Prisoner (38 page)

"Where does he go during the day?" Dieter asked. Matthias led them away from the King's Chambers and back toward the main halls of the palace.

Kalan fell into step on Matthias' other side, and together, they took up most of the hallway as they walked. Enthralled in their conversation, they barely noticed as others were forced to step out of their way, nor the mixed expressions on their faces as they watched the prince walk with the Duke of Ferra and the Wolf of Kria at his sides. "Mostly he stays in his room. He's old enough now that the cold is sheer torture. His room is stifling; I can't stand it." He shuddered. "Give me the cold of winter any day. I'm telling you, I'm going to die in the snow and not in front of some stuffy fireplace."

Matthias laughed. "Yes, Kalan."

"He also goes to visit the late queen. Occasionally to meetings with the ministers—which I wish he'd stop doing because every time we've got them squirming your father undoes all our work. Goddess, I cannot wait until we have some real measure of control!" He grimaced.

Dieter frowned in thought. "He does not sound the type to leave another to the task of hiding such a thing. So he hid it himself. Unless he leaves the palace, it is probably here."

"A good point," Kalan conceded. "He never leaves the palace, and there is no way he would trust a messenger with something like the counter stone." He looked at Dieter. "You are not bad at this game."

"On the contrary, I have no patience for games." Dieter's hand briefly touched his sword. "It is not a general's job to solve such a riddle. My job is to know who is best suited to solving it."

Matthias' brows went up. "You sound like you've someone in mind."

"The cat," Dieter said. He looked at Kalan. "You have the same crafty air about you, but it's not as developed in you. If you want to find this counter stone, I highly recommend consulting with Sol."

Kalan broke into a grin. "Of course. I should have though to ask for Spiegel's help myself. I will go and find him now. Thank you, Lord General, for the suggestion." As they reached a split in the hallway, he veered left while Matthias and Dieter continued straight.

"Speaking of recommendations," Matthias said after a moment, "your moment is fast approaching. I would imagine we are woefully unprepared for whatever you have in mind."

Dieter nodded. "You lack weapons, I doubt you have the appropriate sword smiths, and your country has no foundation in such combat at all."

"No," Matthias said. "We have always used magic. Is there any hope of our surviving without it? Sometimes I wonder…" He started to rub away the ache in his head, but stopped.

"I am going to be universally hated," Dieter said, "but they will learn. It would be easier if they had some sort of history… Or if I had more help." He shrugged. "However, it will largely depend on your people. They will only learn if they want."

"Hmm…" Matthias fell silent as he thought. "I will see what can be done to help you. It will not be much. I am all too aware how unfit for Krian-style combat we are. But a leg does not heal easily. Compose a list of what you need, or write me a report. Bring it directly to me when you're finished."

Dieter nodded. Matthias clapped him on the shoulder, then turned toward the Hall of Ministers. "I'll see you at lunch, Lord General."

"Yes, Prince." Dieter turned back down the hallway to return to his room, mentally outlining his report.

Iah hummed along as he listened to his sister and poor Beraht dance. It did not take eyesight to realize how discomfited Beraht was, and it probably did not help that Essie was his self-appointed dance teacher. He wished he could see, though he knew exactly how it would look. The ballroom was a beautiful room. It was long and rectangular, the floor was made of a light wood and polished to a high shine. Ten glass chandeliers ran the length of the room, and windows ran along the top edge. This time of day, the light streaming through the windows would hit the chandeliers and dust the walls and floor with flecks of rainbow-colored light. Esta loved to dance in the empty ballroom even more than she liked dancing at a crowded party.

He sat on the raised platform where the king and queen would normally sit. Far on the opposite end was a place for the musicians. For the day's lesson, Esta had kidnapped only one pianist. Iah didn't doubt that by the end of the week she would have commandeered the whole troupe. Teaching Beraht to dance had, it seemed, become her latest mission.

