The Lady and the Prince
Chapter 3

Prince Nicky wandered through the great hall, staying out of the bustle of preparations. It was late morning, and the costumed “beggars” wouldn’t be at the door until late afternoon. But the tables had been set up, boxes of mugs were being unpacked and cleaned, and simple wooden chairs were being placed around the walls and in the musicians’ loft. He was excused from classes today and tomorrow for his birthday.

It was October 31, and today was the Harvest Festival. It was also All Soul’s Eve in the Old Religion, and combining the two satisfied the older people and likely some of the younger ones as well. If asked, they would say they didn’t believe in things from the Other World wandering the earth tonight, but in their hearts they weren’t really sure. Nicky knew it was true; tonight the veil between worlds was thin, and he was counting on it.

After lunch, down in the town, people would dress in animal skins or rags and wear animal heads, antlers, and masks and parade through the town. Their leader would be someone from the palace completely disguised, often a senior officer of the guard who would lead the parade with a staff strung with bells. He would bang on doors, and the occupants would toss treats to the crowd; he only banged on the doors of the wealthy for treats. When he banged on the doors of the poor, his lieutenants hidden in the throng would pull a handful of candies and small coins from beneath their robes and toss them up in the air so it seemed as if they were raining down from the sky for the crowd and the residents as well. It was a simple way to control the event; if things became too rowdy, treats would stop falling for a while.

The last door would be the eastern door of the palace, an hour or two before sundown. The doors would be flung open, and the crowd would surge in to heated, spiced soft and hard cider, cheap wine, fruit, and the traditional small crisp cookies colored with vegetable dyes and sprinkled with sugar. Musicians in the loft would play popular tunes, and folks would dance and sing until a loud-voiced seneschal would stand by the door and call out, “The dark is near!” The musicians would stop playing, and people would start to drift out. A little while later, the call would be, “The dark is at the door!” the final signal for everyone to be off home and bar the door behind them against whatever imagination placed out in the dark streets.

Nicky loved the celebration. All the palace children were allowed to dress in ragged clothing and mingle with the crowd, him included. Tomorrow, his birthday, there would be leftover cider, candies and cookies, and a small cake; well, at least for this year, since he was officially a child still.

Tomorrow there would be presents for the last time too. When he turned sixteen, his gift would be the armor, weapons, and the charger he would need as a knight; not exactly gifts he was looking forward to. He had once or twice worn chain mail over heavy padding, and it had made him itch terribly. He wasn’t sure how he was going to endure heavy steel plate armor.

But the best gift would come tonight, just before the clock in the eastern tower struck one. He had been born just before one, his first wail ending in the chiming of the clock like some giant exclamation point. Every anniversary of his birth, at that exact time, she came.

At least he thought she had come every year, but he only really remembered from his tenth birthday. He had been awake, waiting, but not knowing for what. Then the room had gone cold, and a white mist appeared next to his bed. He hadn’t been frightened at all, he knew by some instinct that it was his mother, Ariella, reaching out to him from the Other World.

He had held out his arms to her, and she had surrounded him. They had remained like that for a little while, and something had stirred in him, a tiny prick of light inside him that grew every year she came, which he had eventually discovered to be the source of his magic. He didn’t care in the least about it, it was just a toy of sorts, but he cared that he could be with his mother in a way, even for a few minutes. He wished she were warm and solid and she could wrap her arms around him and really hug him, but any contact was better than none. Knowing he was loved, if only by a ghost, was everything.

That had been his last year in the nursery. The nurse had sensed her charge wasn’t asleep and come in yawning to see if he needed anything. When she saw him wrapped in the mist, she had frozen in terror, only screaming and having hysterics after it was gone. Nicky had denied it all to the guards that came running. They shrugged it off as a simple nightmare, assuming the nurse had drunk too much hard cider at the Harvest celebration.

Privately, he had told the nurse that “she” would be back, not mentioning who “she” was or when she would return. The nurse decided then and there he was too old to still be in the nursery, and before he turned eleven, he had his own room.

This year would be Ariella’s last visit. She had told him last year, not in words, but somehow, so he looked forward to seeing her, but he also dreaded it because she would never be able to come again.

