Chapter 15 #2
“Don’t look so somber,” Ronan says, his voice musical.
Something dark dances in his eyes, but his tone remains light, almost pitiful.
“The female elves always agreed that a night with the prince was worth laying their lives down for. They knew the end result. They often helped your brother twist the knife through their hearts as their mouths pressed to his.”
My insides twist.
Visions of violence and chaos tremor through me.
Ether being found, her head cut from her neck and set on a pike.
Her limbs twisted around her body and hung on a post outside my bedchamber.
Soldiers and mages shackling me and leading me down to the pitch-dark dungeons, where I’ll never see light again…
Guilt swarms me until it is all I feel. A coldness. A heaviness. A helplessness.
She is unprotected. Even with the guard Ronan had sent to discreetly watch her, my unease doesn’t lift. My brother was raised by the king. The chances of my father being any less brutal than the son he raised are…abysmal.
“Ramiel,” Ronan says, his tone now flat.
I don’t meet his gaze, fearing my emotions will show in my eyes.
I’m no good at hiding my true feelings. “Your brother was an amazing and honorable warrior. But he was also human, and he had a reputation to uphold and orders to keep. I served him for his entire life. On his behalf, please don’t think ill of him.
He didn’t go around killing for fun. It was a matter of necessity. ”
Necessity. When is it necessary to kill , if he hadn’t even been threatened?
Or is this Ronan’s opinion?
I shake my head and sigh. I’m less shocked than I probably should be, but something about my brother did always seem strange. Like I wasn’t supposed to notice. It’s the same feeling I get when I think about my mistreatment, or my mother’s death. As if speaking of it would be an act of treason.
My jaw clenches thinking about it, but I do my best not to directly combat Ronan’s plea. He is merely relaying information. Even if he does agree with my brother’s exploits.
“Let’s change the subject,” Ronan says, coughing into his fist. I nod stiffly. “We are on a quest to find a tallup to earn Ether’s favor, aye?”
I nod again. “Will she be all right? I can’t rid myself of this… feeling that something bad will happen to her.”
Ronan reaches across and claps me on the shoulder.
“The soldier will remain at her side exclusively. He serves my family. I’ve known him for years.
He’s a little dense when it comes to reading people, so it’s unlikely he’ll discover Ether is an elf, unless she does something to give herself away.
If she tries to blend in, she’ll be fine.
And Bernadette is there too. What’s there to worry about? ”
I sigh, rubbing the worry from my temples. “I suppose you’re right.” He removes his hand, and Melanie starts into a trot. Claude matches her pace, and we bob along as the air cools and the sky fades from blue to purple. “I haven’t brought a net with me. Are we to catch the fish bare-handed?”
He chuckles. “Tallup can’t be caught. They’re sensed by using magic.”
“Magic,” I mumble. A substance I cannot wield.
Impatience festers in my chest. We still have to fulfill my promise to investigate the death of the Sanvira, when all I want is to return to the castle as soon as possible so Ether can help me learn how to use the invaluable resource.
No mage would teach me, no matter how often I asked.
She is my only hope, so she has to stay safe. She can’t be discovered.
Thanks to her demonstration, I now know what it’s like for magic to work on me.
I still haven’t a clue as to how its power is harnessed, but I know without it, I’ll be useless against a dragon.
Their scales are impervious to metal that isn’t imbued with magic.
Even if I managed to perfectly wield the longsword at Claude’s flank, I’d still be up against Myrn and Steil’s offspring and its scorching-hot hatchling fire.
Magic is my only defense, since shields are not allowed at the Feast.
“What about your magic elixirs? Can I use them to practice?”
He shakes his head. “Those only work on creatures who can already harness magic. It acts as a suppressant to remove already-present magic from the host. They’re like herbal concoctions of sorts.
And they’re rare too.” He pauses, his mouth still open and moving as though he’s forcing himself to continue.
The forest is now blanketed in night, save for the faint blue glow of moonlight.
“But lucky for you, you won’t need magic to find a tallup. I know another way.”
“You seem to love keeping me in suspense.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
He laughs, but this time it’s rough and forced.
I cringe at the way it shatters the fragile silence around us.
