CHAPTER 3
At six years old, Atyas knew three things about being a prince. People bowed when he entered a room. Doors opened before he reached them. And adults became considerably less honest whenever they noticed him listening. His tutor claimed there were other things he needed to learn: history, numbers, diplomacy and the names of every province governed by the Crown. Atyas considered these much less useful.
Especially numbers.
“How many people live within Asehria?” his tutor asked.
Atyas stared at the map covering the classroom wall, swinging feet that did not yet reach the floor. A lock of dark brown hair fell across his eyes each time he looked down at his slate; he kept pushing it back with the heel of his hand. The kingdom was painted in silver, stretching from the northern mountains to the forests along the southern frontier. Hundreds of cities had been marked by small circles. The capital was represented by a silver star so large it covered several rivers.
“More than yesterday,” Atyas said.
His tutor closed his eyes.
“That is not the answer recorded in your lesson.”
“But people were born yesterday.”
“And others died.”
“Then the number in the lesson is wrong.”
“The number is an estimate.”
“Then why do I have to remember it?”
His tutor looked towards the ceiling as though hoping one of the gods might answer for him. The classroom door opened before any did. Queen Isolde entered, accompanied by Captain Seraphina, Cel Varo and Officer Garran Vos of the Lunar Watch. Isolde wore no crown. She rarely did outside formal ceremonies, claiming it gave her headaches and encouraged people to agree with her too quickly.
Atyas slid down from his chair.
“Are you here to rescue me?”
“From arithmetic?”
“Yes.”
“No kingdom has an army large enough for that.”
His tutor attempted to hide a smile. Isolde examined the unfinished figures on Atyas’s slate. When she looked up, he met eyes the same grey-green as his own and tried to appear occupied.
“How long has he been working on this?”
“Nearly an hour, Your Majesty.”
“I have been imprisoned here for nearly an hour,” Atyas corrected.
“Then I bring news of your release.” Isolde handed the slate back to the tutor. “We are visiting the southern resettlement wards.”
The tutor hesitated. “The prince has not completed his lesson.”
“Today’s lesson is in the city.”
Atyas was already at the door.
It took almost two hours to reach the southern wards, even with the Lunar Watch clearing the royal road ahead of them. Palace towers gave way to government halls, temples and estates enclosed behind high stone walls. Beyond them stood the great residential districts, where buildings crowded together beneath bridges connecting one level of the city to another. Atyas had been told how many millions lived there, but from the carriage he could see no end to them.
People filled every street. Merchants shouted from beneath coloured awnings. Labourers hauled carts between warehouses. Children ran alongside the royal carriage until the guards ordered them back. Above them, laundry hung between windows like banners belonging to a thousand tiny kingdoms. Many people bowed when they saw Atyas. Others raised their hands towards him.
“The comet-born prince!”
“The Silver Child!”
“Bless my daughter, Your Highness!”
A woman lifted an infant above the crowd. Atyas looked at Isolde.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Wave to her.”
“Will that bless the baby?”
“No.”
“Then why does she want me to?”
Isolde looked through the carriage window. The mother was still holding her child above her head, tears running down her face.
“Because people need to believe tomorrow might be kinder than today.”
“Do they think I can make that happen?”
“Some of them do.”
“Can I?”
Isolde considered the question.
“You can try. But that is not the same as promising you will succeed.”
The southern resettlement wards had been built for families driven from villages along the frontier. They had originally been intended to house several hundred thousand people. More than two million now lived within them. Temporary shelters had become permanent streets. Storehouses had been converted into dormitories, and new homes climbed the surrounding hills faster than the city could extend roads, wells and sewers to reach them. The royal carriage stopped outside a distribution hall guarded by the Lunar Watch.
Captain Seraphina dismounted first.
“Remain close to your mother,” she told Atyas.
“I know.”
“Close enough that I can reach you.”
“I know.”
Seraphina looked at Isolde.
“He does not know.”
“He will learn.”
