The Chosen Prince (26 page)

“But that's nothing. I deserved every blow.”

“No, it wasn't ‘nothing.' I wanted to kill you.”

“I deserved that too.”

“Please, Alexos,
listen to me
! If I had been stronger, if I had been wearing heavy boots instead of sandals, and if I had not been stopped, I might have killed you. For a while after I left, because of a misunderstanding, I actually thought I had. And I didn't know how I could go on living with that on my conscience. Later I found out I was mistaken; it was Pyratos who'd died, not you. But there's no going back to how I was before, knowing that I am capable of willfully doing murder—”

“Not willfully, Teo; you were wild with grief and rage.”

“But capable of it all the same. So I'm asking you to forgive me. I need you to say it so I can be at peace.”

Alexos slides off the stool; it tumbles over and upsets the basin of water. He is on the ground now, his legs awkwardly bent to the side, and he pulls Teo into his arms, so hard it almost hurts. Teo leans into
the embrace, feels his brother's hand stroking his hair, touching his face.

“I forgive you, wholeheartedly and completely, though you are innocent of any harm.
I
am the one, Teo.
I
am the one.”

Alexos releases him then, and with one hand on Teo's shoulder, he touches his brother's chest, just over his heart. “I hurt you
here
,” he says. Then he touches Teo's forehead, where his mind and spirit are. “And I hurt you
here
.”

Teo nods, understanding.

“For eight years I believed I had killed you. I walked through my days being the person who sent an innocent child to his death, my sweet little brother who loved and trusted me. So I cannot simply say to you, ‘I'm sorry,' because it isn't nearly enough. Nothing could ever be enough.”

“I forgive you anyway. See? Now it's over.”

There is a long, long silence.

“You are astonishing,” Alexos finally says. “You are the finest creature the gods ever made.”

“You accept my forgiveness?”

It seems impossible to Alexos that this is happening. But he doesn't question it. He takes it as a blessing, a rare gift, and he thanks Athene for it. “I will accept anything you choose to give me,” he says.

“Alexos?”

“What?”

“Doesn't it hurt, sitting all twisted up like that?”

Alexos laughs out loud. “Of course it does.”

“Can you get back up on the stool by yourself? Or do you need help?”

“I can do it. But if you would hold the stool while I settle myself, that would be a kindness. There. Thank you.”

“Shall I get some more water? This is all spilled.”

“No. I'd about finished anyway. I'll put the bandages on now.”

“Can I help?”

“If you want.”

Alexos shows him how. There are bandages for the wounds and thicker wrappings to protect his skin from the pressure of the brace. Alexos is meticulous in the way he puts them on. Teo helps by cutting strips of cloth with a knife and holding the bandages taut while his brother tucks in the loose ends.

“Does Aria know you're here?” Alexos asks as they work, not meeting Teo's eyes.

“Yes. She knows everything.”

A head appears between the tent flaps, one of the soldiers come to ask a question.
“Go away!”
Alexos snaps, and the head disappears.

“Does she approve—of your coming here, I mean?”

“No. She's angry about it.”

“Of course she is. She loves you and wants to protect you. How could she not hate the person who did you harm?”

“That's part of it.”

“What's the rest?”

Teo looks up at his brother, studying his face. “She thought very highly of you. She was quite overcome with admiration, in fact. More than that, even—well, you know how girls are.”

“I don't, actually.”

“Really? I'd think, being king, you'd know a lot of girls. And oughtn't you to be married by now? That's how it is in stories: the ruler must get a wife and produce an heir.”

“No and no. Please continue, Teo.”

“Well, because she was so very fond before, finding out that you were the one . . . well, that made it worse.”

“The handsome prince is revealed to be a warty toad.”

“Sort of like that.”

“Well, I'm honored that she liked me once and I admire her for hating me now. It shows how loyal and loving she is. I'm glad you have her for a sister.”

