The Rose Throne (22 page)

O
THER THAN IN THE PRESENCE
of the court that summer, Edik and Issa spent no time together. He did not invite her to walk outdoors with him in good weather. He did not even dance with her after dinner, unless his father suggested it. Then he seemed so focused on his steps that it would be cruelty to distract him. He was not a graceful dancer, though he was young and perhaps might grow into it.

Issa would ask him about his tutors, but he would tell her only about his training with the taweyr in the courtyard. She would ask him about his metal
soldiers, but he said that they were for children and he did not play with them anymore. He did love Midnight, but he would not speak about that, either. She had as little idea who he was as when she had first seen his portrait.

Prince Edik could be quiet and watchful. He would speak in his father’s tones, with the proper words of a courtier. But then his attention would waver and he would fidget in his seat and speak as coarsely as any of the guards. When his father ignored him, he seemed to have no idea why.

Sometimes, Prince Edik took a bit of his own meat from dinner and fed it to Midnight under the table. He tried to keep his hound away from the others, but the king subtly encouraged his own animals to tease and pick at the newer, smaller one.

King Haikor laughed at their antics and told Edik he should do the same, even when Midnight whined at him and bled where the other hounds had scratched him.

Issa was horrified and tried to help by adding a little neweyr to the creature’s food the next day. It seemed to help, and for days, Midnight stood his ground against the other, larger hounds.

But a few days after that, the hound was found dead in the middle of the Throne Room after dinner.
Prince Edik wept bitterly, and when his father told him to be quiet, he grew sullen. Late that evening, after the king had departed, Issa saw him sneak back into the room and take Midnight’s body with him.

Silently, Issa followed him outside the palace to the courtyard, where Edik set the animal down gently, then turned his anger to the ground itself, tearing at it with his hands until he had dug a hole large enough for the animal. It was not a proper grave by any means, but he mounded up the dirt on top and then patted it gently, weeping silently all the while.

Issa returned to her own rooms and wept for the grieving boy. She wondered if she should have left the puppy in Weirland. It would still be alive, and perhaps Prince Edik would have grieved less to have never loved it. But what a cruel world Edik lived in, that everything he loved was taken from him.

It was not always so easy to feel for the prince, however. Edik could be as cruel as his father, especially when King Haikor was watching him, and Issa saw these moments far more often as the summer passed.

One day, Prince Edik lost a jeweled pin that he often wore on his tunic. He searched for it when King Haikor was not in the Throne Room, and he boxed the ears of one page boy who interrupted him.
Issa did not understand why he valued it so highly.

“It was our mother’s,” said Ailsbet, who had seen Issa watching the prince. Then she added, “It may be all that he has left of her.”

This was the boy she was to marry, when he became a man. But what kind of man would he be?

That evening, Issa’s gaze was caught by the sight of Ailsbet and Kellin standing close together, their shoulders brushing against each other, and she felt a hot rush of pain. It should be her hand almost touching Kellin’s. It should be she who leaned in and spoke to him intimately. But he had never shown her a moment of answering feeling in Weirland or here. And even if he had—it would not matter.

She looked away and met the eyes of Prince Edik, feeling a sudden panic at the thought that the prince could guess her feelings.

As the prince came closer, she blurted out, “Your hands are very white and fine,” an attempt at a compliment. But as soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing. It was not at all a compliment for a boy trying to be seen as a man.

Prince Edik put his hands behind his back. “Your braids are coming undone,” he told her, in equal frankness.

Self-conscious, Issa put a hand to her head and felt
several braids falling down from the pins that held them.

“My mother never braided her hair,” added Prince Edik. He had grown since the portrait, but he was still no taller than she was.

“It is a different tradition,” Issa said. “I understand that.”

“It is my tradition, and it will be yours when we are married. Then you will let your hair go loose, or pin it up properly,” said Prince Edik. “For I shall be your husband, and the neweyr must always follow the taweyr as the wife follows her husband.”

Issa felt her cheeks grow hot. As she lifted her hands to cool them, Prince Edik reached for them, examining her palms closely until Issa pulled them away. “And when we are married,” he continued, “you will oil your hands every day and perfume them until they please me. For a princess has no place touching with her own hands the land that provides for her.”

“But the neweyr—” said Issa.

Prince Edik cut her off. “White hands are the sign of royalty. But perhaps in Weirland, you are not used to true royalty.”

It so incensed Issa that she had to turn away. But that was a mistake, for she caught a glimpse of Kellin
touching Princess Ailsbet’s loose red hair, the two of them laughing intimately together.

Sitting behind her, Edik spoke close to her ear: “You see, you are far too modest in your habits. In Rurik, women in love smile and laugh and flutter their eyes,” he said.

“I am sorry. I do not know you well yet. And I have many responsibilities,” said Issa. How else could she excuse herself?

“And I have none?” demanded Prince Edik.

“No, I did not mean that. I only meant—” She stopped.

“I have as many duties as you do. I must use my taweyr many times a day. My father has great need of me. Just because you do not see it does not mean you should not respect it.”

“Of course, I respect your taweyr,” said Issa. He was so much younger than she was, and she felt she had to treat him gently.

“I do not believe it,” Edik said, belligerent. “Have you ever noticed when I used it?”

“I’m sure you have not noticed when I used my neweyr, either,” Issa said.

There was a moment of frozen surprise. “You have used it here? In the palace?” said Prince Edik. “Without my father’s permission?”

Issa hesitated. “I meant no offense to you or your father. I beg your pardon for what is so natural.” She could hardly avoid using it every day. It was her habit to use it when she woke to find out the weather, to smell her favorite flowers, even though there were none in her chambers.

