19. Nicholas
19
Nicholas
A t my desk, in a room surrounded by barrels containing dozens of rolled up maps, cobwebs strung along the more outdated versions, I sat writing correspondence to allied kingdoms. Sometimes I retreated to this tiny space as opposed to my official office because the magnitude of issues felt smaller somehow. Less atmosphere for corroding problems to suffocate.
Responsibility could feel crippling at times.
I skimmed the letter in my hands again. King Amir Taja had been requesting increased trade lately. Iron from my mines, in almost any form—which was a new addendum to the usual—in exchange for their imported delicacy of miraja fruit. A versatile crop with a sweet, pink interior, wrapped in a green rind with thick leaves coiled around itself. The rind and leaves were used by many shops to create paper pulp, on top of being a nutritious snack.
My population possessed many Windguardian citizens, and thus, plenty of businesses operated based on resources they’d grown up around. I had no problem providing that to my people, but similar to all trade agreements, I limited iron exports.
Knowing the king’s stance on magic, and the fact that iron held magic suppressing properties, it wasn’t surprising that he wanted his kingdom overflowing with the metal. Here, however, we used the abundance of iron for many things, but always balanced the distribution with other metals such as steel, copper, etc.
Conceptually, magic hardly existed in Highcrest—but I knew better. My father had sought wise counsel on the issue. During his reign, he decreed that magic must survive in our kingdom. To be left without any would only leave us susceptible to those with that power.
A system had been put in place within the castle. Blessings were bestowed upon children from families who wished it. Though, given the stigma on the issue, few dared to expose their views by claiming them.
Occasionally, Nila, our previous resident transference caster, would be sent into the kingdom to bestow and keep record. If accounts were correctly recorded, about one in every dozen citizens possessed a kernel of magic today, given figures on descendants’ lineage and those who received blessings. Unfortunately, with Nila stepping away, I’d yet to find a replacement wielder with the gift of transference. It was on my list of things to get to.
A small set of magic supporters began holding meetings in various cities and towns across the kingdom, and they were granted access to some of the Crown’s treasury to fund their cause. I hoped that would encourage a wielder to step into the vacant role Nila left.
Ricks had attempted to sway my support, encouraging me to reserve funds for other causes he deemed “ more worthy”. That sentiment always had me grinding my teeth. Deep-rooted resentment left to fester could divide a kingdom greater than a war. Ricks held a position of authority and respect, and while I had never shied away from making my stance known, I worried that those who looked up to him would follow his example. A small fear I kept tucked away, but made sure to keep an eye on.
Having Commander Druller, a man within my inner circle who shone as a beacon of strength for the kingdom, be vocal alongside me against that prejudice, helped me feel supported on the issue. Small steps that would get us closer to the dream of an undivided Highcrest where magic folk and non-wielders alike could thrive.
As I continued reading King Taja’s letter, I fell to the part where he wished me congratulations on the hunt for a wife.
My jaw tensed.
Footsteps gained volume until they reached my door, and a knock resounded.
“Sire?” Sebastian called.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and my fortified commander entered. “We found the murderer of the man on the beach.”
I lowered the letter, casting my gaze firmly upon him as I straightened, listening intently.
“Just some drunken brawl. He’s in the dungeons now. Put up quite a fight with my men and hasn’t been conscious since.”
“I wish to see him.” I rose from my chair, wood scraping against the marble floor.
“For what purpose, Your Highness? I doubt he’ll survive his injuries through the night.” His face wrinkled, obviously thinking it a waste of my time. Could always rely on him for his honesty; through words or unrestrained facial expressions.
“Then I better get to him quickly.”
Seb might find it strange that a man of my rank would personally inquire about a singular murder, but it was more than that. Something fishy was going on by those docks—no pun intended—and any additional information was valuable. This suspect could reveal something pertinent to add to the well of knowledge I’d recently acquired.
In one night, a disguised prince and a femme fatale uncovered an operation with a shielded ship. I didn’t want to disparage my guardsmen, but I’d found that seeking answers myself proved more informative.