It made him wonder if Matti had noticed Esta's infatuation with the Breaker. Probably. The better question was: when would Essie realize it was pointless?

The sound of someone tripping and the music stopping made Iah grin. "Come, Beraht. This is the easiest dance in the lot. You're going to be in trouble something fierce at the Winter's End Ball if you can't master at least the simple dances."

Beraht muttered something indistinguishable. "I don't see why I'm going to this stupid ball, or any ball at all. Soldiers don't do balls."

"I tried that line for years," Iah said. "No one ever listened to me. In fact, Esta usually made me dance
more
for daring to say such a thing."

Esta sniffed. "By the Goddess, why are men such babies about dancing? Children are easier to deal with, I swear it."

Iah laughed hard enough he nearly out of his chair. "I'll remind you of that when you're tracking down a tiny Matthias and find him up a tree."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Esta snapped. "Now—" Iah heard her snap her fingers at the pianist and resume her instruction as she forced Beraht to dance.

Someone sat down next to him, and Iah reached out a hand with a smile. "Sol."

"Iah," Sol leaned in to kiss his cheek, and Iah turned his head to steal a proper kiss. "Where have you been? Trying to find trouble to get into?"

Sol laughed. "On the contrary, I was merely listening to a discussion on the weather."

"Looking grim?"

"They didn't seem to think so."

Iah smiled. "Who was it?"

"I'm not certain. A few noblewomen."

"Well, I guess we'll see. There are many saying that we're in for one more nasty spell before winter finally begins to loosen its hold." Iah held Sol's hand in a light grip. "Personally, I hope the snow does not melt for a long time."

Sol squeezed his hand. "There's no reason anyone has to go back to war, Iah. I doubt the Illussor will be missed. Kria and Salhara have always been more than happy to kill just each other."

"Something tells me you can't simply declare you're finished fighting," Iah said. "Just because we drop out of the problems surrounding the Regenbogen doesn't mean the trouble with pirates will stop.
That
will get worse. Much worse."

The music stopped, interrupting Sol's reply, and Iah grinned as he heard Beraht stomp over and drop down beside him on the dais. "Giving up already, Beraht? Come now, you're far more stubborn than that." He laughed. "You'll get into fights with the Wolf, but a simple dance defeats you?"

"Fighting that bastard is far easier than learning all these mincing, turning steps. How is this fun?"

Esta stamped her foot, and Iah bet her hands had gone to her hips. "Quitter! It's no wonder Salhara never seems to win any battles!"

"Stars refuse you!" Beraht protested. "There's a world of difference between fighting for your life and flitting about trying not to trod on someone's stupid slippers. We've won plenty of battles!"

"Calm down," Esta said with a laugh. "I was only teasing. You're plenty coordinated when you're not thinking about it. Just pretend you're fighting." She laughed again. "Honestly, I don't understand men and dancing. My father used to love to dance. He always said the coordination and grace of movement he learned from dancing helped him on the battlefield."

Iah and Beraht laughed. Beside him, he could tell Sol had turned thoughtful. "There is something to what you say, Esta, though I still think soldiers are better served practicing movement and coordination in circumstances a bit more strenuous than the ballroom."

"You don't think this is strenuous?" Beraht asked irritably. "That's just because you're good at it.
You
dance with her, and I'll keep Iah company. I think we'll all be happier that way."

Sol laughed, but stood good naturedly, and Iah listened with a smile as he and Esta began to work on the Salharan dances he was teaching her.

It was, he thought, not unlike the old days. Of course, he'd been able to see and had often messed up his own steps laughing when Kalan and Matthias danced together, making up the steps as they went. "So are you enjoying yourself at all here, Salharan?" Iah asked.

Beraht did not immediately reply; Iah could hear him shifting and settling on the wooden dais. "Yes," he said finally. "I wouldn't have thought so. It's probably obvious that I didn't have the… upbringing the rest of you did."

