Prince of Thorns

Sageous raised a brow at that. He’d had them shaved like his head, and drawn back in. He took a step backward.

“You’re an interesting young man, Prince Jorg.” His eyes hardened. Mild one moment, and in the next, dead as flint. “We shall have to find out what makes you tick, yes? I’ll have Robart escort you to your chamber, you must be tired.” All the time he spoke, the fingers of his right hand traced words in the flowing script across his left arm, brushing over one symbol jumping higher to a black crescent moon, underlining a phrase, underlining it again. I did feel tired. I felt lead in every limb, pulling me down.

“Robart!” he called out loud enough for the corridor.

He looked back to me, mild again. “I expect you’ll have dreams, Prince, after so long away.” His fingers moved over new lines, left hand, right arm. He traced words blacker than night across the veins in his wrist. “Dreams tell a man who he is.”

I struggled to keep my eyes open. On Sageous’s neck, just to the left of his Adam’s apple, amid all the tight-packed scrawl, was a letter, bigger than the rest, curled and recurled so it looked like a flower.

Touch the flower, I thought. Touch the pretty flower. And as if by magic, my treacherous hand moved. It took him by surprise, my fingers at his throat. I heard the door open behind me.

He’s skinny, I thought. So skinny. I wonder if I could close my hand around his neck. I admitted no hint of violence, just curiosity. And there it was, my hand around his neck. I heard Robart’s sudden intake of breath. Sageous stood frozen, his mouth half open, as if he couldn’t believe it.

I could barely stand, I could hardly keep the yawning from my voice, but I held his eye and let him think that the pressure I put on him was a threat, and not to keep me from falling.

“My dreams are my own, heathen,” I said. “Pray you’re not in them.”

I turned then, before I fell, and strode past Robart. He caught up in the Hall of Spears.

“I’ve never seen anyone lay hand on Sageous, my prince.”

My prince. That was better. There was admiration in his voice, maybe genuine, maybe not, I was too tired to care.

“He’s a dangerous man, his enemies die in their sleep. That or they’re broken. Lord Jale left the court two days after disagreeing with the pagan in front of your father. They say he can’t feed himself now, and spends his days singing an old nursery rhyme over and over.”

I reached the West Stair, Robart prattling beside me. He broke off all of a sudden. “Your chamber is off the Red Corridor, my prince.” He stopped and studied his boots. “The Princess has your former chamber.”

Princess? I didn’t care. Tomorrow, tomorrow I would find out. I let him lead me to my room. One of the guest rooms off the Red Corridor. The chamber could have housed many a tavern I’d slept in, but it was a studied insult nonetheless. A room for a country baron or distant cousin visiting from the protectorates.

I stopped at the door, reeling with exhaustion. Sageous’s spell bit deeper and my strength left me like blood from sliced veins.

“I told you it was time to choose, Robart,” I said. I forced the words out one by one. “Get Makin Bortha here. Let him guard my door this night. Time to choose.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. If I had, he’d have had to carry me to bed. I pushed the door and half-staggered, half-fell, into the chamber. I collapsed back against the door, closing it, and slid to the floor. It felt like I kept on sliding, deeper and deeper, into an endless well.





18




I woke up with that sudden convulsion you get when every muscle you own suddenly realizes it’s dropped off on duty. Next came the shock of realizing how deeply I’d been asleep. You don’t sleep like that on the road, not if you want to wake up again. For a moment the darkness would yield nothing to my confusion. I reached for my sword and found only soft sheets. The Tall Castle! It came back to me. I remembered the pagan and his spell.

I rolled to the right. I always left my gear on my right side. Nothing but more mattress, soft and deep. I might have been blind for all the help my eyes gave. I guessed the shutters were shut tight, for not the slightest whisper of starlight reached me. It was quiet too. I reached out for the edge of the bed, and didn’t find it. A wide bed, I thought, trying to find some humour in the situation.

I let go the breath I’d been holding, the one I sucked in so fast when I woke. What was it that made me start? What dragged me out of the pagan’s spell in this oh so comfortable bed? I pulled my hand back, drew my knees to my chest. Somebody had put me to bed and taken my clothes. Not Makin, he’d not leave me naked against the night. That somebody and I would be having a discussion soon enough. But it could wait until morning. I just wanted to sleep, to let the day come.