The Demon World, page 28
The ship was not delayed. It moved swiftly into the harbor and docked at the portside, and soon Edyon and March were ashore. It felt strange to hear Calidorian being spoken. March had to be careful about being recognized, but as they walked the streets he felt a strange pride in Calia’s beauty and symmetry, the cleanliness of the streets, the broad pavements, wide enough to walk three abreast, the white buildings, and the olive trees and bougainvillea in blossom.
“The city is smaller than I was expecting, but much neater and cleaner,” Edyon said. “And the air feels fresh yet warm. I want to see my father . . . I’m so close to him—he’s just up there in that castle. But I’m so nervous. I’m hesitating now.”
“Perhaps prepare yourself first?”
“Yes, I need to make myself presentable and get rid of the salt. I smell like a sailor. Is there a bathhouse nearby?”
“I meant prepare your thoughts.”
“I think best in the bath. Also, I want to look perfect so that my father doesn’t decide to disown me again.”
“It won’t happen. He wants to see you. He sent for you. But to make you feel better you can have a bath, and I will go and inquire about the prince.” Really, though, March wanted to get his own thoughts in order. He had to finally do this; he had to tell Edyon.
The bathhouse was in the Savaant style with large private rooms that overlooked the sea, white marble tiles and bath. A display of white roses and pale green cushions were scattered on the window seat.
Edyon came to March and kissed him. “This is so perfect.” His kisses moved down March’s neck. “But you’re so tense!”
There was a knock on the door and the boy entered. “I have towels for you, sir. And a selection of oils for the bath. Would you like a massage after the bath or before?”
Edyon decided on a massage first and March paced around the courtyard outside their room. He’d tell Edyon after the bath and then he’d leave and never return. He walked up toward the castle and sat on a low wall and looked down over the town and sea. It was a beautiful city, compact and green. The sea was shining and blue in the bright sunlight.
“Is that you, March?”
March started and automatically jumped to his feet. Agnes, a servant from the castle kitchens, was staring at him. She asked, “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around for months. Everyone said you’d run away; run back to Abask, some said.”
“They did?” March moved closer to her, speaking quietly even though no one else was listening.
“Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m fine. But tell me . . . is the prince here? Is all well with him? He was still mourning when I left.”
“As if I’d know how he is! No sign of a marriage, though. He should marry again. It’s only right. We need an heir.”
“And Lord Regan?”
“What about him?”
“Is there any news concerning him?”
“Not as I’ve heard. What sort of news?”
“I’d heard he’d gone to Pitoria.”
Agnes shrugged. “Not heard a thing about that. Is it to do with the war? Some say there’s a war between Pitoria and Brigant. Aloysius can’t stop attacking people—it’s in his Brigantine nature: mean and nasty through and through. But if he’s attacking them, he’s not attacking us, is what I say.”
March was comforted that there wasn’t a search warrant out for him, and he felt a little more relaxed. He made his way back to the bathhouse. He’d tell Edyon the truth, but the full truth. Edyon should understand what March had done and why he’d done it. Edyon should understand about his father and Thelonius’s betrayal of the Abask people.
March returned to the bathhouse, knocked on the door, and entered. The bathwater was still steaming, oil and petals floating on the surface, a smell of roses. Edyon was lying back in the water.
March blurted out, “I need to tell you something. It’s very hard for me because I don’t want to hurt you or disappoint you. But perhaps your fortune teller was right after all. I am troubled and I have lied to you.”
EDYON
CALIA, CALIDOR
EDYON WAS soaking in the most wonderful deep marble bath, rose water lapping at his neck, but March was standing over him, blurting something out.
“It’s very difficult for me to tell you. I’ve put it off for so long but you should know it all. I have lied. I’ve avoided telling you the truth. But you’re not the man I expected. I wanted revenge. I meant to act out of honor, but—”
There was a loud knock on the door. “Not now!” Edyon shouted.
But the servant boy had already pushed the door open, a grin on his face, his eyes wide. “Are you Edyon Foss?”
“I am. But I’ve been found innocent of all charges, and I’m in my bath, and March is about to tell me something important. So please go away.”
“Well, just so you know, there’re soldiers here. From the prince’s personal guard. They want to see you.” And the boy ran off again.
“Soldiers!” Edyon’s heart couldn’t take much more of this. March was looking back into the passageway. “What do you think?” Edyon asked him. “Am I heading to another cell? Another dungeon?”
Before March could answer, the boy ran in again. “I’ve told them you’re here. They say they’ll wait in the courtyard. They’re going to take you up to the castle to see Prince Thelonius.” The boy ran out and in again. “This is brilliant. Who are you?”
Edyon said to March, “Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing they’d do if I was going to go to a cell.” The boy was still standing there and grinning, so Edyon said to him, “I’ll call you if I need you.”
The boy nodded and said, “There’s something in your hair,” before leaving and closing the door quietly behind him.
Edyon dragged his fingers through his hair, pulling at a knot and finding a clump of rose petals. He really needed to get dressed. But one look at March told him he should listen to him first. “March, the soldiers can wait. I know you’ve been trying to tell me something for a long time.” He got out of the bath, put a towel round his waist, and took March’s hand. “Tell me.”
