Chapter Ten
A t first, Cador thought he had something in his eye. Straining his neck, he peered through the barred window behind him, grateful for the disgustingly hot air that brushed his face. He lifted a hand to shield the sun, the irons thwarting him. He squinted.
No, the structure was real, and as they crested the rise, he could only stare as the castle came into sight. Atop high ground across the valley, it towered over the lush spread of forest. There were no signs of fire or drought here, although the heat was unbearable.
Beyond a stone wall and gates, the castle perched on a hill with a spiral path looped around it. The palace rose to incredible heights in rounded towers of unnaturally colored stone that gleamed blue, red, green, and purple.
A lake shimmered in the valley, sunlight glinting off its peaceful surface. Cador would have given almost anything to be able to dive into the clear blue depths. The awful nausea had subsided, but he was sure he was going to sweat to death in the unbearable heat.
Jem’s home was a wonder, though. “This must be your lake.”
“I can’t see.” Jem tugged on his chains, unable to lift himself off the bench high enough to peer through the barred window on his side. Sweat stained his ruined robe. “Is the castle in sight?”
“Yes. And there’s a beautiful lake in the valley below.”
Chains clanged as Jem jolted. “We’re truly here? You can see it?” His face creased in a beaming smile that made Cador want to smile in return. “That’s my lake! Can you see my aviary by the shore? I’m sure we’re too far still.”
“So much color. Even the castle itself.”
Jem’s smile faltered. “Yes. It’s very different from Ergh. We enjoy pretty things. Foolish, I know.”
“It wasn’t an insult.”
Jem didn’t answer, and Cador mourned that fleeting smile. Jem squirmed, his chains rattling. If only Cador could hold him close and calm him. It would be a comfort to them both.
He cursed Bryok again, anger and guilt returning. To see Jem’s desperate terror in his nightmares—both waking and asleep—was hideous. Cador could only imagine the horror of being kidnapped the way he was, and the question of who had put that sack over Jem’s head and stolen him away plagued him.
Could it have been Ruan? Cador’s trusted mentor and friend?
He’d known every person at the Cliffs of Glaw that night.
Even if they’d acted in the interests of the sick children, how could they be so cruel to Jem?
Ruan had called him expendable , and it boiled Cador’s blood to think of it.
Yet he’d thought the same when they’d married.
Kidnap him, cut off his hand—he hadn’t cared.
This was why he couldn’t be surprised to hear Jem tell the villagers that Tas was a danger to the queen. To instruct them to capture Cador. He’d surely do the same. No, he’d felt no surprise, but it had hurt all the same. He worried about what exactly Jem was going to tell his mother.
Was Cador heading into a trap? Not that he had any choice at the moment. Jem had given his word that Cador and Delen could speak to Tas before unpleasant truths were revealed. Yet Cador could hardly blame him if he’d lied.
Worry for Delen returned, and he wondered pointlessly where she and the others were on their journey and if Hedrok was all right.
He cursed himself for arguing with Delen before they’d parted.
Hopefully, they’d arrive within a day or two.
It would be a relief to see Jory and Tas soon, no matter what kind of welcome awaited.
He’d considered running when he’d hidden in the bushes watching Jem’s ill-fated encounter with the villagers, but it was impossible. It was his solemn vow to keep Jem safe and happy at any cost, and he would, damn it.
Once the villagers dared put their hands on Jem, Cador had longed for his spear or sword. It was just as well he’d been vastly outnumbered, particularly since some of them wielded axes. They were only protecting their home and their people.
Once they were down in the valley of thick, leafy trees, the journey went quickly, a chorus of birdsong echoing around them. Jem’s friends welcoming him home. Cador scoffed at himself for the sentimental thought.
He glimpsed a glimmer of the lake through rustling leaves and dreamed again of diving in.
Iron dug into his flesh. Crammed in the roasting wagon, slamming over any ruts in the road, he was desperate to get out.
Their jailer had given them water a few times on the journey, but not nearly enough. His tongue felt swollen with thirst.
The road up to the base of the castle was steep.
It was no wonder Jem was so fit if he’d spent his days going up and down to the lake and his sanctuary.
Distant voices and activity drifted from above like bees buzzing, and when Cador craned his neck, the castle seemed to soar all the way to the fluffy clouds.
How had they constructed such a building?
The Holy Place had been largely austere and simple but for the vaulted murals above the great hall.
Still, Cador could see how men had built it.
This? This had to be the work of the gods.