Nicky spotted Duke Maximillian passing through the hall and trotted after him through the crowd of busy servants, catching him near one of the doors.

“Duke Maximillian, please, could you tell me if the Council has made a decision yet?”

The duke hesitated, knowing exactly what decision the young prince was asking about. Then he said, “Your Highness, you know I cannot provide that sort of information ahead of the Council announcement, but I will say, don’t hold your breath waiting for the announcement either. I’m sure all the Council business will be concluded in time for everyone to return home for the Year End holiday though.”

Nicky smiled and nodded. “Thank you very much, sir.” The duke gave him a small bow, which the prince returned in kind. Neither courtesy was required, but the duke was always polite to him. So they hadn’t chosen his mate yet, which was fine by him.

He was delighted to run into his cousin Lord Albert in the hall. Bertie was the grandson of the king’s younger sister, two years older than Nicky and still living with his parents out in their country house most of the time. He and the young prince had liked each other the first time they’d met, but rarely saw one another. Bertie was six inches taller than Nicky now, but his hair was still pale blond, and the two young men spent a few minutes catching up with each other.

“I hear you’re getting married,” Bertie teased.

“I’ve heard that too. I just wish someone would tell me who I’m marrying. How long are you here for?”

“Just a couple of days. We’re only here for the Harvest Festival, and Mother wanted to do some shopping in Londinum. You’re a prince. Don’t you have any spies on the Council yet?”

Nicky snorted. “I wish I did, although maybe…see you later.” Nicky hurried off. Perhaps, he at least knew someone with a spy on the Council.

He’d decided to see if Richard knew anything. Nicky’s only sibling on the Council was Edward as crown prince, but Edward was a stickler for rules. He would only get a scolding if he asked him. But sometimes Richard heard things since some of his officers were related to members of the Council, and some of them cared more for their superior officer than their relatives.

At least it was quiet away from the great hall and the areas involved in the preparations. Richard was in his office, but he wasn’t working. He had a handful of candies scattered on his desk and was eating them while he tried to flick little balls of paper into the bowl the candies had been in. He got one in just before Nicky tapped on the door frame.

“Nice shot. Can I have some candy?”

“One, so you don’t spoil your lunch.”

“You’re not my father. Why do you care whether I eat lunch or not?”

“Because your father doesn’t care, so someone has to. Besides, you’re too skinny. How are you going to be a knight if you don’t eat?”

Nicky picked out a candy and popped it in his mouth. “Have you heard anything about who the Council is leaning toward for my bride?”

“Montexter, Ulle, and Denland are pushing for Montexter’s daughter, Alice. The king, Aggradon, and Glenriver are pushing for Stratton. The rest of the Council is still debating, but it’s definitely going to be one of those two.” Richard tried another shot, but missed.

“How do you know all that?”

“I pay attention.”

Nicky just shook his head; he should have known Richard would be in the loop. “Are you coming to the Harvest celebration?”

“I have a different celebration to go to.” At Nicky’s inquiring look, Richard added, “With Giselle.”

“Oh.” No fun there—at least, not for him.

“Why don’t you go visit Arthur for a while if you’re bored? He said he hasn’t seen you in months.”

Nicky squirmed a little. “Well, I’m busy, you know, with classes and practice and stuff.”

“You’re not doing anything today until later. Go see him.”

“Do I have to?”

Richard stopped his game and looked at Nicky. “Yes. Believe it or not, he likes you and misses you when you don’t visit. He’s your brother, remember? Why don’t you like him?”

“I like him, he’s just…”

“Different? You’re a prince. You are going to be dealing with all sorts of people as soon as you reach your majority, people much more unusual than Arthur.”

“I am? You don’t.”

“Of course I do. I deal with generals and admirals, and they’re definitely different from everybody else. How many languages do you speak?”

“Five,” Nicky said, a little lost by the change in subject.

“Why have you been trained in so many languages?”

“Everybody speaks Anglian and Franckish, and I speak Incelian because my mother’s maid taught me when I was little, so it’s just speaking Ibarran and Drusian that is different from everybody else.”

