3
Ender woke to an aching head and a roiling stomach.
Fighting the urge to throw up, he peeled his eyes open and saw…darkness.
Raia.
Raia had been killed.
They'd taken him.
Who had taken him? He had a fuzzy memory of royal guards, but that couldn't be right.
Why would royal guards kidnap him?
Fuck, his head hurt.
Fighting through the pain, Ender rolled over and pushed to his knees—and then finally lost the battle to his stomach, though there wasn't much to throw up, only what little he'd had for lunch.
So he couldn't have been unconscious too long, right?
Why was thinking so hard?
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out, until he felt somewhat less overwhelmed.
Opening his eyes again, he tried to see something, anything, in the dark.
By the smell of earth and vegetables, he was in a cellar.
A cellar where was the vital question, but as he had no hope of answering it, it wasn't worth dwelling on.
He wasn't bound, so they must be confident he was secure.
Why kidnap him , though?
That was a stupid question, the guards had already told him.
He was the twin brother of Nadir, concubine of King Shafiq.
People were angry with them both over the matter of child trafficking.
He was a weakness to exploit.
To what purpose though? What could they possibly hope to achieve by kidnapping him? They wouldn't get money. They wouldn't get convicts released. So what was their goal?
Whatever it was, Ender had the sinking feeling it didn't require he live.
Taking more deep breaths as his stomach churned, he crawled until he found a wall and braced himself against it as he slowly and carefully stood.
He had room to stand, which was something.
Cellars in houses for the poor seldom had more than enough space to crawl.
Some of them you could get by stooping, like his parents', and if you were in there long enough your back would hurt something fierce by the time you were done.
Only in rich houses could you walk upright.
Going slowly, one hand on the wall at all times, he walked—until he ran face first into something.
Wood, rounded.
A barrel.
That meant alcohol, more than likely.
Heart racing, Ender felt his way around until he reached the front of the barrel, then explored until he found the stopper. He leaned in close, and sure enough, the smell of alcohol wafted over him. A particularly strong wine, something foreigners called liquor or liqueur or something like that.
Stepping back slightly to give himself room, he tore off a long piece of his skirt…and he needed something to wrap it around.
Huffing in annoyance, mostly with himself, Ender resumed exploring the dark cellar, creeping along what felt like five barrels in length, stacked at least three high, until he struck wall again.
After several steps, he nearly slammed his face into the ground tripping over…something.
Sitting up, taking several deep breaths, until his head and stomach settled back down to bearable, he felt around for whatever he'd tripped over.
A crate, filled with…onions.
Those weren't useful, but the crate itself might be.
Grabbing hold of the crate, Ender dumped the onions out and stepped into the crate, then kicked and kicked until a piece finally broke.
Stepping back, he worked the broken piece until it finally came free.
Hot and sweaty now, he wrapped his torn bit of skirt around one end of the broken scrap of wood.
That was half the battle.
Well, one third of the battle.
He needed to soak it, and then he needed to figure out how to light it.
Maybe that last one first.
Returning to the barrels, he wedged the torch between two of them and then resumed his exploration, backtracking where he'd already gone to avoid the hazard of the onions he'd just dumped everywhere.
Unfortunately, his tentative explorations turned up nothing.
No convenient flint, no matches, nothing at all that would create the necessary spark.
Pressing his back to the wall, Ender slid down until he was sitting on the floor and drew his legs up to his chest, burying his head in his folded arms.
He was trapped.
Whatever they'd drugged him with was slow to wear off, making him sluggish and clumsy.
He couldn't just give up, though, and if he was going to escape, he needed to be able to see.
Fumbling around in the dark would only get him so far, especially if night had fallen. Certainly there was no light peeking through cellar doors.
Whining would get him nowhere.
Giving up would help nothing.
He had to keep going.
Ender did the deep breaths thing again, and then finally pushed to his feet and kept going, until he slammed into something.
Shelves. Wooden, kind of rickety, but heavy in a way that indicated they were filled. Ender took a single, deep, deep breath to calm his racing heart and then started to explore.
Mostly he found food, in the form of jars large and small that would hold pickled vegetables and fermenting fruits.
