Post by Blue on Mar 3, 2019 22:43:45 GMT 10
Title: Look And Recreate The World
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3078
Summary: They both loved people once. (Part Two/End)
Part one: here
Notes: I have a problem and it's called adding characters who won't NOT do their own thing
Kaddar met his first love in Carthak.
She was easy on the eyes, quiet and meek. She was well-behaved, always courteous. Seven year old Kaddar did as any royal would in Carthak if they found themselves attracted to a slave girl in their service; he ordered her to kiss him.
Emperor Kaddar of Carthak lay awake in his bed, thinking. When he'd requested a scribe take a copy of his speech so he could refine it, and ink was accidentally spilled over both it and Kaddar's clothes, there had been a silence so thin that Kaddar thought he could hear his scribe's heartbeat. Ozorne might have taken a limb or a life. Kaddar paused then said, "Perhaps you shouldn't expect an early night tonight," and started over.
Kaddar closed his eyes and saw the fear in those wide, terrified eyes. Something had changed.
"I have become soft," he muttered to himself.
Numair had said, "Don't let your Carthak see you doing it then."
Kaddar thought for a bit more and decided: Tortall would not think of any Carthaki Emperor's weakness as a sign that chaos was welcome.
It was day nine when the topic of slavery was raised, and until then, Kaddar had not seen the Tortallan side of the room so empty. The chamber had high walls covered in thick tapestries, windows of coloured glass set above their heads to let inside multicoloured light. Large tables inside could fit thirty but still overspilled on the first few days, forcing the lesser Tortallan representatives to sit in a second row with their scribes.
Today King Jonathan's side counted five, both Sir Gareths among them. Young Prince Roald sat one row back with two clerks who would take turns writing. Kaddar had his full flank of nineteen nobles and scholars and scribes seated around him.
Gareth the Younger opened his mouth, and Kaddar understood - this was not a negotiation in Tortallan politics that this King wished to show the rest of his people.
"Tortall understands your culture is different to our own. We don't believe this keeps us from a common understanding." Sir Gareth nodded. Kaddar noted the Tortallan Crown Prince's attentive gaze, that quiet demeanour as he learned in the shadows about how duty to one's people took shape. Kaddar reached for his cup as the discussion continued. "We have already reached the agreement that both of us will open our borders, but still wish to continue regulating access on a permissive basis. Should we become aware of Carthaki citizens - not granted permission - on our soil - slave, noble or otherwise - we will release them to your fleet, returning them to your country."
A fleet Kaddar didn't have, with his armies agreed to be disbanded, save the dedicated force protecting Carthak from their voracious neighbours of the Copper Isles. On day three, Kaddar arranged for wartime aid from the Tortallan army in exchange for increasing imports of midland wines by eighty percent. With gold that would otherwise would have gone to Tusaine being diverted to Tortallan coffers, they furthered their position as the region's most dominant power. Day four, Tortall offered food in exchange for the knowledge in Carthak's Royal University. And so it went on.
Today it was decided that Carthak would make it a crime for anyone to have a Tortallan slave. Any existing Bazhir slaves must be returned within the next full moon. In return, because Carthak had no ships to spare, Tortall would release any Carthaki refugees back to Kaddar as extra cargo when ferrying food, armies, or young scholars.
Kaddar needed slaves. He could not change this, as true as the sun rose and set each day. His throat itched, so he drank, but the water slid down his gullet without helping him. He could feel the rings of protection around his fingers cutting deeper into his skin, and he released the cup from his death-grip. Sharply, he glanced to his right, to his best and most trusted mage-adviser.
His mage-adviser shook his head. There were no spells on Kaddar.
"I take it," Kaddar began. He stopped himself, wondering when he'd become used to speaking his mind without thinking. Kaddar thought of a different topic, no less honest, but also not the question on his mind. "I take it that this marks the end of our negotiations."
King Jonathan stood and thanked them. "Indeed it is. We appear to have finished early."
