It’d been nearly a week since Kaeto’s talk with his uncle and the captain’s implied threats. Thankfully a passing patrol spotted the captain and his two cronies as they were leading the prince down an alley and stopped them before anything could happen. The shame of discovery and needing an enemy footman’s help had almost been worse than a beating for Kaeto.
They’d moved him, Adarelle, and Keros from the small dirt-floored hut into a slightly more spacious abode, one with aged timbers and a bed large enough for two, not that either Kaeto or Keros used it. Adarelle was still in and out of consciousness, muttering barely coherent words as she slept feverishly.
The physicians assured Kaeto her condition was improving, but it was difficult for him to believe. They’d discovered the problem came from a break in her arm, a simple fix if the surrounding tissue hadn’t become infected and began to necrotize.
Healing with kar was limited in situations like this one, as the starlight could not repair already dead flesh. Usually, surgeons were needed to cut away the dead tissue before the true healing could begin, but none of the Haetnellian physicians were willing to perform an operation like that without better supplies or a cleaner environment. If something went wrong, Adarelle might find herself in pain for the rest of her life, or worse, without an arm.
Kaeto argued that she’d lose the arm soon enough if they did nothing, but they were insistent and waiting for better conditions. All they’d done was apply numbing salves, fixed the bone in place with a splint, and wrapped the arm in spice-scented bandages.
The whole room was bathed with sweet-smelling incense smoke and potent flowers to ward off the smell of rotting flesh, but the lingering stench was almost just as foul in Kaeto’s opinion. He rested the stump of his hand against his steward's other hand as he sat beside her, wishing desperately he’d been born with the power to help her.
Thoughts like that inevitably led to him delving into that mental link in his mind, stretching his thoughts out towards Sora, trying to pull her or even just a fragment of her power back with him. Every time he tried, he found only disappointment and frustration. The prince had never felt so powerless in his life.
Across the room, slumped in a tall backed chair beside the door with his arms folded across his chest, Keros snored softly, his chin resting in his chest. Kaeto knew a guard sat on the other side of that door during the night, probably in a similar condition to the northern.
The windows were all shuttered against the daylight, leaving the room lit only by the soft blue glow of moonstones. Kaeto was finding it increasingly difficult to sleep as the days rolled past one after another. The world outside the walls of the small hut was quiet now, the sounds of entrenched warfare almost entirely gone.
He figured that the haetnellians and the varin council had reached a stalemate or near deadlock at least. So long as his father’s people were trapped inside the citadel, they would be losing, their food supplies dwindling day by day. It was only a matter of time till they fell. Kaeto knew they’d sent out ravens to call back the majority of the national army, but they were at best another week away, traveling back from the border. That was, at least, if they received the birds at all.
A knock sounded on the door, jarring Kaeto from his dreary thoughts and jolting Keros away. A moment later, the door slid open, washing the room in blazing sunlight before somebody stepped inside and shut the door behind them. Kaeto cried out in pain from the sudden light, blinking the tears and stinging light from his eyes.
When his vision cleared, a familiar figure stood before him. He tried to recall why the man’s face seemed so familiar, but Kaeto's memories were shrouded in a dark haze.
“Prince,” the man said with a semi-formal bow, and his voice recalled him to Kaeto’s mind.
“You’re the one who captured me,” he said. “What happened to Captain Johren?”
“Johren has been dismissed. I’ll be taking his place from now on. I do apologize for his rough treatment of you.”
“I-,” Kaeto began, then paused, stood up, straightened his tunic, and moved to the captain.
“I thank you, captain. It’s good to know that not all the soldiers feel that way towards me.” He raised his arm to take hold of the man's hand, then glimpsed the rounded stumps of flesh and flushed slightly, lowering it back to his side.
The captain smiled, ignoring the slip. “Captain Ketagen, prince. And I believe Johren and his men were among the minority in our army. The king, your uncle, has ordered you be treated well, and most of the men follow him as if he were the manifestation of a star.”
