Page 5 of Wildflower (Tales of Tavamara #8)

Thankfully, and unfortunately, he did not see Prince Bakhtiar or his harem again for three weeks.

What he did get, however, was citizenship.

Once he was settled and had reliable work and the six-month minimum residency had passed, Aaralyn had applied for citizenship.

It was a long, slow process, though, with interviews and testaments and more.

Being hired by Lady Hedieh, having her testimonial, had helped significantly, and he'd finally been told that they had everything they needed for him, and the rest was simply waiting for the clerks to get to his paperwork in their never-ending piles.

He sat there crying, unable to help himself, as his friends and others in the dining hall congratulated him and someone even brought proper, undiluted wine.

Between that and the money given to him by Prince Bakhtiar, life had never been better.

He'd never had so much money at one time and wasn't at all certain what to do with it.

Well, no, he knew exactly what to do with it.

He was going to get himself a better leg.

Something beautiful as well as functional.

Light but sturdy metal instead of cheap, stiff wood that warped and cracked and needed constant repair to stave off complete destruction.

So with guidance from Lady Hedieh on how to go about that, he covered his head and most of his face against the blazing sun that wanted to burn it and ventured into the city.

The morning started well enough.

He stopped for breakfast at a cart he'd always liked while he still lived in the city, went to the market for a few odds and ends for his workshop and more sketching paper, and then finally started heading further into the city for the shop that Lady Hedieh had told him about.

He hadn't gone far, though, when the back of his neck started itching.

A lifetime under the watch of a cruel margrave and his loathsome guards had left him acutely aware of when he was being watched.

He stopped and looked around, because sometimes just knowing they were seen could be enough to dissuade would-be troublemakers, but nobody stood out to him.

Good mood ruined, he continued on his way, praying fervently that—

He was grabbed, thrown into an alleyway, surrounded by three looming figures.

"I didn't do—"

One of them punched him in the face, breaking his nose.

After that, all he remembered was pain.

He was only hazily aware as they went through his pockets and took the money he'd brought with him, destroyed his new purchases just for fun.

Took his leg, laughing snidely and making rude comments he'd heard plenty of times before.

Then they left, uncaring from that point whether he lived or died.

Aaralyn lay there, sobbing in pain, until he passed out.

When he woke, an unfamiliar woman was leaning over him. "Hedieh…"

he said hoarsely.

"Tell Lady Hedieh I didn't mean to miss…"

He passed out again.

The next time he woke, he was in his own room, and a friend of his who was the chamber maid for a particularly difficult noblewoman was sitting nearby knitting. "Mehr?"

he rasped, then licked his dry lips.

She gasped and threw her knitting aside.

"Aaralyn, you're awake! Thank the gods!"

She hastened to sit next to him on the bed, helped him sit up and offered cold tea.

"You've been in and out for two days."

After he'd drunk a few sips of tea, no longer so painfully parched, Aaralyn said, "What happened? I remember being mugged, sort of, but that's all."

"Mugged,"

she said sneeringly.

"That fathead Lord Feyz had you jumped, and we all know it, even if we can't prove it.

Some children found you, fetched the city guards, and apparently you mentioned Lady Hedieh to the healers, so they were able to locate her, and she brought you back here…"

She rose.

"Let me get your medicine.

You took quite the beating, Havarin, but the healers say you are recovering well."

"My leg?"

Aaralyn asked.

"I remember they took it."

Mehr hesitated, then shook her head.

"I'm sorry, we even went to look for it ourselves after work the past two days, but could not find it.

All we found was your ruined drawing paper.

We did buy more of that for you."

"That was kind of you, Mehr, thank you."

More than the beating, more than the pain, the loss of his leg made Aaralyn want to cry.

Even the money he did not care about so much, except that it had been the downpayment on his new leg.

All this because the man had been caught shaking him, if it was indeed all because of Feyz.

Nobles.

They were all the fucking same.

"It's all right.

Once I'm better I can buy a new one."

Eventually.

The money he had left would buy another cheap one, not the beautiful, fancy one he'd so desperately hoped for, but it would be better than nothing.

Until then, he would just have to manage with his crutch.

