River Secrets (10 page)
“Coward,” said Tumas, standing very near.
Without pause, Razo pulled his long sling from his waist. It was a small target for the distance sling, but everyone was watching. Dasha was watching. He felt clamped in and squeezed inside the moment, and the only way out was forward.
He tried pretending that he was alone, that the heat was the pressure of Forest shadows, and the whispers and shifting of boots were just the trees moaning.
He placed the shot in the pouch and whipped the sling at his side, angled to the ground. His body leaned with the motion, tipping forward, slanting back, pulled always toward the stone as it clung to the sling’s pouch. The weight of the stone felt good, the length of the sling just right. When the stone completed the third circle, he let go his thumb, his right arm stretching forward. He could hear the stone cut through the air, a hum that lowered in pitch until it exploded in a metallic crash.
He breathed hard as though he had run a league and turned slowly to face the others. They were silent, staring at his downed target. The Bayern started to smile.
“What about Razo,” Conrad whispered, his breath full of awe.
A few soldiers chuckled, laughing as though they could not believe.
“What about Razo!” Conrad spoke louder, inviting a cheer.
“Bayern!” some shouted.
“Bayern’s Own!”
“Razo and Bayern!”
Razo shivered in the heat, waiting for the Tiran reaction. Dasha was the first to respond. She was smiling.
“Ledel was right to have been afraid.”
Victar laughed his deep belly laugh. “He schooled us well. Excellent.”
The Tiran who had shared Razo’s breakfast table that morning smothered him with congratulatory jabs. Hands clapped his back, shoulders lifted him aloft, then dumped him back into more backslaps. He laughed nervously, feeling at once large as a mountain and small as prey. Finn was beside him.
“Why didn’t you tell me before that I was so good?” asked Razo. He found he was almost angry about it, except that he felt like crowing.
“Didn’t seem to matter before,” said Finn.
Enna was sitting in the thin shadow of the barracks, wiping laugh tears from her eyes. She seemed surprised to be laughing and so pleased with it as to keep it up as long as possible.
Brynn and others were anxious to go lunch in a nice, shady place, and they pulled Razo along with them. Tumas made a point to leave in the opposite direction with several of Ledel’s soldiers, their lips moving as though they grumbled. The secondman had disappeared.
“Never saw such slinging,” said one of Victar’s friends. “Good show. I hardly thought it a weapon, but I see that a sling can be deadly in the hands of a master.”
A master,
thought Razo.
He means me.
“Razo.”
Razo’s skin shuddered under sweat at Talone’s voice. He ducked away from the group and went to his captain.
“I did something wrong,” said Razo.
“Yes. I wish you had not shown an entire company of Tiran soldiers how handy my spy is with a sling. You’re supposed to be invisible.”
“I didn’t know I was that good! I swear, Captain.”
“Neither did I.” Talone frowned. In a way that Razo could not explain, the frown remained a frown but also became a smile. “Be ready with that sling. You may have to use it.”
Summer tightened its burning grip. The air was dense and wet and followed Razo around like the hot huff of some large creature. The city was half-empty, making everything feel naked, stripped down to the skeleton, the whole world stone hard and dangerous.
At least the Tiran food was growing on Razo. The pastry chef had taken to him like a mother, plying him with bowls of cold beans and red bacon, chilled fish soups, and fig cakes. That was something. For a week he ate, lounged, and waited for something to happen. The diversion from tension was a relief.
Then it got boring. So Razo decided to get sandals.
“Do you think it wise to lose all your Bayern garb?” asked Talone.
“When Lady Megina saw my new clothing, she thought it paid a compliment to the Tiran, said I looked like walking peace.”
“She did? Sometimes she surprises me.” Talone rubbed his chin. “So far, it seems our presence hasn’t made a dent in the hatred for Bayern, and I don’t like the thought of you out there in the city alone. But you’re right, we can’t do much good locked up here. Be careful.”
Razo found Enna and Finn holed up her room, enjoying a curious little wind that spun around them like a beast pacing its cage.
