Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ASTER
“ T o accuse the Avendatis council of such thievery would all but be grounds for war itself,” said my chancellor, Wyll, who sat at my right hand. Verdantis was in a peculiar situation with our privy council—the king had not yet passed, but it was I, the crown prince, who would step in during his bedrest. My mother was, gods rest her damned soul, a fine replacement, but she decided death was a sweeter fate than watching her husband meet a slower, more painful end.
I toyed with one of the sacrificial stones between loose fingers, watching the stained-glass sunlight bleed through the sheer gem. To my left with Erynna, and across from her was Archmage Oren from our desert lands. Verdantium was a powerful force and a massive kingdom nation. The largest, if I was being forthright, but large did not equate to power.
Our magic did. And, unfortunately for me, our magic was this fleeting, toxic little bug that would not be squashed. Would not be dominated. It was only a matter of time before a coup came aimed at my head.
“It is either King Lucif and his whore queen, or it is somebody on their guard,” Erynna said before biting the tip of her tongue. I gave her a knowing look, but she didn’t need more than that. She gave a curt nod and bowed her head toward the table.
“I care little about the ease with which a queen is bedded,” I muttered and leaned back into my seat, pointing the gem at Archmage Oren. His dark eyes chased after the glistening light that bounced from the jagged edges. “That is Archmage Oren’s prerogative. Not mine.”
“With or without morality, the question matters not to me,” Archmage Oren said, drawing on each word as if he were rationing every final breath he had on these wretched planes. I sighed, rolling my shoulders as I prepared for the monolith of his monologue. These men were loyal to my father, and by extension loyal to Erynna and I. But they were not my allies. If given the proper motivation, I had no doubts they would slice my jugular in search of a cure for the wretched disease that plagued the Sinclair crown—and our very world.
If it weren’t for the consequence of a missing heir, I’m certain the king’s chancellor would have already done so before my father became bedridden. At the very least, each of us agreed that the king’s brother was somehow less suitable for reign than his sickly son, but my cousin divided the line in a far riskier way.
My ears rang as reality faded back into focus. “… so, young prince,” Archmage Oren said breathlessly—as if it were a jab to my status as heir, as if I were not eight and twenty with years ahead of me, “it is with utmost importance that while Avendatis’s stance on virtue differs from ours, it should not be grounds for such blatant accusations.”
Here I grinned, but it was the king’s chancellor who spoke for me. “No, Archmage Oren. It is of the utmost importance that we hear our crown prince’s concerns as if he were already king.”
The lord’s face contorted into a sick frown, but he turned his nose away from both my sister and I as he huffed and puffed. I set the sacrificial stone on the table, tapping on it thrice. “Lord Chancellor Wylliam is right. I am to be king one day—one day very soon?—”
“Without an heir or queen consort to reign alongside you, may I add,” Archmage Oren muttered. “That is not the will of our gods.”
“Is it the will of our gods, the very ones who abandoned us, or is that the will of our traditions that have yet to be tested?” I said right back with the harshest bite in my tone. If I hadn’t seen Archmage Oren red in the face with rage before, I did today. I breathed out to mellow my frustrations and turned to the lord chancellor. “If we are to understand the plague that has killed every king in Verdantis across the past ten decades, we must take hold of every lead. Avendatis is but a train’s ride away, and I am certain their king is an honest enough man to sit down with me and discuss the issue of this cursed mirror. The men in question are his children, after all.”
Erynna hummed and leaned forward, resting her palm flat against the wooden tabletop. “There is the issue of our prisoner, Your Greatness. Yet another lead that has stumbled upon your lap.”
Lord Chancellor Wylliam coughed on his wine across the table, sliding it closer to the center and shaking his head. “The prisoner is not a suitable lead.”
My gaze turned from my sister to the chancellor with an arched brow. “Elaborate, Lord Chancellor. Enlighten me on why the only shadow-wielding arcanist outside of my family, across the known kingdoms, is not a suitable lead?”
“Because she is no arcanist,” Wylliam said with a scoff.
“And she is a woman,” Archmage Oren muttered. The outcry was enough for me to snap my attention onto the old man, to which he stiffened. “I only mean that we understand this plague afflicts men differently than it afflicts women, Your Greatness. It brings you power at the risk of death, whereas it brings Erynna and all other Sinclair-bred women limited reach and dangerous consequences that are far more dire than death. Infertility, for one. Is that not why Erynna is unfit to reign?”
“The horror,” Erynna muttered and groaned, “considering all women are good for is being bred and eating bread. Is that correct, Archmage Oren?”
I gritted my teeth, aiming at Erynna to catch her frown etched so deeply into her face I thought it might hurt. If I could speak plainly and had the power to do so, I’d dismiss each of them, revoke the land gifted to them by the crown, and put Erynna into the line of succession. Alas, I was not yet king.
And they were not yet ready for my wrath.
So, again, I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “We will continue investigating the matter of the Kyllingham siblings. Morgana is more than a suitable lead. Galen Kyllingham had once attracted the attention of the crown for very similar reasons. We would be fools to ignore such a gift outside of our bloodline. Perhaps it does not plague her in the same way.”