Kaddar pulled his gaze away from those blue sapphire eyes and to the Crown Prince's. "Your country is most fortunate. May you count your blessings from your gods."
"You too," said Prince Roald, softly but clearly. And that answered Kaddar's question, why these Tortallans decided that being friends with their people meant they could feign ignorance about the slaves of foreign countries. Kaddar watched as the young Prince put together his thoughts, too inexperienced to hide the veil of hypocrisy. Tortall's rulers couldn't afford to free every slave; they could only choose to do the best for themselves.
Prince Roald gave his sentence. "You believe in your people. The gods must surely bless you."
The climate of Tortall was so different that, to Kaddar, her riding routes were nothing he'd ever experienced. Trees heavy with green filtered crisp air into his lungs. Birds - plain birds - shrilled louder than he guessed their dull brown patterned coats could create. Lakes and streams were light blue and reflected the mountains of white clouds lazily drifting.
"Ahddak, be calm," said Kaddar, petting his prancing horse when a carriage bumbled by. Tortallan carriages had roofs, like boxes, and it must have looked like a small house clattering by. Kaddar guided his horse back onto the path gently with his legs and it didn't take long until the curious purebred returned to its steady trotting, followed by their guard.
He heard the sound of voices and horses near him as the forest ended onto a field. It didn't take long until he saw a distinctive emblem flying in the wind and realised it was the one of the Queen's Riders.
Ahddak sniffed the air and cantered closer.
"I ain't never seen a horse like yours a'fore." Kaddar turned and saw a youth covered in freckles riding on a bay with a short rear. She peered at the fine patterns stamped on Ahddak's bridle fearlessly. "What're you—"
"Marien!"
"Your Majesty!"
The girl spotted the stern, galloping Horse-mistress and her pony noticed it was being flanked by the strange horses of Kaddar's guard. In her moment of surprise, it bucked and threw the heavy weight off its back before cantering off. Marien was obviously used to this because she cursed and rolled on the grass, the dirt doing nothing to her already stained breeches. She ran after it without saying another word.
Onua's horse stopped in front of Kaddar, the Rider's back straight and her expression in a frown. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She sketched a bow that looked odd but charming on a woman like her and said, "Pardon her dullness, Your Majesty, she's new to these ranks. Would you like an escort back?"
Maybe it was her desire to be rid of him that made him interested. "You would mind if I watched you training?"
Onua gave him a strange look, pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Go ahead. I'll let them know they have an audience when they embarrass themselves." She signalled across the field to a tall, dark man. Whatever the man hollered, Kaddar missed it. He thought he was starting to understand her expressions, because surely there must have been humour hiding beneath that one. A strand of hair had escaped Onua's tight coil and now curled lightly into her cheek. "Enjoy yourself, Majesty."
"Will you commentate?"
Kaddar did not mean to say that. She barked in sharp laughter that, for an instant, made her features more refined, and Kaddar's grip tightened around his horse's reins.
"This is the greenest group of the lot. They'll be needing everyone they have just to stay on all day." Onua scratched beside her horse's mane, her fingers deft. Kaddar accidentally pulled on his horse's bridle enough for it to straighten. She noticed. "He's bred very well, your one." Her eyes gave them a once-over—first of Ahddak, and then of him. "Not too fickle. Would you sell him?"
Kaddar flushed when he realised he was almost about to say yes. "O—of course not! He is—I am—" the Emperor of Carthak.
Onua smiled, reaching out to pet Ahddak's head. His horse flicked its head and rear as if it were a common mongrel, jostling a Kaddar who stared breathlessly at the glowing amusement on her face. "He's a beauty that loves you, too."
He dreamt of her.
The dreams were set further - into the future. He knew this because he was a little older, as was she: he fitting better in his mantle; she with more mature attire than the shirt and breeches she always wore. Sometimes she wore nothing. The horizon outside the window showed the streets of Carthak; flat houses, dusty roads. Orange streets and a cloudless sky.
She fit in his arms neatly as he pulled her closer, eyeing the country he'd claimed with fire and might.