“Are you sure you two won’t come? Think of it—
sandals,
” Razo said provocatively.
“Why step into that blaze and be drenched in sweat?” Enna leaned back on her hands and smiled. Her black hair swirled, her tunic and skirt flapped as though with glee. Over the past month, she had spent nearly every day as Megina’s attendant at scores of dinners with assembly members, and she had declared that if the summer heat chased away all those droning fancy folk, then it was welcome. Of course, it was easy for her to smile at the heat when she had wind on hand to shoo it off. Razo let the breeze suck the sweat from his brow before dragging himself away.
Out in the streets, the morning heat struck him like a blacksmith’s hammer. He held the edge of his lummas over his black hair as the Tiran often did to protect themselves from the sun, though he did it to hide.
He had never been alone in the city. For the first few blocks, the freedom was exhilarating, but the farther he walked from Thousand Years, the more exposed he felt. By the time he reached the heart, his sick stomach and tired pulse made him wish he had not come.
“The heart,” Ingridan citizens called the assembly building and surrounding squares. It was the center of Ingridan, the hub of order, business, and law, and it thrummed with activity at any hour. Victar had claimed that a member of each Ingridan household passed through the heart at least once each day, if not on business, then just to gather gossip.
The cobbler’s stall reeked enough to make his eyes sweat, so Razo jumped into business, choosing deep brown leather and a style that wrapped up his ankle. Soon he was shod in fresh sandals and wriggling his toes, terribly pleased, until he recognized the man browsing the front of the shop from one of the formal banquets at Thousand Years. It was the prince.
He was around Geric’s age and had a round face and thin arms. His neck was laden with ropes of amber beads, his fingers alight with rings, the kind of showy richness that made Razo sniff. Several men and women surrounded him, young and old, their hair darker than most Tiran, their skin a richer tone.
Long live His Radiance,
Veran’s murderer had exclaimed.
The city seemed massive and the palace painfully far away. He was just one rather squat boy alone in his enemy’s city. What did he think he could possibly do?
Isi was just one girl,
he reminded himself.
And she changed
Bayern.
“Excuse me, you’re the prince,” said Razo.
The prince smoothed the embroidered edge of his tunic. “So I am! And if I’m not mistaken by your accent, you are Bayern.”
Razo’s heart sped up, his blood felt slippery in his veins, but he let the lummas drop to his shoulders. “Yes, pleasure to meet you. Um, should I bow?”
“Most people do. On second thought, why bother now? Let us pretend that you already did.”
“All right.” Razo paused. “That was a nice bow I gave you.”
“Indeed it was,” said the prince with enthusiasm. “And what luck! I have been itching to talk to a Bayern for weeks, and here you are. I have a certain question I must ask. Have you or anyone you know ever… eaten a baby?” His eyebrows twitched up with interest.
“No, Bayern don’t eat babies.” Razo spoke loudly enough that all the prince’s companions might hear. “Not baby
people,
at any rate, though I don’t mind a chicken egg or two, cooked right….”
“Ha! I didn’t think so. Rupert owes me a tithe. He bet me, you see.”
“I’ve been asked about the baby thing a lot.”
“I’m sure you have. Well, farewell.” He turned away from the shop.
“Wait, um, uh, prince? Do you mind if I walk with you? Around? For a bit?”
The prince paused, and his innocent surprise made Razo believe no one had ever made such a request of him before. “I… I suppose so. What is your name?”
“Razo. Of Bayern’s Own. And thanks, Prince … um, I don’t think I’ve actually ever heard your name.”
“I don’t have one. My mother gave me a nursery name, but no one else will call me anything but Radiance until I wed and my wife grants me a household name.”
“Truly?” A man without a name. Razo’s thoughts were lost in that maze.
They emerged into the vicious sunlight, the prince’s entourage pushing them forward on the breeze of their fans. Razo kept glancing back, worrying that one of the prince’s guards would cut his throat in the first shady alley, until he saw that none bore a sword.
“Why don’t your guards wear weapons?” he asked, too curious to play cautious.
