Kal made his way through the dark tent toward the sound of Shanek’s screams. The boy looked to be about fifteen now, practically a man. Once Charlon had become Chieftess, Kal had convinced her to stop giving Shanek evenroot, and his growth had slowed some. This did not stop the voices from sometimes waking him in the night.
Kal crouched beside the boy’s bed of furs and rubbed his back. “Wake up, Shan. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Shanek’s eyes opened and he stopped squirming. “He want kill Rosâr Wilek.”
The words struck Kal deep. “Who?”
“Barthel.”
Rogedoth. “It’s just a dream,” Kal said, though he knew that it wasn’t. It had only been a few days since he had spoken with Wilek. They likely wouldn’t speak again for another week. “Do you still hear them?”
Shanek shook his head. “Shut them out.”
“Good,” Kal said, thankful that Wilek had known what to do with this new magic. “That’s good.” He hoped Rogedoth had only been venting his desire to kill Wilek and not planning anything concrete.
Kal stayed with Shanek until he fell asleep, then returned to his own tent, his mind a conflicted tangle of thoughts. The boy might look fifteen and the root might have helped his mind develop faster, but as he had been alive less than a year, he had not the benefit of life experience to teach him judgment and common sense. Each day he got into more mischief. There were no children in the Magosian camp, so Shanek had no one to play with but shadir. Kal had tried to fill that role, but Charlon kept him busy hunting, plowing fields, and planting root. And while Kal was busy elsewhere, Shanek ran free with the shadir.
Shanek was known by all to be a pest, always sneaking into places he didn’t belong. Far too many times Kal had punished the boy for stealing or playing pranks or watching the women bathe or dress. The sound of a scream delighted him, whether it be in anger, surprise, or frustration. Once Shanek had learned to move like Grayson, there was no catching him. He appeared and disappeared all over camp, frightening people to the point of madness. Roya, Kateen, and Astaa had all demanded he stay away from their tents.
As unabashed as these women tended to be, Kal didn’t know why they cared what the boy saw. Regardless, most saw the ever-growing Shanek as a nuisance. Only Charlon treated him like the king she hoped he’d someday turn out to be.
In the past week his actions had gotten bolder. Not only did he spy on the women or play pranks, he grabbed them. Kal had sat him down, man to man, and explained about how a man must respect a woman’s privacy. None of it mattered. Shanek might have the body of a young man, but his mind was that of a spoiled child. He saw himself as superior to everyone else, an opinion bolstered by Charlon’s near worship of the boy, and he did not understand why he couldn’t do whatever he wanted.
“You cannot expect him to live like an Armanian,” Charlon said when Kal complained.
“You brought me here to train him to behave like one,” Kal said. “I warn you, if you take him to Armania and try to claim the throne and he pops in and out of women’s private chambers like a deviant, don’t be surprised when no one wishes to make him their king.”
“I don’t like it. Any better than you,” Charlon said, “but what can we do?”
“He needs discipline,” Kal said. “He needs to learn right from wrong.”
“But he doesn’t listen,” Charlon said.
“Punish him. Put a compulsion on him to keep him from leaving his tent. After a few days you can remove it and give him another chance. If he disobeys again, put the compulsion back on him. He must learn about consequences.”
“A prince is above punishment,” Charlon said. “I will give him servants. Servants of his own. Any other prince would have them.”
“That will only fuel the fire,” Kal said.
“You have tried and failed, Sir Kalenek,” Charlon said. “Now it’s my turn.”
So Charlon gave Shanek two male servants to attend him, and Zweena, the youngest of her five maidens, to teach him the ways of romance. It sickened Kal, but it was not all that different from when Wilek had been given Lady Lebetta on his fifteenth ageday. The difference was that Wilek had been raised with some concept of morality and self-control and Shanek had neither.
That did not keep Kal from trying to teach him. Though such things had never been Kal’s strength, he gave daily lessons in etiquette, speech, manners, and even dance. Zweena’s patience surpassed his own, and he admired the girl for it, though as the days passed, Kal could sense her frustration deepen.