“Nicky, you speak so many languages because you have a knack for them, and the king has a use for that. I suspect as soon as you’re sixteen he’s going to have you seconding Landsford in dealing with the foreign delegations until you become experienced enough to do it yourself.”

Prince Nicky sat staring off into space for a moment and then focused back on his brother. “Crap. That makes sense. I don’t want to do that.”

Richard became stern. “Nobody cares what you want. Haven’t you got that through your head yet? If I were you, I would start spending time in casual conversation with the Ibarran, Franckish, and Drusian ambassadors whenever I could. Tell them you want to practice your language skills. Now go see your brother.”

Nicky reluctantly got up and left Richard’s office, grabbing a second piece of candy as he went. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Arthur; it was just that the conversation always ended up being, well, either boring or strange.

Arthur lived in the north tower. It was a long walk, another reason Nicky rarely visited. It would be lunchtime soon, so if he went right now he would have an excuse to cut his visit short.

He knocked on the door that led to the upper floors of the tower. Arthur had three round rooms, one above the other. It seemed an odd arrangement to Nicky, but at least there was a great view.

Arthur answered the door wearing a long robe, almost like a monk’s habit but made of very fine blue wool. His handsome chiseled face broke into a smile as he exclaimed, “Nicky,” and enfolded his brother in a bear hug. He led his younger brother into his sitting room and gestured for him to sit.

The room was plainly furnished, and Nicky knew the room above was Arthur’s bedroom. The top room was a chapel of sorts and very plain.

“Hey, you’ve grown,” Arthur said as he sat down.

Nicky flopped into a soft arm chair and replied, “Yeah, I keep doing that.”

“I remember when I was your age. I was growing so fast I was never sure where my hands and feet were. Sometimes I was incredibly clumsy.”

Prince Nicky nodded. Arthur wasn’t quite as tall as Richard, but he had the broad-shouldered build, and his red-gold hair was cropped very short. Nicky could never remember him being the least bit clumsy; in fact, Arthur had excellent coordination.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Arthur said, “How are your studies going?”

“Good.”

“What’s your favorite class?”

“Math maybe, but I like my language classes too.”

“Good, good. It’s always handy to be able to speak another language. I was never very good at that, but I liked history. Do you take history?”

“No, I finished my history lessons last year.” Nicky felt the conversation was going on forever, and neither of them was saying anything. That was usually how it went with Arthur.

“Your birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it? And you’ll be what, fifteen?”

The younger prince nodded. “Right, fifteen.”

“I don’t…I didn’t get you a present.”

Nicky thought, You never have. So what? He just shrugged.

“But I could show you something, something important, that would be a kind of present. Come with me.”

Nicky followed his brother up the curving staircase, past the bedroom, and up into the chapel, wondering what Arthur could show him up there except…oh, no.

The older prince led him proudly to a glass case. Inside was a sword with a strange-looking hilt. “This is Arbitra. It’s a magic sword that I got on my knighthood quest. You’ll be going on yours next year. Let me tell you the story,” Arthur said eagerly.

Prince Nicky kept his face blank and said, “Yes, please.” He already knew the story, the real story, but let Arthur have his moment, give him his gift, as useless as it was.

“You know the importance of the knighthood quest, of course, when a knight proves he is worthy of his spurs. Mine took longer than most, but I aimed higher.”

I know yours took a year and a half. Everybody else just goes and spends two weeks at the hunting lodge and then comes back in triumph with some story. You actually rode around the countryside looking for a dragon to kill or something.

“I knew when I left it would be difficult. My quest was to replace the sword of my ancient, legendary namesake to bring it back into the world from wherever it had been hidden. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to prove myself worthy to receive such an item, so I fasted and prayed. I searched and searched. Finally, when I thought it was hopeless, an angel in disguise appeared.”

Nicky tried to look impressed. In truth, the king had kept track of Arthur’s wanderings with spies, and when his son was returning empty-handed and a day away from the castle, he’d had an old odd-looking sword from the armory shined up and a couple of small gems embedded in the hilt. Then he sent out an impressive-looking man dressed in a white nightgown nearly covered by rags to Arthur with the sword. The man was leaving for Ibarra the next day, so Arthur would never see him again, never learn the trick played on him in kindness.

