PART FOUR: Comforting Presence

20.

Forsyth sat on his horse, under the shadow of the temple. The comforting presence of Berkens was next to him on another horse.

Picking up his reins, the priest asked, “Shall we go?”

Forsyth said nothing, staring between his horse's ears.

“Prince Forsyth? Is something the matter?”

“No,” the prince said shortly, not looking at his companion. His sword clanked against his right thigh as he spurred his horse forward.

Berkens easily caught up with him. “You know, we’re not in a hurry. There’ll be plenty of time.”

“I know.” Forsyth tried to calm down. “So… you actually spoke with her, right? She promised she’d be there?”

The man nodded. “She wants to meet you, I think.”

Forsyth bit his lip as a pang of guilt hit him. It felt like being punched in the stomach.

“What… What exactly did she say?”

“Well, you know, she didn’t even know that she had a brother.”

“Really?” Forsyth considered this. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t think as much about him as he did about her, but then he supposed that there was no reason anyone would have told her about him.

“Yeah,” said Berkens. “I think the people who adopted her thought she would be safer if she didn’t know much about who she really was.”

“That makes sense, I guess. Anyway, go on.”

“Well, at first she was a little reluctant, and I don’t think her older brother thought it was a very good idea. She has a sister, Raquel, who gives very wise advice, and…” Berkens trailed off before interrupting himself. “But it was another kid who convinced her; he sounded like he knew you personally. Brown hair, wore the device of Baroness Bairach?”

“It wouldn’t have been,” said Forsyth casually, “her son, Christopher?”

“Maybe.” Berkens nodded enthusiastically.

What was the least humiliating way to word this? He really didn’t want Berkens to think he was ridiculous.

“So… how did he convince her to agree?”

Berkens smiled at the prince. “He said you were a good man.”

“Really?” Forsyth blushed from concurrent pride and shame. Chris never gave compliments.

“Yes.”

They rode for a while in silence, and Forsyth reflected. He decided that he didn’t mind compliments when they were sincere.

“Their camp must be very close,” he observed, “since you were able to ride there and back already today.”

Berkens shrugged. “Yes. Actually, the temple where they agreed to meet us is farther from us than they are—although in a different direction.”

“Cardinal Hogue chose the meeting place,” said Forsyth quietly.

“I’m glad,” said Berkens immediately. “I was a little worried, thinking that no one knew where we were going; at least the Cardinal will make sure that there’s a military guard nearby in case there’s an attempt on your life… although I can’t imagine that the Casulls would condone something like that.”

Forsyth felt horrible about leading such an agreeable man to his death. He almost wanted to tell Berkens that he suspected that the entire setup was a trap… but Berkens would call it off, and he couldn’t let that happen.

“So, what is the plan when we get there?” asked Berkens. “What did you want to discuss with her?”

“I just wanted to meet her.”

“I see. That’s what I told her.”

“Um… Who is she bringing with her?”

“I think she’ll be accompanied by her brother and Raquel.”

“Oh.”

That was good. And bad. And good.

Forsyth stood under the shadow of a dead fountain, Berkens off to his right. The abandoned temple where they stood was much smaller than the one in Grendel, but it had once been beautiful.

It had taken a long time to get to the remote building; they’d had to tether the horses down the mountain and hike for a while. He was out of breath when they arrived, but then they had had to wait for a long time—enough time for him to get bored, then worried, then edgy.

Finally, as the evening drew close, the double doors swung open to reveal a group of people.

Forsyth’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw Chris. Beside him was young man in armor whom the prince did not know, although he wore the colors of the Baron Scorpse. Behind them stood a girl with blond curls, and behind her stood three people: a redheaded girl in simple clothing and a boy and a girl with matching cloaks and long, black hair. They were obviously siblings—evidently, the Casulls, her real brother and sister. Based on the way her companions flanked her, the girl in the middle was the Scrapped Princess.

When she stepped forward and the others fell back, he knew that it was she. It wasn't just that she was the one standing in front. It was her eyes, her hair, the shape of her face—she couldn't be anyone except his sister, his mother's daughter. Actually, she looked a lot like the woman who had been in his dream the night before, only younger and less burdened. It was strange that someone who had been so ruthlessly pursued should have such an air of artlessness and animation.

