Lord Celdric bowed deeply. "My lord Prince, the Jurran Heged will, of course, accept whatever judgment you see fit. We are honored by your hearing." His expression was properly solemn and respectful. But I was sitting to the side of him, and I could see his gleeful grin of satisfaction as he bowed.

So it was that I had to pack up my writing case and ledger book and hasten barefoot through the city streets after Aleksander. He set off walking, sending his hastily saddled mount back to the stables. It was unheard of for royalty to walk the streets rather than ride, and I wondered if the Prince wanted to shock the staid palace staff. Or perhaps it was just to stretch his legs and wake himself up after four days of boredom.

It was not a quiet journey. Ten hastily mustered torch-bearers lit the way through the afternoon gloom, the smoke settling heavily about us in the cold, still air. Fifty guards, an equal number of attendants, cloak-bearers, boot wipers, and every manner of dennissar were still scurrying about, deciding on positions and precedence long after the party pa.s.sed through the palace gates and into the town.

Townspeople gathered quickly along the road, gaping at the fabled young prince most of them had never seen. At first it was well-cloaked ladies and children who watched, merchants, shopkeepers, drovers, and clerks who deserted their posts for the chance to catch a glimpse of royalty. They cheered and waved at the flesh-and-blood manifestation of the Empire's glory.

Aleksander did not acknowledge them. They would not expect it. Out of perverse habit they would most likely lose respect for him if he looked pleasant or waved in return. Rather he strode vigorously through the afternoon, talking only with Sovari, the captain of his personal guard.

After we crossed the arched Ghojan bridge, the lanes grew narrower and muddier and the onlookers not so well turned out. They were thin and ragged, quiet and fearful. Hollow-eyed children hid behind their bony mothers, and crippled old men gaped toothless. In an attempt to mask the growing stench, one of Aleksander's attendants began swinging a censer that emitted a cloying smoke, but Aleksander shoved the man aside and made him douse the burning herbs in a mud puddle. "That makes the stink worse. Do you think I am some woman who has never smelled the back end of a horse?"

But I don't think Aleksander had ever seen the dregs of his cities-and certainly not from his own feet where he could look at them eye-to-eye. His gaze did not remain fixed and ahead as before, but darted from one pitiful sight to another. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at three scabrous beggars who were wallowing in the river of mud and excrement, fighting over a whimpering mangy dog. He drew away from a gaunt-cheeked, rheumy-eyed old woman who was kneeling in the mud with her hands outstretched, wailing in mindless misery. He peered curiously into alleys where groups of rag- wrapped men, women, and children huddled listlessly around pitiful fires, too weak and cold to pay him any mind.

Two wh.o.r.es pushed aside ragged customers and gaped brazenly at the Prince.

One of them, a buxom young girl with long curly hair grinned and wagged a finger at him. Aleksander laughed, and the girl blew him a kiss, lifted her skirt, and went back to her business.

As the Prince's procession rounded a corner, a woman with a squalling infant bound to her back was shoved out of a dark, rag-draped doorway, two grimy children clinging to her skirts. "There's no work here and no bread," bawled a harsh voice from behind the door. "Die somewhere else." The woman tripped over a torchbearer and fell right at Aleksander's feet.

The young Fontezhi dennissar, thinking, no doubt, to redeem himself in his prince's eyes, screamed at the woman to give way and kicked at her viciously, sending her sprawling in the filth of the street. One of his bodyguards grabbed the two terrified children by the necks and flung them to the side into a crusted heap of dirty snow. The two little ones burst out wailing and tried to run back to their mother, but I was standing nearby and grabbed hold of them to keep them out of harm's way. In horror I watched as Aleksander drew his sword. I believed he was going to slay the stunned woman for daring to touch his feet. But instead he laid the tip of the blade at the Fontezhi youth's throat and fixed his eyes on the youth's disbelieving face, while extending his other hand to the fallen woman. She stared at him blankly, mud dripping from her lank hair, her starvation-dulled eyes asking only from which direction the blow would come.

"Here, here, woman," said Aleksander, shaking his hand at the woman, though still not looking at her. "Take it and get up or these cretins will trample you."

She reached out a hand as if putting it into the mouth of a wolf, but the Prince pulled her up and shoved her away. Then he sheathed his sword and with cold ferocity backhanded the Fontezhi guard who had throttled the children.

