David Tallerman - Prince Thief

It was strange to find the Pasaedan camp almost cheerful-seeming after everything that had happened so recently within its bounds. There was no sign left of the morning’s fighting; no bodies, and no blood that I could discern in the fading daylight. But there were campfires now, their orange light wavering merrily in the gloom, and from more than one side I could smell the odour of food cooking. It only occurred to me then that I hadn’t eaten all day — and though the soldier’s dinner was surely meagre fare, I found my mouth watering.

By contrast, the royal pavilion looked less impressive in the evening light. Its colours were faded, its outlines confused; it looked less like a transplanted palace now, more like an odd-shaped hill with flags stuck into it. As before, there were guards on the door — the same two as before, I realised. When both Malekrin and I claimed to have no weapons, they made a point of patting us down until they were satisfied we were telling the truth. Then one of them, looking at me but speaking to Ondeges, asked, “Who’s this?”

The King’s own guards, it seemed, didn’t have to be polite even to commanders. Ondeges didn’t seem concerned, however, as he replied, “The boy wants him along. He’s harmless.”

“You vouch for him?” asked the guard.

“I vouch that he’s no threat,” Ondeges said.

The guard nodded. “All right. But no one else.”

An elaborate way of saying Ondeges wasn’t allowed in; again, though, he seemed unperturbed. But as the guard moved to lead the way, Ondeges leaned close to me and hissed, “ Just keep your mouth shut. ”

I didn’t contradict him. I had nothing to say to Panchessa besides some enthusiastic pleading, if and when things went how I expected them to go.

Our guard led us inside by the same route as before, and on into the great hexagonal chamber. Just as before, Panchessa was waiting sprawled upon his throne. This time, however, only two cloaked lanterns burned, sinking most of the space in ruddy obscurity, and there was no one else to be seen: no advisors, not even any guards. At a wave from the King, even the one who’d escorted us departed.

What a shame Malekrin had picked me for a companion. Anyone else might have thought to smuggle a weapon in, or else attacked Panchessa with their bare hands, and so ended this war once and for all. Then again, I wasn’t sure that Panchessa would need more than a nudge to ease him out of life. Now that my eyes had adjusted to the scanty, red-tinged light, I could see that he looked more infirm than he had that morning; he was gently shivering, every so often twitching, and his face was drawn and waxen.

Panchessa looked Malekrin up and down, ignoring my presence entirely. In the shadows, I couldn’t make out anything of his expression. Finally, he said, “Thank you for coming, boy. There were things I’d meant to tell you before, and instead I let my anger at your grandmother get the better of me.”

“My name isn’t boy,” Malekrin said. “It’s Malekrin.”

I winced — but all Panchessa said was, “Yes, I remember. I was hard on you earlier, Malekrin.”

“I suppose,” said Malekrin, “that being king means you can talk to people however you choose.”

“True,” agreed Panchessa, ignoring Malekrin’s obvious gibe. “Still. Of all the conversations I might have had with my only grandson on our first meeting, that wasn’t the one I would have chosen.”

Malekrin shrugged. “I’m not sure what else we’d have to talk about.”

Panchessa gave that a moment’s consideration; at least that was how I interpreted his silence. Eventually he said, “I didn’t rape your grandmother, Malekrin.”

“That’s between you and my grandmother.”

“I didn’t force myself on her. She was willing as any woman ever was. But I knew what she wanted; and when I think back, perhaps I knew as well how fiercely she wanted it. Power. To be the consort of a king. I took her, and I knew I’d never give her what she sought.”

While he’d spoken, Panchessa had been staring at the carpeted ground. Now, he looked up, as though expecting a response. Whatever he’d been seeking, he seemed not to find it in Malekrin’s face.

“She was a beautiful woman, then,” Panchessa continued. “And I was a handsome man. What need had I to worry about what some chieftain’s wife might covet? Or whether she’d hate me for it afterwards?”

Again Panchessa’s eyes roved across Malekrin’s face. Again he failed to find whatever he’d been seeking.

“But she did hate. And if I’d known what harm would come from those nights, perhaps I’d have done differently. Then again, perhaps I wouldn’t have. I’ve told no one this, Malekrin, no one ever… but it saddened me to think that my son, your father, despised me. I never met him. They tell me he was a brave man, though — those that did and lived to tell.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Malekrin. If he was in any way moved by the King’s unexpected openness, it didn’t show in his voice; in fact, he sounded more bored than anything. “My father hardly spoke to me.”

“Malekrin,” said Panchessa, “I know you’re angry. I know you have your reasons. But you should try and hear me now. I’m an old man, I’m dying, and I’ve come to realise — perhaps too late — that the legacy I leave is not the one I might have chosen. Whether or not you can understand that, boy, I suggest you listen to what I have to tell you.”

I nudged Malekrin hard in the ribs. “You should listen, for both our sakes,” I whispered. So far, every word to leave his mouth had seemed a deliberate attempt to lose us our heads.

“I have a proposal for you,” Panchessa said. “Come back to Pasaeda with me and learn what I can teach you in whatever time I have left. If and when I’m satisfied that you can bear the responsibility, you may have your wish: you will be king in my place.”

“I told you before,” said Malekrin, without the slightest hesitation. “That’s not my wish, it’s my grandmother’s. I don’t want to be king. I just want you to leave this city alone; this city and Shoan. I don’t want anyone else to have to die because of you and my grandmother.”

Panchessa’s face darkened. Whatever conciliation had been in his voice was altogether vanished as he said, softly but ever so clearly, “You dare compare me to that woman?”

“You both think people are tools for you to use,” said Malekrin. “Or weapons. Or toys. But they’re not. They have a right to live their lives without being sent off to die because of someone else’s stupid squabbles.”

“You understand nothing about…”

“No, you don’t understand. You think you can make up for all the harm you’ve done like this? All my life has ever been is what other people thought it should be!” Malekrin’s voice was quavering, close to tears — and yet there was a streak of iron in it I’d never heard before. “Well, I won’t be king. Not because you or my grandmother or anyone else thinks it’s right. Not for any reason.”

“You… ungrateful, you…” Panchessa stood then, in a sudden jolt that seemed to cost more effort than standing ever reasonably should. “Go now,” he said. His voice was thick, strangled. “Get out of my sight. Whatever happens now, it’s on your head.”

Ondeges was waiting outside Panchessa’s tent. One look at our expressions told him everything he needed to know. “It’s war then?” he said.

“To the bitter end,” I told him cheerfully. For no reason I could make sense of, I felt oddly light — as though a weight had lifted from my shoulders. It was as close to real happiness as I’d been in days.

Ondeges made no answer. His face was harsh and closed beneath the dancing firelight. He led us as far as the edge of camp, ignoring the curious looks of the huddled fighting men we passed. When we drew near to the Suburbs, he handed me the lantern he carried and said, “You can make your own way from here. There’s much I have to attend to before morning.”