“I don't believe you!” His voice rose on the words. “You're a liar!” On those words, his voice cracked.
I saw his shoulders heave with the breath he took. I almost felt my Skillcommand hold him back from attacking me. For a time I was carefully quiet. When I judged he had mastered himself, I spoke very quietly. “You've called me a bastard, a thief, and now a liar. A prince should be more mindful of what insults he flings, unless he thinks that his title alone will protect him. So here's an insult for you, and a warning. Hide behind being a prince while calling me nasty names, and I'll call you a coward. The next time you insult me, your bloodlines won't stop my fist.”
I held his gaze until he looked aside from me, a cub cowed by a wolf. I lowered my voice, forcing him to listen carefully to catch my words. “You're not stupid, Dutiful. You know I'm not a liar. She's dead, and you are being used. You don't want it to be true, but that's not the same as disbelieving me. You'll probably keep hoping and praying that something will happen to prove I'm wrong. It won't.” I took a deep breath. “About the only thing I can offer you right now is that none of this is really your fault. Someone should have protected you from this. Someone should have taught you about Old Blood from the time you were small.”
There was no way to admit to either of us that that someone was me. The same person who had introduced him to the Wit and all it could be, through Skilldreams when he was four.
We walked for a long time without speaking. I kept my eyes on my seaweedfestooned snag. Once I'd left the Prince here, I could not predict how long I'd be gone. Could he care for himself? The treasures in the alcove made me uneasy. Such wealth belonged to someone, and that person might resent an intruder on his beach. Yet I could not take him back with me. He'd be a hindrance. A time alone, taking care of himself, might do him good, I decided. And if I died trying to save the Fool and Nighteyes? Well, at least the Piebalds would not have the Prince.
I set my teeth, trudged through the sand, and kept my grim thoughts to myself. We had nearly reached my snag when Dutiful spoke. His voice was very low. "You said my father taught you to Skill. Did he teach you to
Then he tripped on something. As he fell, the toe of his boot jerked a gold chain free of the sand that had covered it. He sat up, cursing, and then reached down to free his boot. As he dragged the looped chain clear of the sand, I gaped at it. It was an intricately woven thing, each thread of metal the thickness of a horsehair. He coiled it into his hand, a necklacelength of chain that filled his palm. He gave a final tug to free the last loop, and a figurine popped from the sand. It was fastened to the chain as a dangling charm. It was the length of Dutiful's little finger. Bright colors had been enameled onto the metal.
It was the image of a woman. We stared down at the proud face. The artist had given her black eyes and let the dark gold shine through for the tone of her skin. Her hair was painted black with a standing blue ornament crowning it. The draped garments bared one of her breasts. Bare feet of dark gold peeped from beneath the hem.
“She's beautiful,” I said. He made no reply.
The Prince was engrossed by her. He turned the figurine over in his hand and traced the fall of hair down her back.
“I don't know what this is made from. It weighs scarcely anything.”
We both lifted our heads at the same instant. Perhaps it was our Wit warning us of the presence of another living being, but I do not think so. I had caught the scent of something indescribably foul on the air. Yet even as I turned my head to seek the source of the stench, I almost became persuaded it was a sweet perfume. Almost.
Some things one never forgets. The insidious tendriling of mind touch is one of them. Terror spasmed through me and I slammed up the Skillwalls around my mind in a reflex I thought I had forgotten. My reward was that I perceived the full foulness of its stench as I turned to confront a nightmare creature.
It stood as tall as I did, but that was only the portion of its body that reared upright. I could not decide if it reminded me of a reptile or a sea mammal. The flat flounder eyes on the front of its face looked unnatural in their orientation. The brain bump of its skull seemed tumescently large. Its lower jaw dropped like a trapdoor as it stared at us. Its mouth could have engulfed a rabbit. A stiff, fishy tongue protruded from it briefly. As we stared, it jerked its tongue back in and closed its jaws with a snap.
To my horror, the transfixed Prince was smiling at the creature in an addled way. He swayed a step closer to it. I set my hand firmly to his shoulder and gripped hard. I set my thumb to his flesh and tried to invoke the earlier Skillbond I had laid on him without breaching my own walls. “Come with me,” I said quietly but firmly. I drew him back toward me, and if he did not actively obey at least he did not resist me.
