The Chosen Prince (25 page)

“He's been waiting all this time?”

“He's a very patient man. And as I said, assuming that nothing happens by chance, there must be a reason he is here. Shall we let him in?”

Suliman ducks under the low doorway as he comes into the temple. He's a striking figure—exotic, regal, dark.

“May I sit?” He addresses Teo, who nods.

“Thank you.” Suliman arranges himself on the floor, making sure that the hem of his long robe covers his feet. He takes particular care with this, as if it was something learned in childhood, an important matter of courtesy. In his hand he holds a wreath of spring-green vines, but he sets it in his lap for now and makes no reference to it.

“Prince Matteo,” he begins, “I want to assure you that your brother did not send me here to ask your forgiveness. He knows that is not possible. But there is something he wants me to tell you, because he thinks it might ease your mind. Equally important, he wishes to right a grievous wrong. That is why I've come. Will you hear me?”

“I've seen you before,” Teo says, squinting at the
physician as he tries to remember. “Before you came to the island, I mean. Back in my old life.”

“Yes, we've met before.”

“You went in and out of a room. Someone inside was very ill.”

“Alexos had the summer sickness, a very dread disease. I was taking care of him. You waited outside his room every afternoon for weeks. You hid behind a chest.”

“And a beautiful lady talked to me. She seemed to think I was a mouse.”

Suliman almost smiles. “Yes. We pretended not to see you. But it raised our spirits that you came every day. You were such a sweet child—I expect you still are. There was no one in the palace who did not love you.”

Teo resists the obvious reply.

Suliman notes this and says it again. “
No one
, Teo, from the sweepers to the chancellor himself. But none loved you half so much as your brother did. And he wants you to know that never for a moment did he stop loving you. What he did was unspeakable; it was an act of madness, born of despair. And when he came to himself and understood that he'd sent you to your death, he wanted to join you there. Indeed, he tried very hard to die.”

“Why didn't he, then?”

“Athene wouldn't allow it. He belongs to her, you see.”

“Her champion.”

“Yes. And since living was more painful than a merciful death, he embraced it as a penance. But I have not come here to plead your brother's case. I will say no more about it. I will only relay his message: that you did not deserve what he did to you. You didn't provoke it or cause it in any way. And even in his moment of madness, Alexos never stopped loving you; he never wished you harm. He believes you to be the finest creature the gods ever made.”

Teo stares at Suliman as if feeding off his words. Aria finds it terribly unnerving; she reaches out to touch him, but Claudio stops her.

“I remember,” Teo says.

“Now, here is the second thing. At the time this all happened, Alexos had just recovered from his illness. As you saw this morning, it resulted in the paralysis of his legs. He would never again be the boy he was, the runner with wings on his heels. It was only after great effort that he regained the strength to walk as he does now—haltingly, with the help of a brace and a cane. And your father, King Ektor, already displeased with him for having failed to win an important race, though
Alexos was severely ill at the time—”

“I remember that too,” Teo says, as if in a trance, the memories flowing back one after the other. “The race for the laurel crown. It was horrible. I thought for a moment he was going to die; everyone did.”

“Just so. And Ektor, stung by his son's conspicuous and public failure, and holding certain opinions on the subject of what a king should be—that is to say, a warrior—decided that Alexos was no longer fit to rule. So he changed the terms of succession in your favor.
You
were meant to inherit the throne upon his death.”

Now he picks up the wreath but doesn't yet hand it to Teo.

“Your brother has worn a kingly crown only once in his life, on the day of his coronation. Since then it has been kept in the treasury. As he doesn't have it with him, he can't give it to you now. So Peles made this for him; it's a symbol of that which is yet to come. In this way Alexos formally acknowledges that you are the king of Arcos.”

Teo takes the wreath and studies it with a faraway expression.

“Alexos will affirm this publicly, in the presence of everyone on the island, and upon your return to Arcos, to all who need to hear it. Then he will leave
the royal city and live in seclusion elsewhere. You will never have to see him again.