"I am the Emperor of Carthak," he whispered.
As the sheets pooled onto the floor, one of her hands wrapped around his wedding band. She smiled and touched his face with the other, sadness draining her features away. "I know."
Kaddar hadn't wondered for very long why Numair Salmalín took a seat beside him at the final commemorative banquet hosted by the Palace's halls.
"Congratulations on having their Highnesses agree with your betrothal to Princess Kalasin."
Kaddar reached for his wine. He had a feeling he would be needing it for this. "Thanks."
Numair leaned forward for his own cup, copying him.
Across the room, Princess Kalasin was sitting and talking with Daine, who returned to the Palace two days ago. She had been tracking down some escaped livestock from a town caught in a landslide. Kalasin noticed Kaddar looking at her, and nodded stiffly at her husband-to-be. She understood her role as a political hostage to secure Tortallan Navy support. Tortall's people may not be enslaved in Carthak, but her princess would be enslaved on her throne.
For a moment, Kaddar and Numair's heads were close as they bent over the table.
"Be careful, Kaddar." Kaddar realised that Numair's lips were not moving. "Only a fool would hurt a woman who has had her heart broken."
Kaddar reached for his wine. His stomach sunk—still, he tilted his head questioningly.
"I'm not one to get between love," said Numair, looking at Daine now. His eyes were faintly glassy. No Carthaki would ever carry so much fondness in their eyes, yet somehow the muscles in Numair's face allowed it.
Somehow Kaddar knew Numair was not talking of either Daine or Kalasin. He swallowed some wine. It went down dry.
He dreamt of her.
This dream had a field of grass the colour of straw. The grass was tall and wild and feathery off stiff stems. He thought the grass dead until he took another step, and to his surprise it sprung back against his bare feet along with the sensation of earthy coolness between his toes. He breathed and the air was dry inside his nose, too humid to be Carthak, cloying in the intensity of the smells. He searched for anything he could recognise. It looked nothing like Carthak, and not like anywhere he'd seen in Tortall while travelling up and down the land, first up to Corus from Pirate's Swoop and then back south again.
He looked up into the distance and saw a brown-skinned woman with dark hair and hands glowing red. He would have run to her if his body didn't ignore the instinct which went unnoticed.
Onua Chamtong met his eyes first. "You," she said blandly.
Kaddar finally realised what his instincts were trying to tell him. This was too vivid to be one of his ordinary dreams.
"Me," Kaddar agreed. "You know where this is?"
Onua raised her brows. "This is where my dead husband has his grave."
Kaddar's heart skipped a beat. Then he saw it, as if the tall grasses had waited for this moment to part - a rock, no bigger than a horse's head, settled on the ground. It was grey with a crack running through the middle of it, and inside the crack, a small sprout grew with brightest green.
"... Oh," he said, lamely.
Onua pointed a shaking hand at the tuft of green and destroyed it with her magic fire.
"I loved him," she said, "I loved him when he loved me, and I loved him even when he hated me. Or he must've hated. The things he did to me... the marks he left... they found him a corpse. After I met Thayet, that is. He was bleeding, head all red, tripped on a rock and cut himself. Thayet, she calls it justice." Onua paused. "And I don't know if I was the one who killed him."
She looked at him then, hands rippling red, staring blandly. Her strange expression was returned. Kaddar finally knew her well enough to know it was uncertainty.
Kaddar swallowed. She should not have any reason to fear him. He was dreaming. This was his dream. Since this was his dream, that meant he should be...
He should be king.
"You—" Kaddar began, stepping forwards, feeling the weight and pull of his heavy jewellery as it glimmered off the sunlight hitting his skin.
—He saw her face and he stopped, the sight of the white in her wide eyes making him freeze without control over his will. His heart jumped into his throat. The thick grasses that reached his waist passed through him as if he was a ghost and this grassland was his haunted thing.
A pale presence shimmered in his periphery. Kaddar closed his eyes, saying, "So the Graveyard Hag is not enough. The Mithran Gods too wish to interfere with Carthak's future."