My feet carried me effortlessly down the halls and corridors that led to the dungeons. As we descended further into the depths of the castle, shivers erupted over my skin. The cold thrived down here. It tracked that my father heavily believed in incarceration and had no problem frequenting this level. As a boy, he’d often bring me along. Wanted to teach me why those who got out of control deserved to be shackled to this place. The torches on the walls fought every second not to lose the battle against the chill, their flames licking and struggling to cling to life.
Two guardsmen stood at the entrance of the long, foreboding hallway. They nodded in greeting, and I extended my hand in which they placed the iron keyring. I whipped around to come face-to-face with Sebastian, who had followed. “Remain here with the guards.”
“Your Highness, I should go w—”
My raised hand silenced him. “I’ll be but a few minutes. Plus, I think I can defend myself against an unconscious man.” I winked, then clapped him on the shoulder, hoping to loosen the tension gathered at his shoulders.
He laughed, but the joy didn’t reach his eyes. He probably remembered the little boy who fled up the stairs the moment his father dismissed him. I might still be young at twenty-four years of age, but that boy had become a man capable of handling a prisoner interrogation. Though, maybe not in the same vicious way my father loved so much. Still, I couldn’t mask that it pricked me a little to see the pity in his softened eyes that were usually hard as stone.
Ignoring it, I pressed toward the cells. The whistle of the wind played through the decaying walls, crumbled stone dusting the floor. The stench of death and decay had rooted itself so deeply that I always imagined the wind found its way in here, only to weep. To mourn for the life and health that would never quite reach.
When my gaze fell upon the man laying across the cell floor, not even on the stone bench, my hope dampened. The keys jingled together, the sound almost muted by the chilly moisture in the air. I turned the rusted lock, and it opened with a thud. The bars screeched as they swung on their rusty hinges.
The man didn’t stir. Where any hair remained on his head, it’d silvered from age. His skin looked weathered and worn, an array of age spots and dirt scattering his fair complexion. He cradled his body, hugging himself against the cold. The joints on his fingers whitened from the tense grip of the well-worn, oversized tunic.
A flicker of hope swelled within me. He was conscious.
I stepped inside, my boots scuffing against the stone, and the man jolted to see who had come near. The whites of his milky blue eyes shot to mine, and through his gasps of terror at my closeness, I offered consolation.
“It’s alright, I’m not here to hurt you.” I held my hands up in a placating way, bearing no weapons.
It took him a moment to look me over, but he started to calm once he’d assessed for himself. Dried blood smeared down his forehead from a nasty gash, and his cheeks were cut up and bruised. How this old man had put up such a fight against my guards was awe-inspiring.
“Why did you kill that man on the beach?” I asked.
His pale lips fumbled. “I-I, w-what man?”
Anyone with a soul would feel empathy for this man in such a frightened, weakened state. Generally, those caught for their bad actions resorted to lying about it. Despite already being imprisoned, a classic tactic was deny, deny, deny. Yet the flicker of confusion in this man’s stuttering question looked convincingly genuine. “Was anyone else with you on the beach that night?” Changing the question to one with incriminating language would further this along.
His coarse, sparse eyebrows pinched together, trying to decipher my question. “I don’t g-go near the beach, Y-Your Highness. Can’t sw–swim.”
I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that he realized who I was. Depending how he felt toward the Crown would determine how much truth he would share.
“What’s your name?”
“Heathson.” He shivered, clutching his arms tighter. The movement called my attention. His bulging knuckles were white, but nothing more. No sign of cuts, bruises, or blood. My stomach turned over on itself. Murderer or not, a feeble man lay in agony before me, shivering from an unholy holding cell. I loosed the knot of my navy cape and tossed it over him like a blanket.
“Why did you attack my guards, Heathson?”
“I-I didn’t, Your Highness, I w-would never.” The man clutched my cape like a buoy in stormy waters.
“Your Highness,” Commander Druller appeared with whisper-like silence. “Reports of another abduction have just come in.”
Shit . I glanced at the trembling man. “I’ll send a healer to tend to that gash on your head.” I left the cell and locked it. Commander Druller fell into step beside me, my mind shifting to the recent revelation. “Tell me everything.”