His feet moved by themselves, and he floated balloonlike above them, along the line to the center. Turn. Bow. Five paces. Bow. Four paces--make them longer. Bow again. He was within the hot circle of sunlight...
Shadow? Had that proclamation said 'Shadow'?
Bow to king, queen, prince, king again. Take one step. Then he stood at the edge of the dais, white-faced and sick to the roots of his soul.
Aurolron XX rose and paced forward, King Shadow at his back.
The penetrative power of the royal gaze was legendary. It was said that no man in the kingdom could face it. But that was not true when the kingdom had just crumbled into rubble and buried you up to your ears, when every muscle had frozen with shock. The twin sapphire flames burned above Sald, and he stared back into them with no trouble at all--an easy feat for one whose life had been totally ruined without warning. Chosen career, skymanship, private life, family, friendships--all had been snatched away in an instant.
For a lifetime the blue eyes and the black stayed locked, and the king's eyebrows rose in mild amusement.
'And how is NailBiter?' the king asked softly.
'Well, Your Majesty.' They had researched him, of course.
The royal brows frowned at the brevity. 'Out of DeathBreak by SkyHammer.' The king's interest in his bloodstock was famous, and his knowledge encyclopedic. 'We had great hopes of that pairing--yet there has been but one chick, and it seems that only one man in our entire Guard is capable of handling him.'
Five minutes ago, that royal compliment would have sent Sald Harl into delirium.
'An exaggeration, Majesty. And I am teaching him better manners.'
The long eye contact ended as the king blinked. He almost seemed to smile. He spoke even more softly. 'Perhaps you can do the same for our son?' But no answer was expected to that.
The king raised his hand, and a page paced forward with a black baldric on a scarlet cushion. Sald's knees found the edge of the dais. The king laid the baldric in silence over Sald's head and across his chest--and by that royal act turned a man into a shadow.
Sald rose. He moved one pace back and was about to bow--
No! Up from his childhood, from classes in protocol in the palace school, seeped a long-forgotten maxim: Shadow bows to no one. He froze.
Should he play it safe and begin his new job with a major display of ignorance before the entire court? Never! But if he was wrong, then he would be guilty of lese majesty at the very least. He looked to King Shadow and got the merest hint of a head shake.
So the commoner awarded the king a barely perceptible nod, the sort of nod a fat duke might so easily have given an ensign, and moved one pace to the side. Appointments took effect immediately. He looked to Vindax, and this time the signal was positive. Certain he was dreaming, he stepped up on the royal dais and walked toward the two princes. Jarkadon backed away for him, smiling sardonically.
Sald moved into place behind Vindax: his place now. The place from which nothing must remove him, save only death.
There were more appointments, honors and decorations and awards. The peacocks and the butterflies strutted and fluttered in the sunlight, but Sald saw almost none of it. Only once did he take notice, when his fat neighbor from the antechamber waddled forward to be inducted into the Order of the Golden Feather: His Grace, the duke of Aginna. It was a travesty! That great slob could not have ridden a bird in his life.
He thought of the news arriving at Hiando Keep. His father would swell with pride. His mother would be horror-struck, his sisters full of tears.
The court whirled in iridescent grandeur.
The end came. The royal party withdrew--and the fifth person in that party was Sald Harl.
No, it was Shadow. Prince Shadow, if he need be distinguished from King Shadow, but normally just Shadow.
He must adjust to life without a name.
The procession proceeded along corridors. Without warning, Vindax turned to a door, but Sald had been expecting that and did not miss a step. As he pushed the door shut behind them, he noted crystal and silver on carved sideboards, and one small window; this must be some sort of pantry. A cowering little man was waiting.
Vindax walked to the nearest wall and then swung around, black eyes glinting with amusement. 'Welcome, Shadow!' he said.
'Highness...'
The prince's eyes said that he had made an error.
'I don't know this stuff!' Sald said angrily.
'Then you've forgotten it! Shadow is never presented, so you know nobody. Rank only, rarely title. Never formal address--not even names unless you must.'
'Thank you,
Vindax raised a cynical eyebrow. 'It isn't quite that bad.'
Sald knew that his resentment was obvious, that he was therefore showing ingratitude, and that he was being mocked because of it. He liked to remember Vindax as a childhood friend, back when they had both been too small to appreciate the chasm between a baronet's heir and a king's. He tried not to remember the adolescent Vindax of flying classes, when a commoner struggling to get by on ability alone must never upstage the heir apparent.
'Why me?' he demanded.
The prince shook his head and leaned back against the wall. Except in the security of the royal apartments he must always have a wall behind him--or Shadow. 'Strip,' he said. 'We haven't much time.'
The timid little man was fussing with clothes. Sald reached up to remove the damnable black baldric.
'We're the same size, more or less,' Vindax said. 'You'll wear my second best until we get some for you.'
Cloak and coat...Shadow would wear the same garb as the prince, except for the decorations. He would taste his food, possibly sleep in the same room.
'But why me, Prince?'
'Many reasons, for many people. My father, for example?'
He hadn't changed a fraction--he was still all arrogance, mockery, charm. And wits.
The breeches went next, and the valet had produced underwear, to show that this was to be no half effort. Sald must start matching wits again. It had never been easy. 'You would tell the king that I am nothing, so I am your creation and owe everything to you. You alone have my loyalty.'
He had scored. 'Close.'
'You would have told the queen that I am an expert skyman.'
The prince smiled. 'Right reasons, wrong parents. Chief of protocol?'
'You told him that the appointment of a nobody would not disturb the balance of court factions.' Obviously he was right again. 'And the truth?'
'You're the best man, of course.'
Sald could not believe that. 'I heard Count Moarien--'
'Moarien sniffs. Sniff, sniff, all day long. Probably snores.'
He was being mocked again.
The new breeches were silk, the softest material he had ever handled. 'Many don't sniff. Why me?'
The dark eyes studied him carefully. 'You're my second Shadow. You heard what happened to the first?'
'A wild struck him.'
'It wasn't a wild. Idiot Farin Donnim had been feeding his bird batmeat. He lost control. It took Shadow in an instant.'
Half into a coat which proclaimed him to be crown prince of Rantorra, Sald paused. 'What happened to Donnim?'
'Nothing--his uncle's a duke. But you do it to me and they'll cut you into meatballs with blunt
