood waiting, in formal uniform. They fell in around Erland, and in lockstep they marched down the large halls of the palace.

Along the route, they were joined by James and Gamina, then Locklear, and finally Lord Kafi. When they reached the Imperial complex of the palace, the Krondorian Guards halted, as it was not permitted for soldiers of a foreign nation to approach the Imperial presence.

Erland entered to the fanfare of trumpets. Leading his small band, as senior most in rank he was required
to address the Empress first. The Keshian Master of Ceremonies intoned the long list of praise for the approaching Prince, and Erland knew from his coaching this signaled that the court was a formal one. He refrained from smiling as he thought that the difference between formal dining and informal was a matter of label with the Empress. He was sorely wishing to be back in Krondor, eating at a simple table with Borric in the corner of the kitchen, something they had done often, rather than endure state dinners with their parents.

Reaching the foot of the dais, Erland bowed and the Master of Ceremonies said, “O She Who Is Kesh, I have the honor of presenting to you His Highness, Prince Erland, Heir to the Throne of the Kingdom of the Isles, Knight-Captain of the Western Realm.”

Erland stood upright and said, “Your Majesty, I thank you for the kindness of sharing your bounty with myself and my companions. May I present—” and he went through the formality of presenting his companions, as he had each time they had come before the Empress. He wondered if this nonsense went on at every meal of the day.

The Empress said, “Your Highness had a busy day, from all reports.” Erland waited for her to say more, but all she said was, “It is our pleasure that you join us again, Your Highness. Please, enjoy the bounty of our tables.”

Entering the hall as Erland turned was Prince Awari, with several of his companions. One, closest to Erland as he passed, spat upon the floor before the Prince.

Erland halted, his eyes widening and his face reddening. The young man who had spat began to move on, when Erland turned and said, “You!”

All eyes turned to watch the two young men. The young man looked at Erland with narrow eyes. He was a trueblood, probably an important noble’s son, given his proximity to the Prince, and his body was muscular and
strong. Erland smelled a fight coming, and was in no mood to avoid it.

“Erland!” James’s voice hissed in the Prince’s ear. “Back off!”

The Empress watches
, came Gamina’s warning.

Erland glanced at the throne as the young noble came to stand before him. The Empress’s attention was riveted upon the two who stood facing each other. A court noble moved to intercede, and the Empress ordered him to her side. She seemed disinclined to interfere. Rather, there was an avid glint in her eye. Erland wondered if this was some sort of test, to determine what sort of ruler of Isles Kesh would face in years to come. If that were so, thought Erland, they find a staunch opponent if need be.

When the young man was inches from the Prince he said, “What,
sahdareen?”

A few voices could be heard muttering. In this court, to be a non-hunter was to be less than noble, and to be called such was a deadly insult.

Erland glanced at Prince Awari, to see if he would interfere. The Prince looked on, interest in his eyes, and a slight smile upon his lips. Erland then knew the young man had insulted him at Prince Awari’s bidding. Erland took a breath, then as quickly as he could, he brought his hand across his chest, and delivered a punishing backhanded blow to the young man’s face.

The youth staggered as his knees buckled. He collapsed to the floor, but before he could complete the fall, Erland grabbed the ornamental torque around his throat and lifted him by it.

“He who insults me in Kesh’s court insults the Kingdom of the Isles. I cannot let that pass.” He released the young man’s torque, pushing him away. The youth staggered but retained his feet. Erland said, “You have the choice of weapons.”

James gripped Erland’s arm. He whispered, “You cannot fight this duel. It is what they want.”

But the young man only said, “I do not understand what you mean.”

Erland said, “Sir, I’ve struck you! You have the right to name the weapons we shall use when we duel.”

The young man’s face knotted in an expression of unfeigned perplexity. “Duel? Why would I fight you? You would surely kill me.”

Erland did not know what to say. He was spared the need of saying anything by the Empress. “Lord Kilawa.”

A man of middle years stood up, at a table located near the back of the room. “My Empress’s command?”

“Your son is a buffoon, Kilawa. He insults a guest in my house. What is to be done with him?”

The man’s face went pale. But he stood erect as he spoke. “Your wish, Majesty?”

The Empress hesitated, then said, “I should have his head presented to Prince Erland in a jar of honey and wine, as a trophy, but as our ways are not His Highness’s, I think this would only serve to cause him more discomfort.” She paused, then said, “Young Rasajani.”