Inside the hall, hundreds of families waited between wooden barriers. Clerks sat behind long tables, comparing names against ledgers and exchanging stamped tokens for grain, lamp oil and medicine. Isolde moved among them without ceremony. She spoke to the clerks, inspected the storerooms and listened to families who had been waiting since before sunrise. She remembered the names of villages Atyas had only seen on maps.
At first, Atyas stayed beside her.
Then he noticed a girl standing at the end of one of the tables. She was close to his age, although she was so thin he could not be certain. She held a wooden token blackened by fire. Tight black curls had worked loose from the cloth at her nape, and a clean track through the soot showed the brown skin beside her nose. A younger boy clung to the back of her dress, round-cheeked beneath the same unruly curls. The clerk behind the table shook his head.
“This seal cannot be read.”
“It is from Elmar,” the girl said.
“Elmar’s registry was lost during the evacuation.”
“My mother said this would be enough.”
“Your mother was mistaken.”
The girl placed the token on the table again.
“My brother hasn’t eaten.”
“I cannot issue supplies without proof of residence.”
Atyas looked at the sacks of grain stacked behind the clerk.
“There is food right there,” he said.
The clerk glanced down at him.
“There are procedures, child.”
Captain Seraphina appeared behind Atyas.
The clerk’s face lost its colour.
“Your Highness.” He stood so quickly that his chair fell over. “Forgive me. I did not recognise you.”
“You recognised her,” Atyas said, pointing to the girl.
The clerk looked uncertainly towards Seraphina. Atyas turned the burned token between his fingers.
“It says she gets food.”
“The seal is damaged, Your Highness.”
“Then give her a new one.”
“I do not have the authority.”
“I do.”
Seraphina placed a hand on Atyas’s shoulder.
“That is not how authority works.”
“I am the prince.”
“Yes.”
“So tell him to give her food.”
Their argument had begun attracting attention. Families turned to watch. The murmuring spread through the hall until Isolde noticed the gathering crowd. She approached without hurrying.
“What has happened?”
Atyas held out the burned token.
“He says they cannot eat because he cannot read this.”
Isolde examined it.
“Where is your mother?” she asked the girl.
“Sick.”
“Your father?”
The girl lowered her eyes.
Isolde crouched in front of her.
“What is your name?”
“Nela Ar.”
“And your brother?”
The boy pressed his face more firmly into her dress.
“Tarin.”
“Are there other families from Elmar here?”
The girl pointed towards several people farther back in the line. Isolde called them forward. Each confirmed the children’s identity and described the house where their family had lived. The Queen rose and faced the clerk.
“When records have been destroyed, testimony from two registered families will be accepted until new documents can be issued.”
The clerk bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Feed them.”
A servant filled a sack with grain and dried vegetables. The girl stared at it as though it contained treasure. Atyas looked along the waiting lines.
“How many others did you turn away?”
The clerk said nothing.
“How many?” Atyas repeated.
“Several hundred today, Your Highness.”
Hundreds.
Atyas looked beyond the wooden barriers. There were elderly men leaning upon sticks, mothers holding silent infants and children whose clothes had been repaired so many times that little of the original cloth remained.
“You should feed all of them,” he said.
“We do what the stores allow.”
“There is enough food in the palace.”
Someone in the crowd shouted in agreement.
Others joined them.
Atyas climbed onto the fallen chair so they could see him.
“I will make sure everyone gets food.”
The hall erupted. Hands rose towards him. People shouted blessings and called him the comet-born prince. The sound travelled through the open doors, where hundreds more waited in the street. Isolde lifted Atyas down from the chair. She did not look pleased.
“But they’re happy,” he said.
“Yes,” she answered. “That is what makes a promise dangerous.”
King Eridan was waiting when they returned to the palace. A report lay open on the desk before him. Beside it sat the blackened ration token Atyas had taken from the distribution hall.
“You promised food to every displaced family in the southern wards,” Eridan said.
Atyas stood in front of the desk with Isolde beside him.
