.::Tepin::.
Back
in his hotel room, Tepin collapsed onto the single bed, his arm over
his face. He was angry and exhausted. He'd gotten off the plane only
two hours ago. The cab ride to this modest hotel had taken an
agonizingly slow half hour. Traffic had been horrendous due to an
accident out on the freeway.
Another
drunk driver had plowed into a minivan with a toddler and newborn. He
only knew that much because his phone had internet service. He'd gone
online and watched the live newscast. The news anchor had said that
the newborn was miraculously unscathed, the mother had only minor
injuries, but the toddler was in critical condition. He remembered
feeling grateful that most people on his island country used bicycles
and motor scooters. There were very few cars in Nefer.
Once
he'd arrived at the hotel, he'd taken a shower, shaved, and changed
his day-old clothes. Then, just as he was about to leave for his
consort's, his mother had called.
"Have
you arrived safely?" His mother had asked in lieu of a greeting.
"Yes,
Mother."
"Have
you made contact with Theodore yet?"
"No,
Mother."
"Why
not?"
"I
just got here. I've only had time to get myself presentable,"
he'd said, some exasperation leaking into his voice.
His
mother had clucked at him, but he knew she wasn't upset with him.
"Call
me when you've talked with him. I love you, habib albi."
"Love
you, too, Momma. I will call and let you know how it goes," he'd
said, smiling.
Now,
as he lay on the lumpy hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling, he
wanted to kick himself. With a flick of a wrist he lifted the other
pillow and pulled it to him, hugging it close, like a favorite teddy
bear. That was the very first time he and his consort had met since
he was five and Taz was three, and he'd ruined it by telling him
things he should have already been aware of. He sighed heavily,
wishing things had gone a lot better. But Gods! The Langleys were
supposed to have raised Theodore knowing who and what he was. That
was the plan.
Well,
at least the kid hadn't thrown him out on his ass, or worse. Maybe
things would still turn out all right. Maybe Theodore would talk to
Stephen and Bethany Langley, and they'd talk him into accepting his
fate. Gods, but this had to work. It just had to.
Because
Taz was his soul mate.
When
a Neferian or Hotepian first meets their soul mate as an adult, they
experience a zing
upon touching for the first time. He had felt that zing
today, when he shook his consort's hand. That zing
changed
everything for him. He wasn't going along with this arranged marriage
because he had to, but because he wanted
to. Soul mates were greatly cherished by their people, partly because
only thirty percent of their people have found their soul mate.
He
pushed the thought aside for the time being.
With
another, softer sigh Tepin dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed
his mother. He'd promised to call when he got back, and he always
kept his promises.
"Tepin,
habib albi. I trust everything went according to plan? When
shall I expect you here?"
"Mother..."
"What
went wrong?" His mother asked warily.
"He
was not aware of who he was. The Langleys raised him ignorant of his
royal blood. He didn't know he was a prince, let alone engaged to be
married."
His
mother drew in a sharp, indrawn breath. "He knew nothing?"
"Nothing,"
Tepin confirmed.
"I
shall have words with King Bakhoun. This arrangement has been made
since before you were born, habib albi."
"Before
I was born? Don't you mean before he was born?"
"No,
habib albi. Before you were born. We made this arrangement
while I was pregnant with you. King and Queen Bakhoun were trying for
a child of their own at the time, it just took them a few years to
conceive."
"Oy,
Mother. I still do not see—”
"It
is not your job to see or understand this arrangement," she
said, much too sharply. He felt her ire like a punch to the gut. But
then, in a much gentler voice, she said, "I love you, habib
albi, but I cannot tell you just yet."
"Do
you know how frustrating that is, Mother?" he asked, the
resignation clear in his voice.
Chuckling
softly, she said, "Yes, I do."
"Mother,
is this arranged marriage really that important to you?"
"Yes,
habib albi," she said, not unkindly. "This is very
important for your father, myself, you, and our country. I've got to
go now. I love you, habib albi."
"I
love you, too, Momma."
Tepin
closed his cell phone, and just stared at it for a moment. Then, with
a sigh, he reached over and set it on the bedside table. Flopping
back down onto his back, he stared at the ceiling, resignation and
frustration battling within him. He knew something wasn't right, but
he couldn't quite figure it out.
Ten
minutes later, he snorted his disgust, no closer to the truth than he
had been before. Figuring he'd have more luck and a clearer mind
after a nap, he rolled over onto his side, flipped the light switch
on the wall by the door off, and shut his eyes. He hadn't thought he
was that sleepy, but he felt himself drifting off almost immediately.
And surprisingly, the image of Taz floated through his mind...
.::Taz::.
"Mom,
Dad, what is going on?" Taz asked as soon as he entered
his parents' house. It was a nice
house.