“If it is so natural, then you can show it to me. Here. Now.” There was a hint of mockery in his tone.

“I think that is not necessary,” said Issa.

“And I think it is. If you think the neweyr is so much a part of you that you cannot bear not to use it, then prove it to me. Prove it is so much more powerful than my mother’s.” His arms were crossed over his chest petulantly.

“I did not say it was more powerful than your mother’s,” said Issa. “I never meant to cast aspersion on her or her neweyr.” But clearly, he thought she had.

“Make my father’s hounds dance,” Edik commanded her.

It was then that Issa saw that Edik wanted this less as a reminder of his mother than as a rebellion against his father, who had moved on so easily after her death.

“Or plant a tree at the foot of my father’s throne. Do it boldly and unmistakably,” said Edik.

“If I planted a tree at your father’s throne, it would grow for many years until it swallowed the throne that will be yours one day,” said Issa.

Prince Edik shrugged. “Then something else. Could you grow a flower in your hands and give it to me?”

Issa could do that. But she felt she had gone too far in coddling him tonight. “When we are married,” she said, “you will command me in many things. I shall wear the gowns you choose and say the words you write for me. But the neweyr is not a prince’s nor even a king’s. That will remain mine always.”

At this, Prince Edik’s face went as fiery red as his sister’s hair. “I shall show you my taweyr now, for all to see.”

He looked around the room and saw his sister with Duke Kellin.

“You, Kellin,” said the prince, stepping forward.

Duke Kellin looked up, unafraid. Issa could see no way to send him warning. Her heart pounded in fear for him.

“Spar with me. Show your taweyr, if you think you are worthy of my sister, the princess of Rurik.”

“As my prince commands me,” Kellin said immediately.

Prince Edik began to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Duke Kellin stood before him calmly.

Prince Edik slammed his fist forward, into Kellin’s stomach. The duke groaned but held his place.

Issa could see no taweyr in what he had done. That was only a physical action. But what did Issa know of how to use the taweyr? Or how to stop it?

“I could send you flying across the room if I wished it. I could kill you with a thought,” threatened Edik. He was a foot shorter than the duke and must weigh less than half. Even his voice was still a child’s.

Issa thought Edik must be depending on Kellin to allow him to win, because he was the prince.

“Come, give the prince a battle,” King Haikor called out. “There’s no honor in it for him if you bow down and make obeisance, Kellin.”

“He is your son and heir,” said Kellin.

“He is prince of Weirland,” said King Haikor, “and as such, he needs a little honest battle of taweyr now and again. Teach him to believe he can lose, Kellin. For only then will he truly have the courage to win.” The king waved out the wide, lead-paned windows to the fields where the most famous battle of the war against Aristonne had been fought and won only twenty years earlier.

“You give me permission to unleash the full strength of my taweyr against him?” asked Kellin.

“As if you would not otherwise—” Edik began.

“I do,” said King Haikor.

“It will make no difference,” shouted Edik.

“My prince,” said Kellin.

Prince Edik ran at him again.

Where was Ailsbet? Why did she not try to stop her brother? Issa saw her standing nearby. She looked angry, her face flushed, her fists clenched.

Duke Kellin slid to the side, easily evading the prince’s attack. Edik had to throw up his hands and stop himself.

The prince whirled. “Show your taweyr!” he shouted.

“There is more than one use of taweyr, my prince,” said Duke Kellin smoothly. “A subtle trick turns away an obvious one. Not all battles are on an open field.”

This response only made Prince Edik angrier. He barreled forward again, this time knocking against Kellin’s chest. The prince stumbled but did not fall, and when he stood again, there was a trickle of blood falling from a shallow cut on one cheek.

Edik put a hand to his cheek, his eyes wild. “You will regret that!” he shouted.

Issa looked over at Ailsbet again. She had a dark expression on her face and seemed to be holding her breath.

Prince Edik ran again toward Kellin, and Issa saw in the corner of her eye a flickering of Ailsbet’s hand. At that moment, the duke flew across the room and landed heavily on his side, unconscious.

Prince Edik cheered for himself, and then others joined in.

But Ailsbet looked ill. She moved toward Kellin as if she had lost all her strength.

“Kellin?” said Ailsbet.

The prince waved a hand. “I could kill him if I wished it,” he said casually, striding away.

“Yes, we all know,” said the king, sounding bored. “But I find Duke Kellin a useful tool. If he dies because of this night’s contest, you will have deprived me of his service, and I shall expect compensation.”

Issa began to tremble, and Prince Edik put his arm around her possessively.

Issa was glad that no one else was watching her. They were looking at Ailsbet, who was weeping and shaking uncontrollably. Only Issa knew why she was weeping. It was because she had been forced to use her taweyr against Kellin to protect her brother. She
must have worked very hard to avoid killing them both.

King Haikor motioned to the servants to help Kellin. He was carried off between the two of them. Ailsbet followed behind, in control of herself once more.

“I showed him not to treat me as a boy,” Edik said to Issa.

“Indeed you did,” said Issa, afraid to contradict him now.

“He will be well in the morning. Father will send a physician to him. You will see, Princess Marlissa. There is no need for you to cry.” He patted at her shoulder, but Issa told herself that this time, at least, there was a reason for her to weep.

A
S SHE SAT IN
K
ELLIN’S
bedchamber, Ailsbet was conscious of the fact that it was her own taweyr that had hurt Kellin. She had not meant to do it. She had only meant to help Edik, and then she had lost control. Afterward, the taweyr had fallen away from her in a rush, and she was left panting and exhausted. No wonder her father had become more irritable and irrational in his later years, living with this pressure of the taweyr day after day. How did any man stand it?