Prisoner (16 page)

Beraht was up and down more often than anyone he could remember. He almost admired the tenacity—everyone else broke so easily. At times it even seemed that Beraht was not scared of him.

"Get washed. If you're going to continue to plague me—"

"No one said you had to take me prisoner."

"—Then you will at least be clean. I can still send you to the dungeons. They do not come with fires and hot baths and blankets. They barely provide food."

Mention of blankets had Beraht flicking his eyes toward the one bed in the room. "You are not making me sleep with you again."

Dieter laughed. "You are welcome to sleep on the floor."

Beraht stormed off to bathe, and Dieter went into the hall and caught a passing servant. "See that clothes are fetched for my prisoner." He considered the servant. "About your size. Taller, more slender. Also have food brought—and if I so much as glimpse a jug of wine, it will be smashed across your head. Be quick." He let the man go and watched him run off.

He moved to the bed and retrieved his sword, then removed a bundle from a chest at the foot of his bed. Sitting on the floor beside the fire, he began to clean the sword, sheath and belt. A knock at the door interrupted him, and he barked for the servants to enter, not looking up from his work.

"Dieter?"

His head jerked up. "Burkhard?"

"You really are alive!"

Dieter returned to cleaning his sheath. "Yes."

"I am glad."

"Surely you're not so hard pressed for companions, Burkhard, that you would come to me? What do you want?"

Burkhard sat down and regarded him with a frown. "I'm glad you're alive."

"So you said. I don't see what good it does you." Dieter finished cleaning his belt and packed the supplies away. Standing, he returned them to the chest and picked up his sword from where it lay beside the fire. He stared at it, bending it so the fire set off the shimmering from deep within. With a barley-restrained snarl, he sheathed it. The firelight lingered on the blood-red stone in the pommel, making it burn and glow.

"Why must you always be this way?" Burkhard asked with a weary sigh.

Dieter shot him a scathing look. "Be what way? I am what I am. Whatever it is you are hoping to find, old man, you are looking in the wrong place."

"You didn't have to become this."

"Get out. I have enough to handle without the ramblings of an old cripple."

Burkhard's face tightened, and he stood stiffly. "As you like, Dieter."

"I do have a request that might amuse you," Dieter said as he reached the door.

"What might that be?" Burkhard asked cautiously.

Dieter saw movement from the corner of his eyes. "My prisoner. I will be busy in the coming days. I want you to show him around, acquaint him with the palace."

"What?" Burkhard strode back over to the fireplace. "He's a
prisoner
. Prisoners do not get shown around, Dieter."

"This one does. By my order, and I don't give a damn if Benno himself tries to countermand it. Until I'm dead, he is mine. I want you to show him around, make him familiar."

"Why?"

Dieter grinned. "I want to make him Krian. You will help me."

"As you like, Dieter." Burkhard shook his head. "You and your mad schemes."

"They have always worked."

"Yes," Burkhard said. "I suppose they have. Very well, I will come by tomorrow and show him around. But if he tries to escape, it is not on my head."

"He has a tendency to be mouthy, but he won't run. If he gets too out of line, let me know."

"Very well. Will I see you at lunch or dinner?"

Dieter shook his head. "Maybe lunch tomorrow. For now I intend only to sleep."

Burkhard laughed. "Until tomorrow then." He sketched a brief bow and left.

"You want to make me Krian?" Beraht laughed. "I'll kill myself first."

"No, you won't.
Beraht.
" Dieter said it slowly, with emphasis, as if the name were precious—if not for the cold, mocking undertone. "Nor will you kill me. Should I die, you will still carry my name, won't you?" He laughed.

There came a knock at the door, and he stalked to open it, startling the servants badly enough they nearly dropped their burdens. He saw Beraht run back into the bathing room, obviously chased there by modesty.

Food was set up on a table tucked against the wall left of the fireplace. Dieter sat and began to help himself. The tea, when he poured it, was dark, strong and sweet. Exactly as he liked it. Despite his efforts to stay awake and the revitalizing tea, Dieter felt his eyes grow heavy.

Beraht, when he finally reemerged in black breeches and a red tunic—much to Dieter's amusement—that nearly fit him, looked as tired as Dieter felt. His pale hair was wet and clung tightly to his head. He sat down with a thump at the table and began to eat without enthusiasm. "You're not going to make me Krian."

"But you'll never be Salharan again, either. Best get used to this place because you will never leave it."

"After your king kills you, there will be little to keep me here."

Dieter laughed. Beraht subsided into a sullen silence. When he finished eating, he shoved away from the table and crossed over to the bed. He climbed into the right side, glaring when Dieter smirked. "So you decided against the floor, then?"

"As you said, I've no interest in dying. Not until you take my name away and I see you broken."

Dieter shrugged. "Then you may go wait with the rest of them and live a life of disappointment. No man will ever break me, least of all a filthy Salharan."

"Yet you sleep with me."

"There is an old story, in Kria, about two men. Bitter, bitter enemies, and one day they found their fighting had driven them to the coldest parts of the country. They found an old house and between them their cloaks were sufficient for warmth, but only if they shared. Neither wanted the other to die of cold because then they would lose the privilege of killing the other. So they called a truce for one night. When they woke the next morning, they continued to fight."

Beraht rolled his eyes. "How very depressing that my life has become the Krian concept of a good story." He turned over, putting his back to Dieter.

"I would not expect a weak Salharan to understand."

A soft snore was Beraht's only reply. Dieter swallowed the last of his tea and extinguished the lamps. Next he locked the door and retrieved his sword. He climbed into bed, sword beside him, but as tired as he was, it was still some time before sleep finally claimed him.

