The Chosen Prince Part 17

Alexos nods. He's still breathing heavily, but the trembling has stopped.

"The lad said, 'This island belongs to the G.o.ddess Athene. I am under her protection, and I believe your master is, too. He is not meant to die here, I am sure of that.'"

He opens his eyes and looks at Peles. "How remarkable!"

"Yes, my lord. I thought so, too, and I was quite inclined to trust him. But you will judge for yourself when you meet him."

"Soon, you say?"

"Later, when the guards are all asleep."

"Yes, I remember now. You told me that before."

He listens to the silence. It is absolute. And for a moment he wonders if that is a beautiful thing, or a premonition of death.

26.

THE NIGHT IS UNCOMMONLY dark, lit only by a crescent moon shining weakly through the fog. Around the dying campfire the guards are dead asleep, seduced by the softness of the silky gra.s.s and the fresh island mist on their sunburned cheeks. Janos has slumped against his tree, eyes closed, snoring softly.

Aria waits in a thicket at the far side of the clearing. She has hidden her hair under a brown woolen cap, left on that long-ago ship by one of the deserting sailors. Claudio had picked it up, thinking it might prove useful one day. And now it has. Dressed in her father's tunic and wearing the sailor's cap, Aria has transformed herself into a creditable boy.

It's been a while since she last heard any sound from either camp, except for the snoring guard. Surely it must be safe to make her move.

Softly she makes the call of a small, croaking frog-once, twice, three times. Moments later, a cricket responds, their agreed-upon signal. Aria creeps out into the open, taking care to keep the tree between herself and the sleeping guards.

Peles, seeing her approach, touches the king's shoulder to wake him, while one of the other attendants, an older man, rolls over as if in his sleep, opening a s.p.a.ce for her to sit beside him.

It ought to be dark here, as it is everywhere else. The moon is just an eyelash of light shining dimly through the fog, and the fireflies left the island when Pyratos arrived. Yet it seems a few of them still remain. They hover around his face now, as if inviting her to look.

Aria has read about the great heroes of yore, and often they are described as handsome. This she has long understood to mean that they are pleasant to look at, as flowers and foxes are. But her personal experience with men and their faces has been severely limited. So handsome remained an abstract notion, not something she could picture in her mind.

Earlier that night, as she sat in her spying place above the prison camp watching and listening to the guards, she had realized that humans came in many different forms. Faces could be long or round; noses small or large, long, broad, upturned, or drooping. Hair might be curly, straight, or spa.r.s.e. But not one of the guards, and certainly not the man called Peles, had struck her as especially beautiful. So it must be that the writers of stories described a man as handsome to distinguish him from the rest.

Now as she studies the prisoner-king by the light of a few dozen fireflies, she sees that handsome means more than merely pleasant. It is something that makes you catch your breath. It stirs secret yearnings you never even knew were there. But even more than that, handsome is the capacity in a face to express who a person really is.

And while the king of Arcos is unquestionably a lovely thing to gaze upon, he is deeply marked by tragedy, worn by unrelenting struggle. There is such fierce intensity in those glittering eyes, desperation almost, and at the same time a deep fragility, that Aria longs to comfort him. She wants to take him in her arms and stroke his hair as she used to do when Teo was sad.

Now that she thinks of Teo, she can see how very alike they are, her brother and this man. That would explain the sudden rush of affection she is feeling.

She leans down and whispers in his ear, so close that his hair brushes her cheek. "Your man Peles tells me that you are the king of Arcos," she says.

"That's true. I am." His voice, even as he whispers, is deep. The sound of it sends a peculiar thrill running through her.

"You seem very young to be a king."

"I was younger still when I became one."

"Well," Aria says, "I would like to help you. But there are only a few of us and we have no weapons. The best we could do is set you free and hide you where you won't be found."

"And how would you set me free?"

"Your man said he could lift the keys from the officer's belt."

"Really?" The king smiles and his face is suddenly transformed. It's softer now, affectionate, amused. "Then I trust he can do it. Peles is a man of many talents."

The king is staring searchingly at her and she begins to fear that her deception hasn't fooled him. She puts a hand to her cap, making sure it's pulled down low enough to cover all her hair. "I will have to consult with the others first, before I commit to anything. They will want to know more."