“They are hungry.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t we feed them?”
“We do. The wards consume more grain each day than some cities use in a month.”
“There is food in the palace.”
“There is enough food in this palace to feed one district for less than a day.”
“Then get more.”
“From where?”
Atyas opened his mouth. No answer came. Eridan left his chair and knelt in front of him.
“You saw someone suffering and wanted to help. That was right.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“Because a prince’s words do not belong only to him. Once people believe them, those words become debts.”
“I didn’t mean to do something bad.”
“You did not do something bad. You made a promise without knowing its cost.”
Atyas looked at the token.
“Will the girl get food tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Isolde said. “So will the other families whose records were destroyed.”
“And everyone else?”
Eridan exchanged a glance with Isolde.
“We can open two additional royal storehouses,” he said. “That will give the wards several weeks.”
“And after that?”
“We negotiate grain shipments from the eastern provinces. We rebuild the southern farms. We protect the roads so the food reaches those who need it.”
“I asked King Aldren to keep the Marren road open if the harvest fails again,” Isolde said. “Solara is sending engineers from Feenix to help restore the southern mills.”
“Why would they help us?” Atyas asked.
“Because we helped them when they needed it,” she said.
Eridan leaned against the edge of the desk.
“And because one day they may need us again. Friendship between rulers can be real. It still has consequences for everyone they rule.”
“What about Valanor?”
“Valanor has offered grain,” Isolde said.
“Then we have enough.”
“It also named a price that would give its merchants control of three western crossings.”
Atyas frowned. “That does not sound like help.”
“It may still feed people,” Eridan said. “That is what makes the decision difficult.”
“How do you decide?”
“With better information than you had today, if possible,” Isolde said.
“And when the information is not enough?”
Eridan turned the Valanorian offer towards Isolde.
“Then your mother and I are still here after supper.”
Atyas picked up the burned token.
“How do you rule that many people if you can’t meet them all?”
Eridan glanced at the maps and reports covering his desk.
“You count what they need.”
Isolde rested her hand on Atyas’s shoulder.
“And you remember that every number has a name.”
Eridan returned to his chair and pulled a blank ledger across the desk.
“Tomorrow morning, you will help the quartermaster register the families whose records were lost.”
“All of them?”
“You made the promise.”
Atyas stared at the thick stack of empty pages.
“That will take forever.”
Eridan handed him a pen.
“Then you had better begin early.”
Atyas took the pen and the first empty ledger. He had almost reached the door when Isolde spoke behind him.
“He is six, Eridan.”
Atyas stopped where neither parent could see him without leaving the desk.
“He made a promise to two million people,” Eridan said.
“Because one frightened girl asked whether she would eat.”
“And if I erase the cost, he learns that the Crown exists to rescue him from his own words.”
“If you give him the whole cost, he learns that caring for someone is a mistake unless he has already solved the kingdom.”
Silence followed. Atyas held the ledger more tightly.
“That is not what I want him to learn,” Eridan said.
The anger had left his voice.
“I know,” Isolde replied. “You are afraid that if we wait until he is older, the court will teach him a cleaner lie first.”
“And you are afraid he will wake one morning and discover we replaced our son with an heir.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“The quartermaster keeps him until midday,” Isolde said. “After that, he is six again.”
“Can he be seven? Six-year-olds make dangerous promises.”
“Midday, Eridan.”
“Midday.”
Atyas continued through the door before they discovered him listening.
Alaria’s spring rotation in Asehria had begun three days earlier. Her official work concerned Feenix engineers, shared grain roads and the officers expected to recognise one another’s commands during a border crisis. Solara’s sealed instructions had ended with a separate line.
Spend time with Atyas. This remains an order.
Alaria had considered requesting clarification. She knew Solara would enjoy providing it.
That evening, Alaria found Atyas hiding in the royal stables. He sat on an overturned bucket outside an empty stall, turning a small wooden horse between his hands. One of its ears had been worn almost completely smooth.
