Snowmancer

Chapter 2, Part 1: Ilyas

Ilyas

This was intolerable treatment, whether for prince or slave.

I hunched in the back of the cell, the stone wall digging into my spine and the flagstone digging into my buttocks. Light filtered through the door's grill and skittered in front of me, never reaching my toes.

The cell was cold, dark, and dank, with every possible horrible sensation but slime. Not even mould could tolerate this cell.

But no matter how horrible, the cell still paled in comparison to the knowledge that Mehdi had successfully schemed behind my back, or so Jem claimed. I'd known for months that the oldest of my brothers, Mehdi, grew restless. He whispered to my court allies, who turned around and reported the meetings to me. If I'd left him alone, he would have started visiting mercenary dens, but I didn't bother waiting to confirm my suspicions. I knew what Mehdi's restlessness meant. I'd grown up fending off my younger brothers' attempts to assassinate me, and my twenty-first birthday had approached. Few princes survived that long.

I couldn't allow that kin-killer to take the throne. Our younger brothers, maybe, if not for the part where I'd be dead. But not Mehdi. Never Mehdi.

The only question was when he'd launch his plot, and that detail was too important to leave in his hands. In the palace courtyards, within Mehdi's hearing, I brayed to my allies about this brilliant little weaver shop I'd just discovered, and about the beautiful indigo and silver silk I had commissioned. Wearing that silk would be like wearing the night sky itself. The only trouble was that it was in a rather seedy part of the city, with slums on one side and a den of cut-throats on the other.

The shop was real, and I could only wish the silk was too. The silk would have made it worth putting up with the rotting, acidic stench wafting down from the leather tanning vats. In a season-old cape and my black hair barren of jewels, I arrived at the shop completely alone. Just me and the tramps hunched over begging bowls or curled up against the walls.

I lingered in the alley, checking over my shoulder for any shadows, before approaching the carpet-covered entrance. The carpet was thrown open. Three mercenaries with drawn sabres flooded out, and another four cut off my rear escape.

Mehdi ducked out of the shop, keeping well behind his men. "Oh Ilyas, your vanity will be the death of you. You didn't even arm yourself."

I shrugged. "You're not worth me staining my hands."

Mehdi furrowed his brow.

"Their hands, however..." I nodded to the side.

The beggars leapt to their feet, throwing off ragged blankets and revealing steel armour and sharp swords. My mercenaries trounced his, and I dragged Mehdi back to the palace by his ear.

I should have slit his throat in the alley. Everyone had expected me too. One less prince in competition for what was rightfully mine. But I didn't. I wouldn't lower myself to Mehdi's level.

Instead, I humiliated him in front of our father and the whole Nuriyite court, explaining in exacting detail how I had thwarted him at every turn. Mehdi could say nothing in his defence, only dig his toe into the flagstone grouting.

Nuriya might encourage her princes to fight to the death for her throne, but it wasn't exactly legal. The king only waved away the punishment for the successful, and Mehdi had failed. In front of the entire court, Father ordered Mehdi to turn over to me three trunks of gold and his most prized possession.

I left the court, certain that I'd stunted Mehdi for the time being, and provided ample warning for my other brothers. Worse, I left cocky, feeling secure in my current safety. If there was one thing Mehdi had taught me, it was to never drop my guard, and never trust anyone or anything. Not even my brother's defeat.