“The Wasking are my friends, not my guards! No one will harm the prince’s body. It would mean shame and ruin to them, their children, their grandchildren, their great-grandchildren… Celi, do you remember how many greats? Hm?…Well, no matter. Unless, that is,
you
mean me harm. Have you ever used that sword of yours to kill?”
The prince looked at him, his eyes a sudden intense, cold blue.
“Yes, in the war,” Razo said, adding hurriedly, “But I’d rather not do it ever again.”
“Is that so? It was a shame, that whole war business.”
Razo schooled his expression to the sleek indifference he’d been practicing.
The prince leaned forward, concerned. “Are you all right? Your face appears to be turning red, your eyebrows twitching—”
“I’m fine, just the heat, you know.” Razo cleared his throat. “So, um, what did you think about that whole war business, anyway?”
“Mm? Seems a waste, but of course, it’s not my concern.”
“But you’re the prince…”
“So I am.” He smoothed his tunic again, looking newly pleased, as though he had fallen into the title only that morning. “And I am not a member of the assembly. Only they have the power to pass laws, execute criminals, and declare war. Across centuries, the assembly has whittled down the prince’s power. Now all I do is bits of public finery, open and close assembly sessions, and such and so….” He stooped to inspect a merchant’s display of inlaid wooden boxes. “Oh, and I may choose my own bride. Tiran princes have always used their choice to maneuver current politics. My grandfather married a noble widow from Circuna, an eastern province that rumbled of secession—Circuna is still unified with Tira. My mother was the sister of an assemblyman, and after she married the prince my father, her brother became chief of assembly.”
“Or you could marry for love,” said Razo.
The prince smiled at an elderly man and woman, both squat and pleasantly round, walking hand in hand. “But how could I waste my only political power? Ah-ha, you think I am being overly candid, don’t you, Razo’s-Own?”
“It’s actually just Razo, of Bayern’s—”
“But I speak nothing that is not voiced in Ingridan’s taverns. Not that I frequent the taverns. Too cramped, too crowded.” They were strolling the amber market, and merchants held up bits of jewelry, offering gifts to the prince. “My people love me from afar. I hire as my companions people who are not
my
people.” The prince gestured to the group walking in two neat lines behind them. “They’re from the Wasking Islands and have such musical accents. Simply splendid!”
Razo glanced back and lowered his voice. “Do the Wasking hate Bayern, too?”
“Hate Bayern?” the prince said too loudly. “Of course not. And Tiran don’t hate Bayern, either. The war was just some nonsense thought up by disgruntled nobles. Ah, I can tell from your twitching face that you don’t believe me. I’ll prove it to you, Razo’s-Own. Tomorrow night you will celebrate the feast of the watermelon harvest with us. When my city sees its prince with a Bayern lad, they will embrace you.”
“But, Radiance, someone did kill one of my comrades on the palace grounds, and—”
“Yes, yes, I heard.” The prince waved his hand impatiently. “But that was last spring. Summer is the season of the prince.”
The prince turned his profile as though posing for a portrait. Behind his Wasking friends, Razo spied a couple of Tiran men, following close, their eyes on the Bayern lad.
It rained the next day, rinsing the dust from the air and shoving all the heat indoors. Razo squandered several hours playing sticks with Conrad and wondering, hoping, that the weather might delay the festival and keep him alive a few more hours. But that afternoon, the rain stopped suddenly as though the sky had swallowed. The storm-cleaned city looked sharp enough to prick a finger.
“Nothing for it,” Razo told Talone. “I said I’d go with the prince, and if I don’t stick close to him, how’ll I ever find out if he ordered the murders?”
When the sun set, Razo fell in with the prince’s party at the palace gates, and they flowed down the streets toward the heart. Wet stones glistened silver under starlight, and the heat held its breath. People opened their doors and shutters, pulled chairs and tables outside, and gossiped with neighbors as they ate, serenaded by a crooked moon.
The prince was called to every table, and he grinned and huzzahed, waved and wished all well, stopped to sample every fish and soup, each cake and melon, praising them as he would a lady’s beauty. And the people’s gazes worshipped him. Most avoided looking at Razo at all. A few glared.
