Prisoner (8 page)

"
All right.
" Iah said slowly. He was considered skilled with the short swords that were the only style of sword Illussor used. Like Salhara, they relied more on magic, and when many a battle could be won by a brief tricking of the mind, who needed weapons? They were tools. A man did not give a name to his hammer or his belt, yet the Krians named their swords and obviously treated them with an accord usually reserved for people.

This journey so far was only strengthening his perception of the Krians as strange. Iah shook his head—and they said the Illussor suffered problems of the mind.

Which they did, but that was neither here nor there. Iah snorted softly. "
So what should I not say? It seems that would be more crucial.
"

Sol laughed softly. "
Yes, indeed. The man to most be pitied, and in a strange way respected, is the man whose sword does not have a name.
"

Iah nodded, understanding. "
A man with no one.
"

"
Exactly. Of late, it has become rather a notorious position in which to be.
"

"
Why is that?
" Iah asked, hearing the amusement in Sol's voice.

"
Because neither the most powerful man in the kingdom nor the most infamous man in Kria has named his sword.
"

Iah thought for a moment. "
The Emperor, of course, and while I know who I think the most infamous man in Kria is, I sincerely doubt Kria agrees.
"

"
On the contrary. The Wolf of Kria is infamous everywhere.
" Sol's arms tightened around his waist. "Steady," he said, switching to Krian. "Travelers on the road." Iah had already heard the sound of additional horses and voices, which were becoming clearer. The words they spoke were nothing like the curses and screams and threats he knew from fighting. These people sounded happy, their words were still the rougher sounds of Krian, but softer than he was accustomed to, smoother. Perhaps because they were completely lacking in fear and anger. Their voices lacked the knowledge that at any moment they could die.

"Hale," Sol returned the greetings cast their way. "To town for winter?" He laughed at the reply given by what Iah guessed was an elderly man. The words eluded him. This was the speed at which he would be expected to speak? He felt a moment of panic—perhaps they should play that he was mute. Was there any real reason to do otherwise? Speaking wouldn't be necessary to identify the Breaker.

Realization struck him so hard it made him gasp. He felt Sol's arm tense around his waist, but barely noticed what else was going on around him. He
couldn't
identify the Breaker. Without his eyes, his magic was dead. There would be no way to tell if the Breaker was present without it. Which meant he was completely useless. How could he have been so stupid?

"Iah?" Sol asked softly, and Iah realized suddenly that it had once again grown quiet. "What's wrong?"

The words lodged in his throat, choking him. Iah forced himself to take a deep breath, but it did not dispel the misery of realizing that he was really and truly completely useless. "I can't—I just realized—there's no way for me to identify the Breaker. He could be standing next to me, and I'd never know."

"Nonsense. You rely too much on your magic being controlled by your eyes. Control and source are not the same thing, are they? There is no doubt in my mind that you will be able to sense him."

Iah nodded stiffly, unconvinced. Mixed into the misery and the fear was the surprisingly bitter realization that if Sol had not thought him useful in identifying the Breaker, he would still be in the dark and completely at Tawn's mercy. Surely Sol was not so cold as that.

He was a spy, though, and one who played three sides. A man who, according to the beliefs of his country, did not know who he was. And for the first time the ideology began to make sense. How could one man trust another when no one knew who he really was? Iah desperately forced the insidious thoughts aside. He would do himself no favors by doubting his rescuer now.

But the doubts lingered.

*~*~*

Sol contemplated Iah. Ever since his fears regarding the Breaker, Iah had been silent and withdrawn. Though they'd only been together for little over a week, Sol realized he missed their conversations. It was rare he had anyone other than Dal for conversation.

Iah, he'd found, was hard to read. Many emotions and reactions could be anticipated, given what he knew of Iah's situation and, of course, personal experience with being thrown into deep, murky waters. But outside of that, he had no glimmer of Iah's thoughts.

It was more than a little frustrating, but what had he been expecting? Had there ever been a time when the three countries were not raised to loathe one another? Every year more men went to war and too many families were left crying. Never mind what Tawn had done to Iah's eyes—which was at least as bad as declaring a Salharan nameless, if not worse. Of course Iah would withdraw as the disorientation faded and his senses returned to full strength.

Sol bit back a sigh and schooled his expression. Master the outward, bury the inward. When he was reasonably certain he had everything under control, he spoke. "Are you feeling unwell, Cousin?" Outside in the hallway were the sounds that were normal for a busy inn. This time of year everyone from the country was moving into the nearest village or city. Those who could afford it, like Lord Grau, were headed for the Winter Palace. No place in Kria was finer for enduring the seemingly endless cold.

"I am well," Iah said slowly. A knock at the door cut him off before he could say more.

"Come in, come in," Sol said, smiling and chatting with the women who brought in food for them, politely turning down the invitation in their glances. They took it in good grace; there were plenty of other rich men to choose from.

One girl knelt and arranged the food before Iah as Sol had dictated to her earlier. She muttered to herself and fussed over Iah, who started at the unexpected attention. "Poor, poor thing," she said. "Such a waste of a handsome man." She turned to Sol. "Your cousin is very brave to continue on like this."

"Yes, Erhard is quite brave. He would have made a fine soldier, if not for the loss of his eyes."

"Sad, sad," the woman said and fussed with Iah's hair for a few minutes, before she finally was shooed away by her companion. "Enjoy. Tell me what you think of my cooking!"

Iah shook his head slowly. "That was," he fumbled for the word, "unexpected."

"They felt sorry for you," Sol said and laughed. "They also thought you handsome, and if you had been able to see they would not have let you refuse any offer they made you."

"I see," Iah said, clearly amused.