Cador could see why so many in Onan believed, if this was the kind of magic they witnessed.
They’d passed villages where he’d spotted homes of two or even three levels, but the tallest towers of the Neuvellan castle had to be ten.
How ? Who lived here? It couldn’t only be Jem’s family and the servants.
Surely the whole population of Cador’s bustling home village of Rusk could move in quite comfortably.
Colorful banners fluttered atop the wood and iron gate—a gate the wagon rumbled straight by without so much as a pause before heading down once more. All Cador could see now was the stone wall.
“Where are we going?” Jem strained to see. “We need to go up! To the castle!”
Their jailer ignored his cries, naturally. The wagon banged over a hole, the impact jarring all the way up Cador’s spine. For the time being, he didn’t care where the fuck they were going as long as he got out of this cursed wagon.
Unsurprisingly, their destination was a prison. Carved into the rock, at least this dungeon would perhaps be cool. The castle loomed high, high above. The guards wore plain cotton uniforms and bored expressions as Jem pleaded their case.
“I’m Prince Jowan!”
The woman who’d driven them rolled her eyes, and the guards didn’t even bother responding. As someone led Dybri away, Cador assessed whether he could overpower the guards. Aside from the odd ale-fueled arm wrestle after feasting on fresh boar, he’d never been a fighter.
He was hungry and thirsty and sore. And so damn hot. It seemed to be late afternoon, and there were far too many people around for him to battle on his own.
It was madness that Tas was so near and Cador couldn’t get to him, but waiting seemed the smarter choice. If nothing else, when they finally saw this so-called magistrate, that person would know Jem and free them. He just hoped they wouldn’t be stuck wasting time in a dungeon for too long.
“Please, just get the queen! She’ll tell you!” Jem insisted.
This made the guards laugh uproariously. One said, “Oh yes, we’ll pop right up and speak to the queen.”
“I’ll mention it when I go up for tea,” another said dryly.
“Fine, get any member of the household staff!” Jem sputtered. “Don’t you recognize me?”
They laughed again, although one young woman frowned. “Does look a bit like him under all that grime, from what I recall. Has the curls.”
“Oh, well it must be Prince Jowan.” An older woman nodded at Cador. “And who are you meant to be? The ugly beast from Ergh our prince was forced to marry?”
He made a sarcastic bow. “At your service.”
Jem held up his branded hand. “See! I have the boar tusks and he has a dillywig!” He elbowed Cador, and Cador displayed his palm.
The young woman’s frown deepened. “I’ve never seen anyone with tusks for a marriage brand.”
A man scoffed. “So you truly think this is Prince Jowan and his Ergh barbarian? You want to be the one to go up and tell the master of the guard to come all the way down here to see? For nothing?”
She blanched. “Never mind. Can’t be him, can it?”
“Nah. He’s off on that wasteland if he even made it that far. Still don’t know what the queen could have been thinking. Poor Prince Jowan. After all those years of doing just as he likes, he’s shipped off to Ergh of all places.”
The guards all shuddered as if Ergh was the black depths of the Askorn Sea. One said, “He’ll never survive. That boy’s far too soft.”
“He’s not soft,” Cador snapped.
Ignoring him utterly, the young woman said, “Doubt we’ll ever see the prince again. Seems the gods aren’t happy, and my cousin was saying Ergh must be to blame.”
“Only thing worse than Ergh is Ebrenn.”
The older woman frowned. “Not sure about that. I’ve no love for old King Perran, but he’s civilized, at least.”
“The chieftain has behaved himself here. Must give him credit for that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Suppose not murdering the royal family in their beds is something. I don’t trust a one.” There was grumbled agreement before she added, “If Prince Jowan does return, I’m sure he’ll have some tales to tell.”
“I’m right here!” Jem shouted. “With many tales!”
Quick like a striking sarf, the older woman shoved him hard onto his arse before Cador could step between them. She glowered. “That’s enough. Don’t make your stay more unpleasant than it needs to be.”
Rethinking his decision not to fight their way out, Cador hoisted Jem to his feet, keeping Jem behind him now. If anyone else raised a hand to him, they’d regret it.
Jaw clenched, Cador said, “I understand why you don’t believe us, but he is Prince Jowan, and I’m Cador of Ergh, son of Kenver, the chieftain. Our parents are expecting us. Have you not heard that a rider brought the news of our return?”
The woman yawned widely. “Anyone heard that there’s been news of the prince?”