Shadow War - Deborah Chester [30]
But tonight the fantasy did not come readily. He was not in the mood for make-believe.
A bargain was a bargain. The prince had ordered Caelan to win, and Caelan had. The prince wanted Caelan to appear at tonight’s parties, healthy and whole. Caelan was here.
But he had done enough. He was tired, tired to his very bones and beyond, of slaying men for no purpose. As a boy he had dreamed of being a soldier who fought for the glory of the empire. Never in his wildest imagining had he believed he would ever end up in exotic, decadent Imperia, killing efficiently and ruthlessly almost daily to provide public entertainment. Agel was right to call it a moral violation, and whenever he allowed himself to think of it as such, Caelan felt sickened to his core. But even worse, he feared his own skills. He feared how good he had become, how attuned he was to his weapons, how easily his body quickened to the task before him. He liked the risk and challenge of combat. He thrived on it, and that—more than anything else—frightened him.
Laughter from within the house made the grooms put away their dice game and straighten to attention. The horses snorted and pawed. Caelan smoothed a wrinkle from his tunic and flung his cloak over one shoulder.
Emerging from the house, the prince came down the steps with about six of his friends in tow. All were dressed in sumptuous velvet tunics that were padded and lined with rich silks. Tirhin wore his distinctive blue, with a fashionable velvet cap set at a jaunty angle on his dark head. He was adjusting the belt of his dueling sword as he came. To Caelan’s eyes, the sword was a strange-looking weapon, quite long but scarcely thicker than a knitting needle. It was designed for thrusting only, no edge to it at all. One stroke of a broadsword would shatter it. Caelan considered it an overly dainty weapon, useless and silly. Still, all the fashionable courtiers wore them now.
“Caelan, there you are,” the prince called out. “Attend me.”
Startled from his thoughts, Caelan realized he was staring like a half-wit. The prince had stopped partway down the steps and stood waiting. Caelan hastened to him and bowed low.
The prince gestured for his friends to go on, and waited until they were under the portico at the foot of the steps before he returned his attention to Caelan.
Only then did the prince allow his pleasant expression to become grim. He looked Caelan up and down. “That will do. The clothes fit better than I expected.”
“They are very fine, sir. Thank you.”
“Heed me. I have your instructions for the evening,” the prince said in a low, curt tone.
Caelan knew his moods well. This was a dark one. With his heart sinking, he bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
“We shall attend several parties, but Lady Sivee’s is the important one. When we arrive there, do not stay close to my side. Circulate among the guests. Go and come as you please.”
Caelan blinked in surprise. This was indeed a treat and a privilege, but he did not understand why the prince looked so somber. “Thank you, sir.”
“I want you to be visible among the guests. Don’t go off and hide yourself the way you usually do. Stand about and talk to whoever will give you permission.”
Caelan frowned slightly. “Usually those are men wanting to make offers to buy me.”
“I don’t care what you discuss or what you do, as long as it’s within permissible bounds.”
“No, sir.” Caelan hesitated a moment, then seized his courage. “Sir, I wish to—”
“No questions now. We’re late already.” The prince swung away, pulling on his gloves. Then he paused and sent Caelan a hard look. “You are well? Up to this excursion?”
“Quite well, sir.”
The prince nodded. “The emperor’s healer is