Gainel the Dream King appeared inside Kaddar's eyelids. —This is merely a favour.
"A favour?" For whom in all the Realms could King Gainel possibly do a favour involving Kaddar?
—You are fortunate to have friends who care about you.— Gainel appeared to smile, even as his presence disappeared. —And now, you must choose your own future.—
A forceful shove pushed on Kaddar's shoulders. Thrown out of this dream, Kaddar woke and stared up at the ceiling.
At last it was time to depart this place which had welcomed him. Kaddar looked out from one of the castle's high towers. The river which Corus was built on went from one side of his view to the other, glittering in the light before the dawn. That was where his slaves found him.
"I could not sleep," said Kaddar, to his concerned mage-adviser at breakfast. He accepted the suggestion of taking a carriage instead of riding and watched the stable hostlers running around from the window. Without being told, he already knew that the woman who appeared in his dreams would not be taking part in the scramble. She served the Riders, not the Palace. The sight of a line of ponies in the distance was the stationed Rider groups making way on their travels too.
His mage-adviser, who had been his classmate, recognised his desire for space and left the room.
There was a knocking on the door. One of his servants opened it. His visitor wore simple cotton shirt and breeches that contrasted her aristocratic face. Her coal black hair hung loose over her ears. Princess Kalasin curtseyed and let herself in. Another servant cleared the table as she took the seat which Kaddar's mage-adviser left empty.
"I don't like you yet," she said bluntly, shocking Kaddar just when he thought he was getting used to the culture and its unusual ways. Kaddar's servants shifted uncomfortably. They too were wary of Kaddar. They had known Ozorne's temper.
His betrothed continued, blithely, "I wanted to be a Knight. But I'm a princess. So I'm to marry you."
"I hope you don't plan to speak like this in Carthak," Kaddar commented.
"Oh, I won't." Kalasin huffed miserably and snatched one of his breakfast biscuits. "I've done all my readings about Carthaki culture - I'm making the most of my time before we go. I heard you're smitten with Onua."
Kaddar rose so quickly he knocked over his chair. "What?"
For all her apparent fearlessness, the princess jumped. She bit into her prize and Kaddar looked closer, seeing the trembling in her hands that surely came from nerves. Images from his dream came back to him unbidden—Onua's fearful gaze; a rock which marked a dead lover. His jaw clenched and his skin felt raw where it touched the open air. Kaddar had friends who were commoners. This distance between them was more than that. All these women—why did they fear him?
"Because you are powerful," Kalasin said softly.
Kaddar hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. "No. I am Giftless, not like your royals. I have nothing." He was nothing, compared to his uncle.
Kalasin met his gaze. "And that is why you are terrifying."
It was hard to tell what happened first. The first bell ringing to mark the next hour. A loud shout from the stables as an ill-tempered horse causing a ruckus. Or the slow, burning fire behind Kaddar's eyes, filling his ears, clouding what rational thinking he had left. She was upset, married off, unable to pursue her dream. She had read about his culture yet acted in a manner which goaded him from the very beginning. And her cryptic judgement of his character—
The Princess dropped her eyes to the table. She adjusted her legs so they were neat and even her manner of eating changed.
Kaddar saw this. His anger backed down, appeased. Yet a part of him felt detached from it. He was looking back at himself as if he were an observer.
He thought of the husband of Onua and his grave.
"There's no law against taking lovers, in Carthak." Kalasin broke the silence. "If you like her as much as you think you do, you'll need prove it. You yourself can come back, but no Rider would accept you like that. Horse-mistress Onua needs someone who can hold her and treat her with kindness."
Kaddar turned to his chair and a brave servant scurried out to put it upright, not meeting his gaze. He sat and met Princess Kalasin's. Her rich blue eyes appeared to glow in the faint light like a goddess he would respect, not a woman he could love.