Teo brings the brace and helps to put it on. Alexos
explains the drill—the thigh and ankle straps must be fastened first, then the ones at the knee, followed by the others; not too loose, not too tight. The wrappings have to be checked to make sure they lie smooth, with no wrinkles to press into the skin.

“Alexos?” Teo says when they have finished. He's been waiting to ask this, waiting till he has his brother's full attention.

“Yes, Teo?”

“Everyone seems to think we'll leave the island soon, that a rescue ship will come.”

“Yes, I expect that is so.”

“Then what happens? Papa is king of Ferra, and you are king of Arcos, and they are at war with each other.”

“Ah,” Alexos says. “I understand. Well, I think things may be different now.”

“Do you really? That's what Papa said—that this is the great moment everyone's been waiting for, and soon everything will change.”

“Did he say anything else?”

Teo hesitates. “He said you were chosen to be the champion of Athene.”

“That is true.”

“But Aria was chosen, too. And then I was. There are three of us.”

Alexos stares at his brother, astonished. “Oh,”
he says, thinking hard. “That changes everything. It makes sense to me now: this is all about forgiveness. We cannot ask from Zeus what we are unwilling to give to each other. Shall I tell you what I think Athene has done?”

“Yes!”

“She chose you and Aria because, even on the day of your birth, she could see the goodness of your souls. Then she put you both in great peril. But it had to be a particular kind of danger—I mean, you can't forgive an avalanche, an earthquake, or a flood. It had to be a person, someone very close to you, who did the harm.

“But the goddess never meant for you to die; she wanted you to grow up and, in the fullness of time, forgive those who committed unpardonable crimes against you. So she brought you here, gave you a wise and virtuous father to guide you, and made you a family: one child from Arcos, one child from Ferra. Even
that
is a kind of symbolic forgiveness—don't you see?”

Teo nods eagerly. He does.

“Then, when the moment had arrived, she brought the transgressors here—again, one from Arcos and one from Ferra—so we could be forgiven. Things didn't go exactly as planned: Claudio forgave Pyratos, not Aria. But since Claudio suffered far more at the hands of Pyratos than Aria did, I expect Zeus will forgive the substitution. As for you, Teo—you played your part
with such courage and generosity, it would surely melt the hardest of hearts.

“Now it is done. Athene can say to her father, Zeus: Behold King Claudio of Ferra! Behold Prince Matteo of Arcos! See how dreadfully they were wronged; yet see how merciful they are! Will you not do likewise and forgive the people for their ancient crime?”

“That is very good,” Teo says. “I think it's mostly right.”

“Mostly?”

Teo gets up and paces, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “But there's a flaw.”

“Show me where it is.”

“
You
are the flaw, Alexos. You are a champion, too, the first to be chosen. What was your part?”

“Oh, Teo! How can you ask?
I
was the transgressor! I sent you—”

“No, wait. It's not that simple. Yes, you did what you did; but you and Pyratos are not the same.”

“We are the same in every way that matters.”

“No, Alexos, that's not true. Let me tell you why. Pyratos wasn't chosen by Athene, was he?”

“No. He was, by all reports, very soundly rejected.”

“As I thought. So that's the first thing. Here's another. Pyratos was given everything—beauty, intelligence, wealth, rank. He had Claudio by his side as he grew into manhood. Yet he still became a wicked man.
Athene must have seen that in Pyratos, the darkness of his spirit.

“But you were altogether different. She chose you to be her champion. Then she tested you over and over, threw one obstacle after another in your way.”

“You heard that from Suliman.”

“And I also observed it. I'm not a little child anymore, Alexos. I can think for myself.”

“I apologize. Please go on.”

“All right. So Pyratos had an easy life and should have been a better man. Whereas you had a life of suffering and loss, yet still became a good one.
Stop
, Alexos! I know what you're going to say. You
are
a good man—not perfect, but remarkably good. Now let me finish.

“Like Aria and me, Athene chose you as her champion, so you were also given a wise father to—”

“What,
Ektor
?”

“No! Suliman.”