“You know,” Alaria said, “I spent three days carving that.”
Atyas looked up.
“You made it?”
“For the night you were born.”
“One ear is smaller.”
“You tried to eat it.”
“I did not.”
“You had two teeth and very little judgement.”
Alaria sat beside him. At this distance he could see freckles scattered across her sun-browned nose and high cheekbones. She followed his gaze down to the horse.
“Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not.”
“Then why did two servants and a member of the Lunar Watch ask whether I had seen you?”
Atyas looked down at the horse.
“Father says I made a dangerous promise.”
“Did you?”
“I said everyone would get food.”
“Can you give everyone food?”
“No.”
“Then it was a dangerous promise.”
“You’re supposed to agree with me.”
“Why?”
“Because you annoy Father.”
“I annoy your father by telling him the truth.”
“That sounds like something he would say.”
“Your father learned it from me.”
Atyas considered that doubtful.
Alaria stood and opened the neighbouring stall. A tall black mare stepped into the lamplight.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“You have spent enough time being a prince today.”
“Mother says I’m not allowed to ride without a groom.”
“I am considerably better than a groom.”
“Seraphina says you’re a bad influence.”
“Seraphina worries too much.”
Alaria tucked the wooden horse securely inside the front of Atyas’s coat. She lifted him into the saddle and climbed up behind him as though he weighed no more than the carving. Atyas had seen soldiers draw upon the current beneath their strength with tightened jaws and braced shoulders. Whatever effort Alaria spent had already disappeared into balance before he could see it.
“Hold the reins loosely.”
“How loosely?”
“Loose enough that she can breathe. Tight enough that you remain attached to the horse.”
They left the stable at a walk. The moment they entered the empty training field, Alaria urged the mare into a run. Atyas grabbed the front of the saddle. Wind tore through his hair, and the palace walls became streaks of silver around him. For the first time since the distribution hall, he forgot the people calling him prince, the promise he could not keep and the thousands of names waiting to be written. He laughed.
Alaria took them around the field twice before slowing. Isolde waited beneath the stable arch with Cel Varo. The Watch officer had apparently completed the palace search without considering it necessary to interrupt the first circuit. She had one hand resting upon her sword and the patient expression she usually wore when deciding whether Alaria’s interpretation of a rule required Seraphina’s attention. Isolde raised one hand against the wind. Although she was trying to look stern, Atyas could see the smile she had not quite hidden. Alaria brought the mare to a stop.
“You found him,” Isolde said.
“He found the stable.”
“And somehow the stable became a racetrack.”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Of course.”
Atyas looked at his mother.
“Can we go again?”
Isolde glanced at Alaria, then at the happiness that had returned to Atyas’s face.
“One more circuit.”
Atyas grinned.
“At a reasonable speed,” Isolde added.
Cel looked towards Alaria.
“I would like the record to show that the Queen used a word with no agreed definition.”
“The record may show that you found him safe,” Isolde said.
“It may even be true by the time I finish writing it.”
Alaria held out one hand towards her.
“You should come and ensure it.”
Isolde laughed.
“Not in this dress. And I know better than to trust your definition of reasonable.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Isolde agreed. “After his work with the quartermaster.”
Alaria leaned towards Atyas.
“Your mother always attaches responsibilities to the enjoyable things.”
“I heard that,” Isolde said.
“You were meant to.”
Atyas held the wooden horse against his chest and smiled.
The following morning, Atyas sat upon a cushion beside the royal quartermaster. The first family approached the desk carrying the remains of a burned wooden token. Nela guided Tarin towards the chair opposite him. She had washed the soot from her face, but the sleeves of her dress still smelled faintly of smoke. Atyas dipped his pen into the ink. There were billions of people in Asehria. Trillions lived beneath the same sky, although he was still too young to understand what such a number meant. He would never know all their faces. He would never learn all their names. But he carefully copied the first one into the ledger.
Nela Ar, of Elmar.
Then he asked for the next.
End of chapter