He let his eyes wander over the others in the group, wondering what kind of people they were and wishing that he could have met them before. He looked over at his friend, but Chris did nothing to indicate that they had ever met. Forsyth felt his heart plummet back down into his stomach, but of course, he, too, kept his poise. They had said their goodbyes.

The Scrapped Princess stared at him for a while before quickly glancing back at her brother and sister for confirmation. Then she turned her wide eyes back to Forsyth. After she blinked at him for a few more moments, she began to walk forward, footsteps echoing around the huge, empty room.

It took her a long time to get to him—to Forsyth it seemed like ages—and when she was finally close enough to converse, she stopped and bowed slightly. Her face was a feminine version of the one at which he stared every day in the mirror, but she was a full six inches shorter than he was and not quite as slender.

…She was adorable. He had a wild impulse to gather her up and run away.

“Um... I...” She obviously felt ill at ease.

“You must be Pacifica,” he said kindly.

“Uh... Yes,” she said, still embarrassed. “Nice to meet you.”

She bowed again. “So, um...”

He waited, patient and a little amused.

“Uh...” She was evidently at a loss, and his amusement turned to concern.

Suddenly, she blurted, “What's your favorite food?”

Forsyth was startled by the question.

“I like eggs!” she said bravely. “Er, egg dishes! Especially omelettes!”

He couldn't help but smile. “I love eggs, too.”

“I knew it!” she said with a very serious look. “Maybe it's because we're twins, huh?” She laughed a little and then all at once seemed to think that her laughter was inappropriate. “I'm sorry.”

She was so cute. How was it possible for someone to be so carefree when she had so many troubles? There must be someone doing the worrying in her place. He looked over at the group by the door; the black-haired siblings were watching her carefully. They were pretty far away, but very alert, so he’d have to make his move quickly.

He glanced at Chris, who returned his gaze expressionlessly. Forsyth bit back a sigh. It had been nice to have someone do his worrying for a while; in that way, he supposed, he and his sister were alike. He bowed his head sadly and closed his eyes.

“I'm sorry for all of the hardships that I put you through.” He meant it as much for her brother and sister as he did for her.

She waved her hands negatively and said, “No, no! It's not your fault!”

But it was his fault.

“In all the time that you were being hunted down as the Scrapped Princess,” he said, opening his eyes finally, “I couldn't do anything to help you.”

Pacifica's eyes softened. “Big Brother...”

Forsyth couldn't look at her. That title didn’t properly belong to him.

“Don't worry about it,” she said blithely. “Some parts of my life were rough, but not everything.”

She smiled, looking back at her real siblings. “That's my big brother and sister, along with our friends.”

Forsyth cast his eyes across the room. The two with black hair stood, the girl looking kind but firm and the boy (man?) vigilant and naturally distrustful. The Scorpse boy and the gawky-looking girl were complete mysteries to him, and his heart panged, realizing that his persecuted little sister had more friends than he had. Off to one side stood someone who was his friend—or had been, anyway. Chris looked as alert and cold as he always did.

Forsyth felt sick.

“They seem like nice people,” he said. He meant it.

“They are.” She was still smiling.

He took two steps toward her. She turned back to him, looking up at him with large, surprised eyes.

“I'm sorry...” he said, putting his hands on her upper arms and pulling her into an awkward embrace. “I truly am sorry.” Tears began to stream down his face. “I finally met you, but I...”

Bowing slightly, he put his right hand on the hilt of his short sword and pulled it from his sheath. Taking care to aim properly—it was difficult, since he was left-handed—he stabbed it into the middle of her back, where it would pierce the heart. There was a sickeningly crunchy, squirting sound as it went in.

He held her close. She didn't scream or cry out. He’d expected her to make a sound of some kind.

No one reacted, except to stare in horror.

After a moment that seemed far too long, he pulled the sword out with a horrible squelch and lowered her to the floor. He dropped her clumsily at the last moment, and she crumpled.

Without switching hands, he plunged the sword into his own heart.

And suddenly there was an explosion of movement and sound.

Chris darted forward. “Prince Forsyth!”

Before Forsyth could fall on his face—his sword still in his breast, his hand still on the pommel—Chris's arms were around him, catching him and gently bringing him down to the floor.

A girl shrieked—it might have been the sister or that redheaded girl, he couldn't tell—and there was a sudden explosion as guns began firing on the temple. Peters-Stahl… Forsyth had suspected that there was a plan to attack the temple, but having his belief confirmed was sickening. It was disheartening to know that his worth was so little that he could be disposed of so carelessly.