Razo’s stomach cramped against the food, and he kept circling as he walked, watching for knives in shadows, hints of violence in strangers’ eyes. Often he saw someone dressed in plain white, watching him from across the street. As the night progressed, the watcher changed, but someone was always there. Razo eyed the prince. If His Radiance noticed the watchers, if he knew them, Razo could not tell.
Eventually the idea of dawn poured dark blue into the black sky. The prince regaled café diners with outrageous stories Razo had told him, and Razo slumped in a chair, drunk with sleepiness and exhausted from being afraid. The watcher had been absent for an hour or more, and Razo had relaxed his spine, so it took him too long to notice the new men gathering on the fringe of the prince’s party and the wildness in their eyes.
“Radiance,” said Razo, standing up. “Radiance, I think I’d—”
“What’s a Bayern boy doing at a sacred Tiran festival?” When the man spoke, the laughter cut short. Glances shifted to Razo. “He’s of a murdering kind. Who among you opens the chicken coop and invites the fox in?”
The owner of the café shifted guiltily. “He came with the prince.”
“Lies!” said another, a man of middle age with the look of a professional soldier. “Even if you’ve all gone soft, we won’t forget. Manifest Tira!”
“Manifest Tira!” the other men shouted. “Long live His Radiance!”
Razo fumbled for his sling, but the men pounced too quickly, two standing at his sides, pinning his arms down, one at his feet to keep his legs still, the other behind him, his hands squeezing Razo’s neck. Razo’s breathing broke, and soft black shapes crumbled around the edge of everything.
“Stop!” said the prince.
The hands relaxed, and Razo’s breath screamed back into his lungs.
“Radiance, this is your enemy,” said the strangler, his voice passionate but eerily calm. “Let me exterminate your enemies. Let me cleanse this city.”
“He is my friend.” The prince was standing, but he did not move forward, made no aggressive gesture. He appeared almost relaxed.
“The Bayern boy has tricked you, Radiance. He plots your death.” Again, his hand squeezed air out of Razo.
“I said, he is my friend!” The prince spoke with urgency now, looking around at the people. “And the prince’s friend requires your protection.”
There was the barest hesitation, a trembling of indecision, before the crowd sprang.
“Get your hands off!”
“What do you think, attacking the prince’s friend?”
“You shame us.”
They tore Razo free and beat back the Manifest Tira fanatics until they fled into a side street. The café owner shook his head.
“I am sorry, Radiance.”
The prince patted his shoulder. After a moment his face changed, brightening with the rim of the sun crossing the horizon. “Well! That was a feast day to remember. A good tussle in the streets pumps the blood, doesn’t it?” He laughed heartily. “I think my city needs sleep now. Thank you all! Huzzah!”
A carriage opened, and the prince gestured to Razo that he should ride with him.
Razo sat in silence, rocked nearly to sleep by the motion, the gloom of staying out all night weighing his head. He wondered if his throbbing neck would bruise impressively and if the pastry girls would notice. The thought did not cheer him as much as he thought it should.
“In front of me, right in front of me they attack you.” The prince rubbed his eyes, dazed, as if wondering if he were dreaming. “I never imagined…”
Razo shrugged. “It’s probably my own fault. I’m always trying to wiggle into narrow places.”
“But
with
me…” The prince shook his head. “I wish I knew of a way to make a change.”
Razo wondered if he should just let this go, just walk away as he should have with Tumas. The city was too dangerous, the prince not easy to trust. But what if the prince could do something? What if Razo could help him bend Tiran opinion? He swallowed his fear and said, “Maybe I could keep going out in the city with you, maybe if the people get used to seeing a Bayern with their prince…”
“Yes, of course! Well thought, Razo’s-Own.” The prince snuggled back in the carriage seat, already cheered out of his dejection. “You will see. Ingridan will yet show her true colors.”
Colors,
thought Razo, and began to hatch what he hoped was a very promising idea.
