ASH RUBS HIS TEMPLES, his body steeped in weariness. Not that anyone will believe that a prince, a second son at that, could be actually weary.
Danbarrah is a poor country. Regardless, he could easily find someone else to do any number of things. Moreover, as the second son, his responsibilities are not defined. Most of his life has been spent in the luxurious pursuit of whatever strikes his fancy. Well, so long as his fancies do not interfere with King Marcus’ attempts to dictate Danbarrah’s laws from his throne in Koshluk, or with his father’s willingness to pave the way for the foreign King.
Not that Ash knows how to interfere in a way that could make a difference. He makes this acknowledgment, not for the first time, as he considers his grimy appearance in the ornate mirror. Time in an overseas hospital has aided in the healing of his wounds, most of which were carefully administered below his face. Three square hospital meals a day, probably better ones than most patients were getting, had filled out his features to what they were before he had been held against his will in a damp, rodent-infested basement with food to match the setting.
His dark, black hair, not long enough to be tied back, has not been cut since before his abduction. His eyes, nearly as dark as his hair, are framed by heavy brows that lend him the air of a ruler when he is not busy pretending to be carefree and insubstantial. His friends think him a good time. His father and brother, on the other hand, are well acquainted with his temper.
Quartz, his dearest friend, saw beyond both his devil-may-care facade and his rage. Quartz had convinced him to stop ignoring the reality of what was happening in his home country. The result was Quartz’s death.
There is a knock at the bathroom door.
“King Orion is waiting for you, sir.”
Ash splashes his face with cold water. He opens the door to find one of the palace secretaries.
“Here to make sure I follow the King’s orders, Reed?”
The man bows his silver-grey head. “I trust your time overseas was satisfactory, sir.”
Ash strides towards his closet. “Don’t call me sir, Reed.”
He should shower, but if his father is in a hurry, he can live with his disheveled state. He contents himself with changing out of his rumpled travel clothes into something clean and fresh.
“Prince Ash, then.”
Ash pulls a grey cotton shirt over his head. “You used to have no problem calling me ‘Ash.’”
“Things have changed, Prince Ash.”
Ash sighs in exasperation. Reed opens the door to the hall and the two walk towards his father’s office tower.
“Are you going to tell me what’s changed, Reed?”
“Your father continues to make…adjustments, sir.”
“No surprise there. Has he had a moment of sanity since Mother’s death?”
Reed visibly tenses.
Queen Azalea had disappeared five years ago. When they had finally found her, her body had been so horribly mangled that though she still breathed, they all knew her death was inevitable.
“I apologize, Reed,” Ash says, less sorry for insulting his father than for reminding Reed, who loved his mother, of all they lost. “That was callous.”
A callous remark that carries a rashness he had hoped to have matured out of. After the Queen’s death, Ash enlisted in the military. He had been openly against Koshluk’s demands. When King Marcus had made it explicitly clear that he would have no hesitation to do away with Ash if he could not be checked, King Orion had panicked and sent him overseas. There was no doubt whether King Marcus was capable of carrying through with his threats. Ash had gone, and not even attempted to return, until now. His brother had remained at home, more subdued, willing to play the long game towards peace and his mother’s dream, willing to negotiate with the devil to avoid open war.
Ash’s anger at his father for not pursuing justice for the Queen’s torture and death has faded. Ash has other anger to hold onto – anger at his father for failing to honour the cause that brought his mother to such a terrible end.
Their footsteps echo in the barren halls. The artwork that used to hang here has been stripped. Ash will have to ask his father where he has put it. His mother had picked out much of the art herself.
He squares his shoulders in preparation for the changes he expects to find in his father and brother. His father’s continued concessions to King Marcus could not have left him unmarked. As for his brother, correspondence with Coal had trickled to non-existent in the last year.
As if reading his mind, Reed speaks again. “Your brother requests that you address him as James.”
Ash almost trips over his own feet. In a country where all children are named after nature, taking a new name seems to him the equivalent of turning your back on your country.
How can he call his brother “James” instead of the name given to him by their mother? Has Coal forgotten her, and all she stood for? Her influence had apparently been the only thing giving their father the courage to resist King Marcus’ increasing meddling with their small country.
The winding stairs provide time to prepare, but he is outside his father’s office before he is ready. He would need more time than all the stairs in the palace could give him before being ready to meet the man who was once beloved father, only to have to see him for who he has become. Reed returns down the stairs.
“Hello, Father,” Ash says as he steps inside the room.
King Orion looks up from his great desk. “Ash.” He does not rise from the desk that speaks to the barrier between him and his son. “I trust your return flight was comfortable.”
Ash thinks of his countrymen he had encountered at the airport, rushing off to lavish destinations for luxurious vacations. Many families are becoming wealthier as King Marcus’ influence in their homeland increases.
