Chapter Sixty-Two #2
I blink back at the Prince, who, for all of his observational skills, is apparently unfamiliar with the way one responds to such repeated turmoil. Varic shifts beside me, and my heart hammers in my chest with the need to draw the Prince’s attention back to me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, to which the Prince nods before leading us down the garden path.
The Prince and I ride side by side in companionable silence for a time, and I relish the pause in conversation until he turns to me with what can only be a pending question. “If we were to offer you refuge, would you accept it?”
Fear forms a fist around my heart and squeezes.
“I made a vow to serve the citizens of my Empire, and I will not abandon them.”
“You have kept your promise, yet you act as if you are solely responsible for their well-being, while you must also take care of your own safety.”
My eyes narrow at him. “Do you truly believe I am capable of defecting to live some daydream?”
“There is no harm in dreaming.”
Something in his tone sours my stomach, and the tension between us feels solid. He drops his gaze to the rows of trees opposite me when I decide to open my mouth. “You do realize that if I were to defect, His Majesty’s survival would hang in the balance, which means Dragons would rule—”
The Prince throws his arm out in the space between us, and shouts, “Everyone halt!”
I follow his line of sight, yet I cannot see anything worthy of such concern.
“What is it?” Varic asks. “What manner of threat?”
“Nothing you need to be involved with. I will handle it, though we need to draw back several paces.”
My brows rise, and I nearly click my tongue to make Filly surge forward so I can close in on the Prince to ensure he understands he is not to speak to my…
Lead Guard that way. Instead, I wait until we have all moved back along the path to glower in his direction.
His own focus is turned toward the ground so he does not see my reaction.
I turn to Varic—whose eyes appear to have lost their luster the longer he stares toward the supposed threat.
He must feel me staring as he raises his stormy gaze to mine.
My heart lurches at the unique sort of torment he is facing.
“Nothing will hurt me.” I indicate the force-shield pulsing around me. “You won’t allow it. Remember?”
He nods and returns his stare to the area where the Prince remains focused.
“Would you please explain—” I begin to ask, but His Royal Highness cuts me off.
“There is a patch of doomweed I need to dispose of.”
Varic’s expression is just as perplexed as I feel when he shifts his focus, as if he requires visual evidence that his force-shield is still present, reminding me just how close we sit now that we have repositioned.
My heart hammers with the heat of his eyes on me, crawling up to settle behind my cheeks.
The Prince closes his eyes with his hands held out to the side, drawing our collective attention as he mutters just under his breath so the rest of us cannot hear what he is chanting.
“Prince Auden,” Varic begins, as the royal slowly opens one eyelid. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing that will harm her, I promise.”
“I would appreciate you clearing any use of spell work near her in the future.”
His Royal Highness’s eyes fall shut again as he nods.
Then my own eyes widen when the bright green weed he mentioned rises in the air before him.
Pale white roots dangle beneath the rounded leaves as dry bits of earth crumble down to the divot where the Prince magically extracted it from the ground.
Fray and Malin draw their horses nearer, creating a circle around me as the Prince uses his spell to send the weed roughly fifty paces to the right. He tenses his hand into a gesture I’ve yet to see—holding each finger at unnatural angles while his lips form the same word on repeat.
A gasp tears through me as flames erupt and engulf the weed from the tip of its roots to the edges of its vibrant green leaves.
The Prince waves his hands in a circular motion, which douses the fire without need for water.
His voice rises in volume as he chants more incantations where I can only discern individual syllables, swirling the ash from the incinerated plant into an orb of circulating air just over the tall grass.
Then the Prince halts his chanting and flattens his hand to send the mound of ash in a linear line like an arrow through the trees.
Varic’s shield thrums faster and heavier with the beat of his heart, coursing over me like his lifeblood, preventing me from reacting outwardly as I wait for the Prince’s next move to determine what is appropriate after a display of magic like the one we just witnessed.
His Royal Highness releases a breath as he turns to silently address his assembled audience. He nods with an oddly familiar solemnity—his way of communicating the threat has been dealt with, though I sense there must be more to it. Something deep.