“He entrusted Arbitra to my keeping to use to fight injustice, in defense of the weak, to destroy evil. The day will come when Arbitra will fulfill its mission here on earth.”

“That’s amazing,” Nicky said with all the false enthusiasm he could muster. It’s amazing you believe that.

“That’s why I don’t drink alcohol or come to festivals. I have to stay pure. I have to stay ready so Arbitra will accept my hand on its hilt when the time comes.”

“That’s…”—I can’t say amazing again—“incredible. It’s an incredible responsibility.”

“It is, it is. So now you know who your brother really is. I’m entrusting my secret to you. That’s quite a birthday present, huh?”

Prince Nicky nodded. “Yes, thank you for your trust, Arthur. I will keep faith with you and tell no one.” Because if I did, they would think me as demented as you if they thought I really meant it like you do.

“Good, very good. Enjoy Harvest and your birthday, little brother.”

Nicky went back to his room and sent for his lunch tray. He couldn’t eat with the adults, and if he tried to eat with the castle children, his presence always put a damper on the meal. They were afraid of making a mistake or offending him somehow, so he nearly always ate by himself. A couple of times when Bertie had been around, they had eaten together, and that had been fun. Bertie had never been nervous around him, and they had laughed and joked and one time started a food fight. But Nicky wasn’t in the mood for Bertie today. He had a lot to think about after his conversations with his brothers.

After lunch he killed time by practicing Drusian pronunciation for an hour; he still had a little trouble getting the gutturals and inflections just right. His ragged Harvest costume was laid out for him, but he just felt too old for it after his visit with Arthur.

His brother was a good man, but he lived in a world inside his head that didn’t exist in reality. Maybe it would have been better if the king had let him fail. Arthur would have suffered for a while, but perhaps he would still be living in the same world as everyone else. The whole family knew of his delusions, they were harmless but sad. Nicky hoped someday Arthur would give up the idea of a magic sword and a great evil waiting to be fought and enter a monastery or the priesthood. He was comfortable with self-denial and solitude. He might make a good monk, and he might be happy in such a life.

When Nicky heard the sounds of the bells and the noise of the approaching crowd outside, he quickly left his room and slipped into the great hall. He filled up a plate with fruit and cookies and got a mug of cider—the non-alcoholic kind—and took his treats up to one of the balconies with the other castle adults to watch. Crown Prince Edward and Princess Eugenie were there presiding again this year. The king had tired of it years ago and given it over to Edward as one of his duties.

Edward saw Prince Nicky settle into a chair on the balcony next to his and gave him a small nod of approval. Nicky gave him a small bow back and noticed the crown prince had a selection of sliced meats, cheeses, and fruits to snack on as well as a wine far superior to that being served below.

Nicky sensed someone behind him, and then Bertie slipped into a chair next to him carrying a huge plate of cookies and hard cider; he’d always had a sweet tooth. They grinned at each other and got ready to observe the festivities, munching steadily.

Watching the entrance ceremony play out and then the crowd surge in and start grabbing drinks and food was far different from being part of it. From his balcony, Nicky saw the greed, drunkenness, low-class raucous laughter, and simple inelegant dancing as something alien. In the midst of it, it had been fun and exciting and different. Now it was just loud and a little smelly; the common folk didn’t wash very often.

There were other lords and ladies on the balconies watching. None of them paid much attention to the throng or the music. They talked and laughed in their own little groups, drank and ate their own comestibles, and had nothing to do with the Harvest celebration below. He’d never realized that the nobility didn’t actually celebrate Harvest or All Soul’s Eve at the public festival. Until this year, he’d always been down in the press of bodies, gawking at the best costumes, jumping around to the music, and consuming far too much sugar to pay attention to anything.

By the time the people had been sent home and the door closed behind them, most of the nobility had left. The crown prince and princess remained to the end. It was their duty, but the few others still lounging about were at least half-drunk and laughing a bit too loudly themselves. Bertie drifted over to join one of the other groups when Nicky left in disgust.

