6. Haldric
six
Haldric
It was a surreal experience to walk through the elaborate suite of rooms Duchess Janelle had told him used to be his quarters in the palace.
Any one of the half-dozen chambers could have fit his and Benjin’s entire cottage within it.
He had far more tables and chairs and sofas than he knew what to do with, not to mention heaps of unfamiliar clothes, a luxurious soaking tub, and a bed so massive he feared he might lose himself in it.
Flopping onto the plush mattress after his visit to see Benjin in the dungeons, a wave of homesickness washed over him.
Goddess’ mercy, how he longed for his simple life near Gerald’s Spring, where his biggest concern most days had been coaxing Benjin out of bed or thwarting wild animals from ravaging his garden.
His life there had been perfect…even if it had all been some elaborate lie.
Exhaling a deep breath, he forced himself to rise, firming his shoulders and straightening his back. He would not spend any more time sitting here feeling sorry for himself. There’d been quite enough of that the past few days during the trip to Revesole and his arrival at the palace.
Tomorrow morning, Grand Magus Dexil would perform the ritual to undo the alleged curse, and Haldric would finally have the answers he craved. All he could do tonight was try to relax.
The tub seemed a good enough way to take his mind off things. He considered asking the guards to have someone bring water, but if he’d ever been used to such a thing, he certainly wasn’t now. The thought of forcing anyone out of bed to come wait on him left him unsettled.
Instead, he drew upon his runeflame, relishing the buzz of magic along his fingertips. A simple Conjuration filled the tub with water while an Alteration heated it until wisps of steam curled from its surface.
He probably shouldn’t waste his strength on such frivolous things when Goddess only knew what tomorrow might bring. But as he sank into the near-scalding liquid, he let out a contented sigh. If his lack of restraint cost him, it would have been well worth it.
Undoing the cord binding his long black hair, he set about washing off the grime from travel. As he scrubbed himself clean, an image of Benjin’s dirty, forlorn form flashed before his eyes, and fresh guilt soured his gut.
While Haldric was here enjoying the lap of luxury, Benjin was suffering in some cell, all but convicted of a crime he had no recollection of committing.
Staring into his familiar pale eyes tonight, Haldric was certain of at least that much.
If Benjin really had cursed him, it was a different Benjin than the one he loved.
That was a small comfort though. Guilty or not, Benjin was suffering, and Haldric’s inaction had put him there. He’d betrayed the person he loved the most.
The person you think you love the most, an insidious voice whispered in the back of his mind.
He dunked his head beneath the water, intensifying his scrubbing.
If only he could wash away his thoughts and doubts as easily as the grime from the past few days of travel. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Once he’d finished in the tub, he channeled more runeflame to clear away the used water and dressed himself in the simplest set of nightclothes he could find. Back in Gerald’s Spring, the soft cloth likely would’ve fetched enough silver sestas to feed Benjin and him for a month or more.
Putting out the torches and candles lighting the room with a gust of wind, he settled into bed, doing his best to cast Benjin from his mind. Sleep proved slow to come, and when it finally did, it was plagued by half-remembered nightmares and forgotten memories, the two nearly indistinguishable.
Haldric awoke the next morning to insistent rapping on his door. “I’m awake, I’m awake!” he called irritably, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stumbling out of bed.
“Glad to hear it,” his aunt’s gruff voice called through the closed door. “Make yourself decent. It’s time.”
Apprehension curled through Haldric, his pulse quickening as he grabbed the first set of clothes he could find. He went to tug on the awful blue dress tunic, then thought better of it and scoured his room for something a bit less garish.
Dressed in a respectable leather jerkin embossed with an acceptable level of swirling filigree, he emerged into the hall to find Janelle there along with Marshal Fendrel and a fresh set of guards he didn’t recognize.
During the trip north to Revesole, he’d learned that Fendrel was the head of the palace guard. He seemed to have taken the prince’s disappearance as a personal failing. Now that Haldric was back, the stern man rarely let him out of his sight.
“Is all this really necessary?” Haldric gestured to Fendrel and the guards. “Surely, I’m safe now here in the palace, and I believe I’ve proven by now that I’m not going to run.”