"Esta, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Esta folded her arms across her chest. Her quite lovely chest, which was entirely too visible in her pale blue gown. Matthias frowned. "If you're going to lie, Prince, you had better find someone else to play the fool because I know all your tricks."

"Yes, that's rather annoying of you." Matthias grinned, grateful that his desk was between them. "But honestly, I swear it. I said no such thing. I probably just made a joke about it, and everyone blew it out of proportion."

Esta turned away, tossing a last warning glare over her shoulder. "If you don't kill it, Matthias, you are going to find yourself doing without me entirely for the Yuletide ball."

"Yes, Duchess." Matthias shook his head as she left. Stubborn girl.

"Your courtship leaves much to be desired." Kalan said from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Honestly, I think the frogs have us in enough trouble. Why do you always have to go enraging her further?"

Matthias rolled his eyes. "I seriously doubt she's holding boyish pranks against us. She wouldn't take me seriously if I were nice."

"Clearly you know even less about women than I thought. I don't think she's taking you seriously now, but I forget you see things very selectively where she's concerned." Kalan pushed off the wall and strode over to the desk. "Flowers will get you a lot further than whatever it is you're doing now. You could have tried asking her to be the Grand Lady."

"No," Matthias replied slowly, as if he were speaking to a simpleton. "Flowers would be thrown back at me and the water dumped over my head to finish. If I'd asked she could have said no."

"She's saying no anyway," Kalan pointed out.

Matthias grinned. "Yes, but her weakness is duty. By the time of the ball she'll feel obligated. She'll ignore me for the first hour or two, but she always caves. Just watch. I might not know women much, but I know Esta."

"It's your neck," Kalan said and dropped the matter. He strolled to the door and locked it, then locked the door to the adjoining room.

"So what news do you have for me? Something of interest, I hope."

"Interesting, indeed." Kalan said. He stood in front of the desk and crossed his arms. He was a stark contrast to the prince. Where Matthias was handsome, Kalan was severe, with hard lines and dark hair and eyes. "Spiegel sent a missive to his border contacts."

Matthias' brows went up, and he set the papers he'd been perusing aside. He began to toy idly with a letter opener. "He's not been heard from for awhile."

Kalan shrugged. "I'm sure he plays a delicate game if he is indeed Salharan. It still unsettles me to work with a man I've never seen, but he has never once given me reason to doubt him."

"What has your Spiegel to say?"

"That he has found the Breaker."

Matthias dropped the letter opener. "What!"

Kalan repeated himself. "He says he is working on bringing him to us, but it will take time."

"Where are they?"

"He didn't say. And there's something else."

"What?"

"Spiegel says he's got an Illussor with him. Do you want to guess who?"

Matthias was silent a moment, then drew a sharp breath as realization dawned. There was only one reason Kalan would make such a production of the matter. "Iah!"

"Right the first time," Kalan said with a smile. "So it looks like there will be someone to help Esta kill you at Yuletide after all."

Instead of laughing, however, Matthias frowned. He picked the letter opener up again. It was silver and imprinted with the King's Eye, the royal crest. "How can an Illussor hide undetected in Kria? Even for Iah, that would be impossible."

Kalan shrugged. "Spiegel does not give me details, for it is details which get people killed. Obviously they are managing."

Matthias was not convinced. "I do not like trusting the fate of my country to a man who, by all rights, should be our enemy."

"We should be grateful he is not and stop questioning. Too many questions lead to unhappy answers."

"If we ask too few, we will learn the answers we need too late!" Matthias' face clouded as he thought of his brother, alone and cold below the ground. Dead in all but fact and little more than a power source. If Matthias had only pressed harder, perhaps Benji would not have been lost.

"We did the best we could," Kalan said softly. His expression matched Matthias'. "It was Benji's choice. All we can do is keep our promise. Be grateful, at least, that your father knew it had to end. Think of where we would be if it was only us." Matthias nodded stiffly. "And Spiegel aside, we have always needed the enemy to save us."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it." Matthias rubbed his forehead. "Though I shall probably have to turn to my enemies for help after the Breaking as well."

Kalan shrugged. "I think everyone would agree that at some point the enmity has to end. Shouldn't peace be our ultimate goal?"

"Yes, Duke." Matthias smiled. "You have made your point." He turned to look out the window at the falling snow. "Send men to all the border crossings. When Spiegel crosses, I want him escorted here with all due haste."

"Yes, Highness." Kalan responded. "I suppose we should be getting on with business, then."

Matthias made a face and stood. "They'll come and find us, else." He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and slid it on, smoothing down the dark blue fabric and fastening the silver clasps running down the front. Adjusting the silver-trimmed cuffs, Matthias combed his fingers through his hair and slowly limped around the desk to join Kalan.

"Cold getting to you?" Kalan asked idly.

"Yes," Matthias said. He grimaced at his leg, but said nothing more. Boys' games, climbing what they should not have been climbing—stupid dare, a stupid cliff. The only intelligent thing he'd done that day had been managing to break the worst of his fall, and that had been dumb luck. It had saved his life, but not his leg. Esta had flayed him alive for well over an hour, and been mad at him all day. She'd ignored all of them—even Iah—for a solid week.

After that, they'd stopped playing games. Kalan had begun to move toward the road that was even now leading him to become the Minster of the Treasury. Iah, only a few years after the incident, had surrendered his title to join the army. Matthias had settled to his own duties, as well. He'd seen his brother die, his father wither, his mother die, Iah go to war with so many other men, and Kalan develop an edge he'd never had growing up. He watched Esta, who strove to dance her misery away while he sat uselessly at the edge of the dance floor.