Two stories tall, three decent-sized bedrooms, big living room, and
an open kitchen/dining room. The living room walls were painted a
light blue. Framed photos of Dane and himself growing up hung on the
walls. A few family portraits were up there, as well as framed
certificates they'd gotten in school, such as the Honor Roll.
There
was a stone fireplace at one end with an overstuffed light green
couch facing it. A dark wood end table with a glass center and a
Tiffany lamp sat at each end of the couch. More pictures of Dane and
himself adorned the mantle. In the center was his parents' wedding
photo. They looked so young and happy in that picture. And totally in
love. The picture made Taz want to smile every time he saw it, and
this time was no exception.
At
the other end of the big living room was another light green,
overstuffed couch and two matching recliners. The recliners were on
either side of the couch, a little closer to the flat screen HDTV,
and at a slight angle, so the furniture made a semi-circle around the
TV. There was an end table that matched the ones by the fireplace
next to the recliners, on the side closest to the wall. Two more end
tables sat at either side of the couch. The tables closer to the wall
held a clear glass vase of fake flowers, while the ones by the couch
held Tiffany lamps.
A
coffee table—a match to the end tables—sat in front of the couch.
Another clear vase of fake flowers were neatly arranged atop the
coffee table.
Taz
looked at his parents now, waiting for one of them to answer him. His
father had short, dark hair. It wasn't quite black, with silver at
the temples. He had crow's feet at the corners of light brown eyes
that lit up when he was excited about something. He had a slightly
cleft chin and a strong jaw, and straight white teeth. He was tall,
six foot four and well-toned.
His
mother, on the other hand, was only five foot seven. She was a little
on the plump side, had long black hair, and a quick smile. She also
had laugh lines, but they weren't as prominent as his father's. Her
eyes were a deep brown, framed by long lashes.
"What
do you mean, son?" His father finally asked.
"You
know damn well what I mean, Dad. This guy showed up at my house this
morning, spouting nonsense about me being a prince of some island
country next to his."
His
father's face conveyed his chagrin as he gazed back at him.
"Oh
dear," his mother murmured in dismay. "I thought we'd have
more time."
"More
time for what, Mom?" Taz asked, his stomach churning with dread.
"Well,
we had hoped to talk to you before he got here," his father
said. "We were going to sit you down this weekend and explain
everything to you."
"Explain
it now," he said, suddenly angry with his parents for keeping
something this big from him. He felt angry at this whole situation.
"Perhaps
we should all sit down, my lovelies," his mother interjected.
When
they were all seated—him on one of the recliners, and his parents
on the couch—his father took a deep, fortifying breath.
"Twenty-five
years ago," his father began, "King Blankht's brother,
Charlie, attempted to assassinate King Bakhoun. Charlie was caught,
and the king recognized him. Since Charlie was a royal, the two kings
argued over where Charlie should be held prisoner. After months of
discussion and arguing, King Bakhoun told the king of Nefer that he'd
allow them to punish Charlie, but in return, he wanted the heir to
Nefer's throne to wed his own heir."
"What
does that have to do with me?" Taz asked, incredulous.
Although, he had a bad feeling he already knew.
"You
are King Bakhoun's heir," his mother said, simply; confirming
what he already knew., and supporting Mr. Tepin Blankht's story.
Still...
"But...
I'm only twenty-three," he protested.
"You
are their heir, their only heir. It took the queen a while to
conceive."
"But,
then, why am I here? Why did they send me away?"
"They
sent you away because Charlie escaped his prison cell when you were
three," his father said. "He went after you, because he
knew it would hurt King Bakhoun to lose you. They sent you to your
mother and I, and told us to come here, to America. He gave us
temporary custody until they caught Charlie again, but Charlie
vanished."
Taz
was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed in consternation. "If
I was already three, why don't I remember any of this?"
"Because,
lovely," his mother said, "you were only three. You
were so young still."
"So
why did you keep this from me?" Taz asked, suddenly angry all
over again.
"We
were supposed to raise you knowing who you were, but..."
"But
what?"
"But
your mother and I thought it would be better for you to not grow up
always looking over your shoulder, waiting for Charlie to show up."
"Maybe
I should have grown up always looking over my shoulder!"
he yelled, jumping up from the recliner. "Then at least I'd know
who I am!"
"Son,
you're still—”
"Don't
call me that!" he said vehemently. Then he cringed at the hurt
he could see in his father's eyes. He knew they'd been doing what
they thought was right at the time. They hadn't sought to hurt him
with their deception and lies. They never meant to make him question
his very life.
Taz
sighed, then said softly, "Look, I'm sorry. I just—”
He paused, then; "I just need some time to process this. I'll
talk to you guys la—”
"Taz!"
Turning
around, Taz saw his little brother coming toward him from the hall.
