Eight

In which Daystar and Emberlace are not important enough to assassinate after all.

They rode all night, and Daystar dozed in the saddle as morning cracked the horizon, spreading pink across the sky. Low orange clouds flamed the edges of the mountains ahead of them, turning red at the edges where they became smoky.

Emberlace seemed as alert as ever, though dark circles stood starkly out from the skin under her eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, standing in the stirrups and wincing a little. She would not be used to long rides, Daystar realized. At least they were able to keep a slow, easy, pace, but they still had two days of riding ahead of them at the least, provided they weren’t stopped. His head sagged again, and he pulled himself upright, shaking his head violently.

“We should stop for the day,” Emberlace said, looking around at the brightening fields around them.

“We need to get as far from Ebon Reach as we can,” Daystar protested, shaking his head.

“I know, but we probably look like fugitives right now, and we can’t outrun pursuit. We should go to ground during the day and travel at night, avoid any cities until we’re further away from the capital.”

“Your training?” he asked drowsily, somewhat incapable of thinking coherently She must have learned something about avoiding capture as an assassin.

Emberlace’s face grew grimmer, and she eased herself in the saddle again, wincing. “Yes. You were my first target, intended to be the first of many, actually.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You were kind.”

“That’s it?”

“I was trained as an assassin. Houndwalker is a cruel man - I knew him as Egbert - but he is a gifted trainer. I learned everything I know from him. He taught me stealth, and weapons, how to get into places I shouldn’t be and make people think I belonged there, and how to get out again without anyone realizing I was gone.”

“We did a bit poorly on that one, I think,” Daystar admitted ruefully.

Emberlace nudged her horse up to walk it next to him. “Is there any reason they would come after you? I got the impression that the barons don’t think much of the royal family. Now that they have the energy, are you a threat?”

Daystar considered for a long moment. “Not really.”

“Then we might not have to worry about the pursuit, then.”

Daystar turned back to the road, rubbing his head with his fingertips. That was just flat out straight embarrassing. Important enough to assassinate, but not quite important enough to follow up on. He was the crown prince of his own country, or had been, but Emberlace’s reasoning made too much sense. He wielded no real power except for the energy set in cubes below the castle. Without that, he had nothing to bargain with, no respect from the nobles, nothing that actually made him royal. How embarrassing. Really, he was incredibly pathetic.

“Well,” he sighed. “I guess we can manage a nap, so long as I don’t look like a threat.”

***

The hunting party sent out by the barons found them two hours after they stopped. Daystar was awakened by the boisterous barking of the dogs and sprang to his feet, sword drawn.

“Oh, so it’s the prince, is it?” The Baron of Deepnight laughed. “Or former prince, should I say?”

Emberlace drew her own sword and stood at Daystar’s left, knees bent and ready for action.

“What do you want?” Daystar asked coldly. “If you’re going to kill us, you’ll have to work for it.”

“Kill you?” The Lord Baron of Deepnight laughed. “No, not unless you force me to. What could you do to stop us, anyway? Seize back power? With what?” He laughed again, and Daystar held his gaze, pushing down the hopeless thoughts that rose up in him and the shame that threatened to overcome his countenance.

“Tell me, Daystar,” The Lord Baron of Deepnight purred, leaning over his saddle to peer at them, “What is your lowname?”

Daystar gaped at the man in shock. No one ever demanded anyone’s lowname like that among the nobility. Certainly no one ever asked for his lowname, and to his knowledge, only his father and the court geneologist knew it. Only those of rank higher than you could call you by your lowname, and no one held a rank higher than he, save the king. Or, at least, no one had held such a rank. Even the nobles referred to each other by their highnames, despite their slightly varying rank. To tell the Lord Baron of Deepnight his lowname would be to not only resign his rank as a prince, but his position as a member of the influential nobility altogether.

“Your lowname, princeling, and I let you go on your way and live your life how you wish.”

Daystar struggled for a long moment, the name twisting inside his head, battling with his pride, which choked him viciously. He hated the leer on the lord’s face, the triumph in the man’s eyes, because he knew Daystar would tell him rather than die. He didn’t have that much hubris.

His father had called him by his low name only once, when he had behaved unacceptably and would not be rebuked until his father invoked the common moniker. He could still hear the disappointment in his father’s voice, the day he swore he would never shame himself enough to hear that name again.

“Lucian,” he finally whispered, head bent, sword point dropping to the ground. “My name is Lucian.”

The weight of the baron’s triumph bore him down, and he stared at the ground, stinging with humiliation.

“Well, now, Lucian,” I’ll just let you go your way. “Princess Emberlace, your father wants you to come back. Get your horse.”

Emberlace lifted her chin proudly. “I will not return with you, and you can tell my father he can rule the country by himself. What need has he for me?”

The baron’s horse danced under him as he started in surprise. “You speak!”

“I do speak,” she replied calmly.

“There is no need for a noblewoman such as yourself to remain bound to a commoner.”