One midday in Shanek’s tent, Kal had seated Shanek and Zweena across from each other at a table and chairs he had built. He had also carved trenchers and bowls from trees and was attempting to teach Shanek table manners.
“Why we can’t sit on the mat?” Shanek asked.
“Because that is not how it is done in Armania.”
“I’m gone be king; I change it.”
“But you will never be king if you cannot impress the people of Armania, and sitting on the floor and eating with your hands will not impress them.”
“Don’t glare,” Shanek said to Zweena.
“I am not glaring,” she replied.
“Smile,” Shanek said. “I want you smile.”
Zweena faked a smile.
“No! Real smile. Smile real smile right now.”
“There is nothing to smile about,” Zweena said. “I hate you. I only spend time with you because the Chieftess makes me.”
Kal took a deep breath. “Zweena, that was uncalled for.”
“Why?” Shanek asked. “Why everyone hate Shanek?”
“Because you’re strange and scary and I don’t like the way you look at me,” Zweena said. “You aren’t normal.”
“Am too!” Shanek yelled.
“Normal people care about other people’s feelings. You only care about yourself.”
“Stop talking!”
“Don’t yell at me, you disgusting lecher!”
Shanek stood up, breathing hard and fast through his nose like a bull about to charge. He reached across the table. Kal darted forward but stopped when Shanek’s hands started to glow with green light. The boy’s eyes widened and he stared at his hands—they all stared.
As suddenly as the light had come, it vanished.
“What was that?” Kal asked, wary.
Shanek choked back a sob, his eyes fixed on Zweena. “I didn’t mean it.”
Kal turned his head, and what he saw stole his breath.
Zweena still sat in her chair, clearly dead, face ashen, glassy eyes open and staring at nothing. How she’d died, Kal couldn’t guess. He saw no marks on her.
Dread coiled in Kal’s gut. “Has that happened before, Shan?”
The boy was visibly shaking. “Not a girl. A gowzal bit me, and I kill it.”
“How did you do it?” Kal asked. “What went through your mind?”
Tears pooled in Shanek’s eyes. He seemed shocked and hurt. Zweena had hurt his feelings and died because of it. “She made Shanek mad.” He panted, losing control of his emotions. When he spoke again, his voice came out whiny and slurred. “Grabbed her thoughts. Gone make her say nice words. Felt . . . strong. Hands burned. Then light went out.”
Leery, Kal studied the boy. What was he?
When Kal got angry, he was a danger because his mind flashed back to the war and he sometimes hurt people without meaning to. While that was clearly terrible, this was far worse.
“Said Shanek not normal. Disgusting. Only care for Shanek.” His voice trailed off.
“Do you?”
A tear dripped down his cheek as he looked up from Zweena and met Kal’s eyes. “What you think?”
“Maybe sometimes,” Kal said, hoping to speak the truth and still keep the boy calm.
Shanek’s eyebrows sank low, and he looked so much like Janek at that moment that Kal shuddered. “How Shanek learn?”
So help him, Kal loved the boy. What Mreegan had done in making him grow so fast wasn’t fair. Nor was Charlon’s decree that everyone treat him like a king. Shanek wasn’t evil. He was a babe in a man’s body with far too much freedom and zero consequences apart from Kal’s censure. “We can talk about that later, Shan. I will teach you what you want to know, but you’ll have to listen to me. You’ll have to try to change, do you hear me?”
Shanek sniffled, nodded, and ran the back of his hand over his nose.
“Good,” Kal said. “We must teach you to handle your anger.” He nearly laughed. People had been trying to teach Kal to handle his anger for years. He recalled some of the things Jhorn had suggested and supposed it couldn’t hurt to try.
He would have to warn Wilek the next time he checked in, though he worried his king would demand Kal kill the boy. Shanek hadn’t meant to hurt Zweena. Perhaps once he understood his power better, he would be able to control it. If Kal could work on Shanek’s conscience, he might someday refuse Charlon’s demand that he attempt to usurp the Armanian throne.
It was worth a try, wasn’t it? Kal had put in too much time and hard work to give up on the boy now.