“I'm sure it is overwhelming for you, becoming king at such a tender age. But there are wise counselors in Arcos, the same ones who helped Alexos after Ektor died. They are good men, Teo. They will be at your side to advise you for as long as you need them. If I can be of any help, you have only to ask.”

He is finished now. He folds his hands and waits.

Teo fiddles with the wreath, tugging at a leaf, accidentally pulling it off. “But how could he do what he did if he loved me?”

“He was broken. That's the best answer I can give.”

“What broke him?”

“A lifetime of impossible expectations, rejection by his father, loneliness, failure, humiliation, sickness, the ruin of his body, the loss of his life's purpose—all by the time he was twelve.” He pauses, considering whether to say more, then goes ahead. “On that same terrible day, Alexos heard his father speaking with his chancellor. Ektor said that it would have been better if Alexos had died than to be as he is now.”

Teo shivers, feeling it.

“He's cobbled himself back together because duty demanded it—though I'm not sure he could have done it if Athene hadn't sent him dreams of you, of Claudio
and Aria, here on this beautiful island. He took it for a blessed afterlife and it comforted him enough that he was able to go on. But he is still broken.”

There is silence now.

“Tell me again,” Teo says to Suliman after a while.

“Which part?”

“About the breaking.”

“Well, there is an old saying in my country, about camels. You will not have seen one, but they are remarkable creatures, taller than a horse with great humps on their backs. They are strong, able to carry tremendous loads, and they can go on carrying them for days and days over the scorching desert sands without eating or drinking anything at all. But there's a limit even to what a camel can bear. So we say, ‘one straw too many will break his back.'”

“And the one straw too many?”

“For your brother? Being robbed of his life's purpose, I would guess. It was the one thing that made the rest of it bearable. He was an astonishing child, Teo. Like the camel, it seemed that he carried the weight of the world on his back, but he never left off striving. Even his illness and the damage to his legs could not destroy his spirit for long. His only fear was that if he wasn't able to be a warrior, he couldn't be a proper king.”

“And has he been?”

“A good king? Oh, yes—far better than Ektor ever was, if I may be so bold as to say it. And he is greatly loved by his people. He is leaving you the kingdom in much better shape than he found it.”

Teo is still fiddling with the wreath.

“I thought I had killed him, you know,” he says.

“Who—Alexos?”

“Yes. I pushed him so hard and his head slammed into the ground. The sound . . . it was horrible. And then”—he sucks in breath—“I kicked him over and over.”

“I know. I was there.”

“I wanted to kick him in the face. If Papa hadn't stopped me, I might have killed him.”

“Well, you didn't.”

“I know that now. But as I was running up the path, I heard Papa screaming,
‘He did not have to die!'
and I thought he meant Alexos. I lay here in the dark for hours believing it.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was horrible. I've never killed anything in my life—not a lizard, or a beetle, or a worm. Yet this very morning I wanted to kill my own brother. And if I'd been stronger and no one had stopped me, I might have.”

“What does that tell you?”

“I'm not sure I know.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Teo tilts his head thoughtfully. “It's not as easy to be good as I thought.”

Suliman nods.

“I didn't know I could have such feelings. I felt like a whole other person.”

Another nod.

“Will he see me, do you think?”

“Alexos? Of course!”

“I'd like that.”

“Shall I take you to him?”

“Teo, no!” Aria cries, appalled.

“Leave him be,” Claudio says, touching her arm in warning.

“But he can't, Papa! It's wrong!”

“I said,
leave him be
!”

Teo looks at Aria, wounded but resolute. “I wish you could understand,” he says. “I'm sorry you don't.” Then, to Suliman, “I want to go.”

THE OFFICERS HAVE SHIFTED
themselves to free up a tent for Alexos. Suliman and Teo stand a few paces away from it now, speaking in whispers.

“Should you to go in first and tell him I'm here?” Teo asks.

