The Chosen Prince (15 page)

“Please excuse me, my prince, but what is appropriate for a great nobleman's son would surely not apply to the likes of me.”

“The
likes of you
?” Leander says, all cheerful amazement. “The champion of the festival race, you mean? Come now, Peles! I'll grant that you are
greatly my inferior in birth. But we ran a fair race, did we not? I did my very best, yet you were the winner. So why don't we just say that the two balance each other out?”

Peles is unable to say anything to this. He looks terrified and confused.

“Excellent,” Alexos says, moving on. “Now I have asked that you be assigned to my particular service. I will need you to assist me in personal ways, just as my friends do. I will also want your advice and guidance on certain matters.”

“You want advice from
me
?”

“Yes. You know far more about the land and the people of Arcos than I do—more than any of us, really. You've seen for yourself how we live at court. Well, that has been more or less our sole experience of the world. Our travel through the countryside has been quite a revelation, but it's only a beginning. We saw what you did with the roads in your region and were very impressed. I imagine you have other ideas about ways we could make the kingdom work more efficiently for the betterment of all.”

Peles' jaw hangs open and he's blinking wildly. “Well, yes,” he stammers. “I will gladly tell you what I know . . . would you mind if I called you ‘my lord'?”

“Only once out of every—let's say, ten sentences. How would that be?”

“I'm sorry. I don't know what a sentence is, my lord.”

“Well, you just spoke one. And then I spoke one. This is another. When you say something and it comes to an end, that's a sentence.”

“I understand, Your Majesty. I will try to count them.”

“Please don't, Peles. Just treat me like a normal person most of the time. How would that be? It's what I would prefer.”

“Yes, my— Yes.”

“Good. Now before I forget, we met your mother while we were in Attaros. She told us you were here. She asked me to tell you that you are the best boy that ever was and that she is proud of you.”

There is a long silence. Then, “She is a fond mother.”

“So she is. You're lucky to have her.”

“I am, sire.” He purses his lips, as if there was something more he'd like to say, but isn't sure whether it would be proper. Alexos raises his brows and holds out a hand, inviting him to speak.

“I just wanted to tell you, my lord, how very sorry I am about what happened at the race. I saw how flushed you were, feverish-like, and I noticed that your legs were trembling. I knew there was something amiss, that you were probably very sick. I ought to have
stopped and helped you instead of finishing the race. It has gnawed at my conscience ever since, especially after I heard that it was the summer sickness you had. My brother died of it, you see, and so I knew what a terrible illness it is. That you kept on running and finished the race is past imagining.”

“Well, your conscience may be clear. Nothing you could have done would have made the slightest difference. Even my physician, who is quite the best in the world, could not cure me, only help me to recover. Whereas your winning the race—no offense, Leander—was the only good thing to come out of that very bad day. And, Peles, I'm sorry about your brother. I didn't know. Your mother said you were her only son.”

“I am now, my lord.”

“A terrible loss.” Alexos cringes at his own trite, inadequate words.

“It was. He was the sweetest boy. But then, you lost a brother, too, so you will understand.”

Alexos sucks in breath and turns his head away. Peles sees immediately that he's made a mistake. Leander quickly changes the subject. “You'll be glad to hear,” he says to Peles, “that we'll be passing through Attaros on our return to the capital. We thought we might break our journey there if the village folk will put us up.”

“Of course they will,” Peles says, impressed by the subtlety and tact with which Leander had given Alexos time to compose himself. It's not the sort of thing he's come to expect from highborn folk, who are generally impatient and rude.

“Well, it's decided then,” Leander says. “I don't suppose you've ever ridden a horse before?”

“No, my lord. We have no horses at all.”

“Not even one to pull a plow?”

“We had an ox till recently. Two are better, but we just had the one. He was shared by everyone in the village. Then he died and we have not been able to replace him. I had planned to save up my wages and send them home to Mother so she could buy a new one.”