It was clear that he had made the right choice.

The Casulls rushed forward, and the name “Pacifica” echoed as the princess’s friends and siblings called to her with varying expressions of horror and confusion. Chris, however, ignored her, kneeling next to Forsyth instead.

The prince could hear his sister gasping for breath. He could smell the blood that saturated her clothing and poured out over the ground. But then, that might have been his own gasping, his own blood... It was so painful, and for a moment, he had a disembodied thought that he ought to pay attention to the details so that he could describe them properly later. It was silly, though, to think that he’d ever have a chance to talk about this—he knew enough about anatomy to make a proper killing stroke. He’d punctured a lung at least and hopefully cut open his heart, too.

There was a woman floating in the air. Her purple hair and wings hovered like a halo around her. “Shannon,” she said. “I might be able to do something for her with my phase interference capabilities. It might take a while, though.”

Then came a deep male voice from above them. “I won't allow you to interfere.”

Forsyth was confused—who were these people? He didn’t understand the things they were saying. Where was that low voice coming from? He turned his face against Chris’s leg, resting his cheek on the cool silk. Chris looked as though he were just this side of panic.

Another explosion rocked the building, and Raquel spoke a spell shakily. “B-Barrier... Barrier, protect us!”

A glowing blue ball of energy surrounded the group. Stones from the ceiling fell and bounced off it. Forsyth lay sprawled across Chris's lap, sobbing and feeling sickened by the sight of his own blood, staring at the pieces as they fell toward his face and were deflected. Chris, too, looked up—his mouth wide open with horror —at the falling ceiling.

Forsyth hadn’t known the girl was a spell caster. No wonder Pacifica had been able to run for so long.

The deep voice spoke again, giving a sinister little laugh. “I didn't expect him to go this far. This is an unexpected bonus.”

Forsyth knew instinctively what was meant, and he was furious. Who was this man? Evidently, he was the power behind Cardinal Hogue’s clumsy maneuvers, but… What kind of being was he? And how dare he attempt to manipulate Forsyth? Didn’t he realize that the prince was responsible, someone who would always choose his people over his own comfort? What did he mean that he “didn’t expect” Forsyth to do something? Why should it be surprising that he was capable of independent action?

Forsyth was so indignant, he began to cough and choke on his own blood. Gently, Chris cupped his face with his hands and tilted his head so that the blood spilled out onto the floor. It pooled in Chris’s hands, too, leaving sticky puddles that smeared on Forsyth’s face when a cough jerked his head. The blood in his hair was hardening into tacky clumps like toffee.

Regaining his composure, Forsyth managed to calm himself, concentrating on shallow, easy breaths. It was too difficult to speak, but he looked up gratefully at his friend.

“Shannon Casull.” The low voice boomed through the valley.

Shannon looked up at the sky, jaw hanging open. Forsyth followed his gaze and saw one of the huge, deadly butterflies he had watched from the balcony. It was he who spoke.

“You and the Dragoon will come with me,” instructed the angel. “If you refuse, I will burn the capital to the ground right now.”

Forsyth started at this. That would defeat the purpose! He opened his mouth and tried to take a deep breath, intending to beg, but Chris smoothed a hand across his cheek, leaving a wet, sticky smear, and made a shushing motion.

Shannon said something to Raquel and then stood. There was a bewildering blurring of the light, as he appeared to merge with the purple-haired girl and ascend into the sky.

It was hard for Forsyth to be surprised by anything when he was in so much pain.

Raquel clutched her little sister, while the Scorpse boy stared idiotically. “How... How could this have happened...?” he asked, kneeling next to Pacifica.

The redheaded girl sobbed alone in a corner, on her knees. Forsyth thought she seemed as though she felt out of place, and he felt a pang of sadness for her. She kept sending furtive glances at Chris, and he wondered if she were the one who had been sending Chris those letters, or if that would be too much of a coincidence. It wasn’t likely—probably there were hundreds of girls in love with Chris. He reached up with his right hand and grabbed onto Chris’s sleeve, clutching it tightly. If only he would stay, and not go to that girl…

Chris ignored her. “Prince Forsyth...” he said. “Why?”

“Please forgive me...” Forsyth managed to say, tears coming again. It hurt so much to speak. “As their prince, I had to protect my people...”