Kaeto smiled pleasantly and asked,” I presume you’re here for more than just introductions?”
“That I am,” Ketagen said. “The king wishes to see you once more.” He glanced towards Keros, where the man stood rigid, arms over his chest. “And your man if you so choose.”
Kaeto shared a glance with Keros, then said, “no, I’d rather he stay at my steward's side. No offense, Captain, but a few words aren’t enough to gain my trust.”
“Nor should they be,” Ketagen agreed. “Come then. We shouldn’t delay.”
“But the sun,” Kaeto said. “It’s midday, too hot to walk the streets.”
“We won’t be going far. A cloak should suffice for protection.” Ketagen glanced around the room, noted the lack of cloaks, and slung his own off his shoulders. He held it out towards Kaeto, and the prince held up his arms, trying to figure out how he’d put the thing on. Keros had been helping him with most of his clothes, much to Kaeto’s frustration.
A brief pause, then Ketagen said simply, “I often aid my king in donning his cloak. His boots as well at times. Men his age sometimes struggle with simple things, you know.”
The words would have been treasonous if the man was varin, but Kaeto let a small smile show and bobbed his head in confirmation. It was no different than being dressed by the citadel’s servants, he told himself as the man helped sling the cloak around his shoulders and fasten the clasp. Kaeto nodded his thanks, and Ketagen bowed, humbling himself.
“Well, then. Lead the way, good sir,” Kaeto said and shared a smile with the man as he straightened. The captain turned and pushed the door open, shielding his eyes as he stepped outside and held the door for Kaeto.
The prince followed quickly, giving Keros a stare he hoped conveyed something along the lines of ‘keep Adarelle safe.’ Outside, the light was blinding despite the dark adobe walls and black sandstone streets. He felt the cobbles blazing heat through the soles of his boots like the inside of a furnace.
Ketagen led Kaeto forward briskly, nearly running through the blazing heat. As the captain had said, Kaeto’s uncle wasn’t far. They walked past two tiny houses before stopping and pushing open a nondescript door. Kaeto rushed inside, and the captain pulled the door shut behind them.
Blinking the light away, letting his eyes adjust to the dark, Kaeto surveyed the room. Like his uncle's previous space, there was a desk, a small hearth, a thin bed, and a handful of chairs scattered about the room.
“My king,” Ketagen said, bowing deeply.
Norodim glanced up from where he sat writing at his desk and smiled, eyes softening as they fell on Kaeto. The prince maintained his stiff, formal posture, better prepared for the old man than he’d previously been.
“Nephew, Captain,” the king said in acknowledgment. “Come, sit. Have some tea. One of the astrologian’s made a bowl of ice.” He glanced at the stumps of Kaeto’s arms, then said, “On second thought, perhaps not.”
Sweat clung to Kaeto’s face and arms, and despite himself, he sat. The cushioned chair he settled into creak slightly as it took his weight, and Ketagen sat in the chair beside him. Kaeto raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Who was this man to sit at the table with two of royal blood?
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“No, uncle, I’ll have some tea. I’m not as incapable as you might assume,” Kaeto said, words stiff as his posture. He hated being pitied. He would drink that tea on his own if it was the last thing he ever did, just to prove he was still capable. Norodim gave Kaeto a searching look but nodded and continued with the tea.
“You wished to speak with me, uncle?” Kaeto asked as the king passed a glass of iced tea to him. Luckily it was a somewhat large cup, its sides flat. He raised his arms and pressed the cup between his stumps, then carefully lifted the glass from the table, raising it to his lips. It was more awkward than he’d expected, but he managed well enough.
The haetnellian king nodded slowly, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. “Of course. Erm, well, I don’t get to speak with that side of the family often, you know.”
“Surely you have children of your own,” Kaeto said, then sipped from the cup again. The tea was fruity, sweet, and utterly unfamiliar in a tantalizing sort of way.
