Shadowborn (45 page)

“. . . I need you to stay here, help the Darkborn. . . .” Fejelis glanced up from folding the princely mourning jacket around the caul, and found his brother staring at him in dismay. He measured the angle and color of the early-morning light, and stuffed the bundle into his borrowed bag with more urgency and less respect than it deserved. “You know the railway. You can talk to the railway people, get them what they need. You’ve my authority to overturn the day-night orders. . . .” Which he had remembered to scrawl. Celeste was translating it into Darkborn script on one of the clever Darkborn punch machines, still chortling at her own perversity in refusing to believe Fejelis’s claim.

“But what are you going to do? ” Orlanjis said. “And can’t I come with you?”

Fejelis forgave him the plaintive tone. “Take my city back. . . . Find a way to get the Temple to see sense and work with the Darkborn mages. . . . Calm things down between Lightborn and Darkborn so the archduke of the Darkborn can see his way to reinforcing Strumheller and Stranhorne, and make sure he understands the need to. . . . Decide what to do
after
lunch.” His brother did not react to the weak jest. “We simply can’t take you with us, Jis. I need Jovance on her feet at the end of the
lift
, and I need you to hold together the alliance here.”

“Why are you trusting me? I’ve only ever been your rival.”

This was the heart of it, and no less than expected, since they’d been set up as rivals all their lives. Fejelis straightened to face his brother. He hated being hurried in a conversation of this importance, hated having to strip it down to its essence. “. . . Orlanjis, we are fighting for our lives against an enemy that few of us even recognize. I’m
trusting
you because you’ve seen exactly the same thing as I have, and come to the same conclusions. I’m trusting you because I watched you fight, come under attack, and not break. When we go back to the palace and all the usual problems and politics of a new reign, if I can keep you, I will. . . . You’re not the boy you were even a few days ago.”
Nor,
he thought,
am I.
He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders and looked down into his eyes. “If I die doing this, all I ask is that you rule as you believe, not as anyone else tells you. Father didn’t think that a prince’s policy should survive the prince, and I agree. But try to be a good prince, and watch your back. I’ll do my best to avoid leaving you quite as ghastly a mess as we have now, but if I fail, we will need as strong a relationship with the Darkborn—” He caught himself; shook his head. “. . . And here I said I wasn’t going to try to influence you.”

“That’s not influence,” Jovance interrupted from the door. “That’s the verbal equivalent of sitting in a lather, tearing a piece of paper to bits. You’re not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. He’s your father’s son as well.”

He gave her a grateful glance at that, then hugged Orlanjis quickly, thankful that when the Darkborn train had left with Lord Vladimer and his mages aboard, no one had suggested that Orlanjis travel with it. But the Lightborn railway workers were bringing in a day train with plans to press on to Stranhorne before sunset, and if Fejelis could not end this today, in the city, Orlanjis would go with them. “I’ll give your regards to Mother, though I’d appreciate it if you sent a message to reassure her I didn’t abandon you in the wilds.”

Orlanjis watched from the doorway as they went down the steps of the small house and into the carefully tended garden. The perfume of the night-blooming flowers on the trellises lingered in the still morning air, though the flowers themselves were furled. A baffled bee was bumping gently against one as though trying to wake it. With the stillness and the early sunshine, and they being the only people moving in it, the world seemed new made, free of Curse and Shadowborn.

“Nice pep talk,” Jovance said in a low voice.

“I’m terrified for him,” Fejelis admitted. “He’s only fourteen.”

“One thing reassures me,” Jovance said. “I see no sign that he needs to do stupid things to prove his courage.” She looked up at him, her skin warmed by the sunlight. “Nor do you; I don’t think it
occurs
to you to be afraid.” If she could feel his pulse, if she could touch him, she would know that was wrong. “Where do you want me to put us down? It needs to be somewhere I know, and it’s best to be somewhere outside. I can sense and avoid living things more easily than inanimate objects.”

“. . . What do you say to the palace gardens, on the plinth of the sundial garden? ”

Where, on certain ceremonial occasions, the prince would stand, his shadow marking a significant time. She stared at him, her lips parting, and then he remembered that one of those ceremonies was the public announcement of the contract between the prince and his chosen consort, and another, the sealing of the contract itself. His color mounted. “Jovance, I, um . . .”

She was still laughing when she landed them on the plinth above the sundial garden. The hour was a most unceremonial one, and their shadows tracked across the blue and silver border, outside time. She gasped as the effort of the magic caught up with her, and he got a hand around her back and guided her down to sit on the edge of the platform, all thought of his misstep slipping from his mind. “Sorry,” she said, wanly. “Needed quite a punch to get through the Temple interference. It’s a safe bet they know I’ve arrived.”

“If they don’t, tell them,” Fejelis said. “I want to get their attention.” He stepped from the platform down onto the ground. “Can you walk? I don’t like us being exposed like this.” He’d had one crossbow bolt through him already in his young reign. No sense inviting another.

“I’d like to say no,” she remarked, gazing up under her lashes, “just to make you carry me.” She slipped off the plinth onto her feet, and steadied herself with a grip on his arm, delighting him with the casual ease of the gesture. Of all the people he knew, only Tam and his father had ever touched him so easily. “No,” she murmured, and he realized she was aware of his distracted thoughts. “Maybe not a good idea.” Then she lifted her head. “Company, Prince.”

Good
company, he found, turning: Captain Lapaxo at the head of a flying wedge of palace vigilants, with a look on his face that promised a locked safe room for a feckless prince, and a fate worse than death for anyone who would think to harm him. Fejelis towed Jovance several yards down the path to get the flower beds off the line of the charge. He had enough civil wars on his hands without adding one between vigilants and gardeners.

Lapaxo halted in front of him, scowling. “Well,
curse it
, your brightness.” Then the captain outraged protocol and endeared himself to Fejelis forever by clapping hands to his prince’s arms and giving him a sharp shake. “Where’d you get to? ”