Astonished, I urged the two little ones toward their mother, and the three of them fled down an alleyway. I wondered how many days they had left to live.

Unless the weather eased up a little, I guessed it was not many.

The Prince said nothing more of the incident, but he did seem to take notice of me as I stood shivering in my sleeveless tunic, waiting for the expedition to proceed. He stared at me so long I wondered if I had angered him by interfering even in so small a way. After a quick glance about, he started to speak, but thought better of it and motioned me to stay close behind him.

When we reached the Jurran warehouse, he commanded one of Lord Celdric's attendants to find me a cloak and some sandals lest I be too cold to write properly. I was confounded.

The Prince took only a few moments to inspect the warehouse before rendering his judgment. The district could not be burned. It might encourage all the unsavory residents of the place to converge on the rest of the city, he said. The Fontezhi dennissar was speechless and kept fingering the tiny scratch on his neck left by Aleksander's sword. No doubt the Fontezhi lords had a.s.sumed that the residents would burn along with the other filth.

But Aleksander was not done. "The Jurrans will pay for the land on which their warehouses sit," he said. "Not rent, but in full for proper ownership.

Before the end of the Dar Heged, Lord Celdric will bring me a notice of the settlement. Make a note of it, Seyonne. And for the next twenty years the Jurrans will contract solely with Fontezhi caravans to transport their spices within the boundaries of Azhak-stan."

Masterful. The Fontezhi would lose land for their insult of the Prince. The Jurrans would lose gold for their insult to a more powerful house. The two hegeds would be forced to work together, and would likely both profit handsomely from the contract, leaving good feelings all around. It was well- done. But it was Aleksander's treatment of the woman I found intriguing. It seemed wholly out of character.

We were soon back to normal. On that evening as I sat at the Prince's writing desk copying dispatches for the military commanders on the northern borders, Aleksander came in from the bedchamber and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine, then summoned one of his aides. He pointed at the curtained door to the bedroom and jerked his head.

"What shall we do with her, Your Highness?"

"Throw her back in the cesspit where you found her. She stinks and is more crude than a Veshtar. Sovari was right."

The aide disappeared through the curtain and did hot return.

"What are you looking at, slave?" said Aleksander. "Was she a friend of yours?"

I suspected it was the wh.o.r.e from the streets, though I never saw her.

Chapter 6

On the fifth morning of the Dar Heged the Prince began acting strangely. He could not sit still. He tapped constantly on the arms of his chair. He shifted and settled in the red velvet as if he could not get comfortable. He fiddled with his knife, twisted his braid, and played with a jewel on a chain about his neck, then threw the cushions from his chair aside before commanding a servant to bring them back again. He called for wine, but did not drink it; rather he threw the goblet on the floor when he got irritated at a pet.i.tioner. An elderly matriarch of a powerful family accusing her son of falsifying the lineage of a prize horse-a crime more serious than murder in the Derzhi Empire-almost fell out of her chair when Aleksander jumped up in the middle of her droning argument and yelled at her. "Be quick about it, woman. There are a thousand others waiting to stand before me." He circled his chair and drummed his fists on the back of it, trying to induce the woman to talk faster. She got fl.u.s.tered, and I thought he was going to have her hanged when she started panting and holding her breast and had to be carried away. A steward stepped up to the Prince and whispered quietly in his ear, only to have Aleksander yell at him. "I'm perfectly fine. Just get the next person up here before I have you flogged."

On the next day things were worse. The Prince could not sit for more than a minute at a time, so he paced back and forth across the dais as people spoke to him, their heads following his movements. It made them stumble in their words, which made him angrier. As the hours pa.s.sed, he fought to control this restlessness, folding his arms tight about his chest or clenching his wine cup until his knuckles were white. But even then his foot would drum or his head would toss. The stewards and the chamberlains were wide-eyed and fearful. He had two of them flogged for daring to suggest he might want to rest, and he was threatening to do the same for the next person who asked if they could do something for him. It was on that day, the second of this strange behavior, that I noticed the Khelid emissary among the courtiers and attendants behind the Prince's chair. The fair, slender man in the purple cloak stood watching, saying nothing to anyone, smiling to himself on occasion, though I could never understand what kinds of things he found amusing. I put it out of my mind quickly. What did slaves care about demons or their amus.e.m.e.nts?