Nothing at all helpful in creating the sparks necessary to produce a flame. Damn it!
Something brushed against his foot and Ender startled, slamming into the shelves so hard he sent several jars tumbling into each other, knocking them to the floor in a crash of pottery, others spilling open and dousing him in pungent brines.
Damn everyone and everything.
It had probably been a stupid mouse.
He'd dealt with them hundreds of times back home, and now he startled like a soft city brat, leaving him smelling like all manner of pickles and surrounded by broken shards.
And food that would draw the attention of even more mice and probably some rats.
Wonderful .
Footsteps.
He hadn't heard anything from above him, but now he heard footsteps.
The barest hint of voices, maybe two or three.
The footsteps moved further away from him, and then everything went silent.
After a moment, he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, and then a door swung open, dull, weak light spilling down the stairs leading from the cellar.
"Looks like our mouse is awake.
Come here, little mouse, or you won't like it if I have to come down there and get you."
He wouldn't like anything they were going to do to him, so why should he make it easier for them? Also, he wasn't walking across all the broken pottery in his bare feet, though why they'd felt the need to take his shoes, he hadn't the slightest.
The man sighed and came down the stairs, lighting a torch as he did so, and gave a mean laugh as he found Ender and the mess he'd made.
His boots crushed the bits of pottery effortlessly, squishing through pickled turnips and onions and fermented berries, the sounds making Ender shudder for no reason he could name.
Without a word, the man backhanded him across the face, sending jarring pain ripping through Ender and crashing into the shelves again.
Then the man roughly grabbed him and threw him over one shoulder, then extinguished the torch before striding back toward the door, his arm holding Ender in place hard enough to leave bruises as he carried him up the stairs and into the night.
Exhaustion and pain drove Ender to unconsciousness, and when he woke, he was in a small, dusty room with only blankets piled haphazardly on the floor for bedding and an old crate for a table.
The only window was boarded up, and he didn't need to try the door to know it was locked—and guarded, to judge by the muted voices coming from the other side.
Where was he now ? Was he in the city? Somewhere else? How far away from the palace?
Why were they, whoever they were, doing this? He had nothing to offer.
No king would give in to the demands of criminals, especially traffickers, over one little unremarkable scholar.
So what if he was the twin brother of a royal concubine? That wasn't worth risking the safety and well-being of tens, even hundreds, of other people.
Ender sniffle-laughed.
To think that just hours ago, or days ago, his biggest problem was that he wanted to fuck Nadir, to treat him as a lover, not a brother.
That problem seemed suddenly very small now.
Or maybe this was what he deserved for having such thoughts.
His stomach growled, but Ender ignored it.
Food was the very least of his problems right now.
Escape was what he needed, but he'd already failed once at that, getting lost and breaking things in that awful basement.
On the other hand, he could see here.
From the light pouring in through the space between boards, it must be the middle of the day, roughly.
Slowly standing, working out the stiffness and soreness in his legs, Ender made his way to the window using the wall for balance, until his legs loosened up.
He tugged at each of the boards covering the window, and almost cried in relief when one pried off effortlessly.
Well, at one end.
The other end took more work.
When he had it loose finally, he gripped it close and peered out.
Not in the city like he'd hoped.
He'd already suspected from the quiet, but… if he wasn't in the royal city, where was he? How was he supposed to get back? Panic clawed at him, but Ender closed his eyes, leaning against the wall as he focused on his breathing.
That was what you were supposed to do, right? Just breathe.
In, out, in, out.
If he could handle his entire world being turned upside down—
Except he hadn't handled that, not one bit.
He'd admitted he wanted to kiss and touch and fuck his twin brother, and he'd fled dinner with the king , and now he was here.
All right, breathing exercises were not helping.
Still gripping the board he'd pried off, he crept to the door and pressed his ear to it.
No more talking, but he could hear at least one person shuffling about, could faintly smell the cigarette they were smoking, one of the cheap ones like his father enjoyed so much, an import from Gollen decades ago that had swiftly become popular.
He returned to the window and tried to take in more information.