Berkens was there, kneeling over him and looking concerned. Where had he been for the last few minutes?

Forsyth spoke very softly, gazing up at Chris with eyes that streamed with involuntary tears. “I at least wanted to die with my sister...”

The girls were sobbing and calling for Pacifica; gunfire exploded around them. Raquel began to panic, screaming angrily for help and begging God for forgiveness. It was a lot of noise, and his head was throbbing. He couldn’t help but whimper a little at the pain.

Berkens and Chris exchanged looks; the priest shook his head. With an expression of helpless desperation, Chris bent over Forsyth. He took Forsyth’s wrist in one hand, curling his fingers around it protectively. With his other arm, he supported the prince’s head.

When the pain seemed so great that Forsyth knew he’d never be able to bear it, his tears stopped flowing, and he gave up the impossible struggle to breathe.

He was at the inn again, standing on the doorstep. The sky was as black as he had ever seen a sky. “It’s night…” he said to nobody in particular.

The door opened.

This time he could see the woman clearly. She was radiant and white, with ringlets that bounced as she nodded at him. She stepped back so he could enter.

“Welcome,” she said.

The light inside the hallway was very bright—he had to squint a little even to stare at the floor, but he supposed he’d get used to it. It was warm inside, too. Icy water ran down his back and legs as the snow melted off him. He made a move back toward the door when he realized that he was probably dripping puddles of water on the floor, but then he noticed that the water didn’t hit the floor at all; it just evaporated as soon as it left his body.

He was wearing clothes this time, he noticed. It was just his blue, everyday uniform, the one he’d been wearing when he’d gone to meet Pacifica. It occurred to him that there should have been a great deal of blood on it, but there wasn’t.

“Are you tired?” she asked him, perching on the arm of a wooden bench.

He tilted his head and thought about it.

“No,” he answered finally. “Not particularly.”

“But it’s nighttime,” she said. “You should sleep now. Aren’t you sleepy?”

He shook his head.

“Do you know why?” she asked.

He shook his head again. “Tell me.”

She pointed at his hands. “You have mittens.”

He looked down to see that he did indeed have mittens on his hands. He pulled them off, since it was so hot inside.

“This is a very strange place, isn’t it?” he asked politely.

She smiled. “I suppose it is. I hope you like it, though,” she added soberly. “You might be staying here for a while.”

He stared at her blankly. He was beginning to realize where he was.

When he didn’t answer, she went on. “I made it especially for you, you know.”

“It’s charming—just what I would have wanted, but… it seems a bit… lonely,” he said cautiously, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“It is lonely, isn’t it?” she agreed. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to for thousands of years.”

She leaned her chin in one hand. “You and I are always lonely, aren’t we? In fact, I think we’re very much alike. We both do what we have to do to protect the people we have to protect. Very responsible of us, don’t you think?”

“I suppose… If you think so.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Would it be prideful to agree? Would it be foolish to disagree?

“Really,” she said, “it seems to me that people are an awful bother to you. You’ve been so put upon. Won’t you be happier alone?”

“I like people,” he said. “Some of them are very nice.”

“Mmmm…” she said. “Some of them aren’t.”

“That’s true, but…”

“You met your sister today, didn’t you?” she asked. “What did you think of her?”

He was surprised by the sudden change of the conversation. “I thought… I thought… Well…”

“You can tell me what you thought,” she said.

“All right…” He took a deep breath. “I thought that she was an awfully sweet and innocent person, and I thought that it wasn’t fair that she should have to die to save others. I was… angry about it, I think.”

“You saved the world, you know,” the woman said with a hint of irony. “If she had died only a few hours later, the system would have been destroyed. As it is, her powers and mine are exactly balanced.”

“Oh,” he said. “I suppose I should have done it earlier, only…”

“I know. It was a difficult decision.”

He lifted his eyes to study her face. “Why did you make it that way? Why make it so unfair?”

“I didn’t make it that way.”

She smiled at his expression. “My adversaries made it that way,” she continued. “They made her and the dragoons and the Casulls and hundreds of others.”

“What does it mean?” he asked. “What makes her ‘the poison that will destroy the world’?”

“She’s made differently. The rules that are inherent in each of you are nowhere to be found in her. She isn’t bound by the laws of your world. Her existence threatens the control that the system has on this planet.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” she said, “haven’t you ever seen ancient ruins and wondered why you couldn’t build anything as high? Haven’t you flipped through books and wondered why you couldn’t understand the formulas and sketches they contained? Haven’t you ever looked at a flower and wondered how it worked?”