It would be annoying and humiliating, but those were petty grievances at the end of the day.

"Thank you for sitting with me, Mehr, and for trying to find my leg, and buying me more paper.

It's nice to have friends.

I didn't really have any back in Havarin.

Everyone above and below me thought I was just an uppity third-tier who should be put in my place.

Even my parents didn't really know what to do with me, didn't understand why I was allowed to learn to read and write when they weren't, though they loved me."

She hugged him tightly.

"I'm glad you're not there anymore, even if it means missing your family.

I am so sorry this happened to you.

We'll get you all fixed up, I promise.

Now then, would you like help with a bath or anything? Can you move?"

Moving hurt, certainly, but this was hardly the first time he'd been severely beaten—this wasn't even the worst he'd ever suffered—so he gritted his teeth and got through using the bathroom and getting clean and stretching out properly after almost three days in bed.

By the end of the week, he was almost feeling normal again, and well enough to do some easier work like sketching and planning out the books that needed to be made, though Lady Hedieh, in her never-ending kindness, had told him not to worry about getting work done until he was completely healthy again.

He was refining some sketches late one afternoon when a knock came at his door, a series of loud, sharp raps he didn't recognize.

"Come in!"

he called.

The door swung open to admit a pair of guards…and a concubine, the only one who served Prince Bakhtiar whom he had not encountered up close before, the one who used to be a guard himself.

Lord Reza.

Tightly gripping the edge of the table, Aaralyn stood up and bowed as low as he could manage.

"Good afternoon, my lord.

How can I be of service?"

There was only silence at first, that stretched on long enough Aaralyn looked up—and tensed to see that Lord Reza was angry.

"My lord?"

"Master Aaralyn, I was bid by His Highness to see if the rumors of your being assaulted were true.

I see regretfully they were.

Come with me, if you please."

He gestured to one of the guards, who immediately came forward and swept Aaralyn up into his arms.

"I can walk!"

Aaralyn protested, face hot.

"No insult is intended,"

the guard said calmly, smiling ever so faintly.

"My orders were to see you treated with utmost care and attention.

The halls are crowded and people do not pay attention; we do not want anyone aggravating your wounds.

Please be at ease."

Aaralyn conceded defeat, though he felt ridiculous in the extreme being carried around like a child, everyone staring as they traveled through the halls—through archways and doorways he'd never seen, portions of the palace he was absolutely certain he shouldn't be anywhere near.

The torment finally ended when they stepped into a beautifully appointed room, all blue and green and silver, with one wall completely open to the gardens beyond.

Gardens he'd never seen before, and he knew them extensively by this point.

His heart sped up in his chest.

The guards took up position at either end of the open area, standing between the room and the garden.

Lord Reza poured tea into a single cup and set it in front of him.

"Drink, please.

My prince will be here soon."

"What?"

Aaralyn asked, horrified.

He…he'd been working.

His hair was a mess, barely still in the knot he'd put it in.

His clothes were old and worn, meant for getting dirty, and his hands and probably face were covered in pencil and ink.

"Be at ease, please,"

Reza said.

"All is well, and hopefully will only improve.

I am sorry for your distress."

Before Aaralyn could get any further words out, afraid he'd simply start crying instead, the door slid open and Prince Bakhtiar stepped inside, followed by Lord Farrokh and another guard who remained by the door.

Sitting across from him, back to the wall opposite the door, Prince Bakhtiar looked at Aaralyn, eyes widening as he seemed to take in every cut and bruise.

"Are you recovering well, Master Aaralyn? I know firsthand how excruciating and exhausting a beating can be.

The man who attacked me came far too close to killing me."

"You— you were attacked?"

Aaralyn could not help but stare a moment, trying to imagine why anyone would want to hurt him, let alone kill him.

Well, no, he was the crown prince, that was reason enough for most.

Also the rich and powerful tended to not look kindly upon one of their own being too nice to the peasants.

They'll get uppity.

Prince Bakhtiar smiled wryly.

"In my office just down the adjacent hallway.

A spoiled brat lord colluded with a trusted servant to see it done.

I still wake up afraid and confused sometimes."

"I did after the first beating.