It was still early in the evening, so he killed time memorizing imports and exports of Anglia, Franck, Ibarra, Drusia, Ausland, and Telesia for his Production Trade and Money class. But there was no information for Incelia—of course there never was. Incelia didn’t welcome visitors, and it didn’t export much. It paid in gold for what it chose to buy, and the only ones who bought for Incelia were its embassies. How or why his Incelian mother had married the king, he had no idea. To the best of his knowledge, she was the only Incelian other than her maid who had ever made their home in Anglia, and Nicky was very likely the only Anglian that could speak the Incelian language.

It was a strange feeling in a way, like half of him was a mystery, even to himself. None of his texts had much to say about his mother’s country. It was a large island, almost directly south of Anglia, but even farther south than the southern coast of Ibarra. It was reclusive; the walled off dock area in the only port open to foreigners was as far as anyone was allowed to go. All the embassies were there, plus inns, supply stores, everything needed for a little foreign community. The Incelians, at least those that were seen, looked like everyone else and acted like everyone else except at the end of the day they went through the gate into the rest of Incelia and it banged shut behind them.

Of course people had snuck over the wall or landed in some remote stretch to try to replace out what all the mystery was about, but none of them made it out sane. Some of them were never seen again, some just had no memory of being on Incelia, while some remained drooling idiots for the rest of their lives. They were brought out of the gate and left standing in the street for the other foreigners to deal with. Very few people tried to sneak in to explore Incelia these days.

Nicky was pretty sure he wouldn’t be welcome there either. His mother’s maid had stayed until he was seven, and then she just packed up and left. A couple of years later he found he was forgetting his mother’s language, so he had gone to the Incelian embassy and asked if they would speak with him so he wouldn’t forget. They had, but the first word they had made sure he knew was Incelian for “half-breed,” and it wasn’t a complimentary term. A young Incelian secretary had spoken with him whenever he had wanted for several years, so he spoke the language like a native. But it was very clear he was considered a foreigner, someone who was marginally acceptable in the embassy. Incelia itself would be a different story.

When midnight finally came, Nicky doused the lamps in his room. He didn’t know if his mother could or would come in the light, and he didn’t want to risk it. He opened the shutters on his window a little to let in the chilly night air and the moonlight. Both would keep him awake, although he was so excited it was unlikely he would have fallen asleep anyway.

He took off his shoes and sat on his bed, reclining against the headboard. He mentally probed that place inside him where the magic came from and let a little flow into his body. Too much, and he would have to do something with it, or it would replace a way out on its own with potentially disastrous results. But he could hold a small amount all night. His mother always reached for the magic when she held him. Maybe if he had some ready for her, she would be able to stay a little longer or become more solid.

Nicky waited as patiently as he could, and then the temperature in the room plummeted, and Ariella was there. The big clock on the eastern tower bonged once, and the ghost wrapped herself around him. He felt her love and sadness. But it wasn’t just sadness that she couldn’t come again; there was something else.

His mother ignored the magic he held for her. Nicky felt a searing pain in his head, as if someone had stabbed him with a red-hot knife. He grabbed his head and tried to slide away sidewise, but he couldn’t escape. She had forced open that place inside of him, and magic was pouring into him in a glaring white tide. He struggled to control it, but he couldn’t; it was too much. It started leaking from his hands, his feet, and his body was starting to glow, and he felt as if he would burst into flames.

The ghost kept holding him, steadying him, and showed him how to close off the flow of magic, showed him places inside himself he had never known about. Ariella opened channels inside him, and the magic flowed in, filling in empty spaces and no longer out of control.

The pain in his head was gone, and the white glow of excess magic around him had faded. His mother still held him loosely now, and he could sense she was pleased. She hadn’t been sure he would survive, but it was her last chance to…do whatever it was she had done.

He sat upright again. He tried asking her questions in his mind about himself, about Incelia, about her, but she had no time for answers. She only had time to project her love for him and an anguished final farewell. Then the mist dissipated, and Ariella was gone forever.

Nicky slowly got up and staggered to the window. He was colder than the air coming in, but he closed the shutters against the chilly night and lit a candle. He used that to light the fireplace and stripped off his outer clothes and crawled into his rucked up blankets.

