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“If Your Highness doesn’t want me to talk about that,” Evemer said quietly, “then I’d rather you didn’t joke about it either.”
Kadou swallowed hard and looked away. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” His hands trembled again, and he clenched them tight in his lap around fistfuls of his kaftan. “That was . . . You’re right, of course, and I’m sorry.”
Evemer bit his tongue—he’d never wanted to talk about anything like this before, not really. He’d never much wanted to talk at all, at least to most people. His mother was the only exception. He wrote ten-page letters to her two or three times a week, and he visited her every time he had a day off and told her everything in exhaustive detail—at least, everything he was allowed to. These last weeks, he had hesitated to vent to her about all his resentment about Kadou, fearing that it might violate some aspect of the prince’s privacy. With everyone else, he rarely saw any need to speak his thoughts. He’d had entire conversations with Eozena by saying nothing but “Yes, Commander. No, Commander. Commander.”
So why was he finding himself sochattywith Kadou? He had not had more than a glass of small beer for weeks, yet he kept finding his tongue loosened as if he were drunk, stirring to speech before he had a chance to think of what he was going to say and whether it was worth saying it.
Even more bewilderingly, he wasfrustratedwith His Highness for forbidding him to speak of what had happened.
Whycouldn’tthey talk about it? There were so many things that Evemer was realizing that he didn’t understand, and it sounded like there were things His Highness didn’t understand either. How ridiculous would they feel if they discovered they each had the other’s answer? If they could have just shared what they knew, and how they felt about what had happened, and found . . . common ground? Or at least a way to make sense of their own reactions?
Or even the simplest exchange: “I’m glad neither of us died” and “I’m glad of that too”? That would have been enough.
Evemer had never talked like that to anyone. He’d never shared his thoughts with anyone except, again, his mother. Not even one of the temple aunts, whosejobit was to listen and help unburden you of your troubles. There’d never been a reason to do so. He didn’t know what he would say to Kadou now, if he were permitted. His tongue didn’t know the language.
When I was young,he might say,six or seven, before my body-father died and my mother brought me to the city, I made all my friends play the kahyalar game. We’d all go off into a clearing we knew in the forest, and we’d lay out sticks in a square on the ground and pretend it was a palace—here, the throne room; and here, the barracks; and here, the stables, and the banquet hall, and the royal chambers. And we’d fill it with pebbles for treasures and rush around playing at being important, the kahyalar of a sultan or a lord . . .
Then, perhaps, Kadou might ask who got to play the lord, and Evemer would have to tell him:No one did. I didn’t let them. They weren’t worthy of it.
You, though. You might be, if I can figure out what you are.
You stayed to save me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.
There’s something there, beneath the surface of you. And it might be the right thing, the thing I missed in all the others.
But he couldn’t say any of that.
“I’m sure Her Majesty doesn’t intend to shut you out forever,” he said instead. “And if your goal is to prove your loyalty to her, then I believe in time there will be some opportune moment. You can do something that will strengthen Her Majesty’s political position somehow. Or rescue someone important, or—or capture a pirate fleet,” he added, and was bewildered with himself about why he’d saythat,of all things, until Kadou snorted and he realized with an even stronger wave of bewilderment that he’d been trying to make His Highness laugh.
And he’d . . . succeeded?
And for some reason that felt good.
He’d never wanted to make anyone laugh, either, any more than he’d wanted to talk about something troubling. Perhaps that was just what happened to you when someone saved your life: You just started to . . .likethem? Could he go so far as to say he liked Kadou already? Surely not. He said interesting things about coins when he was drunk—damned interesting! Interesting enough to listen to for hours, and a huge relief from watching him mope about. But . . . Kadou had pointed out, embarrassingly but correctly, that Evemerdidn’tlike him. More accurate now to say hehadn’t.
But another opportunity to like him had opened up, a second chance.
Evemer cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I should apologize again too,” he said, before Kadou could rebuke him, if he was going to. “I shouldn’t make light of subjects like this either.”
“It’s all right,” Kadou whispered, though it was clear it was not, quite.
“But I do think Her Majesty will forgive you, in time. I have faith in her, and in her love for you.”
Kadou smiled sadly. “Thank you for saying so.” He took a breath. “I suppose I should get dressed and go talk to Armagan,” he said.
“Highness,” Evemer said, and went to lay out the formal clothes.
As agreed, Commander Eozena met Kadou at the Gold Gate. “Feeling better, Your Highness?”
Not particularly,Kadou thought. His head still ached from the alcohol hangover, and he felt greyish and drained from the emotional one—but it would not do to complain. “A little better, yes,” he said.
She came closer and lowered her voice. “This morning you said you’d left that battering ram with the guards at the Shipbuilder’s Guild, right? It was supposed to be kept there until we could fetch it?”
Kadou’s headache sharpened. “What happened to it?”
“I sent someone. She came back about half an hour ago and said that nobody there had any idea what she was talking about. Nothing to be found, no records of it. There’ssomething going on,” she said, her voice now barely louder than a hiss.
Kadou closed his eyes. “Who were the guards at the guild last night? Kahyalar?”