“It seems many of your people are willing to trade principles for comfort.” Rage ripples across Ash’s tone.
“I see that your travels of the world have not helped you manage your temper.” King Orion presses the tips of his fingers together, elbows supported by the chair’s arms.
“You might remember that my travels were recently hindered by my abduction. Doesn’t do much to put me in the mood of appreciating those who benefit from my abductors bribes.”
Before King Orion can respond, his brother appears, clapping him on the back.
“Ash, good to see you returned safely. You had us worried there, but the doctors at the hospital assured us you would make a full recovery.” Coal’s lighter colouring and softer features, as well as his polite, friendly manner make him more approachable, if less charismatic, than Ash. He stands taller than Ash, but is less broad in the shoulders. People take Coal more seriously though, a valuable advantage as a crown prince.
“It is more than we can say for Quartz,” Ash says.
He does not resist the firm pressure of his brother guiding him farther into the room. Coal – no, James now – always had a soothing effect on him. Unlike his father, James had taken time to visit Ash in his overseas banishment. Still, the gulf of distance between them has increased of late, and Ash has no idea why.
Ash collapses onto an old sturdy couch. James moves to the cabinet against the wall and pour three glasses of some hard liquor Ash does not bother to decipher.
James hands King Orion and Ash the glasses before raising his own.
“It is a great loss. To Quartz.”
Ash and King Orion raise their glasses. Ash swallows with difficulty.
“We are all saddened by his death.” King Orion looks pointedly at Ash.
“Don’t you think it should have been me?”Ash says.
“It is unproven who it is that held and tortured you, but whoever it is…”
“We know who it is! And yet you still cater to his demands.”
This, finally, brings the King to his feet. “I have made concessions to keep my people and my sons safe. Your actions are the ones that compromise that safety.”
Ash likewise rises from his seat on the couch, and father and son, King and Prince, stand facing each other. One with the self-assuredness of a King long used to making difficult decisions, and the other with all the youthful idealism and sense of justice triggering him to clench his hands into fists and breathe out heat.
James leans casually against the wall, swirling the remaining liquid in his glass. “What do you say, Ash, about accompanying me north?”
Ash whips his head away from his father to face James.
“North?” He looks at his brother, incredulous.
“To the mountains. We could go by floatplane or helicopter, but I thought it might be fun to travel by canoe, like our boyhood trips. We can take all summer.”
Ash struggles to decipher what game James is playing.
The northerners are not fond of their royalty. There have never been direct threats, but they are open about the fact that they live in the isolated wilderness in order to avoid being ruled by a king. The royals have respected the divide for centuries. Their northern citizens have been relatively few in number, and it had never been worth the hassle.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Ash says, looking at his father.
“We may not agree, but it is good to have you home.” The hard lines on the King’s face soften for long enough for Ash to believe him.
Ash turns to his brother. “Why north?”
James sips his drink. “Many southerners are moving north. Their well-being is important to me.”
“Have you decided who from the palace staff will accompany you?” King Orion asks James. The two of them discuss the logistics of the trip, and Ash tunes them out.
Something is not adding up. Ash had practically given up on being of any use to his country, turning with relief to a life of self-indulgence. Quartz had become his bodyguard a little over a year ago. Ash had come alive again in the plans they had made, before they were found out, and betrayed to King Marcus’ mercenaries.
They had been held and tortured together by the ruthless King’s men. King Marcus had faced heavy criticism for his assassination of Queen Azalea, and his footing in the international community has become too strained in recent years to risk killing Prince Ash. Unfortunately, he had no such qualms about taking the life of Quartz, a near nobody by political standards, a bodyguard from a poor family in eastern Danbarrah.
Quartz’s last words still haunt him. They had come for Quartz, taking him out of the windowless basement. Quartz had known he would not return and had spoken the last words Ash would hear from his dear friend.
Their idealistic plans for their country, for their people, have dispersed like ashes in a strong wind. Quartz had been the force behind their actions, his certainty making up for that which Ash lacked. Ash feels sick to his stomach. He is back to running, though the question they had been seeking an answer to still nags him. What does King Marcus want with Danbarrah?
He looks at the old wardrobe he used to hide in, eavesdropping on his parent’s conversations. His mother’s baseball cap hangs from a nail. She had often worn it when she wanted to talk to people on the streets. The citizens adored their Queen, but she claimed that they talked to her like a normal person when she wore her cap. The fanfare only began when she went out dressed as a queen.
“I’ll go,” Ash says, interrupting his father and brother’s squabble about which secretary is to accompany James.
Feeling as though he is suffocating, he launches himself from the couch. He grabs the cap from its nail on the wall and strides towards the door.