“A gift indeed,” came a ringing voice from the doorway after they swung open. My attention clicked onto Atlas as he breached through the entryway and descended the shallow steps into the recess that our long table was situated within. He took his seat at the opposite end of the table, grin stretched ear-to-ear. “Hello, Your Grace. I must say the Verdana Estate is lovely, if a bit cold. I may choose against such a private, lavish home so I do not miss such important meetings.”
I cleared my throat. “Atlas. It is good to see you home so soon.”
“Three years,” he said.
“Has it been that long already?”
“Who is counting, anyway?” Atlas said with a sickly-sweet smile. “So, this prisoner wields the shadows too?”
I glared in silence, the room an echoing chamber of unspoken frustration and disgust. Atlas was vile, but from an outsider looking in, he was charming. He didn’t bend a knee to our traditions, something we often shared in common, but his acts of rebellion often resulted in loss so great it couldn’t be considered a win. He had dark, twisted opinions, and the kingdom was a worse place for it.
“Don’t look so glum, cousin. For once, we are agreed. It would be a shame to let up such potential. After all, your cure is a priority, is it not?”
Our cure.
There was one crucial difference between Atlas and I. He sought to find a way to master this darkness within us—I sought a way to end it. We were not the same, and we never would be.
“In fact, it may be wise to run our own tests on her blood,” Atlas said, turning his attention to the Lord Chancellor and Archmage Oren. My face turned cold, and although I shook my head, the others hummed in intrigue.
“It may be best to investigate it further, yes,” Archmage Oren said with the first hint of youth I’d heard in years. It was as if this danger invigorated him. “Lord Chancellor can call upon the royal doctor. They can be here by the morning, no doubt.”
“No—” Erynna muttered, getting silenced by the chancellor.
“Yes,” Wylliam hummed. “It may be wise indeed. What is it the crown prince had in mind for her, anyway?”
“Experimentation will get us nowhere in a timely manner,” I barked with a stern edge to my voice. Atlas beamed at my anger.
“What’s wrong, cousin? You’ve undergone similar tests. If she’s worth her weight, she’ll survive, right?”
I almost shuddered, pointing daggered glares at him with nothing to conceal it with. All of their eyes were on me now, and only one of them was a friend. I was crown prince, but I was not king. In this situation, Lord Chancellor Wylliam had more power than I did. He was the king’s aid, and as such, he spoke for him in moments where silence prevailed.
It was broken. It was dangerous. But, more than anything, it made me feel powerless.
“Your Greatness, it would be unwise to keep her here and not put her through similar trials you and your sister underwent,” whispered Wyll.
“My sister and I underwent such experimentations and tests after years of training. This woman has never wielded more than a blade, let alone the magic within her.”
“Intentionally, at least,” Erynna quickly added. “The prince has a point.”
“Then what is it you suggest we do?” Archmage Oren drawled.
I turned my nose toward my sister and sighed, her stare heavily glued to mine. She nodded once, understanding the corner we’d just been backed into. “Give us until the equinox to train her.”
“Six months?” Atlas barked, clapping his hand as laughter drowned the silence. “That is rich, cousin. Even coming from you.”
I faced him, standing with my palms braced on the table. The others remained silent, but my cousin did not falter. He seemed to enjoy my anger. “Six months,” I repeated. “We will prepare her for these tests, and they will be done at the University of Arcane Magics where the proper staff are ready if she is harmed.”
Atlas leaned forward. “Careful, Prince Aster. If I were any more daft, I’d argue you’ve grown soft since your father’s bedridden state. What happened to the cruel hand that sought the throne?”
I smirked, my canine poking through, but there was no joy here. This was a threat, and Atlas had made it in front of a council I could already not trust. “She is a prisoner, Atlas. Mine, in fact. I will do with her as I see fit, and unfortunately for you and your sadistic desires, I do not intend to let her perish without a fighting chance. Not with such valuable magic coursing through her veins.”
“Whatever you say, Prince Aster.” Atlas leaned back in his chair, an elbow pressed over the plush armrest. “I think I speak for our council when I say your time is ticking. By the looks of it, you don’t have as fruitful a life ahead of you as your father has,” he said, gaze lingering on the raven swirls that poked out between my gloves and sleeve.
“Six months then,” Lord Chancellor Wylliam said. “That gives you ample time to investigate the matter in Avendatis, on a more positive note. In the meantime, the doctors should test her blood. Perhaps she is of Sinclair blood after all.”
“Indeed,” came Archmage Oren.
“Indeed,” I muttered. Six months. “But I will be the one to monitor her medical examinations. Nobody else is permitted to interfere with her. Have I made myself clear?”
They all nodded—all except Atlas. He grinned.
“Have I made myself clear, Prince Atlas?”
“Of course, cousin.” He flourished his hand around. “I would never dare defy your orders.”
Exactly 183 days, when I was given sixteen years to merely prepare for such tests. Morgana might face a similar fate to her brother, gods rest his soul.
The Kyllingham bloodline had a similar curse. Only hers—of bloodshed and unrighteous death—was brought on by a crown. Mine was brought on by a god.
I couldn’t say which was worse. Despite this, my heart ached for Morgana Kyllingham. My heart raced for the actions of those before me, and the hatred it would brew between what could be a powerful ally.
Gods. I’m royally screwed.