His surprise must have shown because the king smiled and said, “It's a blend of fruits and tea from the shattered sea. I have an old friend among the feol who brings me a few cases every time he visits. If things go as planned, he should be in the city before too long. Perhaps I can introduce you when he does.”
“I would like that,” Kaeto said, his words genuine. Building a strong connection with the feol again would be a great boon to Jiovar’s economy, as the fox people had long cut ties with the kingdom.
“But to answer your question,” Norodim continued. “I do have children of my own. A son and a daughter. You will meet both in due course, but speaking with them isn’t nearly as interesting as speaking with you, my boy. I’ve known them their whole lives, but you, I’ve known you for only a few weeks. There is so much for us to learn from each other.”
“I can understand that,” Kaeto said slowly, staring into the dark tea on the table. “But uncle, you do remember that we are enemies here, yes? I am your prisoner, you my captor.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Norodim said, sounding solemn as he spoke, both hands resting in his lap as he stared at Kaeto.
The prince shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. “Of course it does, uncle. Your past choices give me no choice. You are a traitor.”
Norodim sighed and shook his head. “You understand so little, my boy. If you would listen this time, I would explain all to you.”
Kaeto was quiet for a time, thinking about the king's words and considering the wisdom of sipping from his cup again. It was excellent tea. “I still don’t trust you, uncle. I don’t even know you.”
“How can I help you trust me then?” The king asked, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together before him.
“You can start by healing my steward. I know your healers are not confident in the task, but without help, she will die. After that, we’ll see.”
Nodding slowly, Norodim said, “I understand. In your position, I would act similarly. I will have them assembled at once. Ketagen, would you mind?”
The captain bowed from his chair, setting his teacup back atop the desk as he did so. “As you wish, my king,” he said, then rose and left, bowing once more before stepping out into the scorching plaza.
Kaeto gripped the cold glass between his stumps again and sipped his tea as quietly as possible while the haetnellian king turned back to him. He returned the cup to the desk, but when Norodim said nothing, Kaeto asked, “You seem rather close to your captain.”
The king smiled slightly. “We are indeed old friends. And Ketagen was a field general or was until yesterday. He’s been promoted to the position of grand general for these forces, something that took longer than I’d expected.”
General? Kaeto thought, his mind slowly reworking all of what he’d seen of the man. Field general, that did make a sort of sense, he supposed. Brave man to lead the charge against the citadel. “I suppose my capture led to his promotion?” Kaeto asked, but Norodim shook his head.
“No. In fact, every other time, he’s been offered the job before he’s turned it down. He says there's plenty of time for him to stand in the rear when he’s too old to hold a spear.”
Kaeto frowned. “So why did he accept it this time?”
“Because I asked him too.”
“Ah,” Kaeto said, putting the pieces together. “Johren.”
“Indeed,” was the king's only response.
A few seconds later, the door opened again, and Ketagen stepped inside, closing it behind him as he bowed. “They have assembled, my king, as you requested. They wait for you in the prince’s quarters.”
“Perfect,” Norodim said, setting his tea down with a hearty clink of porcelain. “No point in delaying. The sooner this is done, the better I figure.”
Kaeto looked at the tea one last time, decided to leave it where it rested on the old wood desk, and rose to follow after them.
They nearly sprinted down the sweltering street back to the small hut that was Kaeto’s prison, cloaks loose and wide around them. Kaeto was beginning to fear his feet would blister from the sheer heat of the cobbles beneath him.
Ketagen pushed the door open and held it for the king and Kaeto as they slid past him into the tiny house. Again, Kaeto found himself blinking, tears stinging his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw two of the king’s healers bowing at the waist before them.
To the left stood Master Nynne, a tall, scrawny man with only a tiny puff of brown hair atop his head. The other healer, Master Heljjed, was nearly his twin save for the way his long, straight hair floated about him in thin static waves of yellow.
“Rise,” Norodim said, and the pair did so, straightening but avoiding the king’s direct gaze.