“We both know the truth, Baron Deepnight,” Emberlace said grimly. “You need no member of the royal family to make your claim legitimate, and you’ve only made my father king because you can control him. So you’ll forgive me if I decline your kind offer.”

“Your lowname, then, princess.”

She bit her lip, seeming to battle with herself, and Daystar’s heart went out to her. She likely wanted to hear what she had for a lowname even less than he did.

“Name yourself,” he muttered to her.

“Neala.” She said it easily, without a hint of the disgrace Daystar felt.

The baron reined his horse back, voice bland even as his eyes gleamed with triumph. “You’ll abide by the laws while traveling in my barony, of course?”

His horse edged close to Daystar, pushing his shoulder and making him stumble back. The prince stared at the ground, unwilling to look at the baron and the now-grinning guards that circled them.

“I spoke to you, Lucian.”

The name stung even worse than Daystar had expected, and he flinched as if hit by a physical blow. Nothing else for it, then.

“We hear and obey, Lord Baron Deepnight.”

“As you were, then.” The baron pulled his horse back and whirled away, the hunters leaving in a cloud of dust with the dogs barking around them.

“Beslubbering, clapper-clawed, prig!”

“You really….that was….Daystar trailed off in amazement, staring at Emberlace. “That was extraordinarily eloquent.”

“I had quite a lot of time to think about such things while I was imprisoned. Houndwalker would never let me speak in his presence unless he was questioning me or if I had some pressing question about training. I used to talk to myself for hours to keep from going mad. I had books too, to keep me company, but they were never quite enough… except for getting a hold of a good insult or two every now and again.

“I used to spend hours while running or exercising, thinking about all the things I could call them if I ever got the chance.”

Daystar smiled a little, his heart lightening, but still felt as if something very important had been taken away. How long had he spent managing these barons, forcing them to respect him - or at least his rank - only to have it all plucked away, and easily. It was worse than being killed: being dropped like something worthless, unfit, not even close to constituting as a threat.

“What,” Emberlace asked curiously, “What did that mean, exactly, him asking for your lowname?”

“You can only call a person by their lowname if you are of a higher rank than they are,” Daystar said quietly. “The nobles use highnames out of courtesy, because they are close enough in rank. Even the guild masters have highnames that they are called by. Simple ones, but highnames nonetheless.”

She stared at him. “He made you a peasant by calling you by a different name?”

He sighed deeply. “Yes. Especially since the guards were listening - they don’t have highnames themselves and should not even hear the lowname of someone above them, much less speak it.”

“Daystar,” Emberlace said softly, laying a hand on his arm, “What people call you doesn’t define you.”

“Here it does.” He found he couldn’t lift his eyes from the ground again. “You should have gone with him, Lady Emberlace. There’s no call for you to remain with me.”

“Do you really think I would want to go back?” she demanded, voice clipped. “I’ll stay with you.”

“But I’m useless,” he protested. “And don’t contradict me. I really am. I was raised to be king, bred as a nobleman. I have no real skills, no trade to use to support myself, much less another.”

The realization sunk slowly in, that he had nowhere to go, nothing to do with his life. Even the slight things he’d planned last night to get done today were no longer relevant. No research, nothing to compile, none of his writerpads to go through and organize, no reports, no plan to ration energy, no inspection of the transmitting floor or interviews with the serving directors to ensure that the household was functioning.

“Let’s go and see the Sister, as we planned,” Emberlace decided, “and take it from there.”

“But there’s no point,” Daystar protested dully. “We don’t need sanctuary, and we don’t need information about the dragons. I can’t do anything about that now. It’s in the barons' hands.”

“No,” Emberlace admitted, “But it is somewhere to go.”

True enough. He reluctantly moved into his saddle again, pulling the horse around and heading back towards the road, staring at the leather reins in his limp hands while the shadows edged their way across them, changing sizes. Emberlace decided to stop for a while, and he climbed down from the horse and stood until she gave him some food, which he sat down and stared at. The thought of putting it in his mouth was uninteresting, even slightly nauseating. Emberlace took it back after a little while and got him back up on the horse again, taking the reins and leading his mount while the shadows continued to change, then grow long.

“What’s wrong with him?” a gruff voice demanded.

Daystar noted vaguely that the smells had changed. They were closer, dingier, smoke and street mud and sweat.

“He’s tired,” he heard Emberlace reply. “We were riding most of last night and had very little sleep today.”

“What you running from?” The man sounded suspicious.

“My father,” Emberlace replied easily, and the man chuckled.

“Like that is it?”

“He was worth it.”

A pause. “If ye say so.”

She pulled him down, and they went indoors, moving through a crowded place full of loud people and back down a hallway and into quieter room. He could still hear the loud people, just slightly, but the noise could be tuned out. Wood floor.

“Daystar?” Emberlace shook him a little, her voice taking a frantic edge.

The consuming weight of not caring kept Daystar from any reply.