He seemed to be on a second floor, which was good, but there were still too many boards for him to be able to jump out, and he couldn't pry them off without making too much noise.
So he would have to go through the door, which meant getting past the guard.
Boring the man to death with seventh century Tavamaran architecture and its superiority to past and present styles probably wouldn't work.
He couldn't seduce someone if he tried; his few sexual encounters had been instigated by other people.
Nadir could probably seduce his way out, get their guard down, and then clobber them or something.
Anyway, he couldn't seduce them until he got them in the room, which was the problem he was trying to fix.
Could he raise a ruckus about being hungry or needing to piss? They'd probably just ignore him, and given the bucket in the far corner of the room…
So he'd just have to wait for them to come inside for their own reasons.
That might be too late, though, if more than just the guard outside came in.
He wasn't even certain he could handle one person.
More than that was completely out of the question.
He had to get that guard in here now, and he had to hope he'd be able to follow through on…on disabling him.
Killing him.
He didn't want to kill anyone, but they were going to kill him .
Tears stung his eyes, but Ender forced them back.
He could cry and scream and lose his mind later.
Right now, he had to get free—
That was it.
He was stupid.
If the guard thought he was trying to escape, he'd come to investigate.
Striding over to the window, Ender used the piece of wood he was still holding to bang against the boards, making all the noise he possibly could.
Sure enough, after just seconds, he could hear a key turning in the lock.
He darted over to stand behind the door, gripping the board tight.
He would only get one chance at this.
The door creaked as it swung open, and an enormous man stepped inside—and froze when he didn't see Ender, who swung right as he went still, bringing the board down on the man's head as hard as he possibly could.
Only as the man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut did he remember one side of the board had a nail sticking out of it.
Gagging as the smell of blood filled the room, pouring down the top of the man's head to pool beneath him, Ender cast the board aside and stared.
His mind was frozen.
Blank.
The guard was dead.
Killing had been easier than he'd anticipated.
Later.
He had to think about this later.
Shoes.
The man's shoes were far too big for him, but he couldn't walk across the sand barefoot.
He yanked the boots off and shoved them on his feet, stuffing fabric into the toes to try and mitigate their size.
Then he pulled off the man's short cloak and headwrap.
They smelled of sweat and cigarettes, but they were better than nothing.
Giving the body another look, swallowing the rock in his throat, Ender also took a dagger, a waterskin, and the keys to the room.
There was also a pouch he noticed right before turning away that held food.
Taking that too, he stared cautiously into the hallway, then stepped out and closed the door behind him.
Locking the door, he weighed his options, torn between the nearby stairs and the window at the end of the hall.
Window seemed the safer bet.
Tucking the keys away so they wouldn't rattle, he climbed into the window and looked down.
Only one story.
Easy drop.
He'd jumped from the loft of the stable plenty of times, and that was much higher than this. Swinging out, he lowered himself down as far as he could and then let go.
He landed in the sand with a grunt, and slowly picked himself, brushing sand off as he started walking, following the only crude road he could see.
If only he had any idea where he was going.
Would this take him to the royal city, or somewhere else entirely? How long before his captors noticed he was missing?
What if he got lost out here and died from exposure? Had he killed a man and escaped just to die an even more horrible death?
He didn't really have a choice though.
If he stayed, he would die.
If he walked, he might live.
So he walked.
Every second he was alert for the sound of people coming after him, waiting and waiting for the moment when his captors would drag him back.
He'd been so focused on everything else, he was only now noticing how much his face hurt from the earlier backhand in the cellar.
Ender reached up to touch it, and flinched as that obviously caused it to start throbbing anew. Dumbass.
At least they hadn't done worse, like tie him up or chain him to a wall.
Strange they hadn't done that.
Stranger still no one was coming after him.
He'd thought he'd have minutes at best to get a head start, but so far… Surely they must have noticed by now? There was no way they would have left him alone with just one guard.
On the other hand, he was in the middle of nowhere, with no hope of rescue and no sign of shelter.
Just as he was starting to relax, he heard it: horses, men shouting.