"I wouldn't know," Iah said with a smile. "If you look uncouth or uncultured, it matters little to me. You speak Illussor like everyone else in the city, minus the Salharan accent. I suspect you'll have a title before too long. It would be Matthias' style, and he's got three of them to hand out."

"What are you talking about?"

Iah grinned. "Nothing of importance. So are you going to wind up stuck in Dieter's bed again tonight?" He felt Beraht stiffen.

"Not if I can help it," Beraht muttered, adding a few curses. "The bastard."

"I wonder when you two will finally get around to killing each other. I thought once we got here the hostilities would ease, but they seem only to be getting worse."

Beraht shifted on the dais, obviously restless. "He doesn't know what to do with himself now that he doesn't have an entire country to terrorize. I'm sure that will change once he has to start teaching everyone how to fight. I still think the prince was insane to contrive such a scheme."

Iah shrugged. "It seems a good idea to me. Better to have the Wolf on our side than to fight him without magic. We'd be massacred." He paused, head bobbing as he thought. "Though I don't know that he would."

"Would what?"

"Massacre us."

Beraht snorted. "A good general takes advantage of a situation. What else would he do? Let you live? Why in the stars would you even be out there fighting without being able to actually do so?"

"I didn't say we would. It was just an observation, really."

"A poor one," Beraht said, and Iah could hear his clothes rustle. He recalled the bruises on his throat that Beraht had been complaining of the other day—loudly, to Dieter. Sometimes it seemed Beraht went out of his way to incur Dieter's anger. "He has no qualms beating me, and my ability to fight back is rather nonexistent. I don't think he'd hesitate to crush a weak army."

Iah laughed. "You seem to do all right." Beraht didn't reply. From the dance floor, Esta burst into laughter. Iah felt a pang. "What's she laughing about?"

"Hmm? Oh, she keeps messing up the last step. It's this weird twist one way while the feet go the other. Some of the soldiers I was with used to dance when they were drunk. It was hysterical." Beraht laughed. "I'd forgotten about that until now. Captain used to scream himself hoarse, and we just kept laughing—until the arcen burn anyway. He was always good at that."

"Arcen burn?"

"Sort of like the way Sol and I woke up screaming. Really good mages know how to do it on a smaller scale. They 'set off' the arcen in our systems. Nasty piece of work, that spell. Luckily not practical, as it burns the user's arcen off pretty fast."

Iah started bobbing his head again. "Is that why the spells you guys use are seldom, in and of themselves, fatal?"

"Yes," Beraht said. "Too costly. Arcen powerful enough to use in war is hard to grow. Used wisely, a yellow dose of arcen can last weeks, if used properly. We do not dare use it carelessly, and risk being without."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yes," Beraht said, "but I'll live."

"Why?" He felt Beraht shrug. "I wasn't trying to pry."

"You're not. I'm not used to talking to someone who isn't threatening my life or beating me to a pulp. People don't talk to nameless except to tell them to get lost. The army is about the only place that will take a person who doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist? I find that hard to comprehend," Iah said. "If you're here, you exist. A name doesn't decide that."

"Doesn't it?" Beraht asked. "Try spending twenty-eight years of your life without a name then tell me the lack of one doesn't matter."

Iah reached out, hand landing on what seemed to be Beraht's knee. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend. It's simply hard to understand, though you are giving me some idea. Sol did not explain it quite so."

"Perhaps because General Sol deVry has always had a name, if occasionally too many of them. Had we both returned to Salhara at winter's end, our tasks completed, he would have been among those who do not acknowledge me outside of giving orders."

"Sol wouldn't do that," Iah protested. "Not when he knows what it's like to be shamed."

Beraht laughed bitterly. "Yes, he would have. If only to preserve his own role as a general and cousin to the queen. Someone of such importance does not demean himself by speaking to people who don't exist. It would have tarnished the role he was playing." Beraht stood up. "I am feeling hungry. Excuse me."