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LUCA CLOSED HIS EYES, steadying himself against the crossbar on the rough paving. Near Alham, the weather had cooled so that the slaves didn’t sweat as they worked. He wondered how far it was now.
He wondered what had become of Marla. He wondered how Cole was faring, whether the bandits had sold him to the mines after all once they’d disposed of their other captives.
Something thudded into his arm. “Hey!”
“Nalo!” snapped Frangit’s voice. “I saw that.”
“Make him do his part!” protested the slave. “He’s hardly pulling, like always!”
A little tremor ran through Luca. “That’s not so. I—”
“You’re coasting on us,” Nalo growled. “Half-asleep.”
“That’s just my head—I’m still pulling—”
“He’s right,” Frangit interrupted. “You’re loafing. Benton’s doing as much in the back as you are in the shafts.”
Luca’s breath caught in his throat.
“I didn’t want you anyway, but Benton thought we’d have free labor after selling you. Fat lot he guessed, heh? You lied about pulling before, didn’t you?”
“No, my lord! I did take a tinker’s single all over...”
“Heh. If your tinker didn’t want to get anywhere, maybe.” He turned to the wagon. “Benton! Your clerk is shirking!”
Benton was in the rear, watching the road and occasionally helping to push the wagon. “Well, move him,” came his detached voice.
Frangit took a running stride and swung onto the moving wagon. Luca turned to look as he began to rummage through the packed cargo. Nalo hit him again. “Move it!”
“Nalo!” Frangit turned back and tapped the ginger-haired slave with a switch. “If you have the strength to be jabbing at your mate, you can be making better time yourself. Get to your own work. And you, Luca—your own work, too. You understand?”
“Yes, master.” Nalo was subdued, but his voice held a resentful note.
“Yes, my lord.” Luca clenched the bar and bent his head over it, his pulse quickening. He felt faintly dizzy. He could push harder with a switch at his back, yes—at least for a time.
SHIANAN PAUSED AT THE edge of the trees, keeping in the shade as he stretched and breathed deep. He had run most of his usual route and had only the last stage across the green and back to Fhure House. He bent low, bringing a pleasant pull across his hamstrings, and then set out on the last leg.
He passed a small herd of pigs, nodding at the pig boy who waved. There were several women chattering excitedly at the edge of the green, glancing from the village to the upper house to Shianan jogging toward them. “Your lordship, please tell us?” one called.
He altered his path to near them. “What’s that?”
“The visitors! Who are they? We haven’t seen horses on this road in months. Years!”
Shianan’s chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his long run. “Visitors? On horses?”
“Yes!” The women were pleased to be the ones to deliver the news. “Yes, your lordship! They came up the road and right through the village, asking if you were at the house. They’re up the hill right now.”
Shianan sprinted, leaving the women behind. On horses—it was someone important, someone who knew where to seek him. Septime? King Jerome? No, the king would never come himself. Perhaps Ewan Hazelrig, come to punish the man who’d made unkept promises to his daughter?
Two horses stood in the yard before Fhure House, a cream color and a deep brown. At their heads Shianan recognized Philip, the royal horseman. He was pointing and calling instructions to a couple of servants, arranging water and fodder for his charges.
Horses and Philip meant someone with power. Perhaps the Ryuven had attacked, had raided Alham itself or another city, Septime had taken the army to meet them and someone had come by horse to order Shianan back into duty. Shianan hurried past Philip and went into the house.
Kraden was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the kitchen, arranging service for the important visitor. Shianan rubbed a sleeve over his face and went into the main hall, ready to organize battle.
Prince Soren was seated at a table, examining his glove. He glanced up at the sound of Shianan’s footstep. “See, I thought I’d find you here.”
“Where are they?” Shianan asked breathlessly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Ryuven! Have they come? Is that why you’ve here? Where are they? How are our defenses?”
Soren shook his head. “I know of no Ryuven attack. I came to find you.”
Shianan was checked. “To find me?”
“Yes. You’d disappeared from Alham, and no one knew where you were. I guessed you might be here.” He gestured to the table and empty chairs. “Come and have a seat. Your steward has promised wine and refreshment.”
Cold, efficient fight drained from Shianan, and anger rushed to fill the void. “You came from Alham—for me? Didn’t you think I’d left Alham for a reason?” He gestured toward the door. “You rode from Alham on horses, drawing attention to yourself all the way—didn’t you think of bandits and robbers? The Ryuven?”
Soren looked surprised. “Becknam—”
“King’s sweet oats, if I’d wanted to be at beck and call, I’d have stayed in Alham! I took my leave, the first leave of my life, so I could escape the barking and the staring and the scraping. I thought when I saw those horses that there must be a battle, another Luenda—but no, it’s only my sovereign prince come out to risk his royal neck, and for no reason more than to drink my wine!”
