Tae reached Subikahn's bedroom door sooner than he wanted. He stood there several moments in indecision. He had not eaten or slept since their conversation that morning. Nothing but his son's confession had found a toehold in his thoughts, and formulating his plan had taken precedence even over bodily functions. He believed in the choice he had made, yet he still hesitated. No course of action seemed right; yet doing nothing would be the worst decision of all.
Tae studied the door without seeing it, knowing the teak outline as well as the palm of his own hand. He had memorized every line in the grain, every knothole in the pattern, every stain. He had spent the happiest times of his adulthood here, cradling and singing to his infant son, romping with the boy he had become, listening to the details of his adolescence. No friendship had ever been forged more solidly. The world had never known a love so genuine and deep. Yet, soon, for the boy's own good, Tae would have to do the most hateful thing he could ever have imagined.
Tae's hand rose, as if of its own accord, and knocked solidly on the teak door.
For several moments, nothing happened. Tae had just released a pent-up breath when the panel edged open a crack and one sleepy brown eye peered through it. "Papa?" Subikahn said through a yawn. His black hair lay in a tangle around his face, and he wore only his blue satin sleeping pants. His chest looked sinewy, muscled but lightly built, like his father. "What time is it?"
"It's late," Tae admitted. "I need to talk to you. Please come."
Subikahn yawned again. "Just a moment." The door swung shut.
Tae heard muffled voices through the wood. Subikahn had always shared his room with his Renshai torke, even as a toddler. For the first time, Tae found himself despising the arrangement. Was this the first time a Renshai took advantage of my son? The idea enraged him. He had obliviously allowed adults to share a room with his boy; that made it partially his fault. That Kevral and the other Renshai trusted those teachers should not have been enough. Teeth gritted, Tae waited until the door finally swung open. A now-robed Subikahn scooted out and pushed it closed before Tae managed to catch a glimpse of Talamir.
Subikahn shook his head, worsening the tangle that comprised his hair. "Where are we going?"
"The library." Tae wanted to take the young prince as far from his bedroom and the court as possible. He did not want any sound to betray the other part of his plan. "We're going to the library." He headed off in the proper direction.
Subikahn followed, clutching his robe. "To talk."
"To talk," Tae confirmed.
"In the middle of the night."
"Apparently."
That shut down the conversation. Subikahn continued to trail Tae's brisk pace without speaking, and they both moved with a delicate, silent step down the hallways, up the tower steps, and to the heavy oak door to the library. There, they paused, while Tae tripped the latch.
"Is this about Talamir?" Subikahn said as they entered.
The library appeared different in the darkness. The window seat lay empty, striped by the light of moon and stars.The shelving looked like animals hulking in the shadows. As much from habit as concern, Tae scanned the area to ascertain that they were alone, using the torch to banish shadows from every corner and cubby. He saw nothing out of place, every book as he had left it, every shelf as it should appear. Finally, he extinguished the torch, laid it aside, and claimed the window seat. He motioned Subikahn to the chair from the reading nook.
The boy accepted the seat, spinning it around to face his father. "You know I love you, Papa. I didn't mean to upset you." He sat, ramrod stiff and clearly nervous.
"I know." Tae stared through the window. He could see the empty courtyard clearly in the light of the half-moon. He was obsessively cautious by nature and would not allow anyone to overhear this conversation.
"You like Talamir. Don't you?" Subikahn's face looked childlike in the moonlight.
Tae sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Not at the moment, no."
"Papa, it's not his fault-"
"Subikahn-"
"I'm as much to blame-"
"Subikahn! Listen to me."
The young prince fell silent.
"We're not here to talk about Talamir. We're here to talk about you."
Subikahn nodded, lips tightly pursed.
Tae glanced at his own scarred and callused hands, knowing he had to broach subjects with which he never wanted to burden his son. "Subikahn, I grew up much differently than you did."
Subikahn bobbed his head again. That much, he knew.
"My father…"
"Granpapa Weile."
"Yes." Tae wished his son would stop interrupting. He had never enforced manners or formality, despite his advisers' suggestions. "Granpapa Weile… didn't have time for play. He only asserted how I had to stay tough, stay alert, stay quick to stay alive."
Subikahn tossed a glance around the room. "I know what you're trying to say, Papa. That it's a great privilege to grow up as a prince. And a great responsibility."
Tae went quiet a moment. Those words had not come from him. As king, he mostly delegated. He did not have the patience for long-winded noblemen, and he found their problems too petty to consider. He served mostly as a figurehead, and his advisers and elite warriors equated the positive things in the kingdom with him and the negative with other people or factors.
"That's true, Subikahn." Tae gave the boy an intent look, hoping to silence him. "But it's not what I planned to say."
"Are you going to tell me about… the scars?" Subikahn had pestered his father mercilessly for stories about the myriad and often fatal-looking wounds that covered Tae's scrawny body.
Tae caught himself self-consciously plucking at his garments to cover any bared flesh. Usually, he did not think about his many disfigurements. Scarcely anyone knew the cause of most of them, and he alone knew where every one had come from. He had laughed off or dodged his son's questions in the past. A child did not need to know the terrifying details. At only ten years old, Tae had found himself at the mercy of his father's enemies, forced to watch his mother raped and murdered before suffering sixteen stab wounds and being left for dead himself. It was not the last time enemies of Weile Kahn would leave their mark upon him, and he had honestly earned many of the other scars without his father's assistance.
"Not yet," Tae said, disappointing Subikahn once again. "My father and I have not always gotten along." It was gross understatement. Weile was a born leader with a knack for gaining followers and a grandness to his every action, while Tae preferred to live his life in the silent shadows. The worst and best things in his life always bore a direct connection to Weile Kahn. "And I swore that, when I had a son, things would be different. I would treat him with honor and respect. I would assure that he always knew his father loved him and would do anything for him. I never wanted him to feel alone."
"And I know that, Papa. I truly do." Subikahn seemed sincerely eager to quell his father's doubts. "No child has ever had a happier upbringing. Even Saviar is jealous."
Tae smiled, but the circumstances made it forced and crooked. "I'm glad to hear that. But, in the process of making you happy, I made a serious blunder."
Now, Subikahn finally fell into a hush, clearly focused on his father's next words.
"I coddled you too much, Subikahn. I was so intent on keeping your childhood happy that I shielded you from the necessary experiences that keep a young man from becoming a mark."
"A… mark?" Subikahn clearly did not understand, which was exactly Tae's point.
Tae leaned forward, his heart pounding. He still had a chance to retract his plan, to send his son back to bed confused but whole. Then, an image of his son's lifeless body swinging from the gallows filled his mind's eye, and he forced himself to continue, "It's the horrific things in life that make a man careful, wiser."