4
The second-born prince of Hálendii struggled with his chains as he crossed toward the rail of the pleasure barge. The silver links ran from Kanthe ry Massif’s ankles up to the collars of the two chaaen-bound escorts who trailed behind him. Even after spending a full season in Kysalimri, the Eternal City of the Southern Klashe, he had not acquired the skill necessary to fluidly match his stride to those bound to him.
His left leg tried to reach out, only to be brought up short by his chained ankle. He flailed his arms in an entirely unprincely manner, attempting to catch his balance, but recognized it was a lost cause. He fell headlong toward the deck—then a firm hand gripped his shoulder and caught him. His rescuer chuckled as he drew Kanthe upright and helped him over to the rail.
“Thanks, Rami,” Kanthe said. “You just saved me from breaking this handsome nose of mine.”
“We certainly cannot have that, my friend, especially with your nuptials only a moon’s turn away.” Rami turned to a raised dais in the center of the wide boat. “Of course, my sister, Aalia, would not tolerate her beloved to be so marred on her most perfect of days.”
Kanthe glanced across the deck to the velvet divan. Sheltered under the barge’s sails, Aalia im Haeshan rested atop a nest of pillows, seated on one hip. She was a shadowed rose, adorned in silk robes woven with golden threads. Her oiled braids, as dark as polished ebony, draped her shoulders. An embroidered bonnet bedecked in rubies and sapphires crowned her head. Her black eyes stared askance, coldly, not even once glancing toward her betrothed.
Kanthe studied her. It was only the fourth time he had laid eyes upon her since arriving on these shores. My future bride, he lamented silently. While only a year older than Kanthe’s seventeen winters, she looked far more mature, certainly more than a prince who had fled to these shores, a prince considered to be a traitor to his own people.
Contrarily, Aalia was held in the highest esteem. It was evident by those who kept her company. Twelve chaaen-bound knelt around her, six to a side. The dozen, like Kanthe’s two escorts, were cloaked under robes, their heads capped in leather, their faces hidden behind veils tucked into their neck collars. Such Klashean byor-ga garb was required of the baseborn when outside their homes. Only those of the single ruling class, known as the imri, which meant godly in their tongue, were allowed to show their faces. The hundreds of other castes had to remain covered from crown to toe, apparently deemed too unworthy for the Father Above to gaze upon them. This applied also to the Chaaen, who were schooled at the Bad’i Chaa, the House of Wisdom, the sole school of the city, an establishment notorious both for its rigorousness and cruelty. The higher you were among the imri, the more Chaaen were bound to you, serving as aides, advisers, counselors, teachers, and sometimes objects of pleasure.
Resigned to his fate, Kanthe turned to stare across the Bay of the Blessed.
Rami kept to Kanthe’s side. Aalia’s brother was accompanied by six Chaaen of his own, three to a side, chained one after the other. Rami im Haeshan was the fourth son of the Imri-Ka, the god-emperor of the Klashe. He was considered of lesser rank among his siblings—unlike his younger sister, Aalia, the emperor’s sole daughter, who was held forth as the empire’s greatest treasure.
And I’m to marry her on the night of the winter’s solstice.
He wiped sweat from his forehead with the edge of his gilded sleeve. Unlike the Chaaen, who were required to wear the byor-ga garb, he had been decked in a gerygoud habiliment, which consisted of tight breeches shoved into snakeskin boots and a sleeveless tunic, all covered in a white robe that reached his knees with long-splayed sleeves. A cap of gold finished the outfit. It was the clothing of royalty. The Imri-Ka had granted Kanthe honorary imri status shortly after he had arrived here.
A better welcome than being thrown naked into a dank cell, I suppose.
Though with each passing day, he wondered if such a fate might not have been better. He heard the shuffle of Aalia’s entourage as the emperor’s daughter rose from her divan. She crossed toward the ship’s opposite rail, plainly avoiding him.
The royal assemblage had spent the sweltering morning gliding across the Bay of the Blessed, winding among the Stone Gods, the thirty-three isles and outcroppings that had been carved into representations of the Klashean pantheon, all thirty-three of them. Rami had tried to instruct Kanthe on the deities’ names and their respective domains within the holy hierarchy, but they all blurred together.