“Well,” Alexos says, “with your new promotion, your wages will be substantially higher than they are at present. I'll give you an advance on your earnings so you can give it to your mother when we pass through Attaros. How much to buy an ox?”

“Three silver
stater
, I would guess. But that is a vast amount, my—”

“It will not be a problem, I assure you.”

“You are most astonishingly kind.”

“It's your money; you will earn it through honest work. And it seems so much more practical to do it now, so the villagers can get the ox in time to do some planting before it's too late in the season.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, that is true.”

“Good. Now, we leave tomorrow, first thing. If there are any belongings you want to fetch, you'd best run get them now.”

“I have nothing, sire, except my pallet and a knife. I gave my lance to a friend in the auxiliary. I hope that was all right. I thought it a shabby thing to carry in such fine company. And my friend had nothing at all.”

“You did right, Peles. He needs it and you do not. The king's guard will provide you with a proper sword and lance and teach you how to use them, though I doubt you'll ever need to. I have trained swordsmen already.
You
I want for your good mind and excellent heart.”

Peles purses his lips again, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Alexos asks.

“It's nothing, my lord. It's just that I am overcome, you see. For I never expected to meet with such goodness in the world—certainly not among the highest of the high. And when you said, just now, that I had an excellent heart, it near brought tears to my eyes. For you have one of your own, my prince, and I wondered if perhaps you didn't quite know that about yourself, being so earnestly set upon doing everything perfectly and setting your goals so high.”

Alexos and Leander both gape at him, openmouthed.

“By the gods, Alexos,” Leander says when he is
finally able to speak, “how have we managed without this fellow all this time?”

Alexos lies on his cot, eyes open in the darkness, listening to the soft, even breaths of four sleeping souls in a single room, with the occasional cough, snuffle, snort, or rustle as one of them turns over. Outside the door, Pitheus keeps watch.

Whatever night sounds there are on the borderlands, Alexos can't hear them. The king's headquarters building is not in the traditional style: wrapped around a courtyard with the doors and windows opening onto an inner garden. It's more like a very large, two-story box. And though there are air vents high on the walls, the room has no windows at all, only a single door. Alexos assumes this is for security.

The principal rooms for living and sleeping, including the king's apartments and the guest room where Alexos now lies, are all upstairs. The offices are below, where the business of war is conducted. It's an efficient design, he supposes, but it would be wearing after a while, living in a windowless box. He wonders if, when his time comes, he might not prefer to sleep in a tent. It would be cold in the winter, but at least he could hear the wind.

He sets all this aside, closes his eyes, and
consciously clears his mind, sweeping away the day's accumulation of random thoughts. It's like the ritual washing before a visit to the temple. This is how Alexos prepares himself to think of Teo.

He begins as he always does, with his brother's face. He recalls every detail—the large eyes and dark lashes, the round cheeks, the sweet chin, the odd little nose. He remembers the varied expressions it wore: excitement, boredom, joy, disappointment, drowsiness. Teo never hid his feelings, as Alexos always has. He was a trusting child. But then, why shouldn't he have been? He'd been loved and petted all his life. Until the end.

But Alexos is getting off track. This is supposed to be about Teo, not about him.

He thinks of Teo's voice, high-pitched and sometimes grating. The smallness of his hands. The soft perfection of his skin. He remembers the foods his brother liked best, the games he liked to play, the stories he asked to hear over and over.

When Alexos has finished his litany of Teo in life, he turns to Teo in death. And,
oh, gods
, how this hurts him every time! But he must do it, and he always feels better for it, having emptied out all that bitter pain, the guilt along with the sorrow.

I loved you, Teo
, he whispers in his mind.
I loved you
more than you ever knew. I love you still, just as much. If I could give you my life and take your death, I would do it without hesitation. But I can't. Nor can I go back and undo the terrible thing I did. I can only say I'm sorry. And though it isn't enough—nothing could ever be enough—it's all I have. So, I'm sorry, Teo. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry!

