Guarded (3 page)

Volos was nearly speechless with astonishment. “I… I… I’m at your service anytime, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” The king stepped closer, and a nearby lantern illuminated his face. He looked older than Volos remembered, and tired, with dark circles under his eyes. “I want to apologize first for my son’s behavior the last time we met. He was unconscionably rude.”

Again, Volos didn’t know what to say. He could hardly argue that Prince Berhanu
hadn’t
been rude, and the king would think him an idiot if he claimed not to have noticed. He settled on an untruth. “Thank you, sir. But it’s not important.”

“Treating others as they deserve to be treated is always important. But you’re right. It’s not the most pressing matter at the moment.”

The lantern flame fluttered slightly as a door in the dark corner of the room opened, then shut. Someone stepped closer, and for a brief moment Volos’s heart stuttered in his chest. But then the man came close enough to be seen properly, and Volos realized that while there was a definite resemblance, the newcomer was not Prince Berhanu. This man was far less muscular and several years older, his dark hair shot through with many strands of gray. He looked nearly as haggard as the king.

The king made a small gesture with his hands. “Chide, this is Volos Perun. He’s a member of our guard.”

Chide— more formally, Crown Prince Chidehu— nodded. “I’ve seen him around the castle, I believe.”

Unsure of the proper etiquette, Volos executed a clumsy bow. He was used to royalty ignoring him, not conversing with him. “At your service, Your Highness.”

“You’re half Kozari.”

“I… yes, sir. But my mother—”

“I know. And my father has told me that my brother was inexcusably ill-mannered to you.”

Was the entire royal family intent on apologizing for Berhanu? “I believe the prince dislikes Kozari.”

Chidehu’s answering laugh held no humor, and his face twisted so bitterly that Volos thought he might even cry. “Two of our brothers were slaughtered by Kozari during the war. One was a soldier but the other— Faraju— was only a child. But perhaps you knew that already.”

Volos gave a cautious nod. “Yes, sir. And I’m sorry for your loss.”

The king made a small noise deep in his throat. “I understand you lost your own family to the Kozari.”

The sharp pang never dulled, not even decades later. Even before the war had begun, Volos’s father— an ardent advocate for peace— had been forced to flee Kozar. He hadn’t been safe in Wedeyta, though. Kozari assassins had tracked him down eventually. While Volos hid in terror inside a cupboard, the men had murdered everyone. They’d likely have sought out Volos and killed him too, but a neighbor had been visiting at the time— a sweet boy who was friends with one of Volos’s sisters— and the assassins had mistaken the child for Volos.

“Yes, sir,” Volos said evenly. “My parents and my siblings.”

“How do
you
feel about the Kozari?” asked Prince Chidehu.

“I don’t…” Volos scratched at his hair. “I killed a lot of them during the war.”

“And?”

“And… it didn’t bring my family back to life.” Did admitting this amount to treason?

“It never does,” the king replied sadly. Then his gaze sharpened. “How far does your loyalty to the crown go?”

“As far as it needs to.” Volos’s heart began to pound heavily, although he wasn’t sure why.

“You’ve risked your life in service to this country. Would you do it again?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Why?”

“I… I took an oath, sir.”

The king continued to stare at him. “An oath is only words.”

“No, it’s—” Volos stopped himself. Took a deep breath. The ground beneath him now felt more dangerous than any battlefield. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. But to me, an oath is much more than that. My promise is… apart from my sword, it’s the only thing of value I possess. And even the best sword can be replaced. My… my integrity cannot.”

It was an honest answer, and perhaps also the right one, because something in the king’s eyes softened slightly, and he nodded. But he wasn’t through with the interrogation. “Captain Hiwot informs me that Berhanu’s display in this room was hardly the first time he’s treated you with… scorn.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’ve tried to behave respectfully toward him, and—”

“Yes. Your captain tells me this as well. She says your restraint has been quite admirable, in fact.”

Another shift of the floor beneath him. Volos wished he had something to hold on to for balance. “Thank you, sir.”

“Volos Perun, does your loyalty to the crown extend to Prince Berhanu? Would you risk your life for him as well?”