The seventh day of Dar Heged, the third of Aleksander's odd behavior, began with a very complex case where the head of a family had died, leaving only one unmarried female child to inherit extensive lands and properties.

Aleksander sat in his chair holding on to its arms so tightly, I would not have been surprised to see the ancient wood crumble in his grasp. I was close enough to see dark gray circles under the amber eyes that darted here and there. never focusing on anything. The Chamberlain had warned him that the parties to the disputed inheritance, two male members of the House who each claimed the young woman in marriage, were powerful barons of equal degree, who guarded the most dangerous frontiers of the Empire. The Emperor would not wish to antagonize either of them.

After half an hour of tedious explanation by the representative of one of the warriors, Aleksander began to tremble. His hands, his legs, his body quivered as if the bitter winter outside had snuffed out the hearth fires and settled upon him alone. "Continue," said the Prince tightly when the speaker paused to stare at him. Quiet murmuring rippled through the audience hall. "I said, continue."

The man went on, then yielded to the other party in the disagreement. I did not see how Aleksander could possibly be taking in the details of family connections, old debts, warriors' promises, marriage pledges-the very minutiae of Derzhi clan lore. He looked like a volcano ready to spew fire. Onlookers were shaking their heads, frowning, wondering. And there among them, leaning casually against a doorway was Korelyi, the Khelid emissary ... smiling.

I quickly dropped my eyes to my ledger. Never, ever could I allow the Khelid to see me watching him, to see that I knew. I had no power. I would be helpless. There were things in the world that made enslavement to the Derzhi seem benign by comparison, and I could not allow myself to so much as think of them. Demons were attracted by fear. But in the instant of time that it took me to pull my eyes from the smiling Khelid, he made a slight movement of his fingers and my heart skipped a beat. I whipped my head back up to look at Aleksander. He was shaking his head from side to side as if to clear it. What was happening?

"I beg you, do not deny my saying, Your Highness," said the bewildered advocate. "I have not even bespoke the agreement with the young lady in the matter as to Baron Juzai's suit."

"No, no. I'm not denying ... Proceed, Cerdan. I understand the import of this matter, and I will give you full hearing as I promised." The Prince could scarcely p.r.o.nounce the words through his gritted teeth.

For another half hour Aleksander battled his strange malady, setting his jaw in iron. As I wrote down the particulars of the case, I would glance up from time to time and let my eyes wander to the slender man by the door. There ...

another flick of his fingers. The Prince tightened his grip on the chair and forced himself still. The man in purple was not smiling anymore.

When both sides had presented all their evidence, Aleksander closed his eyes briefly, then said, "I must give this case full consideration. Such n.o.ble servants of the Empire will receive all due respect. I shall retire to my chambers and issue my judgment tomorrow morning." With such self- mastery as I had never witnessed, Aleksander stood, acknowledged the two lords' genuflection and the obeisance of the crowd, and hurried out of the Hall.

The people broke into frenzy the moment he was gone.

"What ails him?"

"Must be a sickness ... I've not seen its like before."

"I've heard he's not slept in three days."

"Ah, it's that he has no patience for ruling. He has not his father's strength."

"Arrogant twit. He'll never have wit enough to rule. Did you hear... ?"

"We'll pray he has fine sons and dies young."

The comment in which I was most interested was made without words. As I stood up, stoppering my ink, gathering up papers, closing the ledger to give into the safekeeping of the Chamberlain, I cast my eyes about once more. The scowling Khelid brutally shoved three servants aside and disappeared through the door.

It didn't work as you expected, did it? I thought, as I packed the pens and sharpening knife into the wooden writing case. He was stronger than you believed. Stubborn.

I ran my ink-stained fingers idly over the maroon leather binding of the ledger. Not sleeping. Of course that was it. It would be easy to find the cause of Prince Aleksander's malady. A gift, perhaps, a miniature bronze horse or porcelain egg ... or something left behind under a cushion, perhaps a ring or a kerchief. No, not a kerchief. Cloth was too weak. It could be a bra.s.s box, suitable for a jewel, or a shining pebble dropped in one of the garden pots in Aleksander's chambers. All you had to know was what to look for, what to see, what to listen for when you took yourself into silence....