Dane had shaggy black hair, his father's light brown eyes, and his
mother's full lashes. He had the sweetest smile, despite being a
teenage boy. He was five foot nine inches of skin and bones. And like
their parents, Taz, and Mr. Tepin Blankht, he had light brown skin,
almost like a permanent tan.
He
smiled at Dane, because he could never not smile at the kid.
Although, okay, Dane had turned fifteen the month before, so
technically he wasn't a kid anymore, even if he sometimes acted like
one.
Dane
threw his too-thin arms around Taz's waist and buried his face in his
chest. "Please don't be mad at them," he said, his voice
muffled.
Taz
hugged him back, his chest tight. "Dane, just because I'm mad at
them, doesn't mean I love them any less. Besides, aren't you a bit
too old to be eavesdropping?"
Dane
looked up at him, smiling sheepishly. "How else will I know
what's going on? Nobody ever tells me the important stuff."
Grinning,
Taz chucked him lightly under the chin. "If it's really
important, then somebody will tell you." He paused dramatically,
then said, "Eventually."
Dane
smiled. "Tell me about this island country you mentioned."
He
drew in a breath to answer, but then he frowned. "I don't know
much about it. I only had enough time to do a quick Google search to
make sure it even existed. I know it's called Hotep, and that it's
part of a group of eleven islands that form a star. But other than
that, I know nothing about it."
He purposely left out the
memory that had come to him earlier. He wasn't ready to deal with the
fact that he had identified a woman who wasn't Bethany Langley as his
mother. It brought home the fact that Bethany wasn't his
mother. She had never been his mother. He had just been some
kid that had been thrust upon her.
Duty.
That's the word. It had been her duty—and Stephen Langley's—to
take care of him. He doubted their love for him now, and he hated
it.
"Dad, can you tell us about Hotep?" Taz asked,
pushing those destructive thoughts aside for now.
"If you
sit back down and have one of your mother's brownies, I will tell you
about Hotep and At—the surrounding islands."
"I'll
get the brownies!" Dane volunteered excitedly.
When
everybody was seated again with a brownie and a drink, Stephen
began.
“Our islands were officially discovered in 1507 by
the Portuguese. We have resisted the colonization of the
Portuguese—and several other empires—until the eighteenth
century, when we were finally recognized as our own people.”
Taz
felt conflicted. He wanted to know more about the place of his birth.
He wanted to know what it looked like. He wanted to know about the
kingdom, and the king and queen.
The
need to know more also scared him. It felt like the worst kind of
betrayal—the betrayal of his heart and family. Which didn't make
much sense to him, because of this knew doubt of Stephen and Bethany
Langley's love for him.
The
inside of his head was beginning to look like a kaleidoscope of
emotions. Fear. Self-doubt. Confusion. Curiosity. It was starting to
make him dizzy.
“What—”
He stopped to clear his throat.
Taz
took a few Werther's Originals caramel candy from his pocket, and
popped one into his mouth. “Anybody want one?” he asked.
“Yes,
please,” Dane said. Taz tossed one to him.
When
he looked at his parents, they shook their heads. He put the rest
into one pocket, and the wrapper in the other pocket. He had been
taught from an early age to never leave trash lying about.
“Dad...
what do the islands look like?” It was a safe, neutral topic. He
didn't want to get into the more volatile subjects yet.
His
father looked around the room, collecting his thoughts, but then he
turned his gaze to Taz.
“All
eleven islands were formed by volcanoes, though none of the islands
have had recorded volcanic activity since 1510. Sheer black cliffs
fall into an ocean that is usually a good temperature to swim. There
are mountains great for climbing. Rolling emerald valleys surrounds
huge craters of sapphire water. We have geysers, waterfalls, hot
mineral springs, and, of course, there are volcanoes.
There
are no busy cities on our islands, no cars or buses; we have
villages, feet, and . . . horses.”
“Horses?”
That hesitation before the word 'horses' told him that wasn't what
his father had been about to say.
“Yes,
horses.”
Taz
opened his mouth to ask what his father had really been about to say,
but his mother cut him off.
“Stephen,
we need to go, or we'll be late.”
His
father looked up, startled. “Is it that time already?”
“It
is. The Johnsons are expecting us in a half hour.”
“Then
we should be getting ready,” his father said.
His
parents got up and left the room, presumably to get ready.
"So,
you're some prince, huh?" Dane said, smiling.
Taz
ruffled Dane's shaggy black hair. "Hey! I just got my
hair how I wanted it! You big jerk!"
"You
wanted it to look like a bird's nest?" Taz easily danced away
from his brother's shove. Then he got serious. "You know I love
you, right? That, even if I'm some prince, even if I go live there,
you'll always be my baby brother?"
"Shokran,"
Dane said, quietly.
Taz
hugged Dane again, said goodbye to his parents, and left. He had a
lot to think about.