Soren stared, and then his cheeks rounded. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he looked at the glove on the table.
Shianan’s anger swelled. “What is it that amuses you?”
Soren gave in to the smile. “Not amused, no. But I think I am pleased.” He made a small nod. “You’ve stopped distancing yourself with honorifics and planned speeches and little dances of etiquette.” He shrugged. “I’m glad you trust me enough to shout at me.”
Shianan’s throat closed, and for a moment he could not respond. What had he done—shouting at the prince? His prince, and the lord he’d sworn to obey?
“As far as the bandits go, yes, I’d heard something about several new troubled roads. But I didn’t think a day’s ride from the city with Philip and my own sword was inviting too much trouble, not when we pay our army good wages to keep the roads safe.” He pointed a finger. “And you’re not the only one who might appreciate time away from Alham, either.”
Shianan’s voice was hoarse. “Your Highness, I shouldn’t have—”
“Shianan,” Soren interrupted, “come and sit.”
Shianan obeyed. They sat shoulder to shoulder for a moment, keeping their eyes on the table, and then Kraden entered with a tray, followed by a young dark-eyed woman bearing another. “Ah, master, you’re here! I’ll bring another cup. My lords, here is the wine, and some excellent cheese, with seasoned pork and bread and fresh herbed butter, and I have apples and honey for you as well.”
Neither of them answered, and Kraden made a nervous little bow before departing. The dark-eyed woman waited just a moment, looking at count and prince, before following.
“About what happened...” Soren began at last, his eyes on the food between them. “I meant to get there before you. I thought it might not be a propitious day. But I didn’t know in time to warn you.”
Shianan clenched his fists. He had spent most of the last few days determinedly not thinking of this. “Propitious... A foul mood might snap at a servant. A foul mood does not raise taxes or wage war. Important decisions reflect the man, not the mood.” He shook his head. “The king does not intend to allow me to marry. I’ll be fortunate if he doesn’t have me gelded.” He rested his forehead upon the heels of his hands. “He may even let Alasdair wield the knife.”
Soren snorted. “Is that why you’re hiding here?”
Shianan tensed. “I’m not hiding. This is my own estate.”
Soren said nothing.
Shianan looked away. “If you came all this way only to tell me—”
“That I’m sorry?” Soren stared at the untouched food on the table. “I am. You didn’t deserve that. And I’d encouraged you.”
Shianan flexed his fingers. “I wish you hadn’t been there.”
Soren bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You said as much already.”
“It’s still true. I owe you a certain responsibility, you know, as sworn lord.”
“You can do only what’s in your power, my lord.”
“And sometimes I wish it were more.” Soren sighed. “This isn’t finished, Shianan. I will solicit on your behalf.”
Shianan cringed. “Don’t make me a beggar.”
“Never. But there might be a way to persuade him. You swore to serve me, and I intend to be a lord who serves his servants. And I promise I’ll protect you from Alasdair.” He grinned.
“Do you?” Shianan looked at him seriously. “Can you?”
Soren sobered. “Dear Holy One, what is he—is it something since he made you swear that stupid oath?”
Shianan looked at the table. “You know about the mercenaries at the public matches?”
“Of course. Some say you hired them to make a name for yourself, but the more common rumor is that the king wanted to surprise you and test your skill.”
“It was Alasdair. Using the royal seal.”
Soren blinked. “’Soats, maybe you should stay out here after all.”
Shianan sighed. “In truth, I don’t know where I should be. But I can’t stay and see her day after day.” He sank his head in his hands. “What if Alasdair learns? What if he torments her with her bastard admirer? I couldn’t see her humiliated like that.”
“Don’t allow it. Won’t your inexplicable absence permit more speculation on what drove you from the city? But if you’re there, fulfilling your duty as always, that suggests there is less to the story.”
Shianan cast him a sidelong glance. “And you want me to return, anyway.”
“I do,” confessed Soren. “And so, I think, does your lady. I’m told she passes by your office each night on her way home from the Wheel.”
“You’ve had her watched?” demanded Shianan.
Soren held up a hand defensively. “Only, let us say, observed. You left suddenly and without word of where you were going, and we didn’t know what had become of you. I thought you might have informed her, at least.” He gave Shianan an accusing look. “But you didn’t, did you.” It was not a question.
“It would not have helped her. She was better not to expect me to return soon.”
Soren shrugged. “If you say so. I don’t pretend to know much of women. Perhaps they prefer their most ardent admirers to depart without warning.”
Shianan flushed hotly. “And what would you have me do? Should I stay and bathe in the shame of being a slave, forbidden to love or marry where I choose?”
Soren looked away. “If that’s how you think of it. But if you’d stayed, she wouldn’t wonder.”