March nodded. “I need to tell you it all from the beginning. It’s about me, about your father too.”
But then the door burst open again as the boy ran in yet again, this time hopping on the spot with excitement. “The prince! The prince is on his way! He’s coming down the road. Coming here. Himself. The prince.”
The prince!
His father.
“What? Are you sure? Here?”
March seemed to stagger away. Edyon would have to talk to him later. For now he had to prepare for his father. He tried to dry himself, then hopped around, pulling on his trousers and cursing his damp oily skin.
March didn’t help at all. He seemed frozen to the spot. Eventually he said, “Edyon, listen to me. It’s important. I should have told you this before. But . . . Prince Thelonius didn’t send me to find you.”
Edyon stopped and stared. “What?”
There was a knock on the door. “Yes?” Edyon said, his voice high and wobbly.
The door opened, and a soldier entered. “Edyon Foss?”
“Yes?”
“Prince Thelonius is here to see you.”
The soldier stood to attention and a man appeared in the doorway. Edyon was supposed to bow but he just stared. Edyon knew this man was his father by his face and knew he was a prince by his clothing. The man who had denied him for so many years now stood before him.
Edyon managed to perform a bow. “Prince Thelonius.” He wondered if he dared call him Father . . . Not yet.
March too had bowed and Thelonius stared at his old servant, then flicked his hand at the soldier, saying, “Take that treacherous snake to the dungeons.”
The soldier went to March, who didn’t do anything to resist but kept his eyes fixed on Edyon and said, “I was trying to tell you.”
“What’s going on?” asked Edyon. “March brought me here. I know it took a long time, but that’s not March’s fault—we encountered more trials and difficulties than I can even begin to count.”
“Take him,” Thelonius said.
“If you take him, you take me too,” Edyon said, and he placed himself between March and Thelonius.
The prince seemed to waver.
Edyon said, “I don’t know what you think March has done, but please at least explain it to me.”
“He tried to kill Lord Regan, one of my closest friends.”
Edyon shook his head. “No, he was protecting me from Regan.”
Now Thelonius looked confused.
“Your Majesty,” Edyon said, “I don’t know why you call March treacherous. I wouldn’t be here were it not for him, and I swear to you that any delays were not his fault. He’s stayed with me through the worst dangers. Please, let him stay with me now. There’s clearly been a serious misunderstanding.”
Thelonius moved his head a fraction and the soldier released March. Thelonius forced a smile. “It seems there’s explaining to do, and this is not how I had hoped to greet you.” He approached Edyon, looking into his face. “I am too happy to be angry at this moment. Seeing you with my own eyes, there can be no denying that you are my son.”
Edyon wanted to weep but he stood tall. Edyon was rarely in awe of anything—or anyone—but his father was so handsome, so strong, so impressive, his smile bright and his eyes clear. Yes, his skin was lined from the sun and the years, but he was full of health. This was his father.
He had to be honest, though—that was what Madame Eruth had told him and he would stick to it. So Edyon replied, “Yes, and it’s good to hear you say that. Though you managed to deny it for seventeen years.”
“You’re right to chastise me. And I’m sorry for the pain it has caused. But I can only feel happiness in this moment. It is good to see you. Good to have you here.” And the prince held Edyon’s arms.
Edyon could feel the dampness on his skin where the prince was touching him. “I was hoping to make a rather more striking first impression—not meeting you in a bathhouse.”
“I heard you were here—my men at the docks reported your name to me—and I was going to wait in the castle, but I’ve waited too long. And”—he turned to March—“I also heard that my servant was here with you and I was concerned you were in danger.”
“Danger, but why?” Why was there so much confusion about March?
Thelonius turned to March. “I had this young boy act as my servant for many years. A boy I rescued from the war and took in to my own castle, my own rooms. A boy who was keen to serve and to learn. A boy whom I grew to love and share confidences with. But it seems I was fooled by him. He ran off weeks ago and tried to kill my oldest friend, Lord Regan. Regan was seriously wounded by March and left for dead. But he survived and recovered in Pitoria, and returned to Calia just a few days ago.”
“But Regan was going to kill me,” Edyon said. “It’s he who is treacherous. Tell him, March.”
March looked at Edyon. “I’m sorry, more sorry than you can ever know, Edyon. This is my lie. Regan wasn’t trying to kill you. He isn’t the treacherous one.”
Edyon couldn’t make sense of it. “But . . . you saved me. You helped me.”
“Things changed. I got to know you. You saved my life. I couldn’t betray you then, but I was too cowardly to tell you the truth. I didn’t want to hurt you or disappoint you.”
Edyon stared in confusion. “I don’t understand—if Regan wasn’t trying to kill me, what was he doing?”
March explained: “Prince Thelonius did send Lord Regan to find you. I followed him with Holywell. He . . . Holywell had an idea to kidnap you and take you to Brigant.”
“What?”