The future Empress of Carthak must have seen something in her betrothed's expression because she smiled beyond her years. "If Mama were here, she'd say, 'There is no better time to learn.'"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3078
Summary: They both loved people once. (Part Two/End)
Part one: here
Notes: I have a problem and it's called adding characters who won't NOT do their own thing
Kaddar met his first love in Carthak.
She was easy on the eyes, quiet and meek. She was well-behaved, always courteous. Seven year old Kaddar did as any royal would in Carthak if they found themselves attracted to a slave girl in their service; he ordered her to kiss him.
Emperor Kaddar of Carthak lay awake in his bed, thinking. When he'd requested a scribe take a copy of his speech so he could refine it, and ink was accidentally spilled over both it and Kaddar's clothes, there had been a silence so thin that Kaddar thought he could hear his scribe's heartbeat. Ozorne might have taken a limb or a life. Kaddar paused then said, "Perhaps you shouldn't expect an early night tonight," and started over.
Kaddar closed his eyes and saw the fear in those wide, terrified eyes. Something had changed.
"I have become soft," he muttered to himself.
Numair had said, "Don't let your Carthak see you doing it then."
Kaddar thought for a bit more and decided: Tortall would not think of any Carthaki Emperor's weakness as a sign that chaos was welcome.
It was day nine when the topic of slavery was raised, and until then, Kaddar had not seen the Tortallan side of the room so empty. The chamber had high walls covered in thick tapestries, windows of coloured glass set above their heads to let inside multicoloured light. Large tables inside could fit thirty but still overspilled on the first few days, forcing the lesser Tortallan representatives to sit in a second row with their scribes.
Today King Jonathan's side counted five, both Sir Gareths among them. Young Prince Roald sat one row back with two clerks who would take turns writing. Kaddar had his full flank of nineteen nobles and scholars and scribes seated around him.
Gareth the Younger opened his mouth, and Kaddar understood - this was not a negotiation in Tortallan politics that this King wished to show the rest of his people.
"Tortall understands your culture is different to our own. We don't believe this keeps us from a common understanding." Sir Gareth nodded. Kaddar noted the Tortallan Crown Prince's attentive gaze, that quiet demeanour as he learned in the shadows about how duty to one's people took shape. Kaddar reached for his cup as the discussion continued. "We have already reached the agreement that both of us will open our borders, but still wish to continue regulating access on a permissive basis. Should we become aware of Carthaki citizens - not granted permission - on our soil - slave, noble or otherwise - we will release them to your fleet, returning them to your country."
A fleet Kaddar didn't have, with his armies agreed to be disbanded, save the dedicated force protecting Carthak from their voracious neighbours of the Copper Isles. On day three, Kaddar arranged for wartime aid from the Tortallan army in exchange for increasing imports of midland wines by eighty percent. With gold that would otherwise would have gone to Tusaine being diverted to Tortallan coffers, they furthered their position as the region's most dominant power. Day four, Tortall offered food in exchange for the knowledge in Carthak's Royal University. And so it went on.
Today it was decided that Carthak would make it a crime for anyone to have a Tortallan slave. Any existing Bazhir slaves must be returned within the next full moon. In return, because Carthak had no ships to spare, Tortall would release any Carthaki refugees back to Kaddar as extra cargo when ferrying food, armies, or young scholars.
Kaddar needed slaves. He could not change this, as true as the sun rose and set each day. His throat itched, so he drank, but the water slid down his gullet without helping him. He could feel the rings of protection around his fingers cutting deeper into his skin, and he released the cup from his death-grip. Sharply, he glanced to his right, to his best and most trusted mage-adviser.
His mage-adviser shook his head. There were no spells on Kaddar.
"I take it," Kaddar began. He stopped himself, wondering when he'd become used to speaking his mind without thinking. Kaddar thought of a different topic, no less honest, but also not the question on his mind. "I take it that this marks the end of our negotiations."
King Jonathan stood and thanked them. "Indeed it is. We appear to have finished early."
Kaddar pulled his gaze away from those blue sapphire eyes and to the Crown Prince's. "Your country is most fortunate. May you count your blessings from your gods."