"All right."

"I heard what King Pyratos said, so I know a lot already."

"But how is that possible? Where were you?"

"Right over there." She points.

"G.o.ds, that was risky!"

She shrugs. "I know how to be stealthy. So is there anything else you feel you should tell me-how you came to be Pyratos' prisoner, why he wants to kill you?"

He's silent for a time, forming his thoughts. "I met him for the first time this evening, but he has long been my enemy-not only because our kingdoms are at war with each other, but because he murdered my father. He would have done the same to me if Peles hadn't helped me escape. That's how I came to be king at such a tender age. I was not yet fourteen."

"How did he kill your father?"

"He didn't do it himself, if that's what you're asking. He sent a small force of a.s.sa.s.sins into our camp, in strict violation of a long-standing truce between sunset and dawn."

"I see."

"After that, we never trusted his word again; we increased the security all along the border, building more watchtowers and doubling the number of sentries. But I made a mistake, left one place unprotected, and Pyratos noticed."

"What was it?"

"A swamp. It's on the coast, about ten miles north of the border, where a river runs into the sea. It's completely impa.s.sible, miles and miles of sucking sand, choked with reeds and gra.s.ses. I didn't think we needed to put a watchtower there, or post any sentries. That's how they came in.

"I was asleep in my tent at army headquarters. I'd only just arrived. Unlike Pyratos and my late father, I don't live and rule my kingdom from the borderlands. I leave the war to my generals, who are far more competent than I, and concentrate on finding ways to help my people. But I am obligated to go down there once in a while, and this happened to be one of those visits.

"Pyratos had been planning and preparing for a long time. His men were ready to go at a moment's notice. They had devised all sorts of special equipment: belts ringed with bladders inflated with air that allowed them to float, breathing tubes, special shoes shaped like frog's feet to propel them through the water, poles with flat disks on the bottom so they wouldn't sink in the mire. They were very clever, I'll grant them that, but it was still a difficult a.s.signment, even with the special gear. Yet they made it through those miles of swamp and onto dry land.

"Then, under cover of darkness, they entered our camp from the rear, silently killing as they went. They slaughtered my personal guards, men who have served me since I was a child, then came into my tent. I woke as they were forcing a gag into my mouth. Then they bound me with ropes and made my attendants carry me away, threatening to slit my throat if they made the smallest sound. Pyratos insisted they bring along my physician, too, so he could keep me in good health."

"Why would he care about your health? He wants to chop off your head."

"He wants a public trial first, then the execution. But you heard all that already."

She nods.

"When we reached the swamp they put me into a slender little knife of a boat, light and buoyant and pointed at both ends. They'd towed it behind them when they came in; now they towed it out with me inside. It was rather like being in a very narrow coffin. Peles and Leander floated, paddled, and poled along with Pyratos' men. Suliman, my physician, who was not able to swim, clung to the stern of the boat. It was horrible for them all, far worse than it was for me.

"A skiff was waiting at the edge of the reeds to carry us to Ferra. They have a large military port just south of the borderlands, full of transport ships. We were transferred to one of them, put in a cabin belowdecks. Then Pyratos came on board and we headed south along the coast, bound for the polis of Ferra. But a violent tempest rose up, as you know, and blew us out to sea. There's no need to tell you the rest.

"As for your other questions, I don't know why Pyratos would feel such personal hatred for me and my late father. We did nothing to harm him; we just pursued the war as we were commanded to do. He may want to put an end to the royal line of Arcos so he can claim the kingdom. But that doesn't explain the grand public trial. He could have had me a.s.sa.s.sinated right there in Arcos, as he did with my father. And if it was personal satisfaction he wanted, he could have put a knife between my ribs this very night. Yet he didn't. I honestly don't understand it."

"Oh," Aria says. "I think I do."

"Tell me, then."

"Pyratos is the guilty party."

"You mean he killed his own uncle?"

"I am sure of it. And there must have been gossip about it over the years-the people know, or at least they suspect. From what I heard the guards say, he's not well liked in Ferra. Actually it's worse than that: there are rumblings of murder and rebellion. So Pyratos hopes to put all that to rest and secure his throne by giving the people someone else to blame."