“…You know I have.”

She nodded. “You’re very intelligent, but you couldn’t see. That’s not natural; it’s because I stopped you. There’s a limit on all understanding beyond a certain amount.”

“Why?” He was mystified.

“It’s difficult to answer. But… there are things outside your world that are dangerous. If you could access them, you’d eventually harm yourselves.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” he said, but his heart ached to think of all the knowledge that was as good as lost.

“So you understand why I did what I did?” she asked. “You think it was the right decision?”

He twisted his mouth up, thinking. “Maybe,” he said. “You decided that one person had to suffer so that everyone else would be safe. That seems… unfair, but… the right choice. I think.” He looked at her questioningly. “Right?”

“I’m asking you.” She smiled.

He nodded decisively. “When it’s impossible to do the right thing, you have to choose whatever is least wrong.”

“But there’s something that’s still bothering you.”

“Well…” he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “If it was all to save people, then why… I mean… Did… did all of those people have to die?”

Her eyes softened. “No,” she said. “No, they didn’t have to die. That was a choice I made.”

He looked at her, blinking hard to keep himself from crying.

She looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure it was the right thing to do.”

“What?” He was confused. “But you’re…”

“Perfect?” she finished. “Hardly. I’ve made mistakes, you know. And… I think… that this was a mistake. People should be free to decide for themselves, don’t you think?”

“Um…” He supposed he had a very stupid look on his face, since she started laughing.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated for a moment. “There,” she said. “That’s all done, then. I’ve fixed everything.”

She looked content.

“You should see what’s happening on Earth right now. The changes in the sky are beautiful. And the people… They don’t know what to do with themselves. What do you think they’ll do now?” she mused.

“I… I don’t…”

“They’ll do whatever they want, I suppose.” The corner of her mouth twitched as if she were holding back a laugh.

“And… will they want to do good things?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

She quirked her head at him. “How many of your choices do you think are bad ones?”

“Bad? Do you mean, immoral? Well… I wish I could say none of them, but… I do the wrong thing sometimes. But, I really try not to do wrong!” His eyes widened in passionate sincerity.

“Answer a question for me, Forsyth,” she said. “If I do something, must you then also do it?”

“No…?”

“Please answer with your own opinion.”

“Well, then… no. Because there’s nothing that I must do.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Do you think that you would be a just ruler?”

“Um…” In stories, this was always a trick question.

“Be honest.”

“I… I hope so,” he said.

“And do you like the world very much?”

“…Yeah. It’s beautiful.” His face lit up. “Thank you—you must be very creative.”

“Oh… I didn’t make it. Someone else did.”

“What? Who?”

She smiled. “Now you’ll be able to find out for yourself, won’t you?”

He was bewildered. Maybe she wasn’t who he thought she was, after all. This was all very confusing.

“You know,” she added, “there are other continents. There are completely new languages for you to transcribe. There are magnificent plants and wonderful animals and baffling architecture. You could go find all of them, if you wanted.”

“I’d like that,” he said warily.

She smiled. “I know you would. You were made that way.”

He blushed a little at what he figured was a compliment. “I’m not… I mean…”

“I understand.” She blinked at him for a moment. “Still not sleepy?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Very energetic.”

“It’s not surprising. You weren’t supposed to come here so early—you’re needed at home. You’re indispensable now because, well… There will be no more prophecy.”

She tilted her head to one side and all of her ringlets bounced. “I’ll send you back.”

“I…” He stopped. This was not something he ought to protest. “Thank you. And… thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

“It’s all right. You’re special. You were made for this moment.” She smiled cheerfully. “You have something of your sister in you.”

He was blushing in earnest. “My sister?”

“Yes,” she said. “She’s very special. I’ve been waiting for her for a long time. Please thank her for me.”

“Thank her?”

“Yes. She helped me come to a decision I’ve been pondering for a long time now.”

Forsyth thought he might understand. “Do you mean about whether or not to protect the world?”

She smiled enigmatically. “Remember to put your mittens back on.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.” He pulled them back on, wondering why they mattered. “Um, excuse me… Do you know how I got these?”

She looked at him, amused. “You made them. Don’t you remember?”