“Tallup exist exclusively in Aldorin, which means we’ll first have to go into the magical forest. Beyond the boundaries of the outer villages.
You’ll have no escort other than me to keep you protected, so stealth is a must. Understood? ”
I think about the expression the king made when he’d accused me of venturing as far as Arcanvale, and a part of me believes it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to go even farther. Especially not when there may be rioting at the border…
No. I’m doing this to gain Ether’s trust and repay her for everything I’ve done to her thus far. My father has already sent me away. If something happens, he’ll be expecting it.
“Let us not delay any further,” I say softly, hoping Ronan can’t hear the distress in my voice. “After we confirm everything is in order in Arcanvale, we’ll venture into the forest.”
It takes us the rest of the night to get to the sleeping village.
Arcanvale is just as vivid as it is during the day, though it now bathes in moonlight, and the terra-cotta buildings are filtered under its cool blueish-purple hue.
Wheatgrass springs from buckets lining the cobblestone path, and the ends lilt along with a gentle breeze, bowing to the sky dozing off above us.
It has taken us much longer to reach the village this time, likely due to Claude’s exhaustion.
And maybe also partly due to our lack of conversation.
Ronan answered a few of my questions, but even I had grown sleepy during our trek, so after a while, we rode in silence to keep our energy.
The humidity has decreased, as evidenced by my dry arms and legs. Claude’s dark hair no longer glistens under the intense sunlight, and his muscles are no longer taut from overextending his energy.
We stop at the edge of the village near the visitor’s stables at the inn.
Ronan dismounts first, then I swivel from Claude’s saddle and land on the pebbled ground next to him.
I pull two long orange vegetables from the pouch sitting against his right flank.
He patiently takes them one at a time from my hands, savoring them with satisfying crunches.
Before we leave them to the innkeeper, paying the mustached man ten gold coins for his trouble, I remove my satchel of food and the longsword, which I attach to the fabric strap on my breeches.
The sky is just starting to fill with color as the morning kisses the horizon, and the village remains silent. No merchant leaves her home to flip a sign or prop open a door. I find the absence of people odd, until a chorus of voices bellows from behind us.
“His Highness has returned.”
My arms stiffen as I turn to face the mages.
Like the court mages, their faces are covered, but instead of royal silk, off-white bandages encircle their heads so their beady eyes are visible.
There are eight or so, standing in a staggered, disorganized pattern.
The light from a lantern hanging over the inn’s front is all that separates them from the darkness. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Normally, I’d be comfortable with mages. They stand in shadows all over the castle, watching over and loyally protecting the throne. Several had humored me as a child, even sided with me sometimes when Xavelor and I played chase.
The king’s mages are entrusted to maintain order within the human side of Arioch.
Any human who uses magic eventually becomes a mage, and is required to serve the throne.
But these mages… They are rebels. They have never served the throne, and the mages who retire are only permitted to do so when they die.
And as much as I dislike my father and his ways, these creatures are far more unpredictable and dangerous.
Their immediate recognition of my royal (or, rather, half royal) blood sends a wave of fear over my arms.
Ronan grips my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. His eyebrows knit together over sharp brown eyes. He nods once, affirming that he knows what to do here, how to respond. He must’ve dealt with many rogue magic-users in his service to Xavelor.
He steps forward and, for the first time since our introduction, his appearance befits that of a duke’s son. Sturdy shoulders cocked back, he stands with confidence. Pale hands rest firmly on his sides, his body facing the creatures cloaked in black.
“We heard of an unfortunate death, occurring around the time of our visit yesterday,” Ronan explains, his voice hard and poised with authority. “We’ve returned to investigate this rumor.”
The mages remain as rigid as statues before us, not reacting to his words. Perhaps they didn’t hear him. I’ve heard of mages losing their hearing, sight, and other senses once they’ve used too much magic.
“You need not explain who killed it,” Ronan continues, his voice ever the unwavering calm.
Too calm. Perhaps he is used to these situations, or maybe he’s hiding something far colder beneath his practiced dispassion.
I’m unfamiliar with this version of him.
“We simply need to know if this rumor is true. Has one of the Sanvira died here?”