Prince captif, tome 3 : Le roi

Plus tard, il porterait le deuil, pour l'homme que fut Kastor, celui qu'il aurait pu devenir, et pour tous ces chemins qu'il n'avait pas empruntés dans la vie.

Je me souviens de la façon dont tu m'as regardée, le jour où nous nous sommes rencontrés. Cela aussi, peut être dans une autre vie.

- Charls! s'exclama Charls
- S'il s'agit de Charls, alors qui êtes-vous ? s'enquit le commandant dérouté.
- Moi? répondit Charls. Je suis...
- C'est lui Charls, intervint l'aubergiste. Ca fait huit ans que je le connais.
- C'est exact. Lui, c'est Charls. Et moi, je suis Charls. Nous sommes cousins, osa le marchand. Nous avons hérité du nom de notre grand-père, Charls.
- Merci Charls, dit Laurent.

— Il a eu une mort honorable, s’obligea à dire Damen. Je n’ai jamais rencontré dans ma vie de meilleur adversaire. C’était un combat équitable, et il a péri sans douleur. Sa fin a été rapide.
— Comme celle d’un cochon qu’on égorge ?

« La chambre baignait dans une lueur orangée dispensée par les lanternes qui soulignait l’austérité de l’ameublement, composé de quelques chaises basses et d’une tablette sur laquelle avait été déposé un bol de fruits fraîchement cueillis. Laurent avait une aura différente dans sa chemise blanche. Damen et lui se regardaient dans les yeux. Derrière Laurent, la lumière était concentrée sur le lit, à côté duquel de l’huile brûlait à l’intérieur d’un contenant en métal poli, projetant l’éclat des flammes directement sur l’amas de coussins et le socle de marbre du lit.
— Tu me manques, dit Laurent. Nos conversations me manquent.
C’était plus qu’il n’en pouvait supporter. Il se rappelait avoir été attaché à ce poteau contre lequel il avait frôlé la mort. Laurent, sobre, avait posé une limite claire et nette, et il savait qu’il venait de la franchir. Ils l’avaient tous deux franchie.
— Tu es ivre, fit remarquer Damen. Tu n’es plus toi-même. Je devrais te mettre au lit.
— Mets-moi où tu veux.
Il emmena Laurent jusqu’au lit d’un pas décidé, puis l’aida à se coucher, ou plutôt à tomber délicatement, à l’image de ce qu’aurait fait un soldat pour allonger son camarade sur sa paillasse.
Laurent demeura ainsi que l’avait laissé Damen, couché sur le dos avec la chemise à moitié ouverte, les cheveux ébouriffés, son expression vulnérable. Il avait un genou replié sur le côté et respirait lentement, comme endormi, drapé seulement par le fin tissu de sa chemise, sa poitrine se soulevant en rythme.
— Tu ne m’aimes pas comme ça ? »

C’était à Damen de jouer, à présent. Il lui sembla à son retour que les chariots étaient encore plus lents qu’avant son départ. Même à l’allure la plus rapide, le convoi semblait figé dans une langueur indolente. Damen mettait toute sa volonté au service des chevaux pour qu’ils les tirent plus vite, mais il se donna l’impression de hurler à des escargots de se mettre à courir.

Le simple fait de camper si près des forces vérétiennes aiguisait la nervosité des soldats. Ceux-ci avaient organisé un nombre excessif de patrouilles, et les sentinelles avaient toutes les sens en alerte. Si un vérétien avait le malheur de pisser de travers, l'armée tout entière se jetterait sur lui.

'I met the Prince in Vere. I thought as you did. I didn't know his heart.'

It was Laurent who said, 'No.'

'I came to learn it slowly.'

'Damen, don't do this.'

'I came to learn his honesty, his integrity, his strength of mind.'

'Damen-'

Of course Laurent wanted everything done his own way. But today it was going to be different.

'I was a fool, blinded by prejudice. I didn't understand that he was fighting alone, that he had been fighting alone for a very long time. And then I saw the men he commanded, disciplined and loyal. I saw the way his household loved him, because he knew their concerns, cared for their lives. I saw him protect slaves. And when I left him, drugged and without friends after an attack on his life, I saw him stand up in front of his uncle and argue to save my life because he felt he owed me a debt. He knew that it might cost him his life. He knew he'd be sent to the border, to ride into the very same plot to kill him. And he still argued for me. He did it because it was owed, because in the very private code with which he ran his life, it was right.'

He looked at Laurent, and he understood now what he had not understood then: that Laurent had known who he was that night. Laurent had known who he was and had still protected him, out of a sense of fairness that had somehow survived what had happened to him.

'That is the man you face. He has more honour and integrity than any man I have ever met. He is dedicated to his people and his country. And I am proud to have been his lover.'

Damen said it with his eyes on Laurent, willing him to know how much he meant it, and for a moment Laurent just gazed back at him, his eyes blue and wide.

At first no one paid any attention to him. He was just one man in the busy columned square. But by the time he reached the first of the guards he had garnered a few looks. It was rare to approach the steps to the high gate directly.

He could feel the growing attention, could feel eyes turning to look at him, could feel the guards' awareness of him, though they held their impassive positions. He put his sandalled foot on the first step.

Crossed spears blocked his way, and the men and women of the square began to turn, to create a semicircle of curiosity, nudging each other.

'Halt', said the guard. 'State your business, traveller.'

He waited, until he had the eyes of everyone near the gate on him, then he let the hood of his cloak fall back. He heard the shocked murmurs, the outbreak of sound as he spoke, his words, clear and unmistakable.

'I am Damianos of Akielos, and I surrender to my brother.'

He said, 'I think it's Kastor's child.'

Jokaste didn't answer him, and there was a silence in which her gaze was on him. Laurent regarded her in turn. Around them, the camp stayed quiet, no sounds except for the breeze and the night.

'I think you saw it clearly, in those twilight days in Akielos. The end was coming, and Damianos wouldn't listen to anyone. The only way to save his life was to persuade Kastor to send him as a slave to Vere. To do that you had to be in Kastor's bed.'

Her expression didn't alter, but he felt the change in her, the new, careful way she was holding herself. In the cool night air, it transmitted something to him, against her will. It gave something away. And she was angry about it, and for the first time she was afraid.

He said. 'I think it's Kastor's child, because I don't think you would use Damen's child against him.'