The first thing he noticed was that the eternal light that had flickered in the temple for so long had blinked out. Chris and Berkens were kneeling over him. Either they had been very still, or very little time had passed.

The blood was gone. It was just gone, inexplicably. There was no stickiness on his skin and there were no red streaks on Chris’s hands and face and knees.

There was a rock or a piece of glass or something poking into the back of his knee, which was annoying. Had that been there the whole time? Why hadn’t he noticed before? It was to be expected, he supposed, that he wouldn’t notice something small when he was in such great pain.

“Look!” Berkens said to Chris. “His wound!”

Forsyth tried to speak. “I...”

The look in Chris’s eyes was indescribable—breathless, maybe, although it didn’t make much sense for eyes to be breathless. It might have been, Forsyth decided, the first truly happy expression he had ever seen on Chris’s face.

“Come...” Chris said quietly. “Please stand up, Prince Forsyth.”

Forsyth put his hand on his chest where his wound had been, blinking in mild confusion as he realized that there wasn’t even a tear in his uniform where he had plunged the sword through. He reached for the offered hand and stood clumsily. Before he realized what was happening, he had been scooped up off his feet. He twisted his head around to see Berkens grinning at him.

“You can put me down,” said the prince. He hadn’t realized that Berkens was so strong—Forsyth was slender, but he was tall, and hardly insubstantial.

“Don’t,” Chris commanded. “Take him to the carriage.”

“We came on horseback,” said Berkens.

Chris glanced up at the unsound ceiling. “Well, take him outside then, and go and fetch a coach.”

“I’m fine, really,” said Forsyth.

Chris and Berkens looked at him as if he were an idiot.

“You were dead,” said Chris.

“I said I’m okay,” said Forsyth, as firmly as he dared. “Nothing hurts. I promise.”

Chris gave him a piercing look, then nodded to Berkens, who dutifully put the prince back on his feet.

“Thank you,” said Forsyth.

For a minute, none of the three said anything. It was quite awkward. Really, thought Forsyth, what does one say after one has been dead?

He suddenly remembered that there were other people in the room, and jerked his head around to look. Raquel and Shannon were embracing a very alive Pacifica and weeping. The Scorpse boy watched them with an expression of wonder and relief. The other girl looked eager to do something, but unsure what exactly to do. He should make an apology to all of them.

Finally, Chris pointed to the door and said, “Outside. The roof’s not stable.”

“I’ll go for a coach,” said Berkens. With a fond glance at the Casulls, he ran quickly toward the place they’d tied the horses.

“And here I return, like a line to the center, like a fire to the sun and like a stream to the sea,” he sang. “And even if no light appears to me, ah! I know well that my sun is here within.”

Forsyth sat, tucked carefully into the corner of the coach. It was definitely not cold enough to warrant four quilts, but Chris had spent so much energy trying to get hold of them that Forsyth thought it best just to use them all. This piece was too high for him now—it was getting harder to hit high notes, which he supposed he should have expected, but… It was so pretty. It could be transposed. Monteverdi was too beautiful to throw away because of a little issue like vocal range.

Continuing the song under his breath, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and started to make a mental list of all he’d need to do. He’d already apologized to the Casulls—a million times, at least—but one more time wouldn’t hurt. He should write them a letter.

He’d invited Pacifica to stay with him in the capital, but she'd politely refused. It felt wrong to let her go—he owed her all the hospitality that ought to have been hers for years—but he didn’t press her. She was friendly to him, of course, but she seemed eager to spend time with people she actually knew. He’d invite her to visit once things were more settled.

For now, it was imperative that he return to the capital as soon as possible. Somebody would have to oversee the reconstruction process, not to mention organize relief programs. There’d have to be peace talks with Giat.

He groaned. It was hard to believe the mess his father had made. It was going to take him so long to get everything turned right again—and he’d never get it done alone, so he’d have to appoint ministers. Most of his father’s advisors were completely unsuitable and almost certainly untrustworthy. Probably, it would be a few weeks before a proper coronation ceremony could be arranged, so that gave him a while to find the appropriate figures.

No, rallying support was something that shouldn’t be delayed. If he didn’t move quickly, Cardinal Hogue or General Peters-Stahl might make a bid for power. Well, he figured, he’d at least have Baroness Bairach as an ally, and his mother would have good advice as to whom he should appoint to various positions.