“Yes, sir,” Volos answered immediately, even though his tongue was thick.

King Tafari and Prince Chidehu exchanged a very long look, clearly having a silent conversation. Perhaps they reached an agreement, because they both turned to him at once.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” said Chidehu. “Because you may very well end up dying on my brother’s behalf.”

****

Chapter Two

Sitting at a table with a bottle of wine in front of them, exhaustion making gray shadows under their eyes, King Tafari and Crown Prince Chidehu looked remarkably human. They looked like two men sick with worry about their son and brother.

Chidehu stood, walked to the fireplace, and coaxed fresh flames. After he sat down again, he poured wine for all three of them. But while the other two men took healthy swigs, Volos had only a polite sip. His head was swimming enough already.

“Berhanu is a stubborn fool,” said the king, sounding more sorrowful than angry. “He should have taken you with him, as I told him to. You might have been able to protect him.”

“Protect him from what, sir?” asked Volos quietly. He didn’t truly want to hear the answer.

And the king didn’t give him one, at least not immediately. Instead, he toyed with his wineglass, rimmed in gold and inset with jewels at the base. Volos had an identical glass. He hardly wanted to touch it for fear of breaking it.

“There have been rumblings of war from Mudedye,” the king said at last, naming the country to the southeast. “It began as a border dispute after the river changed its course, and now… well, sometimes these things take on a life of their own. The king of Mudedye is not well liked, and I expect he hopes a war with us will improve his popularity. I do not want a war, Volos.”

Volos nodded solemnly. He didn’t want one either.

King Tafari took another gulp, refilled his glass, and continued. “Kozar is a strong ally of Mudedye. Strong enough that the Kozari queen might be able to persuade Mudedye to find a peaceful settlement with us. The trick, of course, is getting her to believe that peace would be in her best interests as well. And as you know, our relationship with her is… complicated.” He paused, perhaps waiting for Volos to digest this knotty situation.

“I see, sir,” Volos said after a moment. It occurred to him that King Tafari must have to juggle these delicate, complex matters all the time. Volos was suddenly very grateful to be simply a guard.

“Even approaching the queen to discuss these issues is something that must be done with a certain amount of secrecy. It wouldn’t do for Mudedye to discover our conversations too soon. So instead of going myself or sending a large delegation, I thought to send a single man. And someone to guard him and translate for him.”

“But— forgive me, Your Majesty. May I ask a question?”

The king waved his wineglass slightly. “Of course.”

“I don’t mean to be impertinent. But was Prince Berhanu the, uh, best choice? Considering his feelings about Kozari, I mean. Sir.” He steeled himself for punishment.

But all he got were bitter chuckles from the other men. “He was a terrible choice,” said Prince Chidehu. “But there weren’t any good alternatives. The journey was bound to be hazardous, and Father didn’t wish to…”

“To risk the heir,” finished the king. “Not to mention that you have a beloved wife and four children, and Berhanu has only his nightly conquests.” He gave his son a fond smile before returning his attention to Volos. “And any messenger but royalty would have offended the queen and doomed us from the beginning. In any case, Berhanu pledged to put his prejudices aside and do what was best for his country. He’s impetuous at times, and he requires a more civil tongue in his head, but he’s a good man, Volos. I trust him.”

Oddly, Volos agreed. Aside from his hatred for Volos, Prince Berhanu had a reputation for fairness and intelligence. Had Volos been in any position to do so, he would have trusted him too. And if Berhanu was able to set aside his ill will for the Kozari enough to travel to their country and negotiate with the queen, Volos refused to be devastated by the revelation that he was unwilling to have Volos at his side as he did so.

“What happened, Your Majesty?” he asked.

It was Prince Chidehu who answered. “He took a translator with him. Some old lady from the university. She may or may not have been adept with the language, but she certainly didn’t know how to wield a sword.” He swallowed the last of the wine in his glass before rubbing his face.

This was the part Volos had been dreading almost since the beginning of the conversation. “A sword would have been useful?” he asked quietly.

“Probably.” Chidehu spoke without any inflection, the way a bored fishmonger might state the price of the day’s catch. “My brother was kidnapped shortly after he crossed the Kozari border.”

