Chapter Five #2
I knew as soon as the words left my mouth, that I’d said something horribly wrong.
The stiffening of his body, the darkening of his eyes.
The way his hand clenched around the blade he still held.
I relished in that brief flicker of whatever emotion stormed in his eyes.
I wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to leave, for them both to leave.
A throat cleared and Prince Kairen leaned forward, hands clasping, “I’m assuming you know your trials consist of three different challenges, correct?”
I tore my eyes from the fury that brewed within Roan Delmar, shifting and trying to ignore that tension that wound through his body.
Nodding, my reply was quick, “Of course I do. The first is a written test, to assess the practical knowledge of the apprentices. The second is an assessment of hands on skill, wherein the Potion Masters will give us a potion of their choice to brew,” I paused, tapping a finger upon the wooden table, “and the third trial is a quest, also given by the Potion Masters. It’s generally an endeavor to create a new, viable potion that will benefit Tavari, to prove that one is an asset to the kingdom in their profession. ”
Merle had been training me for years for these trials. I had already created a variety of new potions under her tutelage, and had been prepped so thoroughly I could practically recite the ingredients of any potion laid before me.
What exactly my trials had to do with a Solerian Prince of Tavari, though, was beyond my comprehension.
The Prince's smile was grim as I spoke once more, “I apologize, Your Highness, but I don’t exactly understand what my trials have to do with helping you.”
“Now she sees the sense in using honorifics,” Delmar’s scoff had my scathing look shooting towards him.
“Enough, Roan.” Prince Kairen’s hiss was exasperated and exhausted all at once. His shoulders slumping as if he held the weight of a thousand worries upon them. I picked at the skin around my nails, nerves lighting once more.
He was royalty, wasn’t he? I couldn't exactly refuse to hear him out. Could I even refuse his request at all? Goddess, I needed to tread carefully. Bran always said my smart mouth would lead me to trouble and I was starting to think that perhaps I should listen to him and Merle more often.
Ringed fingers slid a piece of paper towards me, a slight tremor ran through my hand as I picked it up, my wary gaze glancing between the two men. Unfolding it slowly, my brows knitted with confusion. A poem?
Five are called and five will roam
to seek the cure to aid the throne
but hear this truth—not all return
for fate is cruel and trust may burn
a Prince of Sun and Flame
without a claim
a Son of the Sea
from the blood that stains his hands he will never be free
a Healer blessed with golden light
their blade their greatest might
for a Potion Maker revered
those the Kingdom casts away shall cheer
and a Soldier whose loyalty is true
shall be the glue.
For these will be the five,
choose wisely, little Princeling,
or the person you seek to save
shall die.
Not a poem, but a prophecy?
Nose wrinkling, I read through the lines a second time and then a third before I finally glanced up to find two sets of expectant eyes carefully searching my reaction. Letting the paper slip from my fingers, I crossed my arms.
“Please explain, what in Soli's wrath, that is.”
Prince Kairen glanced once at the paper, hesitant. “A prophecy?”
“No shit,” I snapped, leaning forward and tapping the paper, “except, that’s impossible.
Only Luanthians are blessed with the gift of prophecy and all the seers were hunted down and burned upon the stake.
” My breaths came quick as my mind drifted to that cold dark alleyway.
My eyes screwed shut against the memories that pushed and prodded.
“Yes, well,” my eyes snapped open, the Prince's face flushing with what looked like shame, “my father thought it beneficial to keep at least one alive. She is kept within the castle and this is a prophecy I personally received from her.”
My mind reeled with this information. The King had kept a seer alive?
“Who exactly is your seer?” I knew I was asking too many questions, digging far too deeply and knew that I should stop.
Yet, that Goddess damned curiosity was roaring through me once more.
It wasn’t often Luanthians with greater abilities were allowed to live.
Those who had been blessed with shadows and those with a prophetic nature were generally the first to be tied to the stake when caught.
“Farrah Delmar,” the Kinslayer’s voice was smooth, his face hard as the realization dawned upon me. “My mother.”
My body grew still, stunned. The story of Roan Delmar was one that everyone within the Kingdom of Tavari had grown up hearing. But this? It certainly was not common knowledge.
Roan Delmar was the son of Jurian Delmar, a nobleman of the Luanthian court, the last living nobleman, to be exact.
The Delmar line had bent the knee to the Solerian King when they had stolen the throne, saving themselves from being eradicated completely.
A generation later, for a reason that has never truly been told, Jurian Delmar was executed for treason—despite his conversion to the Goddess Soli and his rejection of the Goddess Lua.
In his death he left behind a sister, a wife, and his young son.
The three were set to stand trial to beg and repent for the forgiveness of the Sun Goddess.
It was said that Roan Delmar, at just eight years of age, took twenty lashings in his repentance, but it was four years later when he would truly show his devotion.
The night of the Cleansing.
When King Artius Soliel called for the extermination of those who still prayed to the Goddess Lua.
Roan Delmar, at twelve years of age, set the first pyre to prove his loyalty to not only the Goddess Soli, but to the King as well.
He slit the throats of the five chosen and then burned their bodies.
It was rumored that his aunt was one of those he killed that night, or sometimes his mother depending on what version of the tale was told.