And there’d be Chris, of course. He smiled rather idiotically to himself and snuggled his cheek into the blankets.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Chris, opening the door and poking his head inside.

Forsyth had been ready to go for ages. “Yes,” he said pleasantly.

“Okay.” Chris’s tone was clipped and decisive. “Berkens is going with the Casulls to their camp. They’ll inform my team of what has happened.”

“Did you by any chance think to ask him—“

“Yes. He’ll get your things from the Temple.” Chris had amazing forethought.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Chris nodded perfunctorily. “I’m going with you to Sauer. Is there anything else that needs to be done before we leave?”

Forsyth shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he said. “Unless… There was some heavy gunfire up the mountain. Don’t you need to check on your team?”

“Signal flags said there were no significant injuries, but Berkens will check on that, too. You need somebody to help see to things at the capital. Unless there’s someone else you’d prefer to come along?”

Forsyth shook his head. “No. But let’s send a message to the Baroness as soon as we can.”

“Already done.”

“Then there’s nothing more to do here, I think.”

Chris had one foot in the coach when the redheaded girl came into sight. “Christopher!” she called. “Wait!”

She looked self-conscious. Forsyth felt very sorry for her. Upon closer examination, he could see that she wasn’t nearly as poised as Pacifica or Raquel, nor was she half so pretty. No wonder the poor thing felt nervous.

Chris turned to face her, surprised. “What is it?” he asked.

“Well…” she said, “I… That is, you didn’t… Leo and I have to go back through Sauer, and I was wondering if… if you’re in the city, I mean… if you wanted to…” She faltered.

“Won’t you be staying with the Casulls?” asked Forsyth kindly.

“N-no…” she said. “That’s just the thing. They haven’t invited me, and…”

Forsyth nodded with understanding. “I’ll see that suitable lodgings in the city are arranged for you and… Leo? Is he the one with the Scorpse crest?”

“Yes,” said Chris. “He’s the baron’s son.”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Forsyth. “Baron Scorpse doesn’t keep a house in Sauer.” To the girl, he said, “I’ll have things prepared by tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, Your Highness…”

“Please let me. You’re a friend of my sister.”

“…All right.” She curtsied in a countrified manner. It was too adorable.

“And,” added Forsyth grandly, “as soon as I can spare him, I’ll send Chris ‘round with an invitation for you. We shall take tea together, and you must tell me about my sister. But I hope you’ll excuse me at this particular moment—I must get to the capital as soon as possible.”

She beamed. “Thank you, Your Highness. Goodbye, Chris.”

Chris nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard her, and she trotted off toward the Casulls.

Making a sign to the coachman, Chris swung himself inside and threw himself on the seat opposite the prince. “Am I to be your errand boy?”

“Hardly. But she wants to see you.”

Chris blinked at him. “What?”

Forsyth shook his head. “What’s her name?”

“Winia.”

“Oh, the letter girl?”

“The same.”

The carriage jerked into motion, throwing Forsyth forward. He grinned. “She adores you,” he drawled, teasing a little.

“Which is your fault, by the way,” said Chris wryly. Shrugging, he added, “She’ll get over it.”

“I thought I told you to be nice to her.”

“I didn’t know it was a command.”

Forsyth laughed. “It wasn’t.”

“I am nice to her,” said Chris. “I treat her the same way I treat everybody else.”

“So… you’re cold, and sarcastic.”

Chris folded his arms across his chest and scowled, obviously trying to hide a grin.

“Anyway, it would be kind of you to at least be friendly with her,” Forsyth teased. “You must have done something to encourage her, or she wouldn’t be so persistent in the face of such indifference.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “It was entirely your letter that…! Fine. If you want me to, I’ll be extra nice.”

“Thank you. It would really make her happy.”

Chris made a sound to acknowledge Forsyth’s statement without having to agree or disagree. Changing the subject, he asked, “Is this your book?”

He held up an ancient-looking codex. “It was under my seat.”

“What?” Forsyth perked up, interested. “No. Why? What is it?”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Chris slowly sounded out the arcane symbols. “What’s a Dos… What’s that?”

“It’s the author, I think,” said Forsyth. “It doesn’t sound like an English word. Oh, there’s the title.” He pointed. “The Idiot.”

Chris opened the front cover and looked inside. “Who’s Celia?”

“Celia? I have no idea.”

“Her name’s inside the cover.”

“Let me see.”

