Flux

across the chest and arms. Miner suddenly felt very grubby in his modest, travel-stained clothes.
    “You are here with a message?” he said to both of them, speaking their language almost without an accent.
    “Yes,” Ennek answered.
    “Well, let me have it.” The man held out his hand.
    “No. I’ve been instructed to give it to the king.”
    “I am His Majesty’s closest advisor.”
    “I’m sure you are. But you’re not him.” Ennek crossed his arms over his chest.
    The advisor’s eyes narrowed and he and Ennek engaged in a brief staring contest. But Ennek was a stubborn man, and after a few moments the advisor let his hand drop. “Let me see her sign.”
    Ennek had previously tucked the pendant back under his shirt, but he took it out again and held it so the advisor could get a good look. The man peered carefully at it, his back slightly bent so he was leaning towards Ennek. And then he closed his eyes and for a second or two looked a good ten years older. He straightened. “Come with me.”
    They left via a small door at the back of the room, then wound their way through what seemed like private passageways. Unlike the ones by which they had arrived, these were narrow and mostly unadorned, and the floor was considerably worn. Miner had no idea at all where they were within the building; if he’d had to lead Ennek to an exit, he wouldn’t have been able.
    They finally came to another set of doors, tall and narrow, that opened onto a long, covered veranda dotted with chairs and benches and potted plants. There was a low railing of red-painted wood, and beyond that an almost sheer cliff dropping down to the sea. “Wait here,” their host ordered and left them. Ennek walked to the railing and gazed far out at the horizon, but Miner hung back, nearly pressed to the smooth wall of the palace.
    A few minutes later a lovely young woman appeared, almost as if by magic. She didn’t say anything to either of them, but handed each a cup of fragrant tea and set a dish down on a low table before disappearing again. The dish contained an assortment of nuts and crackers and a dried fruit of some kind that was sweet, salty, and spicy all at once. Ennek and Miner fell ravenously on the food, leaving only fruit pits and nutshells when they were done.
    “What would it be like to grow up in a place like this?” Ennek wondered out loud. “As a crown prince?”
    “Luxurious?”
    “Yes, of course. But wouldn’t you end up spoiled? The gods know I was terribly spoiled, and the Keep was a dungeon compared to this. The Chief does not believe in overindulgence.”
    “You don’t either?”
    Ennek shrugged. “I don’t know. All of this,” he waved his arms at the palace, at the view, “it’s spectacular. Stunning. But someone who has every little whim catered to, who has servants do everything for him…I think it would make him weak. Not that I was exactly toiling away, mind you, and I never did fully appreciate what hard work went into life at the Keep, but…I wasn’t some sort of cosseted thing. And I’m glad of it.”
    “You wouldn’t live like this if you could?”
    “No. Would you?”
    “I’d hardly know what to do with myself in a place like this. I feel like I might knock over something priceless every time I move.”
    Ennek grinned at him. “Nothing here is more priceless than you.” Then he turned and looked out at the ocean again. “If I could live anywhere, it would be in Praesidium. But a…a gentler version. Where love and happiness are counted as important as peace and prosperity. And I’d have a little wooden house at the top of a hill where I could see the bay and the headlands and the boats bobbing about. And a garden—I think I might fancy a garden. And we’d have an enormous bed as soft as a cloud, and a huge fireplace, and there would be a room just for you with books from floor to ceiling and a big table where you could draw and paint.”
    Ennek went silent and Miner looked at his broad back, at the way his dark curls tumbled over his shirt collar, at the way he stood, as straight as any soldier but with his legs slightly spread like a sailor balancing on deck. His hands—wide palms and fingers as calloused as any rough workman’s—hung at his sides. His shoulders moved up and down a bit as he breathed.
    “Would we grow strawberries in our garden?” Miner asked at last.
    Ennek turned and gave him a sad smile. “So many you’d eat nothing but strawberries for weeks,