Rami remained determined and pointed ahead, toward a stone sculpture of a naked man with a rather prominent appendage between his legs, who carried a pudgy baby under one arm. Flowers and baskets of offerings lay festooned about his stone feet.
“Here comes the Har’ll, in all his majesty and prominence.” Rami lifted a brow toward Kanthe. “He is our god of fertility.”
“It’s certainly plain why he gained that reputation.” Kanthe waved past the statue. “Mayhap it’s best for now if we give him a wide berth.”
Rami laughed. “I’m sure you will sire many children. I’ve seen you in the baths. While you may not be as blessed as Har’ll, you will make my sister very happy.”
Kanthe coughed at such frankness. His face flushed hot. He tried to stammer away his discomfort. He still flustered at the ease with which the Klashean discussed such matters openly, with nary a bit of shame.
Unfortunately, Rami wasn’t done. “Of course, that applies to anyone you’d share your bed with.”
The man’s fingers slid down the rail to touch Kanthe’s hand, the invitation plain. It wasn’t the first hint that Rami would like to explore their relationship beyond their already warm friendship. Rami was a couple of years older, but Kanthe sensed nothing predatory or manipulative. It was simply an open invitation.
Kanthe had already known about the changeableness of Klashean relationships, both inside and outside of wedlock. Hálendiians ridiculed such behavior and considered it further proof that the Klasheans were immoral. Kanthe had always found such an aspersion to be hypocritical, especially considering the abundance of whorehouses throughout Hálendii, not to mention all the men and women indentured into sexual servitude. Even his father kept a palacio of pleasure serfs at Highmount.
If anything, Kanthe found the openness here to be more honest. He had talked to Frell about it in their rooms. The alchymist had theorized that the fluidity found here might have something to do with the Klasheans’ strict caste system, one that was rigid and overly complex.
When one screw tightens, another often loosens, Frell had offered.
Kanthe patted Rami’s hand and turned to lean against the rail. While Kanthe had been in these lands for a season, he still hadn’t found his way to becoming that loose.
Rami grinned and took a matching position against the portside rail. He clearly took no offense at Kanthe’s rejection. Aalia’s brother likely had no trouble filling his bed. He was tall, straight-backed, with the same handsomely dark eyes as his sister and a complexion like steeped bitterroot with honey. But more importantly, Rami had proven to be a good friend, acting as guide and teacher on all matters Klashean. And if Kanthe was honest with himself, Rami’s attention was flattering, a boost to his own esteem.
Especially considering Aalia’s abundant disregard.
Kanthe glanced across the barge. Aalia stood on the starboard side, shading a hand over her eyes to stare up at the next god gliding past their boat.
The purpose of the morning voyage had been for Kanthe and Aalia to spend time together, to converse politely under the gaze of a trio of chaperones, to perhaps get to know one another before the solstice. Aalia had only spoken one word to Kanthe: mashen’dray, which meant step aside. He had been blocking her view of one of the Stone Gods. He also noted that she used the word dray, an appellation when one addressed someone of a baseborn caste. It seemed not everyone was willing to accept Kanthe’s honorary imri status.
Kanthe couldn’t blame her.
No one who truly knows me would consider me “godly,” certainly not the Illuminated Rose of the Imri-Ka.
He gave a shake of his head. Even as a prince of Hálendii, he was held with little regard in his homeland. For all his life, Kanthe had lived in the shadow of his twin brother, Mikaen, who had shouldered out of their mother’s womb first, earning his birthright, destined from that moment for the throne. As such, Mikaen had been doted upon and cherished, readying him for his fate as future king of Hálendii.
Kanthe had a far less illustrious upbringing. He was delegated to being the Prince in the Cupboard, whose only use in life was to be a spare in case his older twin should die. His lot was to sit on a shelf in case he was ever needed. Still, to be of some usefulness to the kingdom, he had been trained at the school of Kepenhill, to prepare him to serve as future adviser to his brother.
Not that such a fate will ever come about now.