Chris handed him the book. Smoothing over the crumbling pages carefully, Forsyth examined the text. “It’s a novel!” he said happily. “These are really rare, but they’re the best kind of writing. I wonder why nobody writes them anymore. I think I shall commission some.”

He ran his fingers over the rough surface of the paper. “I love the smell of old books. They smell of glue and dust and primordial wisdom and esoteric creeds.”

“Oh,” said Chris pointedly.

Forsyth obediently returned to sensibleness. “This is really difficult English. I’ve never… I mean… Who else can read this?”

“You. And Princess Senes.”

“Maybe this Celia taught herself, somehow. Because there’s nobody who teaches it—believe me, I searched for ages for a teacher, with no luck. But… if she did, she must have had access to an extensive library. Could she be a courtier?”

“Possibly,” said Chris thoughtfully. “That would also explain how one of her books got into a royal coach. But I don’t know of any courtiers named Celia.”

“You know the names of all the courtiers?”

“Most of them.”

“You are so… When do you have the time to do that?”

“While you’re reading.”

“Oh,” said Forsyth. He paused. “I suppose I’ll find out who she is and give it back to her.”

“After you’ve finished it?”

Forsyth made a face at him, but he couldn’t be angry. Maybe he didn’t mind a bit of ridicule when it was underlaid with fondness and genuine esteem.

He was dying to find out what the book was about, but it was too bouncy to read in the coach, and the words were obscure enough that Forsyth figured he’d need to refer to other texts for translation help, so he watched the scenery instead. He loved his country so much—it was a very beautiful world, after all. He was grateful to be given the chance to clean it up a little.

“Why did you do it?” Chris’s voice interrupted his musing.

Forsyth cocked his head to one side. “You mean, with Pacifica? I told you, it was because—“

“No. Why did you try to kill yourself?”

That was harder to explain. He looked at Chris for a minute without saying anything.

“Were you unhappy? Did someone threaten you?” Chris sounded irritated. “Who did you think was going to run this country when you were dead?”

“I…” Forsyth wasn’t sure what to say. “I… Well… it didn’t seem right, to just take a life without paying for it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Chris bluntly.

Forsyth blinked, unused to such harsh words. Should he be offended?

“I… I’m sorry,” he began uncertainly. “I…”

Chris frowned, chewing the corner of his mouth. He turned to stare out of the window. “I would have missed you,” he said.

Forsyth colored. “I would have missed you, too,” he said softly.

Evidently glad to have that out of the way, Chris nodded in a businesslike manner. “What are you going to do when we get to Sauer?”

“I’ll see my mother directly,” said Forsyth determinedly.

Chris’s face suddenly went vacant. His eyes flickered apprehensively. “Prince Forsyth…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. Her Majesty was killed in prison.” He leaned forward and put an awkward hand on the prince’s shoulder, clearly trying to be comforting. And it was comforting, at least to Forsyth; Chris was so sparing with affection that any touch from him was significant.

“Oh,” said the prince.

Killed in prison meant… she had been tortured.

Chris looked worried. “Prince Forsyth, please let me know if—“

“I’m all right.” The prince smiled amiably. “I promise.”

“But I should tell you that—“

“I’ll… take care of it when we get to Sauer.”

There was going to be a major reorganization of the military.

Chris moved to sit next to him. “Prince Forsyth…”

“Please... You don’t have to use my title,” said Forsyth shyly. He was becoming inexplicably nervous. They were awfully close to one another.

“Forsyth,” Chris began again, looking a little uncomfortable with the familiar form of address, “you should know that we speculate that there is a plot to cover up your mother’s death as a sudden illness.”

The prince closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course there is. Well… I’ll be prepared to order an investigation. Where is she buried?”

“We don’t know. But,” Chris hastened to add, “I’ll find out for you. As soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” mumbled Forsyth. He blushed, then blurted out, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be summarily abused,” said Chris.

“Probably,” agreed Forsyth. “But I’m trying, you know, to be more… assertive, I guess.”

Chris looked amused. “Then you’ll have to stop putting so many qualifiers in your statements.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“And you’ll have to stop being so nice to everyone.”

Forsyth shook his head vehemently. “Nope. I can be decisive and independent and gentle and kind.”

“Can you?” There was a strange tone in Chris’s voice, almost as if he were trying to believe Forsyth but couldn’t quite.

“Yes,” the prince answered firmly. “I can.”