"You too," said Prince Roald, softly but clearly. And that answered Kaddar's question, why these Tortallans decided that being friends with their people meant they could feign ignorance about the slaves of foreign countries. Kaddar watched as the young Prince put together his thoughts, too inexperienced to hide the veil of hypocrisy. Tortall's rulers couldn't afford to free every slave; they could only choose to do the best for themselves.
Prince Roald gave his sentence. "You believe in your people. The gods must surely bless you."
The climate of Tortall was so different that, to Kaddar, her riding routes were nothing he'd ever experienced. Trees heavy with green filtered crisp air into his lungs. Birds - plain birds - shrilled louder than he guessed their dull brown patterned coats could create. Lakes and streams were light blue and reflected the mountains of white clouds lazily drifting.
"Ahddak, be calm," said Kaddar, petting his prancing horse when a carriage bumbled by. Tortallan carriages had roofs, like boxes, and it must have looked like a small house clattering by. Kaddar guided his horse back onto the path gently with his legs and it didn't take long until the curious purebred returned to its steady trotting, followed by their guard.
He heard the sound of voices and horses near him as the forest ended onto a field. It didn't take long until he saw a distinctive emblem flying in the wind and realised it was the one of the Queen's Riders.
Ahddak sniffed the air and cantered closer.
"I ain't never seen a horse like yours a'fore." Kaddar turned and saw a youth covered in freckles riding on a bay with a short rear. She peered at the fine patterns stamped on Ahddak's bridle fearlessly. "What're you—"
"Marien!"
"Your Majesty!"
The girl spotted the stern, galloping Horse-mistress and her pony noticed it was being flanked by the strange horses of Kaddar's guard. In her moment of surprise, it bucked and threw the heavy weight off its back before cantering off. Marien was obviously used to this because she cursed and rolled on the grass, the dirt doing nothing to her already stained breeches. She ran after it without saying another word.
Onua's horse stopped in front of Kaddar, the Rider's back straight and her expression in a frown. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She sketched a bow that looked odd but charming on a woman like her and said, "Pardon her dullness, Your Majesty, she's new to these ranks. Would you like an escort back?"
Maybe it was her desire to be rid of him that made him interested. "You would mind if I watched you training?"
Onua gave him a strange look, pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Go ahead. I'll let them know they have an audience when they embarrass themselves." She signalled across the field to a tall, dark man. Whatever the man hollered, Kaddar missed it. He thought he was starting to understand her expressions, because surely there must have been humour hiding beneath that one. A strand of hair had escaped Onua's tight coil and now curled lightly into her cheek. "Enjoy yourself, Majesty."
"Will you commentate?"
Kaddar did not mean to say that. She barked in sharp laughter that, for an instant, made her features more refined, and Kaddar's grip tightened around his horse's reins.
"This is the greenest group of the lot. They'll be needing everyone they have just to stay on all day." Onua scratched beside her horse's mane, her fingers deft. Kaddar accidentally pulled on his horse's bridle enough for it to straighten. She noticed. "He's bred very well, your one." Her eyes gave them a once-over—first of Ahddak, and then of him. "Not too fickle. Would you sell him?"
Kaddar flushed when he realised he was almost about to say yes. "O—of course not! He is—I am—" the Emperor of Carthak.
Onua smiled, reaching out to pet Ahddak's head. His horse flicked its head and rear as if it were a common mongrel, jostling a Kaddar who stared breathlessly at the glowing amusement on her face. "He's a beauty that loves you, too."
He dreamt of her.
The dreams were set further - into the future. He knew this because he was a little older, as was she: he fitting better in his mantle; she with more mature attire than the shirt and breeches she always wore. Sometimes she wore nothing. The horizon outside the window showed the streets of Carthak; flat houses, dusty roads. Orange streets and a cloudless sky.
She fit in his arms neatly as he pulled her closer, eyeing the country he'd claimed with fire and might.
"I am the Emperor of Carthak," he whispered.