Alexos knows his brother lives a blessed life in the Underworld. Athene takes him there in his dreams to show him how happy Teo is. It's a great consolation, those dreams, but they never last. Always, Alexos has to leave. Not even in death will he be permitted to stay with his brother. For when that time comes, Lord Hades will send him someplace else.

Enough! He's ready now. He thanks Athene, a long and heartfelt prayer, putting himself as ever in her hands. Then he is done. His muscles begin to relax; his breathing grows easy and regular. He listens to the hypnotic sound of it:
in, out, in, out, in, out
. At last he slides over the edge of wakefulness and into the darkness of sleep and the dream that follows.

Hand in hand, Teo and Aria walk through a pristine woodland. Watching them, Alexos remembers how sad he'd been to think that his brother had never seen a forest that wasn't brown and dying. Well, now he has. The trees here are green-beyond-green, lush,
healthy, and glistening with dew.

The children are approaching a clearing. Aria stops and, with the second finger of her free hand, touches her lips:
we must be quiet now
. Then she points to her feet and shows Teo how to walk without making noise: toes first, then heels. He follows her example in an exaggerated fashion. She bites her lips to keep from grinning, but her eyes are alive with merriment. He can see how much she loves him. Alexos loves her for it.

Teo has grown since the last dream. This comes as a surprise. Alexos has always assumed that once a spirit crossed into Lord Hades' realm, it would stay exactly as it was. But clearly that is not true. Teo's tunic—the same one he was wearing on that terrible day—must have become too small for him. Someone has taken it apart and added panels of a different fabric at the shoulders, sides, and hem. Who was it, he wonders—the father? Aria?

They have tiptoed into the clearing now. Aria guides Teo to a log, where they sit and wait. Like everything else in this enchanted place, the log is clean and beautiful. It doesn't look like the remains of a tree that has died, fallen, and broken apart. It looks like something the gods made for them to sit upon.

It strikes Alexos for the first time that Aria isn't just a feature of the world beyond the River. She, too,
is dead. He wonders how she died, how old she was when it happened. Is the man her real father? Did they die together? He doesn't suppose he'll ever know the answer, but he's glad they have each other.

Aria is pointing now. Teo looks up at her but she gestures with her hand:
don't look at me; look there!

And into the clearing the creature comes: sniffing the grass with its long, delicate snout, its fur russet with white at the breast, its tail a soft, silky brush. Teo has never seen a fox before. Now his mouth forms an O of amazement. Aria's face is aglow with pride, seeing his delight as the fox comes closer and closer till it reaches the very center of the clearing. Then it sits, its tail wrapped neatly around its dainty feet, and looks directly at them.

Slowly Aria rises.

From far away, Alexos hears screams and shouts, the pounding of feet. That's odd! There are no other souls in this part of the Underworld, only the three of them. . . .

He's awake and sitting up when the door swings open. Pitheus leans in. “Rise and make ready!” he says. “We're under attack.”

NESTOR AND SILANOS ARE
up and frantically dressing. They had not even slept in their tunics, trusting in the king's army and the nightly truce to guarantee the prince's safety. Now there's no time to put on breastplates and greaves. Swords, shields, and helmets will have to do. Silanos dashes outside to stand guard with Pitheus while Nestor stays to manage the boys.

As it happens, they are managing perfectly well on their own. Peles has already lit the lamp and Leander is hurriedly wrapping the prince's leg with the protective bands that go under the brace. It's a complicated business, usually done with meticulous care. But there's no time for that either. The task is made harder by Alexos himself, who is pulling his tunic over his head, strapping on his sword belt, and generally not staying still.
Peles fetches the brace and waits till Leander is finished. Then Leander, Peles, and Alexos work together, fastening the leather straps that hold it on.

Pitheus opens the door again. “I just got word they've set fire to the barracks.”