The physician considers this, then shakes his head. “I think you should just walk in. Does that frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“It will frighten him too, but it will be a more honest encounter that way. I
will
make sure you are alone, however. Wait here.” Suliman goes to the tent, raises one of the flaps, and peers inside. “Peles,” he calls, “I need you for a moment.”

Peles appears almost instantly. “Oh, I'm glad you're
back,” he says to Suliman. “His legs—”

“We'll see to that later. For now I want you to keep away from Alexos. I'll let you know when it's safe to return.”

Peles cocks his head like a curious bird. “Is something amiss, my lord?”

“Quite the contrary.” Suliman glances significantly over at Teo, who raises a hand in a shy little wave. Peles waves back with an enormous grin. He has a wide, thin-lipped mouth, all out of proportion with his face, which makes him look rather peculiar—except when he smiles. Then all the features fall in together and he is transformed into something near to handsome.

Suliman leaves Peles to his grinning and nudges Teo closer to the tent. “My philosophy has always been that when the water is cold, it's best to dive right in. What do you think?”

Teo doesn't think. He just nods, takes a breath, and dives.

The flaps fall closed behind him but Alexos doesn't look up. He's sitting on a low stool, dressed only in his underclothes. The iron cage is off, both legs stretched out in front of him, a basin of water at his side. With a wet cloth he's bathing the gashes and abrasions that cover his legs. Presumably Peles was helping with this
before he was called away.

Teo holds his breath. It's startling to see his brother like this, exposed and vulnerable. Alexos' face is solemn and beautiful, as it always was. His chest and arms are tightly muscled, the skin smooth and brown: an athlete's body in the full perfection of youth. Then Teo's eyes slide down to the legs, pale and shrunken, legs that were once as perfect as the rest of him. He is a chimera now—half one thing, half another: strong and weak, wise and foolish.

Alexos senses that something is off: Peles wouldn't just stand and stare; he'd come and help. He looks up and is turned to stone.

But his eyes are still alive with expression: hungry, desperate, amazed. And somehow it doesn't seem strange for Teo to go on standing as he is, the two of them just looking at each other. Because this is a full conversation they're having, better than any with words. It goes on for a very long time, both afraid to break the spell, afraid they'll never again share such an intensely intimate connection.

Then, the slightest movement. Alexos closes his eyes. His shoulders drop just a little. And his face is working in small ways, the release of pent-up sorrow.

“I brought you this,” Teo says, half surprised his voice still works. Two steps bring him to his brother.
He squats down and hands Alexos the wreath.

“I'm sorry it's not the real crown; you shall have that later. This is only a symbol, an acknowledgment that you are king.”

“No, that's not it. I don't
want
it, you see. I don't want to be a king.”

“But you already are. You were Ektor's heir.”

“Then I renounce it, or abdicate, or whatever it's called. That was always your destiny, not mine. I thought it sounded unbelievably tedious. I wanted to be”—his voice catches and he stops to clear his throat—“the royal fisherman.”

Alexos crumbles, all his defenses gone. “Oh, Teo!” he says. “You can be anything you want. Anything at all.”

“Suliman says you are a very good king.”

“He is overfond. His judgment is suspect.”

“No, I think his judgment is probably sound.”

Teo sits now, settling in, making himself more comfortable.

“May I?” he asks, reaching for the wet cloth Alexos still holds in his hand. Alexos gives it to him, puzzled. Teo dips it into the basin, squeezes out the excess water, then gently presses it against a particularly nasty gash on the shin, all too aware that he made that wound, along with many others, though this one is the worst.

“I didn't mean to do it,” he says, looking down now, abashed, still dabbing at the wound. “I'm very sorry.”

Alexos gasps. “
You're
sorry?”

“Yes. I beg you to forgive me.”

“Oh, Teo—there is nothing to forgive!”

“Yes there is. I did this to you. And this. And this.” He touches the marks of his anger with the cloth.