As he stood at the ship’s rail, Kanthe flashed to Mikaen lunging at him with a sword. Despair weighed heavily at this memory. Worse, it hadn’t been the first time that Mikaen had tried to kill him.
Kanthe sighed, still finding it all hard to fathom. As children, the two had been boon companions, as close as only twins could be—until their destinies inevitably pulled them apart. Mikaen was sent to the castle’s Legionary to be trained in all manner of strategy and weaponry. Kanthe was expelled beyond the castle walls to Kepenhill, forbidden to even wield a sword.
A gulf eventually opened between them. How could it not? They became as different as their faces. Though a twin to Kanthe, Mikaen looked as if he had been sculpted out of pale chalkstone, sharing their father’s countenance, including his curled blond locks and sea-blue eyes. Kanthe took after their dead mother. His skin was burnished ebonwood, his hair as black as coal, his eyes a stormy gray. He was forever a shadow to his brother’s brightness.
And now here I am, exiled among the kingdom’s enemies.
Kanthe had thrown his lot in with Nyx and the others, intent on stopping the doom to come. He searched the skies and spotted the full moon sitting near the horizon. It shone within the smoky haze of the Breath of the Urth, which marked the boundary between Hálendii and the Southern Klashe. The haze—made up of ash and fumes—rose from Shaar Ga, a massive volcanic peak that had been erupting for untold centuries, creating a natural smoky barrier between kingdom and empire.
Kanthe tried to imagine what was happening back in Azantiia. He suspected word of him reaching these shores had made it to Highmount and his father, King Toranth. Such a landfall would be taken as a betrayal, one to be stacked upon the others. They would assume Kanthe was siding with the Southern Klashe as war drums grew louder across the northern Crown. But again, that was not why he had come here.
He scowled at the smoke-shrouded moon.
It’s all your fault.
As if scolding him for this thought, a blast of thunder boomed in the distance and echoed across the forested shores. It was so loud the waters of the bay trembled.
Kanthe straightened, shaken out of his dreary reveries. He stared up at the clear blue skies, then down to the northern horizon. A patch of the Breath’s haze had darkened, blackened by fresh smoke—but the new pall hadn’t been belched out by Shaar Ga.
Kanthe’s hands tightened on the rail. He took a deep breath, trying to catch a whiff of what he suspected, but the distance was far too great. Still, he knew the source of that thunder. He had heard its telltale blast before.
The captain of the barge hurried over, closing upon Rami, who stood as stiff-backed as Kanthe. The hulking man carried a farscope in hand and held it forth.
Rami took it and extended it to its full length. “What is it, Ghees?”
“Looks to be coming from Ekau Watch,” the captain said.
Kanthe recognized the name of the large outpost on the northernmost coast of the Southern Klashe. He stepped closer to the others, drawing their attention.
“I fear someone must’ve dropped a Hadyss Cauldron over there,” Kanthe warned, picturing the barn-sized iron bomb named after the god of the fiery underworld.
“Are you certain?” Rami lifted the scope to one eye.
Kanthe shrugged. “Not long ago I had one nearly dropped on my head.” He then added a more worrisome note. “If I’m right, it takes a vessel the size of a warship to carry such a fearsome weapon.”
Rami leaned over the rail with his scope. “I don’t spot any wyndships. But that pall is dense. And flames are already spreading into the neighboring woods, churning up more smoke.”
Rami lowered the farscope and turned to Ghees. “Get us back to Kysalimri.”
The captain bowed brusquely, then hurried away. Rami gave Kanthe’s shoulder a last squeeze, then rushed after the man.
Alone now, Kanthe stared toward the horizon. He rubbed his shoulder where Rami had gripped him, plainly offering Kanthe reassurance.
I don’t deserve it.
He remembered his earlier reverie, wondering what had been transpiring in Hálendii. He was now certain: word had indeed reached his father of his son’s betrayal. While the tremble in the bay subsided, Kanthe’s breath grew heavier as he feared the worst.
Did my coming here push my father over the edge? Is this the result?
He couldn’t know for sure—but one certainty settled like a stone in his gut. He stared at the smoke, at the distant spark of spreading fires.
This act means war.
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