Heart jumping into his throat, Ender bolted off the road and scrambled up a shallow dune, throwing himself over it just moments before the riders came into view.
He watched, barely breathing, as three men sped past.
If he wasn't mistaken or paranoid, they were dressed similar to the man he'd killed, though the clothes were so common, that wasn't saying much.
Still, who else would be coming from that direction at such a frenetic pace?
He waited several more minutes to be sure they were well, well ahead of him, then slid down the dune and back onto the rocky, barely-there road.
The kind of roads he was used to traveling back home, rural roads that rarely saw any sort of official upkeep.
Wherever he was, it was remote, though that had already been clear.
Tension raised anew, he listened painfully for further riders.
As day turned slowly to dusk, though, none came—and then he saw the first good thing to happen to him since managing to escape: a windcatcher, bright blue and marked with three white waterdrops, signaling a rest station, just visible in the fading light.
He'd found water, a place to rest, which meant he must be headed somewhere useful.
As he got closer, however, he could hear horses, and hope turned back into fear.
The men he'd hidden from before? Travelers? He wouldn't know until too late.
The smart thing would be to sneak past, but it would be full dark soon, and the moon was only half-full, and he'd run out of water some time ago.
Nevermind that with the sun gone, too hot would swiftly turn into too cold.
He needed to rest, in a place of relative safety. He'd made it this far, he couldn't fail now, that wasn't fair.
"—rest for the night," someone said.
"You're right," said another voice, full of frustration—and also familiar.
"I want to press onward, but that would be a fool's gambit."
Ender's heart jumped into his throat, and hope blossomed anew in his chest.
It couldn't be.
He was probably imagining it, because why would a royal concubine be all the way out here?
"Bed down then," the familiar voice said with a sigh.
"We leave right at dawn.
I know we're close."
Swallowing, fisting his trembling hands, Ender called out, "Lord Berkant?"
A ringing silence fell across the desert, and then he heard boots pounding on stone, and a shadowy figure came into view, just visible in the dark.
"Ender? Ender!" Berkant surged forward and swept him up into a tight hug.
"You're all right, thank the gods.
I can't believe it!"
Shaking hard, Ender was more than content to be held, even if he couldn't fathom why Berkant would hold him so—like he was important, like he mattered.
He was even more confounded when Berkant slid an arm beneath his legs and carried him back to the others, who proved to be palace guards.
Ender tensed.
"They're safe," Berkant said.
"Shafiq is cleaning out the rest of the rot.
I'm so sorry this happened to you, Ender."
"How—" Ender said, but couldn't get the rest of the words out.
Berkant gently set him on his feet and pressed his own waterskin into Ender's hands.
"Drink.
We have proper clothes for you, since we weren't sure…" His mouth flattened, the anger in his eyes clear as day, even in weak torchlight.
"There were men looking for me.
Th—three, I think."
"They aren't looking for you anymore," Berkant said flatly, and motioned to the guards, who went to work setting up camp for the night.
"How did you get free?"
Eyes stinging with tears that would no longer be held back, Ender explained all that had happened, from the moment he'd found poor Raia dead to the cellar to waking up in a building in the middle of nowhere.
Killing the guard, running for his life.
As he finished, Berkant smiled, of all things.
"You and Nadir have such similar tales of escaping your kidnappers, it's remarkable."
"This happened to Nadir too?"
Berkant nodded.
"We'll tell you of it when we're back home safe."
Home.
The palace.
Ender's stomach lurched, his heart doing flips in his chest.
"What are you doing all the way out here?"
"His Majesty would trust no one else to find and retrieve you, not after learning there were royal guards mixed up in all of this."
"They killed Raia," Ender said, fresh tears running down his cheek.
Berkant hugged him tightly, then led him to one of the freshly made-up bedrolls.
"I am sorry.
For Raia, for all of this.
We had thought we were past the worst of this matter, but we were wrong.
You have done nothing but suffer since Shafiq summoned you, and he's most distraught. Get some rest, little meerkat, and tomorrow we will go home."
Meerkat? But now that he was lying down, everything seemed too heavy.
Too much.
Despite all that had happened, sleep came with surprising ease.