As the sheets pooled onto the floor, one of her hands wrapped around his wedding band. She smiled and touched his face with the other, sadness draining her features away. "I know."
Kaddar hadn't wondered for very long why Numair Salmalín took a seat beside him at the final commemorative banquet hosted by the Palace's halls.
"Congratulations on having their Highnesses agree with your betrothal to Princess Kalasin."
Kaddar reached for his wine. He had a feeling he would be needing it for this. "Thanks."
Numair leaned forward for his own cup, copying him.
Across the room, Princess Kalasin was sitting and talking with Daine, who returned to the Palace two days ago. She had been tracking down some escaped livestock from a town caught in a landslide. Kalasin noticed Kaddar looking at her, and nodded stiffly at her husband-to-be. She understood her role as a political hostage to secure Tortallan Navy support. Tortall's people may not be enslaved in Carthak, but her princess would be enslaved on her throne.
For a moment, Kaddar and Numair's heads were close as they bent over the table.
"Be careful, Kaddar." Kaddar realised that Numair's lips were not moving. "Only a fool would hurt a woman who has had her heart broken."
Kaddar reached for his wine. His stomach sunk—still, he tilted his head questioningly.
"I'm not one to get between love," said Numair, looking at Daine now. His eyes were faintly glassy. No Carthaki would ever carry so much fondness in their eyes, yet somehow the muscles in Numair's face allowed it.
Somehow Kaddar knew Numair was not talking of either Daine or Kalasin. He swallowed some wine. It went down dry.
He dreamt of her.
This dream had a field of grass the colour of straw. The grass was tall and wild and feathery off stiff stems. He thought the grass dead until he took another step, and to his surprise it sprung back against his bare feet along with the sensation of earthy coolness between his toes. He breathed and the air was dry inside his nose, too humid to be Carthak, cloying in the intensity of the smells. He searched for anything he could recognise. It looked nothing like Carthak, and not like anywhere he'd seen in Tortall while travelling up and down the land, first up to Corus from Pirate's Swoop and then back south again.
He looked up into the distance and saw a brown-skinned woman with dark hair and hands glowing red. He would have run to her if his body didn't ignore the instinct which went unnoticed.
Onua Chamtong met his eyes first. "You," she said blandly.
Kaddar finally realised what his instincts were trying to tell him. This was too vivid to be one of his ordinary dreams.
"Me," Kaddar agreed. "You know where this is?"
Onua raised her brows. "This is where my dead husband has his grave."
Kaddar's heart skipped a beat. Then he saw it, as if the tall grasses had waited for this moment to part - a rock, no bigger than a horse's head, settled on the ground. It was grey with a crack running through the middle of it, and inside the crack, a small sprout grew with brightest green.
"... Oh," he said, lamely.
Onua pointed a shaking hand at the tuft of green and destroyed it with her magic fire.
"I loved him," she said, "I loved him when he loved me, and I loved him even when he hated me. Or he must've hated. The things he did to me... the marks he left... they found him a corpse. After I met Thayet, that is. He was bleeding, head all red, tripped on a rock and cut himself. Thayet, she calls it justice." Onua paused. "And I don't know if I was the one who killed him."
She looked at him then, hands rippling red, staring blandly. Her strange expression was returned. Kaddar finally knew her well enough to know it was uncertainty.
Kaddar swallowed. She should not have any reason to fear him. He was dreaming. This was his dream. Since this was his dream, that meant he should be...
He should be king.
"You—" Kaddar began, stepping forwards, feeling the weight and pull of his heavy jewellery as it glimmered off the sunlight hitting his skin.
—He saw her face and he stopped, the sight of the white in her wide eyes making him freeze without control over his will. His heart jumped into his throat. The thick grasses that reached his waist passed through him as if he was a ghost and this grassland was his haunted thing.
A pale presence shimmered in his periphery. Kaddar closed his eyes, saying, "So the Graveyard Hag is not enough. The Mithran Gods too wish to interfere with Carthak's future."
