Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

9

Mhera could not find Koreti anywhere.

She sought out the other members of her family. Her parents, Mharin and Joris, were not in the city, but Koren and Kaori were easy to find. They sat together in Kaori's parlor, drinking wine. Both of them looked tired and sick. But Koreti was not there with them, and seeing the looks on the other princes' faces, Mhera was too shy to interrupt their quiet grief.

When she went to Korvan's council chamber, the one place where she was always assured of finding her uncle, the door was closed. A guard stood on either side.

"I would like to see my uncle, please," Mhera said.

"I am sorry, my lady, but you cannot. His Grace will see no one," said the one of the guards.

Mhera stared at the closed door. She tried to picture her uncle inside. Perhaps he was sitting with his head in his hands. Perhaps he was nursing a cup of wine, as were Kaori and Koren. Perhaps he was crying. But she could not make any of the possibilities work in her mind. Her uncle did not grieve; he was always calm and in control. The very thought of him so weakened by his loss, of him crying like Eovin had cried, was enough to deter Mhera from persisting. "Do you know if Prince Koreti is within with him?"

The guard shook his head. "I do not think so, my lady."

Mhera looked everywhere she could think of, but that first day, Koreti was nowhere to be found. The family did not dine together that night, so she did not even have the relief of seeing his face at the dinner table. She thought of him as she lay in her bed, trying to sleep. She wished him comfort in those dark hours, for she knew he would be lying awake as well, grieving the mother he so loved.

Mother Zanara, she prayed, Don't let him be alone.

The next day was much the same. Koreti could not be found anywhere. Dining alone with her governess in her chambers, Mhera began to worry that her impulsive, bold cousin had done something foolish in his grief. Every hour of his absence was punctuated by the sound of the tolling bells of the Temple. Even during the night, no one in the Holy City enjoyed a reprieve from the kingdom's grief; the bells tolled every hour for Esaria's soul.

The funeral took place on the third day after the empress' death. Mhera stood in the Temple with her mother and her father, who had traveled night and day in haste to attend the ceremony. Mhera had not seen them in two months, but their reunion had been hasty, stiff and awkward. She could find no comfort in her portly father, the ambassador, nor her slender, brittle mother. They stood on either side of her, not touching her, and Mhera found herself wishing for Gella's company for the first time in her life.

Mhera stared at the long marble slab at the head of the assembly, where her aunt lay with her dark brown hair pooled around her beautiful face. In stories, pretty dead women looked as if they were only sleeping, as if they could simply rise up from their bed, stretch their limbs and walk about again. Yet even from this distance, Esaria looked cold and waxen, her rosy lips faded to a bloodless pallor, her mouth loose and weak. The light from the spirit lamps played eerie tricks, lengthening the empress' lashes with shadow and making the thin lids veiling her dead eyes seem to tremble.

Mhera was frightened by the sight, but even more frightened to see how closely this vision resembled what she had seen in the mirror.

The ceremony was long, composed of prayer after prayer and endless recitations of Esaria's innumerable good qualities. Mhera, despite her best intentions, found her attention wavering. She wished the ceremony would end, although she knew this was likely an improper feeling to have. She guiltily shifted in her tight new mourning shoes.

It was not that she did not love Esaria. She simply loved Koreti more.

Korvan stood on the other side of the assembly, closest to the empress' stone bed. To his right, his sons stood, each of them wearing a golden circlet and a black velvet doublet over a tunic of pure white. Standing together, they looked much alike, although taken separately each seemed so different from the others. Korvan, with his blonde hair shining silver at the temples, looked as if he had aged twenty years in the course of a day. Koren, to his right, scowled moodily ahead, bull-shouldered and frowning. Kaori, pale and haggard, could not tear his tired eyes away from his mother's corpse.

And Koreti, the youngest? Koreti was not there. His absence caused Mhera such a sense of foreboding that she could think of nothing else.

The next day, life at the palace seemed to be creaking into normalcy again. For the first time, the family dined together in the evening, although Mhera was not sure whether this was because Esaria had been lain to rest or because her parents were there; rare as it was, their presence in the palace tended to garner attention.

Mhera was seated next to Princess Mharin with her governess on the other side. She kept throwing furtive glances toward the seat which was normally Koreti's. His place setting was untouched, his chair empty.

By now, Koreti's apparent disappearance had made everyone uneasy. When he had not turned up at Esaria's funeral, it became clear that he was not simply hiding to nurse his grief in solitude. Mhera knew that the emperor had commanded searches of the palace grounds, and she had heard talk of a perimeter around the city, too, but no one had been able to locate the prince.

The conspicuous absence went unremarked as the servants brought round the soup. After a moment during which everyone looked down at their food without lifting a spoon, the emperor cleared his throat. All heads turned toward him.

"He ran away," Korvan said quietly.

"What?" This was from Koren, the eldest of the princes. "Ran away? Away from the palace?"

Korvan nodded, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. To Mhera, he looked gray-faced and old. "It cannot be otherwise. We have searched for him everywhere. We have not found a trace; we've searched the dungeons, the outbuildings, the highest towers. I've had half the palace guard searching day and night, back and forth, ever since ... ever since your mother died."

"Why would he run?" Koren asked.

Kaori, seated at Koren's left hand, stared down at his untouched plate without comment. Mhera looked at him and felt a wave of sympathy and affection for the middle prince.

"I do not know," Korvan said. "I think he must be mad with grief."

Princess Mharin spoke. "But he must still be in the palace somewhere. He is just a child. He could not possibly have run away."

Mhera looked up at her mother and saw a stranger sitting there at her side. Mharin did not know Koreti. She did not know him like Mhera did. Mharin knew nothing at all.

Koreti was the boy who had wanted to ride the emperor's wildest stallion. He boldly imagined himself as the ruler of the largest realm on Arc. He was afraid of nothing, and he had lost the dearest thing in his life. How could he have done anything but run away?

His voice hoarse with disuse, Kaori said, "It sounds just like what Koreti would do. Dear little fool."

Korvan waved his hand, tiredly gesturing for silence. "Perhaps he could hide for two days within the palace walls, maybe three. But he could not hide for this long. The kitchens were alerted to his disappearance. Naturally, they would be a frequent stop for the boy, were he hiding somewhere here. But the servants there have noticed nothing amiss. And none of the city patrols have uncovered his whereabouts, either."

"Where did he go?"

Heads turned in unison to regard the owner of the plaintive child's voice. Mhera looked from one face to another. At her side, Madam Gella had stiffened. She discouraged Mhera from speaking out of turn, especially at table and especially in the emperor's presence. In Gella's opinion, the only proper behavior in the presence of the emperor was no behavior at all.

Yet Korvan looked at Mhera, his soft eyes pained. "No one can know, my child. But he will be back."

"Soon?" Mhera felt Gella's cold hand on hers beneath the table, pressing in warning. But she tore her hand away.

"Goddess willing. This is his home. We must all pray for his safety while he is away. He is just a boy. If a prince is recognized out in the world, not all would welcome him. Not with the way things are."

Mhera saw something in the faces of her family. Something foreboding, as if those around her knew a secret she did not. She stared down at her plate, at the food that had grown cold, and felt sick. Could they be thinking of the rebellion? Grasping for reassurance, Mhera remembered what the lorekeeper had said. The rebellion was far away.

But perhaps now the prince was, too.