Shianan rolled his eyes. “Ariana’s sensible. She isn’t going to mope and cry that I found her unworthy. Any man would be pleased to court a lady mage of her standing.”
“You’re sure she isn’t shaken? That she wouldn’t prefer you demonstrate your lasting affection by at least consulting her on a point which concerns the two of you so intimately?”
Shianan clenched his jaw. “You do have a way of stating things in your own light. Is that a skill taught to young royals?”
“With grammar and counting,” snapped Soren.
“As it happens, I don’t want to demonstrate my lasting affection,” Shianan retorted. “I want her to be happy, and it’s plain a tie to me would give her endless grief. I won’t let her be hurt by Alasdair or anyone else. She’s a beautiful and intelligent woman, well-placed; she was too grand a prize for me, anyway, and she’ll find a better match elsewhere.”
Soren hesitated. “You mean that?”
Shianan blew out his breath, his eyes fixed on the table, staring at nothing. “I mean that. I won’t be selfish enough to bring her misery.” There was a long moment of silence. At last, to occupy his hands, Shianan began to slice an apple. “My lord?”
“Thank you.” Soren chewed the offered piece, keeping his eyes from Shianan. Finally he spoke. “You must tell me what it is like, loving someone enough to die for her, and then, to give her up.”
Shianan drizzled honey over slabs of apple. “It’s wretched.”
“All those beautiful tales of unfulfilled love...?”
“They lie. Written by drunken bards who never loved anything but the sound of their own voices.” Shianan took a bite, honey sweetness mixing with tart.
“I see.” Soren took a piece of the honeyed apple.
They were silent a few moments, helping themselves to the food. Shianan rubbed fretfully at his sweat-slicked hair. The wine was good but not what he wanted after running.
At last Soren spoke. “If you won’t come to quell rumor, then I should tell you to come to escape the plague.”
“Plague?”
“There’s plague starting—not in the city, but in villages and towns through the countryside. It’s not one we’ve seen before. It’s a terrible flux that leaves its victims weak and dry.”
“Where is it?”
“In the central region, mostly, north and east of Alham, right where every trade caravan is going to carry it through to everywhere else.” Soren shook his head. “We’ve been getting reports. Not many dead so far, only the weak—children and old ones—but that may change with time. And those it doesn’t kill, it weakens, and if it spreads as planting comes... We won’t have much of a harvest to feed those left.”
Shianan licked his lips. “I suppose that next to a kingdom of starving sicklings, a refused match and a bullying young prince are insignificant.”
“No! King’s oats, that wasn’t my meaning at all.” Soren drummed his fingers on the table. “No, I only meant—never mind.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“It’s only... I won’t order you back. It’s your leave, after all. But what are you doing here?”
“I’m not sure.” Shianan rubbed at his forehead. “I had not really visited this place since... since it was mine. I like the quiet here. And it is good, I think, to be away from my duties for a time...”
Soren turned to regard him frankly. “Didn’t I once say you were a poor liar?”
Shianan’s shoulders drooped. “Abominable was the word, I think. But I don’t think that’s accurate.”
“Regardless, I don’t think you have any purpose here other than a desire to stay out of Alham—and that only because of the king’s denial.”
“And what if that’s so? Isn’t that enough?”
“Certainly, if you wish. After all, it is your leave.” Soren took a breath. “But I’m asking you, and not as your prince and lord, but—I’m asking you, will you come again to Alham?”
Shianan stared at the pork, his mind curiously blank. What did it benefit him to be here, anyway? True, it would be difficult to see Ariana, but he was no stranger to having his failures flaunted. Rumor that he had overstepped his bounds might dog him, but that was no novelty, either. And in Alham he would not be reduced to running circles about his land like a mindsick animal.
And perhaps, maybe, Ariana would still welcome him to supper and to walks, and he could cherish what little he could claim.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll come back, my lord.”
“I didn’t ask as your lord.”
“I’ll come regardless.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Soren nodded. “I almost brought a horse for you, you know.”
“What?”
Soren chuckled. “By the look of it, that would have made a worthy bribe.”
Shianan flushed. “Yes, probably,” he confessed.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to fetch you.” Soren reached for a piece of cheese. “So, my friend, will you share the hospitality of your house, or should Philip and I start back yet today?”
“I couldn’t let you start on the road this late, even with horses. And I cannot have it said that I refused bed and board to my prince. You are of course welcome, though I am not certain our accommodations will be to my prince’s custom. I have been a rather lax lord, I fear, and I hardly know my own house.”
Soren shook his head. “After a day in the saddle, all I want is a bath and a soft bed. Philip must be made of leather and iron. I assume you country folk do have baths? A half-barrel of rainwater, perhaps?”
“Chilly rainwater, of course.”
“Good enough.”