“We have come as you requested, my king,” Master Nynne began. “But again, I must advise you that-,”
Cutting the man off with a curt gesture, Norodim said, “I have heard your counsel and understand your concerns, Master Nynne. However, my nephew is correct. If nothing is done, we risk the girl’s arm, if not her life. Now, do you have what you and Master Heljjed need for the procedure?”
Nynne nodded, bowing slightly at the king’s rebuke. “Yes, my king. We will begin preparations right away.”
Heljjed bowed as well, then the two turned and set their wooden tool cases down on either side of the bed. Nynne pulled a thin blade of silverglass from his case as Heljjed retrieved gauze, wooden tweezers, bandages, and salves. Kaeto moved to stand at the foot of Adarelle’s bed, but a gentle hand on his shoulder from General Ketagen held him back.
The man gave Kaeto what might have been called a reassuring smile, but it had no effect on the prince. Instead, Keato shrugged the man off and glanced around to find Keros. The northern sat on a chair against the far wall, arms still folded, watching the healer’s every movement. At least there was one person he could count on, Kaeto thought.
As Nynne unwrapped the bandages from Adarelle’s arm, a putrid smell like the back of a butcher’s barn wafted up into the lukewarm air. Kaeto nearly gagged but managed to hold the reflex back.
The arm was purple, surrounded by rings of red and yellow, something yellowish oozing from her pores. Heljjed gently washed the area clean with strong-smelling alcohol, then the two physicians shared a look before Nynne lowered the silverglass blade to the girl’s arm.
The sound of the blade cutting against his steward's flesh was too much for the prince. He turned and braced himself against a wall, dry heaving as somebody put a comforting hand on his back.
“Would you like to go somewhere else?” Ketagen asked in a quiet but respectful tone. Kaeto shook his head.
“No. I should be here in case of the worst. I owe her far more than that in truth, but for now, it is the most I can do.”
Ketagen nodded and turned away. Kaeto took a moment to center himself again before turning back to watch the grisly procedure continue. The healers were cutting away at the black-red strips of yellow studded flesh inside Adarelle’s arm, shearing off thin slices of necrotized muscle in quick, controlled cuts. Blood pooled in a cast iron pan beneath the open wound, much less than Kaeto had imagined there would be.
A few seconds later, the shattered bone came into sight. The pair worked for several more seconds, Nynne slicing as Heljjed cleaned and sutured. When all the dead flesh had been cleared away, leaving a glimpse of wet, gleaming bone behind, Nynne began to channel kar through the knife.
The silverglass glowed with a rainbow of color before it all blurred together into a brilliant white light. As Kaeto watched, thin threads of starlight, barely visible to his untrained eye, flowed from the knife to the injury. At first, it seemed as if nothing would happen, then, bit by bit, Kaeto watched as the tissue knit itself together, fiber after fiber like the frayed edges of a rug beneath the weaver’s hands.
A loud crack echoed in the room as the bone fused back together in an instant, and a few seconds later, Adarelle’s skin crawled across freshly grown flesh, leaving only a pale patch on her dark skin as proof of her injury.
As they finished their work, Nynne fell backward, the silverglass blade slipping from his hand. It clattered hollowly against the wood floor as Heljjed supported his peer.
“Bring food and water for the both of them,” Heljjed said. “They’re both on the brink of starvation after that healing, her especially.”
Ketagen didn’t wait for Norodim to confirm the order. Instead, he snagged Keros by the collar of his tunic and dragged him off in search of sustenance. Keato moved to the bedside, sitting atop the short stool at its edge as he looked down into Adarelle’s face.
The lines of pain that had stood out so boldly before had faded, and while she wasn’t perfectly at ease, her condition had notably improved.
“Well, my boy,” Norodim said, approaching and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I did as I said I would.”
Kaeto shook his head, not looking at his uncle. “No. Not yet. Like he said, she still needs to eat.”