“He’s not shackled,” Raia warned. “If he attacks faster than I can react . . . I can’t promise he won’t hurt you.”
“If any part of him is still Zarin, still good, I believe he won’t.”
She believed he wouldn’t too. It was nice to have another who saw him the same way. “My trainer would say this is stupid.” She then added, “Your Excellence.”
He flashed her a smile. “I’ve done plenty of stupid things.”
She was relieved he wasn’t offended. She ventured to say, “You know that’s a reason to feel lucky, not a reason to do more. Maybe if I come in the stall with you?” She could soothe the lion, watch him carefully, and be ready.
He nodded his permission. “That sounds wise.”
Raia unlocked the stable. Murmuring to the lion, she knelt beside him. She stroked his mane, the smooth metal cool under her fingertips. He seemed calm.
The emperor-to-be dropped to one knee in front of the lion. He held out his hand, palm up, as if greeting a dog. The lion stretched his neck, sniffed one finger, and then retreated. “I’m Dar. Your brother. And I miss you.”
She couldn’t tell if the lion understood or not.
“I miss how you used to tell me to watch my step every time we walked into the throne room together, even though you were the one who always tripped on that River-damned mosaic floor. I miss how you used to insist on a pear with every meal, because Mother told you once it would make you healthy, even though you hated pears. I miss how you used to misquote poets on purpose, to make me laugh at the expressions on our tutor’s face. I miss how you’d slip away after meetings and come find me—you said it was because you needed someone that you could talk to, and I was that someone. I miss being your someone.”
The lion was listening.
Raia held still, not sure if Prince Dar had forgotten she was there or simply didn’t care. She kept her hands on the lion’s mane, ready in case he suddenly snapped. She trusted the lion not to hurt her, but this man was a stranger to him. Or he should have been.
Prince Dar buried his face in his hands.
The lion stood, and Raia tensed, ready. But the lion merely stepped forward and pressed his forehead against the emperor-to-be’s, as if comforting him. The emperor-to-be lifted his head.
Raia held her breath.
They were inches away, face-to-face.
“Zarin?”
Prince Dar wrapped his arms around the lion’s mane, like Raia had done, and the lion let him for several long minutes. Then the lion stepped backward, retreating to the corner of his stall, and sat, watching and silent.
“He remembers me,” Prince Dar said, almost more of a question than a statement. “He’s still my brother. At least a part of him.”
Gently, Raia guided him out of the stall and shut and locked the door. Only then did she let her muscles unknot and her breathing return to normal. “He’s special.” He shouldn’t be able to feel loyalty to her or to understand the need to win the races, and yet he clearly did. Maybe it was because a part of him did remember who he’d been.
“I’m going to find who did this to him,” Prince Dar promised. Laying his hand on the stall door, he said, “I’ll make this right, Zarin. I swear I will, by the Lady, by the River, by the souls of our parents . . . I swear I will.”
The lion did not respond.
Maybe he remembers only sometimes? she wondered. Like a dream? Or he remembers pieces? She took a step backward, not wanting to interfere. It felt like such a private moment, and she was intruding. But she also didn’t dare leave.
“Your parents,” Prince Dar began, facing Raia.
Raia tensed. She wondered if he was about to blame her.
“I am sorry for how they treated you.”
She blinked. That was unexpectedly kind. He was wrapped up in his own grief and misery, yet still managed to think of her. “Thank you, Your Excellence. I am glad they can’t do any more harm.” That was as much as she could say without her voice breaking. She knew it was wrong to be happy her parents would be jailed, and she wasn’t happy precisely. . . . Relieved, maybe. Vindicated? Always, they’d blamed her for everything that happened, but it was their own choices that caused this, their own