Nightfall recalled his own reaction to his mother’s ferocity, the love/hate relationship she had inspired. A stranger, who inflicted her sessions on him would meet a swift death, but the ties of blood had crippled him from any consideration of vengeance. He wondered why slaves did not revolt and kill masters like this merchant, and many answers came without need for consideration. Fear of punishment. Fear of starvation. Fear perhaps, of freedom itself. The unknown. Still, Prince Edward’s compassion did not seem the answer either. Without the oath-bond, Nightfall would never have served him, and even the younger prince’s family seemed little pleased by the need to associate with him at all.
"Maybe Amadan’ll let the whole thing go. Maybe he won’t tell your master."
Nightfall doubted the merchant would allow the matter to drop, even for a few moments. It did seem better to allow the stranger to present his version of the story with-out interruption and give Edward at least a few moments to consider it before Nightfall defended his actions. “Good eve."
"Good eve,” Benner returned, though the afternoon sun still hovered halfway between midday and sundown. Despite Nightfall’s bold dismissal, the boy cringed before turning to continue his work. Clearly, his master would not prove as gentle under the same circumstances.
Nightfall stepped back out into Trillium’s streets, immediately lost amid the broad mixture of racial dress and features. Dumping the coins loose into his pocket, he ditched the merchant’s purse in an empty alleyway, grinding the fabric into the dirt. An attack he could explain away as self-defense, a theft he could not. Hugging the packs more tightly, he took a deep breath and headed back toward the Thirsty Dolphin.
Prince Edward Nargol drank a mediocre-tasting beer at a table in the common room, watching the Thirsty Dolphin fill with patrons that spanned a wide variety of features and dress. Males outnumbered females by a vast majority, and the latter seemed mostly to take the secondary roles: barmaids and servants. A few young ones slunk from table to table, gyrating hips and jiggling breasts as they walked. These would speak with men in soft tones until one rose and accompanied her through the back doorway that led to the inn rooms. Edward wondered about the purpose of these meetings, though the demeanor of those involved suggested something clandestine or sexual. The seductive dress and sinuous movements of the women excited Edward, despite his best attempts to keep his mind elsewhere, and made him long for a girlfriend of his own. For a fleeting moment, he envied his brother, wishing he could drop his crusade, stay home, and find a woman to mutually please. He stifled the idea, appalled and embarrassed at once. The Father had given him a mission, a gift and an honor too few men received. If he remained a virgin until he completed the god’s bidding, heroes had made greater sacrifices.
An adolescent girl a few years younger than himself shimmied by, clothing so tight he could see the outline of her nipples, distinct against the fabric. He sipped his beer, trying politely not to stare. Yet, against his will, his mind undressed her, flashing him an image of naked flesh that stimulated him to erection.
Eyes locked on the passing beauty, Edward did not notice the stranger standing over him until the other made a cautious noise of greeting.
Mortified, the prince tore his gaze from the girl and placed it squarely on the man before him, a stout, middle-aged stranger. Edward blushed, feeling as if he had broadcast all of his unholy thoughts to every person in the common room. Yet, only the man studied him.
"May I buy your drink, good Prince?" the man said, his dress revealing high station short of nobility.
Prince Edward found his thoughts difficult to focus. "Excuse me?"
"May I buy your drink?" he repeated.
The request confused Edward. "Well, I suppose so. If you wish." He set down the mug. "But wouldn’t you rather have one of your own?"
The man stared, as taken aback as the prince. "Are you Prince Edward Nargol from Alyndar?"
"I am."
"Noble sir, my name is Amadan Vanardin’s son. I’m a merchant. Is it all right if I join you?" He gestured at a chair.
"Certainly."
Amadan sat. “And I’d like to pay for your drink for you, sir. Would you mind?"
"Mind? Certainly not." Edward found the request odd, but he appreciated it. No one had ever offered to finance his beer before. “What a nice thing to do. Thank you."
Amadan gestured at a barmaid, then returned to the conversation. "How’s the beer, sir?"
"Lousy," the prince admitted. "But it did take the edge from my hunger while I’m waiting for dinner."
"Then it served some purpose, at least." The merchant smiled to indicate a joke, but his hands moved constantly from flat on the tabletop to clasped to his lap, as if he could not figure out where to place them.
Prince Edward could not fathom a man so nervous in his presence. He grinned back, trying to place the other at ease.
A barmaid hastened over, dress fluttering, long dark hair in disarray. Though harried, she still managed a smile for the attractive, young prince. "Is this the gentleman you were waiting for, noble sir?"
Edward thought he sensed disappointment or displeasure in her tone; but, as that made no sense, he dismissed it. "No. He’ll be along soon."
She turned her attention to Amadan, and all of the breezy friendliness left her. "What can I get for you, sir?”
“Beer," Amadan said, then glanced at Edward. "Do you need another?"
Edward shook his head without bothering to assess how much of his drink remained. It would be impolite to impose on this stranger’s generosity.
The barmaid spun on her heel, striding back into the crowd.
Amadan replaced his hands on the table, tapping them. He wore two silver rings on one finger, the inner one loose, and these rang together with every movement. "I need to talk about a sl…" He caught himself, "… a servant of yours."
"A servant of mine? Sudian?"
"He’s a servant, lord. I didn’t ask his name."
“I have only one servant here." Edward sipped his beer. "Go on."
Amadan’s gaze dodged Edward’s. "I don’t know how to tell you this, except to just tell you." Now, he met the prince’s soft, blue eyes. "Lord, your servant threw me down on the ground, held a knife to my throat, and threatened my life."
Edward could not have been more surprised had the merchant told him his squire had sprouted wings and flown to the moon. Confusion kept emotion at bay.
"Sudian?"
The merchant stared, mouth a grim line. Clearly, he had expected more reaction. "He named you as his master. And he wore your colors."
Prince Edward needed confirmation of what he believed he had misheard. "Sudian threw you on the ground, held a knife to your throat, and threatened to kill you?"