Wake up afraid a lot,"

Aaralyn said quietly, looking at the table, "but beatings are a fact of life as a third-tier citizen, and sleep a precious commodity.

I am sorry you know that pain, Your Highness."

"The first beating,"

Bakhtiar repeated softly.

"I am sorry all the more it happened here, when you thought you had escaped such violence.

Lady Hedieh tells me that she suspects Lord Feyk as the culprit, as he apparently has not shut up about being reprimanded for assaulting you in the garden some weeks ago.

The matter is still being investigated, but that does seem to be the case.

I was worried briefly it related to your helping us with that book, but thankfully it was not that."

"I am honored Your Highness would trouble yourself with this trifling matter."

More like mortified beyond all reason, and completely baffled as to why, but there was very little he could do about it.

"People coming to harm in my palace is hardly trifling,"

Prince Bakhtiar replied.

"Especially when Feyz's anger was at me, because it was Kurosh who put him in his place.

But because he could not hurt me or Kurosh, he lashed out at you.

That is not trifling."

Aaralyn looked up, eyes wide, face burning at the intensity in the eyes staring back at him.

"You're most kind, Your Highness,"

he finally said, barely above a whisper, and dropped his gaze again.

"We tell him that often,"

Lord Reza said, "but all he says is—"

"I'm not doing anything special, only what is dictated by common courtesy,"

Prince Bakhtiar said.

"That,"

Lord Farrokh added in amusement.

"He's quite vexing, but in an infuriatingly charming way."

"Oh, be quiet,"

Prince Bakhtiar replied in exasperation.

"I'm informed you lost your leg in the encounter, Master Aaralyn."

Like Lord Farrokh, Prince Bakhtiar said his name correctly, a stupid little thing that made him melt all the same.

"It's not the first time that's happened either,"

Aaralyn replied.

"Sometimes, while I bathed, children or grown adults worse than children, would steal it to force me to hobble or even hop all the way home.

My father or one of my brothers would get it back for me."

Eventually his brothers had lost patience and beaten one of them half to death, and that had been the end of it.

Nobody had been stupid enough to involve the guards.

"I see,"

Prince Bakhtiar said, a thread of anger in his voice, but for once, Aaralyn wasn't scared it was directed at him.

"I'm glad you were able to escape, though I am certain it cost you dearly, and am sorry for that."

Aaralyn swallowed, hands clenching in his lap, and gave a bare nod.

"I miss my family, but if I had remained, I would likely be dead right now.

Hopefully they are all right,"

he added, barely speaking above a whisper.

Bakhtiar asked gently, "May I ask why you left? You do not have to tell me, to be clear.

It is your business, none of mine."

"It's not a terribly interesting story, Your Highness.

Margrave Consus ordered that I would be joining the harem of his eldest son and heir, Lord Pollux.

I was given three days to set my affairs in order before reporting to his estate."

He looked up, then down again, overwhelmed by the kindness in Prince Bakhtiar's warm, melted-gold eyes.

"Harems back in Havarin are nothing like here.

Lord Pollux was known for being…rough with his harem.

There were well-verified rumors that he had killed some of them.

So I ran away in the night. An old friend helped me travel to the coast, where I bought passage on a ship. I did not even know where the ship was going until a month into the journey."

"That must have been terrifying,"

Lord Reza said.

"I'm sorry you went through that.

I've yet to hear anything good about Havarin and their so-called harem practices."

"At least you're safe now,"

Farrokh said.

"I am sorry you had to leave your family behind."

"Thank you.

Hopefully they're doing well, and were not punished for my actions.

Unfortunately, the best thing I can do for them now is leave them in peace."

"Which colony are you from?"

"Resarn, Your Highness."

"The saffron colony?"

Bakhtiar asked.

"That is right in the middle of the colonies, and far more fiercely guarded than the other ones because of the value of the saffron.

You made it all the way to the coast from there?"

Tension tightened Aaralyn's shoulders at the memory.

"I was smuggled out in a barrel.

The top third or so of it was filled with wine to make it look full.

Once we were well away from Resarn, I was given suitable papers that let me pass as a registered transporter.