“Your Royal Highness, I will send scouts to check the grounds for any more patches which may have sprouted overnight,” the Prince’s guard, Dale, says.
“Why is this weed such a threat?” Varic asks, and I have to turn away as my smile grows broader from the authority in his voice.
“Its essence is fatal, killing in minutes.” Prince Auden’s voice sounds distant as my vision fades—or rather, something resembling a vision takes over my mind—
His father, the King, lies on the ground with his shirt torn open and missing buttons surrounding the brown skin on his chest. I widen my eyes as his breaths grow more labored while vibrant green veins branch outward from a wound on his shoulder.
My ability to see the world around me snaps back, and I blink.
“It contains a poison so complex none of our apothecaries, healers, nor philosophers have had success in developing a treatment, much less a cure.” Prince Auden’s voice wavers.
“We take the eradication of doomweed seriously, as it happens to be the most dangerous plant native to Annovia, used in warfare for centuries with many coating their weapons in its poison. It is known to turn one’s veins a bright, unnatural green—”
My lungs stall as a flash of the vision depicting his father lying on the ground with the very same branching across the exposed skin on his chest casts across my mind.
“—indicating that being has mere minutes—maybe only seconds—to live. Further complicating the search for a cure as there isn’t enough time between the initial effect and the victim’s death.”
“So you dispose of it by ripping it from the ground and incinerating it with some sort of spell,” Lars says.
“Which is what killed your father,” I whisper without intention, though every one of my Guards stares at me along with the Prince, as if I have just committed some grievous action.
“Yes.” The Prince’s eyes hold mine in place, and I stare back with uncertainty of whether he just confirmed what must have been a tightly kept secret, or if his response was to Lars’ question. “You must remove all the roots and incinerate it.”
It could be that simple—yet the way he looked at me after what I whispered, he seemed surprised and sincere.
The Prince’s eyes shift to make contact with each of my Guards, who all nod in understanding before returning his gaze to me. “Would you care to continue, hopefully without encountering any other life-threatening flora?”
I smile and direct Filly to fall in beside him, while Varic directs his horse to canter on my left, and Fray, Malin, Cirrin, and Lars follow just behind us.
“I understand you are held against your will, and you must have your reasons for not attempting to escape, or to request help when the opportunity presents itself.” Prince Auden says.
Annoyance prickles beneath my skin with none of the patience required to hold it in.
“I am unsure whether I should be impressed that you have guessed all who serve the Empire do so under threat, or offended that you apparently think my character so weak that I would abandon the citizens, especially for something as selfish as my own well-being.”
Prince Auden brings his horse to a halt, and I do the same before turning to meet his eyes, which lock on mine with all the intensity of a bomb.
“It would be natural for anyone imprisoned as you are to seek refuge. I view it as an act of liberation for a witch who should have never been caged in the first place.”
“What do you imagine would happen to those left within the Empire should I liberate myself, Your Royal Highness?”
“I imagine they would be capable of revolt, since your power is used to intimidate the citizens from ever trying.”
My stomach drops as I lose all ability to fake the candor expected of me. “You believe the Emperor would fall were he to lose access to me and my magic.”
“Of course he would, because he controls them by exploiting you,” he says. “The leaders of every land agree, having witnessed the difference once he stole you away.”
My vision shifts to the deep ochre of existential dread forming a wave, cresting over my head and dragging me within its swell, twisting and dipping my body while I toss within its current. Hearing only the crashing of water, slapping, smacking, and churning.
Heat, then pressure surrounds my arm.
“Tasch.”
My lungs fill with air, and I cough from the sting of it. Because what I expected to fill my lungs with relief only further threatens my safety, thrumming in my veins as the poison it is—the same kind I’ve been dosed with my whole life—
“You are responsible for making sure the Emperor does not become too angry.”
Grandmother. Mentor.
“You must tether your magic to him. Ensure his mood is stable. You are to manipulate those with whom he converses. You will imbue them with admiration to ensure they only ever speak in his favor. You must manage the crowd, force them to behave in the way he wishes.”
“Yes, mentor.”
“The citizens are counting on you. What will happen should you fail?”
Dragon’s reign—descent into ruin. Blood in the streets. War. Famine.