Gainel the Dream King appeared inside Kaddar's eyelids. —This is merely a favour.
"A favour?" For whom in all the Realms could King Gainel possibly do a favour involving Kaddar?
—You are fortunate to have friends who care about you.— Gainel appeared to smile, even as his presence disappeared. —And now, you must choose your own future.—
A forceful shove pushed on Kaddar's shoulders. Thrown out of this dream, Kaddar woke and stared up at the ceiling.
At last it was time to depart this place which had welcomed him. Kaddar looked out from one of the castle's high towers. The river which Corus was built on went from one side of his view to the other, glittering in the light before the dawn. That was where his slaves found him.
"I could not sleep," said Kaddar, to his concerned mage-adviser at breakfast. He accepted the suggestion of taking a carriage instead of riding and watched the stable hostlers running around from the window. Without being told, he already knew that the woman who appeared in his dreams would not be taking part in the scramble. She served the Riders, not the Palace. The sight of a line of ponies in the distance was the stationed Rider groups making way on their travels too.
His mage-adviser, who had been his classmate, recognised his desire for space and left the room.
There was a knocking on the door. One of his servants opened it. His visitor wore simple cotton shirt and breeches that contrasted her aristocratic face. Her coal black hair hung loose over her ears. Princess Kalasin curtseyed and let herself in. Another servant cleared the table as she took the seat which Kaddar's mage-adviser left empty.
"I don't like you yet," she said bluntly, shocking Kaddar just when he thought he was getting used to the culture and its unusual ways. Kaddar's servants shifted uncomfortably. They too were wary of Kaddar. They had known Ozorne's temper.
His betrothed continued, blithely, "I wanted to be a Knight. But I'm a princess. So I'm to marry you."
"I hope you don't plan to speak like this in Carthak," Kaddar commented.
"Oh, I won't." Kalasin huffed miserably and snatched one of his breakfast biscuits. "I've done all my readings about Carthaki culture - I'm making the most of my time before we go. I heard you're smitten with Onua."
Kaddar rose so quickly he knocked over his chair. "What?"
For all her apparent fearlessness, the princess jumped. She bit into her prize and Kaddar looked closer, seeing the trembling in her hands that surely came from nerves. Images from his dream came back to him unbidden—Onua's fearful gaze; a rock which marked a dead lover. His jaw clenched and his skin felt raw where it touched the open air. Kaddar had friends who were commoners. This distance between them was more than that. All these women—why did they fear him?
"Because you are powerful," Kalasin said softly.
Kaddar hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud. "No. I am Giftless, not like your royals. I have nothing." He was nothing, compared to his uncle.
Kalasin met his gaze. "And that is why you are terrifying."
It was hard to tell what happened first. The first bell ringing to mark the next hour. A loud shout from the stables as an ill-tempered horse causing a ruckus. Or the slow, burning fire behind Kaddar's eyes, filling his ears, clouding what rational thinking he had left. She was upset, married off, unable to pursue her dream. She had read about his culture yet acted in a manner which goaded him from the very beginning. And her cryptic judgement of his character—
The Princess dropped her eyes to the table. She adjusted her legs so they were neat and even her manner of eating changed.
Kaddar saw this. His anger backed down, appeased. Yet a part of him felt detached from it. He was looking back at himself as if he were an observer.
He thought of the husband of Onua and his grave.
"There's no law against taking lovers, in Carthak." Kalasin broke the silence. "If you like her as much as you think you do, you'll need prove it. You yourself can come back, but no Rider would accept you like that. Horse-mistress Onua needs someone who can hold her and treat her with kindness."
Kaddar turned to his chair and a brave servant scurried out to put it upright, not meeting his gaze. He sat and met Princess Kalasin's. Her rich blue eyes appeared to glow in the faint light like a goddess he would respect, not a woman he could love.
The future Empress of Carthak must have seen something in her betrothed's expression because she smiled beyond her years. "If Mama were here, she'd say, 'There is no better time to learn.'"