I shook my head as if to dismiss a dream and snuffed the lamp that had illuminated my writing. The First Audience Hall was almost deserted.

Sweepers came through with mops to clear away the puddles and dirt left by the hundreds of muddy boots.

What was I thinking? I had no power. No weapon. I cared nothing ... far less than nothing for Prince Aleksander. He and his people had stolen my life, had destroyed everything of meaning to me, had maimed and mutilated my body and mind, and ruined ... oh G.o.ds, don't let it come. Not now. I stared at my trembling hand that held the ledger book. I forced myself to trace its lines, the long, bony fingers stained with ink, the roughness and cracks of constant cold, the steel wrist band that would be with me until death, and then, in my mind, I transformed my hand into the aged, dried husk it would become. The reality and the illusion were not yet the same. Not yet. I banished the unwanted memory quite effectively, but I could not dismiss my belief in what I had to do.

It was not for Aleksander or any Derzhi that I picked up the maroon book and set off for the Prince's chambers. It was not for any larger purpose. My larger purposes had been stripped away with my power. It was for myself. So I would not see the sly smile in company with the ice-blue eyes. So I could sleep again in peace.

"I've brought the recording book. The Prince needs my notes to aid in his deliberation," I said to the door guard who had searched me and my writing case thoroughly and didn't quite know what to do with me.

"But he hasn't sent for you."

"Well, he may have. It's all so strange, how he can't sleep, and we've been having all these cases in the Dar Heged, and it's very confusing. I think he commanded me to bring it. Perhaps it would be best if you ask him, you being a Derzhi warrior and all. He'll not have you hanged just for asking like he would a slave. Maybe a lash or two, nothing more. But if he wanted me to come and you didn't let me in ..." I shrugged my shoulders. "Yes, you should be the one to ask him."

The guard blanched and glanced over his shoulder as if the whip might be bearing down on him already. "Certainly not, slave. If you can't hear things right, then you'll have to take your own consequences."

"He's been here before when the Prince needs writing work done," said one of the gentleman attendants. "And if he dies for his stupidity, who cares?"

Indeed.

They tapped on the door, opened it, and shoved me inside. It was very dark.

Heavy draperies had been drawn across the windows and only a single candle gleamed on the table by the door. Aleksander was sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over his face, and I screamed silently at myself for an idiot. He was asleep. I'd risked my neck for nothing.

"Who is it?"

Quickly I knelt, bent my head, and took a deep breath. "Seyonne, Your Highness."

He pulled his arm away, and his eyes were like dark holes in the dim room.

"Have you a particular wish to die this day, Ezzarian? I did not send for you."

"No, my lord. I've come to give you back your sleep."

He sat up abruptly. "Has the whole world gone mad and not just me? I'll have you flayed and hung out for the wolves for this impertinence."

I had no doubt he would, though I hoped exhaustion might slow him down a bit. I talked very rapidly. "Before you do so, my lord, I will tell you one fact, and if I'm wrong, you may do with me as you will. Of course you can do with me as you will anyway, but..." I stopped and cursed myself for a babbling fool, then began again.

"In some hour just before you were struck with this malady of sleeplessness, you had a visitor in these chambers. My guess is that this visitor brought you a gift-something of bra.s.s or bronze or porcelain. He put it directly in your hand. Very shortly thereafter, he found the need to light a candle or pull a burning twig from your fire. You may or may not have noticed him draw a pattern in the air with the fire. It may have just looked like he was using his hands to express himself and had forgotten he held it. Shall I tell you who was this visitor, my lord? And shall I tell you the word he spoke when he touched the fire?"

The Prince sat motionless. "I have many visitors and receive many gifts. If there's meaning to this blathering, you'd best get to it while you have a tongue that works."

I sagged in relief. If I had guessed wrong, I would be on my way to the flogging post at best.

"If I can discover this gift... this artifact... my lord, will you listen to what else I can tell you about it?"

"I do not bargain with slaves."

"It's not a bargain. Of course not. I only beg hearing and believe that my act will lend weight to my words."

"Show me."

