The Chosen Prince (21 page)

“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 grass, 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.

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 circumstances.”

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 goddess 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 unobserved. 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.”

Claudio nods.

“Now this is the really important part. You said you knew about the other camp. But do you know who the prisoner is?”

“I expect you're about to tell me.”

“Alexos, the king of Arcos.”

In the dead silence that follows she hears Teo make a little noise, a quick intake of breath, then another, deeper one.

“What?” Aria asks, turning to her brother. “Do you know something about him?”

“No. The name just struck me of a sudden.
Alexos.
It feels familiar, but also sharp, like stepping on a thorn. That doesn't make any sense, does it?”

“I wouldn't discount anything, son. There must be some meaning in it.”

“Well, there's nothing sharp about
this
Alexos, I
assure you, Teo. He's very young, thoughtful, good of heart.”

She hesitates now, worrying about what comes next. So far her father has been remarkably calm. But that's likely to change once Pyratos comes into the story.

“I had gone around to the other side of the clearing—being very quiet, Papa, very careful. I had made arrangements to speak with the king, but only after the guards were asleep—”

“Wait! You
made arrangements
? How could you possibly—?”

“The king has a manservant, Peles. He told the guards he was going into the forest to make water, but really he went there to talk to me.”

“How did he know you were there if you were so quiet and careful?”

“I wondered that too. But Peles said he heard silence where there should have been crickets and frogs.”

“This gets worse and worse!”

“It does, Papa, but not because of Peles. He told me who the prisoner was and that he was in mortal danger. I said I would like to help, but first I wanted to meet him. I also said I couldn't promise anything, that I'd have to consult with the others first. That's
how I put it:
the others
. He doesn't know we are only three.”

“Please don't drag this out, Aria. I am sick with dread waiting for the part where it gets worse.”

“Well, as I said before, I had worked my way around to the other side so we could have our meeting. And I was sitting very still, waiting. Then Pyratos came into the camp. Papa, don't look at me like that! It was dark as pitch and I was well hidden behind a grove of trees. I couldn't see them, so they couldn't see me.”

“Then how do you know it was Pyratos?”

“I could tell the moment he came into camp, by the way he talked. But also the guards called him ‘Your Majesty.' And Alexos said, ‘You are a dreadful man, Pyratos.'”

“I believe you.”

“But it's what Pyratos
said
that's most important. And when you hear it, I'm sure you'll agree that we must rescue the king of Arcos.”

“I have aged ten years just listening to this.”

“All right. If Pyratos is able to leave this island and return to Ferra—which he fully expects to do—he will put the king of Arcos on trial for conspiring in the murder of a certain great nobleman of Ferra. And though Alexos is innocent, he'll be found guilty all the same and executed on the spot. I heard Pyratos tell him so. He made a joke of it.”

“Aria—”

“Wait, listen! This nobleman was lost at sea. He was a duke. He was Pyratos' uncle.”

Claudio's eyes grow wide, and for once, he is speechless.

“Papa, he is charged with
your
murder! And he will die for it, too, if we don't save him. Please, please, give me your permission to go to him again tonight, as I told him I would do, and say that we will give him safe hiding. Peles claims he can steal the key to the manacle. It's possible. It can be done.”

“Yes, I agree we must help him. But this is my affair, Aria, not yours,
my
moral obligation. I will bear the risk.”

Aria shakes her head. “You don't know the island as I do, and you're not nearly as stealthy. You'll make a noise or go the wrong way. Besides, they're expecting me.”

He just sits staring into the middle distance, looking sad, shaking his head.

“I'm not a child, Papa. I'm seventeen and fully capable of doing important things, same as you.”

Claudio notices the brown cap lying on Aria's pallet. He picks it up, turns it over in his hands, picks out a golden hair, and drops it on the floor. “Daughter,” he says, as if to the cap, “is the king of Arcos aware that you are a girl?”

“He is not. I covered my hair. I spoke in a low voice.”

“Well, thank the gods for that much anyway.”

“May I go then, with your blessing?”

He opens his hands in a gesture of surrender. “May Athene protect you in your errand of mercy,” he says. “But oh, my dearest child,
do be careful.
”

IT
'
S BEEN DARK FOR
many hours and the guards are all asleep, but still there is no sign of the boy. They understand that he never committed to the rescue, but he did promise to come. Has he had second thoughts? Did the others convince him that it was too great a risk?

They're ready to go, just in case. Cloaks and boots are on. Alexos is wearing his brace, and his cane is close at hand. Now, being so far committed to action, it's especially hard to wait.

“I don't suppose,” Suliman says softly, “that the young man is aware of your limitations—that you won't be able to creep away quietly and in haste, as he probably expects?”

“No, I don't suppose he is.”

“I see.”

“I'm afraid I shall have to travel in the same humiliating manner as I was dragged out of Arcos.”

“Not dragged,” Leander says. “Gently carried.”

“I stand corrected.”

“And I'm guessing,” Leander continues, “that it'll be up a mountain this time, not through a fetid swamp—which I find infinitely preferable. But we're up for anything, eh, Peles?”

“We are indeed, Leander.”

“All the same,” Suliman says, “it's only fair to tell him how matters stand before there's any stealing of keys and unlocking of manacles. Much harm could be done if things go awry. He may not be willing to chance it once he learns of the complications.”

“I know that, Suliman. I will tell him.”

Alexos lies back and closes his eyes. He has no control over anything, so he might as well rest while he can. But he doesn't sleep, or not exactly. He slides into a state of half dreams; strange thoughts drift, lazy and unbidden, through his consciousness.

Most especially he thinks about the island. He's seen very little of it—just the beach and this clearing. Yet the perfectly formed trees, the remarkable softness of the grass, the ever-present fog—they are exactly like the Underworld as seen in his dreams. Is it possible, he wonders, that he is dead and simply doesn't know
it? Was that the Stygian river they crossed during that terrible tempest? Was Charon at the helm?

He doesn't feel dead. His body aches, every inch of it, even the parts that don't move. But who can say if the dead feel pain? Probably they do, at least the wicked ones.

“You all right?” Leander whispers in his ear.

“Why do you ask?”

“You sounded rather nightmarish just now—gasping and moaning.”

“I dreamed we were all dead and this was the Underworld.”

“
That's
unpleasant.”

“Oddly not. It was almost peaceful. Leander, was there anything particular you noticed about that boy?”

“Such as?”

“I don't know. Anything. Did he seem familiar to you in some way?”

“No. But he was awfully pretty for a lad dressed in rags. Not coarse and ugly as peasants usually are—eh, Peles?”

This is a tiresome old joke that the two of them seem to enjoy, but Alexos isn't in the mood for it now. “Pretty?” he says, keeping to the subject.

“Yes. Like a girl.”

And suddenly Alexos cannot breathe. He's
feverishly working it out in his mind and his body is alive with the implications. His heart is racing, his gut is clenched, and he can't settle himself as he swings between wild joy and absolute terror. He thought he was long past such feelings.

Not really caring whether he lives or dies (except that his death would be a disaster for Arcos and contrary to Athene's inscrutable plans) has brought him a strange kind of peace. He accepts all pain and humiliation as his well-deserved penance, and that has been liberating too. He thought nothing could touch him anymore. But he never anticipated this!