Alexos thinks it over. "Yes," he says. "That sounds right. I must say that for a gentle country lad, you have a very subtle grasp of court intrigue."

"Nonsense. I know nothing at all about 'court intrigue.' I never even heard that phrase before. I've lived here all my life and everything I know about the world comes from reading stories."

Impulsively, she grabs his hand and squeezes it hard. "I'm sorry I can't free you tonight," she says. "I hate to make you wait another day. But I have to consult with the others. I promise to come back tomorrow, though, whatever we decide. About this same time. Be ready to leave, just in case."

"Please be careful."

"I will." She hates to go. Part of her wants to stay here forever, reclining on the soft gra.s.s, whispering in the darkness to this handsome young king, who . . .

"What shall I call you?" she asks. "I know you are king of Arcos, but you haven't told me your name."

He smiles. "It is Alexos."

"Oh. I like that very much. May I call you Alexos, or would it be improper?"

"Of course you may. But now you must tell me yours."

"Oh," she says. "Um." Would Heracles sound silly? Yes, definitely. Achilles? Hector? "You can call me Hector."

"That isn't your name, though, is it?"

"I have to go." She squeezes his hand again. Then wordlessly she rises and vanishes stealthily into the night.

27.

CLAUDIO SLIPS INTO THE temple and quietly closes the door behind him. "They're searching the island," he says. "But don't be alarmed. I'm sure they're just looking for resources, food and water. And they'll want to know if there are people living here, warlike or otherwise. It's what anyone would do under the circ.u.mstances."

Aria, who was dead asleep when her father came in, sits up and gazes at him blearily through half-closed eyes. She wonders why, if they're not to be alarmed, he's creeping around and speaking in whispers.

"But the important thing to remember is that they're not looking for us. They have no reason to suspect that anybody's here. The path leading up from the beach is well hidden. I doubt they'll ever find it. And even if they do, they'll see nothing at the top but weeds. If we stay hidden till they've finished their search, I think we should be all right."

"But what if they never leave?" Teo says. "Will we have to stay hidden forever?"

"I trust the G.o.ddess to arrange things so that doesn't happen."

Aria urgently needs to speak with her father, but she's bone weary after a few brief hours of fitful sleep. She rubs the back of her neck, makes a circle with her head, rolls her shoulders, takes deep breaths.

"Hard night?" Claudio asks.

"I hardly slept at all."

"Bless you, child, you mustn't worry so. Athene will protect us."

"No," she says, "that's not it. There's something I have to tell you and you're going to be angry. Please try to understand if you can."

"I will try." But he looks wary.

"Last night you put out the lamp very early. You and Teo went right to sleep. But I could not; I just lay here thinking and wondering about-well, everything, really. And I had the strongest desire to go and see it for myself-the camp, Pyratos, all that you described."

"You went out?"

"I did. But, Papa, listen. I know every corner of this island. We mapped it, remember-Teo and I? And I'm light on my feet. I can sneak up on wild creatures and not scare them away. So I believed in myself, you see. I felt sure I could go out there and have a look and no one would be the wiser."

"And?"

"I was right. No harm was done-and I learned a lot."

Claudio nods and waits. He is still reserving judgment.

"I was crouching in the garden weeds looking down at the men and the tents and whatnot, when I noticed another light some distance away. It was coming from that clearing-you remember, Teo, where we saw the fox that first time? Papa, it's another camp. Pyratos is keeping a prisoner there."

"I know that, Aria. I saw it when I went to look yesterday afternoon."

"Well, I went to investigate. I found a good hiding spot between a boulder and a bush where I could look down on the camp un.o.bserved. I was so close to the guards-they were sitting around their little campfire-I could hear every word they said.

"They were talking about whether the people of Ferra might send a boat to rescue them. And one of them asked, 'Would you? Would you send a ship to bring Pyratos back?' And the others laughed. Then someone else said he wonders that Pyratos can even sleep at night, for fear that his own soldiers might do him harm."

"His men don't support him, then. Good to know."

"It certainly sounded that way. But they were nervous. They dropped their voices when they talked about Pyratos. So it's not open rebellion or anything."