Chapter Ten

25th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat

9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th year since the Cataclysm

Thyrenkun, Felarati

Deseirion

Despite the roaring fire in his chambers, Prince Pyrust wore his cloak. He found the room uncomfortably warm, but the visitor he expected would be half-frozen and exhausted. The warmth would be welcome, and he had every hope Keles Anturasi would feel welcome as well.

The Prince had made the decision to meet Keles in his personal chambers rather than any place more grand. Pyrust suffered no illusions about the Naleni cartographer and where his loyalties lay. In their previous meeting, Pyrust had made overtures to him, and Keles had politely but firmly rebuffed them. Pyrust actually respected him for that display of familial and national loyalty.

The fact that Deseirion’s need would require that to be crushed was another matter entirely.

A gentle knocking came at the door. Pyrust glanced in that direction. “Enter.”

The door opened silently. Pyrust almost didn’t recognize the young man framed in the doorway. Since they’d met he’d acquired a puckered scar on his forehead. He’d lost weight on his long journey. Exhaustion rimmed hazel eyes with red.

Though he was clearly tired, Keles’ eyes still sparked with intelligence and surprise. He even half made to bow, but caught himself with a hand before he sagged against the doorjamb. As it was, he grimaced when his right shoulder hit the doorway.

Pyrust crossed the distance between them and took his left elbow and shoulder, steadying him. “I did ask them to convey you here as fast as possible. If you were hard used, I will have the men beaten. Killed even.”

Keles shook his head slowly. “I’ve no love for them. They murdered a friend of mine, but they did their duty.”

Pyrust guided him to a seat beside the fire. Keles slumped in the blocky wooden chair. He cradled his right arm against his chest and his head lolled toward the left. He stared into the flames. “You know I will not work for you.”

“You made that clear in Moriande.” Pyrust walked to a sideboard and poured two pewter goblets of dark wine. He brought both and offered them to Keles. “It is customary for us to welcome guests with wine. Rice and cheese will follow. You may choose which goblet you prefer.”

Keles looked up at him, then reached out with his left hand and took the goblet from the Prince’s half hand. “If I am a guest, will I be permitted to leave when I desire?”

Pyrust stared down past his wine. “You know that is not possible. Nor will you be allowed to communicate with your family. I know you can reach your grandfather and brother through your mind. I could have you drugged to prevent that, but I would prefer to have your word that you will not attempt it.”

Keles drank, then frowned. “You would accept my word?”

“I would.” Pyrust set his goblet on the mantel over the hearth. “You are a smart man and you know the way of the world. If your grandfather learns you are here, Cyron will threaten war. And, quite likely, blood will flow before you are returned to Moriande. On the other hand, news of your presence here will slowly be communicated through the ministries. They will inform Prince Cyron in a manner that demands diplomacy. We will negotiate, and what he would have had to win through blood, he will pay for in time-time you will spend here.”

“What good will that do you?” Keles pulled himself upright and gingerly rested an elbow on the chair’s arm. “I’ve said I won’t work for you.”

“I hope I can convince you otherwise.” Pyrust smiled. “You think I want the Anturasi charts of the world? Everyone does-and if they were offered to me, I should not spurn them. Those charts have allowed Naleni ships to sail far and wide, reaching new nations and new trading partners. Those charts have brought Nalenyr a prosperity that may let Cyron buy the provinces back into an empire.”

“And you’d like to stop that.”

Pyrust nodded, his green eyes narrowing. “I have never hidden my ambition to become the Emperor. Ambition, however, is hardly a virtue that is easily sated. Believe me when I tell you that I do not desire the Anturasi charts of the world, nor will I ask you for them.”

“I am too tired for that to make any sense.” Keles slowly shook his head. “If it is not that, what do you want?”

Quicker to the question than I would have imagined. Pyrust took Keles’ wine and placed it on the mantel. “Please, come with me.”

Keles stood. Pyrust removed his cloak and settled it around the young cartographer’s shoulders. Gently taking his left elbow in hand, the Prince guided him to the chamber’s external wall, opened the door, and ushered him onto the south balcony.

The sun had just set, leaving the cloudy sky streaked with grey. Around them, from the Prince’s tower to the Black River and beyond, Felarati stretched out. Pyrust knew the city well and loved it, but he saw it as it truly was, not colored by romance or nationalism.

“Tell me what you see, Keles Anturasi. Tell me about my city.”

Pyrust could feel the tremor running through Keles’ body. The cartographer slowly studied the city, starting with the western precincts, following along the Black River, and ending east, at Swellside, where fog was already beginning to grow like fungus over dark buildings.

“I will compare it to Moriande, and you know it will suffer.” Keles looked at him. “And you know that is not just national pride talking.”

Pyrust nodded solemnly.

“Felarati has grown without much planning. It started near the bay, on the north side. The south was farmland and benefited from spring flooding. As the population grew, you constructed levees and buildings, but you still have flooding there and the sewer system is constantly in disrepair.”

Keles pointed to the factories spewing smoke in the middle of the city. “You can see that the water above those factories is cleaner than that below, which means the people living closer to the sea have poor water. You have a lot of sickness there. Upriver is not much better, because of the silt in the river. If it were flooding into fields, once again your land would be more fertile, but now it is wasted. The air stinks of smoke and sewage. The city is dark, and the people clearly suffer from melancholy.”

Pyrust raised his chin. “Is that all you can tell me?”

Keles frowned again, then continued his survey. “Your development of the riverside is insufficient to handle the sort of trade the Anturasi charts would bring to you. I already know the Black River is not navigable for any significant distance. We were constantly riding overland between one river station and another to get here. Your ability to get wealth to and from the interior would be limited to cart traffic. Even if those factories can turn out gyanrigot capable of moving freight, the cost of taking it very far would eat up any profit.

“And I will tell you this, Highness. I kept my eyes open as I moved through your nation. Your people work hard, but they are living skeletons working a harsh and unforgiving land.” Keles hesitated for a moment. “Yet, as little as they had, they offered us everything once they learned I was bound for your court. Your people have nothing, still they love you and would do anything for you.”

“Perhaps they fear what will happen if they displease me.”

“Some certainly, but most I saw spoke of you with great affection. Some even call you Little Father. How is that possible when you have so much here and they have so little?”

“You really mean to ask me how I can care so little for them when they care so much for me.”

Keles nodded.

“Come back inside.” Pyrust waved Keles past him to the chair by the fire. He waited for his guest to resume his seat, then clasped his hands at the small of his back. He looked into the flames, then began speaking in a low voice.