Cost me my grandmother's heirloom mirror, but it worked. Once I was at the harbor, all I had to do was ask at each ship in port until I found one that would take me for cheap fare."

"Sounds simple in the recounting, but I would imagine those were some of the most terrifying days of your life.

Then you come here and are bullied by yet another fragile noble.

Probably more than one, if I know this court.

I am sorry, Master Aaralyn."

"It's still better than being forced into sexual slavery and eventually killed one night when my slaver beat me to death in a drunken rage.

I can handle bullies."

Usually.

Being jumped in the street and left for dead had certainly been a new low.

"Well, this past offense will be the last one you endure, and Kurosh will make certain of it,"

Prince Bakhtiar replied.

"Thank you for sharing so much with me. I—"

A series of urgent knocks came at the door, and at a nod of approval, the guard there opened it.

A clerk stepped inside and bowed low.

"Your Highness, Her Majesty needs to speak with you immediately in her office."

"I'll be right there."

When the clerk had gone, Prince Bakhtiar said, "I'm afraid I must depart, but thank you again for speaking with me.

Reza will escort you to see Mistress Parastu.

I hope you feel better soon.

Good day, Master Aaralyn."

"Your Highness,"

Aaralyn replied, not certain at all what else to say.

The room seemed much smaller, and far less vibrant, as though he had taken all the life in it with him.

And who in the world was Mistress Parastu?

He didn't ask though, simply went quietly as he was once more gently picked up and carried through the halls, back to more familiar parts of the palace, into what looked like some sort of parlor-type room.

A woman with gray hair and blue-green eyes turned from admiring a painting of a beautiful woman draped in purple, gaze sharp as she looked him over.

"Good day to you, Master Aaralyn,"

Reza said with a smile.

"Do not push yourself too hard.

You still need plenty of rest."

"Y-yes, my lord.

Thank you for your kindness."

Reza departed, the guards right behind him, leaving Aaralyn alone with the woman, presumably Mistress Parastu.

"Good afternoon, mistress."

"Yes, yes,"

she said.

"Let's get a look at that leg, hmm? Get the measurements I need, all the boring stuff sorted, and then we can work on design."

"Pardon?"

She huffed.

"Did they not bother to tell you that I am here to give you a new leg, Master Aaralyn?"

"What!"

She laughed.

"On orders of His Highness the Crown Prince, I am to get you fixed up proper and no expense spared.

Shall we get to work?"

Aaralyn could only nod and mumble an assent, not certain what else to say.

Prince Bakhtiar was paying for his new artificial leg? Why? None of this had anything to do with him.

It wasn't the kind of problem a royal troubled themselves with.

He removed his pants leg on her request, then sat as she measured and took notes.

Someone came with tea, and he gratefully sipped at it while she started asking all sorts of questions, showing him patterns and other sketches, wanting to know his preferences and so forth.

It was all rather bewildering.

When all of that was finally done, she brought out a temporary leg and got it attached for him.

"Your new leg should be ready in about five days, Master Aaralyn.

This should tide you over well enough, though of course, it won't be perfect.

If you have too much trouble with it, simply send for me, and I'll come adjust it."

"Thank you, Mistress."

As though he would bother somebody over something so trifling.

He could suffer a mild inconvenience for a few days when the end result was a leg he would never have been able to afford on his own.

He hoped Prince Bakhtiar was going to make Feyz pay for it.

That would be justice of a sort.

After she'd left, the guard who had carried him before insisted on walking him to his room, which was strange, to say the least.

Then again, the man had been literally carrying him, so was this so much stranger?

Yes, because he was nothing and nobody.

Finally alone in his room, after thanking the guard profusely, he settled in his chair for a little while, reluctant to go back to the bed he'd already spent so much time in.

As always, he turned to sketching, adding Lord Reza to his collection, then drawing more sketches of His Highness and Lord Farrokh, then all three of them, then with the others in various combinations.

What he wouldn't give to be able to have them sit long enough he could do a proper job, instead of always working from memory or brief glimpses.

Eventually, the light faded, and he took his medicine with the food that Mehr brought to him, chatting with her about all he was missing around the palace before drowsiness got the better of him, and he finally crawled into bed.