It was the night I myself lost my own mother and he gained the name of Kinslayer. Though he did nothing to rid himself of it, for he still slayed any Luanthian the King asked of him over the years.
Kinslayer indeed. My thoughts were bitter, disgust burning the back of my throat. Glancing back down at the paper, I scoffed as I shoved it back towards the Prince.
“So, you what?” I asked blandly, “You believe me to be the Potion Maker this prophecy speaks of?”
“Your name holds considerable weight in the Old Quarter, Syra,” Prince Kairen pleaded, “who does this Kingdom cast away more than those in the Old Quarter? They may be Solerian converts, but they are still treated as Luanthians. Even those that are Solerian born are looked down upon for being poor or sick.”
A feeling of dread bloomed within the pit of my stomach as I shook my head. I wanted to refuse, to deny the words that clawed and sunk into my soul.
And then Delmar spoke, his voice without any malice for once, just soft and almost, almost tender. “We nearly had our heads boxed off when asking around about you in the Old Quarter. The people there are very protective of you and your Aunt.”
I took another long pull from the tankard that sat forgotten before me, my mind whirling.
“This quest is to help everyone within the kingdom, including those you already care for,” Prince Kairen spoke, voice low so others in the tavern could not overhear. “We seek a cure for The Fever.”
Choking on the firemead, my eyes grew wide.
Spluttering, I choked out, “If the Potion Masters and Healers of legend haven’t been able to find a cure, what makes you think that we can?”
The Prince merely tapped the paper before him, that blinding, charming smile curving his lips. “Because they weren’t destined for it.”
And then I did the most, arguably, unexpected thing of the night.
I laughed.
I laughed in the face of a Solerian Prince. Before I could stop myself, the words were tumbling from my mouth, “You’re insane.”
A cure was impossible. The greatest minds within Tavari had been searching for a cure since The Fever had first appeared.
I was drinking with a mad man, a mad Prince.
And his overly aggressive guard dog on top of it.
“Syra,” Kai began again, “For this quest to succeed I need a Potion Maker–one the people revere. I think that person is you, will you join us and take this quest as your third trial?”
Shaking my head, my words were rushed, “No, I will not risk my trials, my future, for some fairytale that you have concocted within your head—”
"If we fail, you will be able to return and redo the third trial without any repercussions–I will personally see to it."
I hesitated, for only a moment, but it was enough for hope to light within his eyes.
Nine Hells.
Groaning, my fingers rubbed slow circles at my temples. I had to deny him, but he was a Prince.
"Let me think it over? I arrive at the palace in a few days to begin my trials, allow me to get through the first two and then I will give you my answer. I need to think."
"You have until after your first trial to give me your answer, I'll need time to make preparations for our journey," he reasoned and I narrowed my eyes.
He wanted to negotiate? Fine.
"It says that there will be five," I glanced at the Prince as he nodded his confirmation, “you are clearly the Prince of the first line.
He, I'm assuming, is the one with bloody hands," I pointed flippantly to the moody man, his answering low growl causing my stomach to twist with unease.
“You believe me to be the Potion Maker, so who is the Healer and who is the Soldier? "
"The Healer we have already found, my cousin Rena, actually," he stated and then added, "we have not decided on a soldier yet, but we've narrowed down a few options.”
"If I'm to come, I want to pick the soldier," I said as a hasty idea was beginning to form in my mind, and I wasn't sure if it was pure genius or the stupidest thing I had ever done.
"Absolutely not—"
The Kinslayer was cut off by Prince Kairen responding, "Who?"
"My cousin, Branson Sommers. He's been a recruit in the Solerian Army since he was sixteen.
He has begun his trials and he'll need a quest soon as well.
He's strong, an excellent fighter, and most importantly I trust him with my life.
If I'm to go on this quest with you I want someone that I trust as well. "
The prophecy never mentioned who the soldier had to be loyal to.
Prince Kairen pondered this thoughtfully, glancing towards Delmar.
The Kinslayer sighed, tilting his head back in thought.
"Branson Sommers is a good recruit and he fights better than some of those who are already seasoned warriors.
He follows instruction well and is more intelligent than most of the recruits we get.
As much as I dislike agreeing with her, he would be valuable to have along. "
Kairen glanced at me then. "Roan oversees the training of our recruits. If he says Sommers is good, then I trust his word. If you decide to come then your cousin will be the fifth we bring," he hesitated a moment before adding, "anything else you'd like to ask?"
I had so many questions milling through my mind I could have kept them there all night, but one in particular stood out amongst the mayhem of my thoughts. "It says in those last three lines that you need to choose wisely or the person you seek to save will die. Who is it we're attempting to save?"
Prince Kairen stiffened at that question, but it was Roan Delmar who answered, "That's a need to know basis, you agree to come and then maybe we'll tell you. Until then—it isn't any of your business."
Goddess, this man was a prick.
"Okay then," I agreed, my knuckles rapping upon the wooden table, eyes trailing between the two men, "I'll see you after the first trial to let you know my decision."
It was the Kinslayer who smiled at me then, not a kind one, but a smile that sent a shiver up my spine as I held his gaze.
“Until then, little menace.”