“You are the prince and royal heir, not some backwater farmer,” Janelle said. “There are those who might see advantage in harming you. And given your father’s…condition…”
She stopped, trailing off. Haldric glanced at her, curious even as the mention of his father spiked his already frayed nerves. He dreaded meeting his parents and had been grateful the king hadn’t summoned him the instant he arrived yesterday.
“Condition?” he asked.
Janelle pressed her lips together, refusing to answer. Both her and Grand Magus Dexil had been tightlipped during their return to the palace, fearful of overwhelming him before he regained his full memories. Haldric let it drop, focusing instead on the space around him.
He hadn’t experienced much of the palace yet beyond his own quarters and the dungeons, but what he had seen put Baron Simmons’ rural keep to shame.
Though the Ilthabardian aesthetic was far more austere than the gold and marble preferred by the Khordanite nobles to the east or the colorful silks and intricately carved woods of the Sanjarkan merchants to the south, the simple stone adorned with banners depicting famous warriors and ancient battles possessed its own harsh beauty.
Like Ilthabard itself, function generally ruled over fashion…
his garish blue dress tunic notwithstanding.
“What will happen once we get there?” he asked.
They passed a tapestry depicting a man wielding two shields shimmering with pale soulflame fending off what looked like an entire army on his own.
Such scenes were a relic of Ilthabard’s glory days, when the martial schools of the Akkadia still trained new generations of soulflame warriors to defend the kingdom.
But that had been centuries ago. Little remained of the Akkadia now except rubble and myth—just another symbol of Ilthabard’s decline.
Janelle glanced at him, a notch appearing in her brow. “We’ve been over this. Dexil will perform the ritual to restore your lost memories so we can put this whole nasty business behind us.”
“What will the ritual be like?”
“Honestly, Haldric, I have no idea. I’m not a mage like you or Dexil. My expertise lies in strategy and battle, not arcane rituals.” Her annoyance softened when she glanced over and caught him chewing on his lip. “Though Dexil assures me it will be perfectly harmless.”
Harmless was a far cry from painless, and somehow Haldric doubted that regaining a lifetime’s worth of altered memories would be as simple as snapping your fingers. Still, he kept his doubts to himself.
“And what about after?” he asked, giving voice to his other growing source of concern. “What happens once our memories are restored?”
His aunt appeared taken aback by the question. “Well,” she said after a lengthy pause. “I suppose you return to living your life.”
She shared a glance with Fendrel that seemed laced with hidden meaning, though Haldric couldn’t decipher what.
Clearly, there was something—likely multiple somethings—that they weren’t telling him about his former life as a prince.
Yet again, he decided not to press. He was nervous enough as it was.
His princely duties could wait until after he’d regained his memories.
“And Benjin?”
At the mention of his husband’s name, Janelle’s expression hardened. “If he’s innocent, he’ll be released. If not, he will stand trial for his crimes.”
Haldric swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. He could guess what the likely punishment for cursing and kidnapping a prince would be. Whatever Benjin may or may not have done, Haldric had no intention of letting that happen.
I got us into this, Benjin, and I swear to the Goddess, I’ll get us both out of it.
They passed a pair of royal guards dressed in more ornate armor than the others he’d seen, their gold and silver accents complementing the usual golden trim.
Frowning, he glanced about the unfamiliar corridor.
This section of the palace looked better suited for hosting nobles than performing magical rituals.
“Is this where the ritual’s supposed to take place?” he asked.
“We have one quick stop to make first.” Janelle’s fingers twitched as though they yearned to grip her axes, a tell Haldric had come to associate with her feeling nervous. “Your father wishes to speak with you beforehand.”
Haldric jerked to a halt in the middle of the hall. The rest of his escort halted a few paces further ahead. “You mean the king?”
“Very good,” she said dryly. “I see you studied up on what it means to be an Ilthabardian prince during the carriage ride.” When he still didn’t move, she sighed. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Haldric. He knows your memories haven’t returned yet. All he wants is to see that you’re safe.”