Alexos laughs and shakes his head. “Of course.”

“Now, Pyratos and Claudio were so fixed in their character that Athene could depend on them to play their parts to perfection. But you, Alexos: I don't know
what
she wanted from you. You are not just a transgressor. For that, the goddess could have found another Pyratos.”

“What then?”

“I don't know. It's something different, something more complicated. But I'm pretty sure this isn't over yet. I think there's more to come.”

“Yes,” Alexos says, “you're probably right.”

Also
, Teo is thinking, but does not say,
Aria hasn't forgiven anyone yet
.

ARIA KNEELS ON THE
smooth stone floor, hugging herself against the chill of her sadness. Never has she felt so alone.

Teo has gone off with Suliman, down to the soldiers' camp to make amends with Alexos. The very thought had repulsed her, and she'd spoken against it (as much as Papa would allow). But it hadn't changed Teo's mind. He'd just given her that hurtful look, full of disappointment and regret. When he left, it had felt like they were parting forever.

Then as soon as Teo and Suliman had gone, Papa had fixed her with one of his fatherly stares and, in that new, firm voice he'd recently adopted, announced that they needed to have a little talk.

It hadn't gone well. They were both exhausted
and overwrought by the events of the past two days. Emotions had become heated and before very long they had arrived at something close to anger.

He had used words like
disappointed.
He'd said she was
rigid in her moral judgment
. He may even have said
pitiless
and
hard-hearted
, though she couldn't swear to it now; she was too stung by his disapproval to pay proper attention.

But far worse than the words and his stern disapproval was how completely he had misunderstood her. Aria can't forgive Alexos or be sorry that Pyratos is dead—
not
because she's heartless, but because she feels too deeply! What those men did to her father and brother isn't just some abstract notion; it's hauntingly real to her. Worse, they did it for the basest of reasons: Pyratos didn't want to be meddled with; Alexos wished to be king. How could she brush that away with quick forgiveness? Isn't justice as important as mercy?

The argument had finally come to an end, burned out like a dying fire. Her father had said, “Well!” and heaved a sigh. Then he'd pulled out a bowl and started washing his face and hands. He'd run his fingers through his hair and beard, dusted off his robes.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Down to the camp. There's some heavy business I must attend to there.”

“What heavy business?” It seemed to Aria that everything was already resolved.

“Those soldiers are my men now. And they must atone for what they've done: not only murder, but oath breaking too, for they were sworn to protect and defend their king. But it's more complicated than that, as of course you know. Pyratos was an evil man. And had he been properly tried for his crimes, there would have been more than enough to convict him. So somehow I must find a way to balance it all out: get them to admit their wrong, while at the same time healing their spirits and restoring order.”

“Is that what kings do?”

“Among other things. Now listen to me, Aria: I don't want you to sit here and mope while I'm gone. I know you're sad, and hurt, and confused, but you have urgent business of your own. Athene has called you, and things out there are changing by the hour. The time is
now
, and you must do your part. That is why I spoke to you so strongly about forgiveness. If we ask it from the gods, we must first model it ourselves.”

He was right. She
was
sad, hurt, and confused; she was also tired of being scolded. “Just tell me what to do,” she'd said, her voice flat and cold.

Claudio was standing in the doorway then, looking down at her. He'd drooped a little when she said
it, and gave one of his expressive sighs. “You already know,” he said.

So here she is, on her knees before the goddess, praying for enlightenment:
O great Athene
, she whispers in the silence of her mind,
bless me with understanding
.
Teach me your will. Give me the courage and wisdom to do as you command.
She has continued in this way for a long time, but there has been no response of any kind.

And the more she gazes at the stone figure, pale and smooth against the slick, black wall, the less it seems like a goddess. The face is flat and expressionless. Only the eyes have any life at all, because Claudio made them so large, giving her a look of perpetual sorrow. But that's just an illusion. The statue has no feelings. It isn't Athene. It's an ordinary sculpture—not even a very good one.