The young prince lay there feeling the odd sensations inside himself. It didn’t hurt; it was just strange to suddenly be aware of parts of his insides he had never noticed before. He held out a hand with the palm curled toward him and tried to make a light. A soft white glow answered him that coalesced into a brilliant point of white light. It hurt his eyes, and he dismissed it, and it dissipated.

He was going to have to spend a lot of time in private experimentation this winter. Maybe the glowing portrait wasn’t as impressive as he first thought. He faded off into sleep, wondering what he would be able to do with his magic now.

The morning of his birthday, Nicky woke early in spite of getting very little sleep. He rang for his breakfast and quickly dressed in soft brown trousers, white shirt, gold vest, and gold brocade coat. He ate a little from the tray when it arrived and headed to the family dining room; that was where his presents would be.

But when he entered the room, there weren’t any. Anne, Richard, and Edward always got him something, but there were no gaily wrapped packages on the table. As he stood in the doorway, looking in disappointment at the neat but empty room, Anne came up behind him and said, “Wrong room,” in his ear. He turned and looked at her questioningly.

She beckoned, and he followed. “Things are different now,” she said. “Other people besides you and I have figured out that you might be the father of a king one day in the not too far future.” She led him back to the great hall, and servants opened the doors for them.

Prince Nicky walked in, and his eyes went wide with surprise. Tables down one long wall were full of presents, and at least a hundred lords and ladies applauded as he walked in. People who had totally ignored him until now were smiling and wishing him a happy birthday, health and happiness, and every other good thing they could think of until it all became a jumble of voices.

Nicky put his hands up, and the crowd quieted. “I thank you all for your good wishes,” he said. “Where shall I begin?”

The crowd suggested, “Here,” and “There,” and some called out, “Cake.” He had never been allowed his presents or cake until after lunch, but a huge, very fancy cake was wheeled in, and a table was set up with punch and new cookies, not just the leftovers from Harvest.

Cake, he decided, and the servants began cutting and distributing cake with the first piece going to him along with punch and a plate of cookies. Anne said quietly in his ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep track of who gives you what and help you with the thank-you notes.” Nicky nodded. He hadn’t even realized he was going to have to write notes. He had never had presents before from anyone outside his family.

He spent most of the morning opening gifts of expensive clothing, fancy knives, razors that he really didn’t need yet, scent, jewelry, grooming equipment for both himself and his horse, and an expensive saddle with a matching bridle from Richard that was too large for his current mare. The way Anne grinned when he realized that it wouldn’t fit her made him sure his new hunter was outside. Edward wasn’t there, but his gift was a matching dress sword and dagger with the family crest incised on the sheaths.

When the last present had been opened and the cake decimated, the party was over and the lords and ladies departed, wishing him well again. He accepted their good wishes as gracefully as he could, especially since he didn’t even know some of their names. But Anne stayed by him and made everything go smoothly until the last noble had made his last ingratiating statement and left.

Nicky looked around at the piles of gifts and drifts of paper and ribbons that the servants were starting to tidy up. “Where am I going to put all of this? My room will never hold all these clothes.”

Anne replied, “You’re right, but they’re your clothes, your problem.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“In a year you’ll be an adult and have your own suite. Keep what you like in your room, store the rest.”

“Oh, I guess that would work.”

I want to give you my present now, so come with me to the stable.”

“It’s a hunter, isn’t it?”

“Well, some days you deserve a goat, but yes, it’s a hunter.”

In the barn she showed him a tall chestnut stallion that was now his. Nicky went into the stall and ran his hands over his new horse, marveling at its conformation and sure that the noble animal would easily sail over everything.

“Just don’t break your neck, okay? Practice low jumps first.”

“I know, I know.”

“Nicky, you know those people were just all currying favor, don’t you?” Nicky nodded, and she continued, “This year you are still officially a child, so you can accept all their gifts without owing them anything, but next year will be different. Next year you will have to be careful about what you accept from whom and what they want in return.”

Nicky sighed and came out of the stall. “More princely duties, right?”

“More like princely good sense. You need to develop some, fast.”

“I have good sense,” he replied, a little irritated.

“It’s more than that. You have to know the court and the intrigues. It’s not something you can learn from a book.”

Prince Nicky looked at her dolefully. “I guess it’s time for me to grow up.”