The blood rushed loudly in Volos’s ears. “Kidnapped by whom, Your Highness?”

“Juganin.”

It wasn’t an unpleasant word, objectively speaking. In Kozari, it meant “hands”. But it actually meant much more than that, because the Juganin was the branch of Kozari military charged with carrying out the most unpleasant tasks. Even Kozari citizens feared them. The assassins who killed Volos’s family were Juganin. As were the soldiers who ran the prisoner of war camp where he’d spent eleven hellish months.

Volos downed the entire glass of wine in one long draught and then— without asking permission— poured himself a refill. But even as panic scrambled his thoughts, a single voice of clarity reminded him that the king was asking for help. And that meant that perhaps there was still hope. “Does Prince Berhanu yet live, sir?” he whispered.

King Tafari and the crown prince both nodded.

“The interpreter’s body was found several days after they left Wedeyta,” said the king, his lip curled with disgust. “But not my son’s. And we have recently… we recently received a message from Queen Draga. She says that the men who took him are extremists. Rebellious Juganin who wish to stir hostilities between us. They would have known Berhanu was coming, but she says she did not authorize his capture.”

“Is she telling the truth?” asked Volos. Apparently tonight was his time to question the actions of royalty.

“I hope so,” the king answered grimly. “And we are… placed in an awkward situation.”

Volos frowned slightly as he tried to comprehend the ramifications of Berhanu’s kidnapping. He was relieved when Chidehu offered further explanation. “Queen Draga cannot send in her own soldiers to fetch him because doing so would mean she was publicly endorsing his attempt to negotiate with her— and she cannot do that without angering Mudedye. Likewise, she cannot allow us to send our own soldiers to fetch him, although that’s clearly what the rebels are hoping for. Besides, it’s an embarrassment to her that some of the Juganin have escaped her control. And if we do nothing at all, the Juganin will soon conclude their ploy has failed and they’ll simply kill Berhanu. His only value to them is as bait for us.”

Volos had never been a strategist, and his head spun with all the impossibilities. In the end, though, he decided it came down to only one thing. “How can I help, sirs? Please. What can I do?”

It had been a night full of surprises, but perhaps none of them greater than the warm, grateful smiles now bestowed on him by the king and prince. King Tafari even went so far as to reach across the table and briefly lay his hand over Volos’s. “Good man,” he said, squeezing firmly.

When he took back his hand, he wrapped it around the stem of his wine glass and stared into the ruby liquid as he spoke. “The queen has told us where she believes Berhanu is being held. She’s granted us permission to send a single man to attempt to rescue him. And she has pledged that if Berhanu is freed, she will listen most carefully to our entreaties.”

As simple as he was, Volos understood what this meant: it wasn’t only Berhanu’s life that hung in the balance, but also the lives of the thousands of men and women who would suffer if Mudedye went to war with Wedeyta. “Why only one person, Your Majesty? I see why she wouldn’t allow an entire company of soldiers, but surely a small squadron would work, or—”

“Only one,” Prince Chidehu interrupted. “So that if he is caught, both sides can claim he was merely an aberration. A man defying orders. A larger group— even two or three— looks much more like something planned.”

Volos nodded. “When will I leave, sirs?”

Prince Chidehu held up a hand. “You understand that… that the likelihood is high that you will be killed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And if you are taken alive, we will not send anyone to rescue you. We cannot. If asked, we will claim you acted without orders.”

An echo of pain— years old— resonated in Volos’s body. “I won’t be taken alive.” He’d die by his own hand first.

“Very well,” said King Tafari solemnly. “And if you are successful, our gratitude will be… very generous.”

Would the king be incredulous if Volos told him he needed no incentives or rewards to take on this task? In truth, Volos would have attempted to rescue Berhanu even had the king expressly forbidden him to do so.

He didn’t drink any more wine. And although the hour was very late and he’d had only an hour or two of sleep, he was no longer tired. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of purpose— suicidal as it may have been. After a few final arrangements were made, he bowed to the king and prince and hurried to the dormitory to pack his things.