Sol smiled briefly. "Your plate is in front of you. Sausage north, potato cakes east, bread to the south. Have you ever had Krian food?"

"No, I haven't. It smells strange, but good."

Sol nodded and began to cut into his own sausage. Everything in Kria was heavier than in Salhara, stronger than anything in Illussor. "It's very good. But different, especially as Illussor food tends not to use the spices or the quantities favored by the Krians." He paused. "Except for that spicy dish I refuse to eat. It nearly killed me the first time I had it."

Iah paused then burst out laughing, throwing his head back and shaking with amusement. "Kimmi? I have not had that in months. I would have liked to have seen a foreigner try that for the first time!"

Sol caught himself staring and forced his attention back on his food. "I am glad you are laughing, though it is at my expense," he said teasingly. "You have been somber since this morning, and it troubled me."

The laughter faded; Sol immediately missed it. "My mind will not settle," Iah said quietly as he hesitantly began to eat. "This is good," he said, surprised. "A little overwhelming, but I could get used to it."

"Your mind will not settle?" Sol pressed.

Iah played with his fork then set it carefully down. "
It is nothing
," he said whisper soft, speaking Illussor. It was a clear indication that the discussion was one best not overheard. Sol followed the trail of his thoughts easily enough. Nor could he blame Iah. Sol was not the sort of person to be trusted, least of all by those who employed him. If they could not trust him, why should Iah?

It was only reasonable. He shouldn't have expected otherwise. So why had he?

"Lady Esta!" The breathless maid all but fell over in her haste to deliver her message.

Esta smiled at her in the mirror. "A lady walks, Trul."

"That's because if they run, their skirts'll have'em going downside-up."

Laughing, Esta set aside her brush and stood up. "What has you running in here like a cat fleeing the kitchen with a scrap in its mouth?"

"A really tasty scrap," Trul replied. She licked her lips for effect, making Esta shake her head and chuckle. "Rumors have it you're going to be appointed the Grand Lady of the winter ball!"

Esta's amusement died. "I don't want to be the Grand Lady."

Trul rolled her eyes. "But my lady! Everyone knows the prince has his eye on you! Why are you so recalcitrant?"

"Recalcitrant?" Esta quirked a brow. "Have you been slipping into the beds of library boys again, Trul?"

"They're so cute," Trul said and gave a grand sigh. "You don't know whether to love them or tuck them in and read them stories." She leered. "But they generally make their preference clear."

Esta was forced to laugh. "Trul!" she reprimanded gently, "My delicate ears!"

Trul snorted and manhandled Esta back into her seat, in a way only Trul ever got away with. She grabbed the brush from the dressing table and, completely at odds with her rough mannerisms, began to brush out Esta's floor length, white-gold hair gently. "How did you want it, my lady?"

"Braided and bound. I don't want it getting dirty while I'm out; I won't have time to wash it again before tonight." Esta sighed and began to play with the jewelry spread out across her vanity table: beautiful, ornate weavings of gold and silver; a gold chain, so delicate in places it looked as though it had been made by a spider of rare ability, and interspersed with silver roses of equal beauty. Her dress for that night would be of frosted pink silk, accented at the raised waist and hem with a slightly darker pink. With her hair decorated with more gold and silver roses, she would make her mark.

And feel utterly nothing for it. She detested the endless parties, and there was never a man who wanted truly to dance with her. Esta sighed and studied her face in the mirror. It was a stern face, but she knew it was also pretty. Her features were not as delicate as was preferred in women, but the added strength helped lend authority. Her skin was perfect, flawless and fair, and her eyes pale blue. She scowled. Behind her Trul chuckled. "Practicing to scare off the men again, my lady?"

"No need," Esta said with a grimace. "They all frighten easily enough anyway—except for the one I want to scare off, because he knows all my tricks."

Trul tsked at her. "Only my lady would begrudge having the prince for a friend." She set the brush aside and began to weave the long hair into an intricate braid. Her voice was tart as she continued, "He's angling for more than that, and here you sit scowling!"

"Don't start up again," Esta said tiredly. "Friends do not make for good lovers. He's just too lazy to find someone else. I don't want to be a queen. I would be terrible at it." An unladylike snort was Trul's only response, her mouth too full of hairpins to reply properly. Esta frowned and began to toy with the bottles of perfume on the vanity, deliberating on which she would wear that night. Rose, perhaps. Matthias hated her rose perfume.

Honestly, what was he thinking? Her the Grand Lady. She was going to kill him.

Of the five duchies that had once existed in Illussor, only two remained. The other three titles and lands had been reclaimed by the crown. It made sense, then, that the remaining two dukedoms should be close to the royal family. Iah and Esta had been the prince's playmates growing up alongside Kalan, the only other child of a Duke.

The three boys had done their very best to torment the only girl in their little group. Later, as the group expanded, they
still
had done their best to torment her, though somewhere along the way it had been made clear to all the other boys that they were the only three allowed to do so. When Kalan had drifted off into government and finances, and her brother had taken himself off to fight, Matthias had remained—perhaps not by choice, but he was there all the same. When her father and Iah had both decided to surrender the title, Matthias had seen that it went to her.

It was a pity he was trying to ruin a good friendships with something as silly as romance. So definitely the rose perfume.
That
, at least, would make it clear where she stood, as her words seldom had any impact. "I really would make an awful queen."

Trul rolled her eyes. "Yes, my lady." She shoved the last hairpin into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. The braid, done by dividing the hair into seven sections and weaving them slowly together, shortened it by several inches. With judicious use of hairpins and a few ribbons, the mass was then coiled and looped around the back of her head in an elegant, complicated knot. "You're ready."