“Not for money but for revenge. Holywell and I, we were the only Abasks left. All our friends and family were lost in the war, betrayed by Thelonius. We were on the same side and we needed to stick together. I thought you’d be another arrogant son of a prince. I didn’t expect to like you. But Holywell wasn’t so troubled by likes and dislikes. He attacked Regan and took the gold ring from him. I thought Regan was dead; we both thought that.”
“But . . . I don’t understand any of this. You helped me. All the time, you helped me.”
March shook his head again. “We were going to lure you to Brigant. Killing the sheriff’s man wasn’t planned, but Holywell used it to our advantage to keep you away from towns and villages.”
“So if it wasn’t for the war, the battle in Rossarb, I’d be in Aloysius’s dungeons now. I’d be tortured or dead. You would have sold me out—for money or revenge, no matter which. I’d be in the hands of the most violent, vicious man possible.”
March looked down at his feet. “I’m ashamed now that that was the original plan. That was the plan before I knew you.”
“But to plan that for anyone! March, what were you thinking?” Edyon couldn’t believe it, but he began to see it was true.
March continued. “I couldn’t follow Holywell’s plan through when you saved my life after the demon attacked us. I was already having doubts, but Holywell was a hard man to go against. You saved my life on the plateau and helped me in Tzsayn’s dungeons. I am ashamed of what I did. I care for you. I tried to make up for my mistake.”
Edyon had to get away. “I thought I knew you. I thought you were honorable, but . . . it seems the opposite.” Tears filled his eyes. March, the boy he loved, had been going to sell him to the Brigantines. “I need some air. Some air away from you.”
And with that, Thelonius swept Edyon out of the room. Orders were given about March, but Edyon didn’t listen. He couldn’t think at all. He’d found his father but lost the man he loved.
CATHERINE
HAWKS FIELD, NORTHERN PITORIA
Wisdom is to see the different paths to the peak.
Leadership is to make people want to get there.
The King, Nicolas Montell
THE MORNING sun warmed Catherine’s back and lit the countryside ahead of her. She was wearing her armor and, though it was heavy, she was glad of its protection. Ambrose and Davyon rode at her side, Geratan and five white-hairs followed behind, along with twenty blue-hairs, including the six young men who would demonstrate the smoke to Farrow and the other lords.
Davyon had selected the boys for the demonstration. Thom, Arron, Gerant, and Stevan were the youngest blue-hairs he could find, already training to be soldiers and familiar with the use of weapons. They had soft down sprouting on their top lips, a few spots on their noses—not yet men, but not children. Rowan and Jolyon were younger boys whose current duties were helping with horses and cleaning equipment. The voices of these two hadn’t broken and they smiled enthusiastically at being selected.
When he gathered them at Donnell’s castle, Davyon had spoken to the boys in a clear, measured voice. “You’ve been chosen for a special purpose. But I want to make it plain that you have been invited rather than commanded to come here. And you can leave at any time with no stain on your reputation.”
Catherine continued, “We have discovered that young people can get extra strength and incredible healing power if they inhale purple demon smoke.”
At this, the boys started grinning and one muttered to another, “We’re going to get to smoke. Bonkers! Bloody bonkers brilliant.”
“This is a serious task,” Catherine said. “But, yes, you will inhale demon smoke.”
One boy put his hand up.
“Yes, Arron?” said Davyon.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“We have Prince Tzsayn’s permission,” Davyon replied. “He wants to research the power of the purple smoke.”
Another boy put his hand up and sniggered as he asked, “So the prince wants us all to get high?”
Davyon scowled. “This isn’t a joke, Thom.”
“No, sir,” Thom barked out with a grin.
But still, as they rode out to the camp for the demonstration, the boys were clearly giddy with anticipation.
By late morning the blue-hairs’ camp came into view—sprawled across the rolling fields were tents, fires, paddocks of horses, and even goats and chickens. They were greeted by a blue-haired man who introduced himself as General Xavi. Farrow’s camp was to the west, and a narrow but steep-bedded river separated them from the Brigantines to the north.
Ambrose said, “The Brigantines have changed their positions since I was last here. There are more of them. And”—he leaned forward to squint—“is that the king’s pennant in the front line?”
Catherine felt a chill sweep over her, despite the warm sun. If it was, it meant that her father himself was present on the opposite slope.
“You’re correct, Sir Ambrose,” said General Xavi, nodding. “There’s been much movement in the last day.”
Ambrose said, “I’d like to go closer to see more of what they’re up to.”
Xavi looked at him with a thin smile. “I’m sure the Queen Apparent wouldn’t want you in danger.”
Ambrose stiffened. He turned to Catherine and asked quietly, “Do you want my opinion on what’s happening there, or his?”
“Yours,” replied Catherine. “In any case, it will be better to have blue-hairs around me for the demonstration.” Not the Brigantine man rumored to be my lover, she added silently. “Take the white-hairs with you. Rejoin us when it’s over and we’re returning to Donnafon.”
“All the lords are here with their generals and senior officers,” Xavi told her, gesturing to a group of men clustered around the sour-faced figure of Lord Farrow. “As you requested, Your Highness.”
