Transformation Read Online Free PDF Page A

set out on the table in front of me.
    “I want to see a sample of your writing.”
    I picked up the pen, dipped it, and waited.
    “Well, get on with it.”
    I steeled myself for his displeasure. “Is there anything particular you would like me to write, my lord?”
    “Damn it all, I told you I wanted a sample of your writing. Did I say I cared what it was?”
    I deemed it prudent to answer with deeds, and that the deed had best be well considered, so I wrote, “May all honor and glory come to Prince Aleksander, Crown Prince of the Derzhi.” I turned the paper so he could see it over my shoulder, dipped the pen again, and asked, “Would you like to see more, my lord?”
    “You wrote my name,” he said, accusing.
    “Yes, Your Highness.”
    “What did you put with it?”
    I read him the sentence. He was quiet for a moment, and I kept my eyes pinned to the paper.
    “Not very original.”
    I glanced up in surprise at the wry humor behind the un-smiling words. Perhaps it was because I was off balance from the vision ... unguarded ... still weak in the head from hunger, or drunk with water after three days without ... but I grinned at him and said, “But safe.”
    He stiffened, and it appeared for one instant that I might regret my moment’s madness, but then he slapped me on the back—spattering ink all over my composition—and laughed heartily. “Indeed. Hard to find fault with it—even for me.” He drained his glass of wine and shoved another sheet of paper in front of me. “Your hand seems good enough. So now write what I tell you.”
    He walked around the table as he dictated. The faster he walked, the faster he talked, which did nothing to aid my dizziness. I tried to think of something to make him stop, but he was accustomed to scribes, of course, and knew when his thoughts raced too far ahead of my hand. He would pause his words to give me time to catch up, but would not slow his walking.
    Cousin,
    I am dreadfully annoyed with you for taking your duties so seriously. Give the cursed Khelid legate a hovel and be done with him. These are my subjects, for the gods’ sake, not my masters. If you are not here for my dakrah, I’ll have your balls in my tea the day after.
    I despise these damned Khelid and wish they would crawl back to their rocks and pits, wherever they are. Father is so preoccupied with this Khelid Lord Kastavan and his clever ideas that he has sent me here to Capharna to hold his winter Dar Heged. The weather is uniformly dreadful, my duties tedious, and of course, Father has sent Dmitri to be my schoolmaster. Was there ever anyone so preoccupied with plots and conspiracies as our unerringly grim uncle? I know I am truly bored when I start listening to his warnings and taking them to heart. The only reason I allow him in my chambers is that there is so little other amusement. The company in Capharna in the middle of winter is dismal—all imbeciles or asslickers. Who else would give up the glories of Zhagad’s finest season for this? Between the mistrust Dmitri hammers into me and the hatred they have earned through this despicable winter’s banishment, I’ll confide to you that I plan to behead or exile all of the fiendish Khelid the moment I am crowned.
    The wager is doubled to two thousand. Musa will not allow your plow horse to beat him.
    Your equally desolate cousin,
    Zander
     
    I read the letter back to the Prince, made the few minor corrections he wished, then, in all innocence, asked if he wished to sign it himself before I melted the wax for his seal.
    “You insolent pig!” He raised the back of his hand in a painfully familiar gesture, and I dropped instantly to my knees, pressing my forehead to the floor. In my first years of bondage, I could not assume the submissive posture without my stomach gnawing on itself and my hands trembling in anger. But over time I learned that such a position made it much more difficult for an angry man to lay his fist to your head. Somehow it