I bowed, then stood up and picked up the candle. After a moment's preparation-a clearing of the mind and a shifting of focus that would allow me to see and hear with deeper senses-I began to walk around the large, quiet room. I shone the candle on every surface, on every bit of gla.s.s or metal, examining every bottle, every decoration, the painted dishes with remnants of an early breakfast, bells, rings, the box of ulyat stones and pegs, scattered jewelry, the Prince's sword belt thrown on the floor, the clasp on his fur robe dropped beside it, the riding crop and gloves tossed on a table. My ordinary senses became aware of someone speaking to me, but I was not listening for voices, so I didn't hear what he was saying.

The skills I used were not sorcery. My power was long dead, methodically and deliberately destroyed in the first days of my captivity. But I had been trained from age five to see and hear, taste and smell with acuity well beyond the usual, to detect the irregularities in the weaving of the world caused by enchantment. One could not live every moment with such sensitivity; the barrage of sensation would be exhausting, akin to living inside of a pounding drum or drowning in an artist's paint pot. And so I had also learned to shift back and forth between ordinary senses and extraordinary, only calling on those heightened skills when needed.

There ... what was that? I stepped to the small writing desk by the window, and quiet, gut-twisting music sounded faintly in my head. Closer. I held the candle high and the soft light gleamed on the polished finish of the desk.

Where was it? The music was louder, wrenching, teeth-on-edge dissonance, where the next note you expected to hear fell sour upon the ear and the soul.

Quickly... before it deafens you. Demon music eats the mind away.

I pulled open the drawer and found it, a heavy bra.s.s seal with an ivory handle that would imprint the same Derzhi lion and falcon as Aleksander's ring when pressed into hot wax. A larger seal than his ring, designed to be used for official doc.u.ments of the Empire. A mark of his coming majority when he would become his father's voice and not just his father's son. The waves of enchantment pulsing from the handsome thing made my skin itch and my spine cold. I shifted my focus again, picked up the heavy piece, and turned to Aleksander, who stood not five paces behind me, staring at the thing in my hand.

"Here, my lord. This is what the Khelid gave you."

"What witchery is this, Ezzarian?" said the Prince softly. I could not see his face in the dark. "Were you not put through the Rites as I was told? Or is this some more ordinary treachery?"

Stupid to think he would accept my word. "I have been through the Rites of Balthar, my lord. I have no power of any kind, nor any way to use it. But there are skills ... practiced skills no different than fencing or riding or dancing ...

that the Rites cannot take away. That's what I used to find this thing."

"What has this gift to do with this sickness of mine? Choose your words carefully, slave. I am not the fool you take me for."

Careful! I almost laughed. I had abandoned sixteen years of caution the moment I stepped into his rooms. Stupid fool. To stick one finger in a boiling pot and, because I did not immerse my whole hand, believe I would remain unburned. Every lesson of my life demanded I remain mute.

"I've seen this kind of affliction before. I recognized the signs of it these three days. Such enchantments are carried on artifacts that have been triggered with fire. This is where you sleep. It had to be here. Throw it in the fire for an hour and the enchantment will be broken."

"And why would you tell me this? Don't say it's because you love me well.

Think you to get an extra ration tonight? Or perhaps a silken pillow or a pliant female for your slave-house bed? Do you think because I've missed a few hours' sleep that I'll believe the first lunatic story that a cowardly, sniveling slave tells me?"

Before I could attempt an answer, the back of his hand sent me stumbling backward. My shoulder struck the corner of the writing desk, and I ended up in a heap at its feet. The ivory and bra.s.s seal flew out of my hand and clattered onto the tile floor beyond the carpet.

"I don't believe in sorcery, slave." His boot caught me in the side, before I could roll up to protect my more vulnerable parts. "You think you're very clever . .. yes, I've seen it. You watch me and judge me, and here is the result of it. I told you that you think too much, but you didn't heed my warning." His boots were very heavy, and his feet were very quick and very strong. " Tell the story to the fool of a Derzhi,' you thought. 'Tell him it's the Khelid, for he doesn't trust them. He'll sleep soon enough, and he'll believe it was his slave who saved him. He'll thank me.' Is that how it goes?"

He kept at me with both words and boots. I began to lose track of the words in a fog of dizziness and pain. I couldn't blame him, of course. What reason would he have to believe a slave would try to help him? Yet even as the darkness came rolling over me, I was satisfied. At least I would see no demon's eyes that night.

Chapter 7.