Chapter Twenty-Three
Rhylen
Isit in the tall, cushioned chair, watching the fire dance in front of me. I feel restless, waiting for Cailean’s revenge. Stealing his only leverage was a risk, but thankfully it paid off. I twiddle with the dagger in my hands, spinning the blade on the armrest.
It’s only been two days since I’ve heard from Argus. Not entirely unusual, but makes me nervous, nonetheless. Ewan, Irric, and Wyll sit around the desk, while Cohen pours himself a healthy glass of whiskey. They look at the map of Azmerin, as if it will answer the questions that stew in their mind.
“How’s Baelur?” Wyll asks, breaking the silence.
The door opens and shuts quickly before Irric can answer. A deep voice answers Wyll. “Quite well, thank you,”
Baelur smiles weakly as he walks to the table. His father follows hurriedly behind him. Wyll jumps up from the table. Excitement radiates rolls off of him, filling the air with an unmistakable buzz. He grabs Baelur’s extended hand, pulling him into him.
“By the Fates, you’re alive,” Wyll whispers.
“I don’t know how,” Baelur responds. He greets Irric, Cohen, and his brother in the same manner, embracing them all in hugs. I look at him greeting his brother. While there’s dark circles under his eyes, he looks surprisingly well for being on his death bed just a day ago.
“Baelur,” I greet him. He smiles wide.
“We have much to discuss, brother.” He leans over the table, looking at the map spread across. “Captain Cahir is a busy man for his Prince.”
Baelur hastily fills us in on his time away from Halstead, explaining what the prince and captain are up to. Many shipments to and from Oculus. More villages raided. They’re coming down harder on taxes, more rules. There’s a curfew now for many villages.
Prince Cailean has been slowly destroying his kingdom from the inside out. My hands grip the handle tighter, accidentally digging the blade further into the armrest. Many dukes are starting to speak out, only to be silenced by death.
“What’s his endgame?” Wyll asks. He lounges back in his chair, one leg folded as he chews on a fingernail. His eyebrows are knitted together in confusion, as if he’s trying to find the missing pieces to the puzzle. Baelur looks down at the map before looking back up at his friend.
“I’m not sure,” he says. “It doesn’t make sense. Any of it.”
“He’s looking for something,” I speak up. Every village he destroys, he’s pilfered through. The only reason the village makes it out burned and dead, is because he’s angry. Prince Cailean is simple-minded.
He’s a petulant child who throws a fit when he doesn’t get his way. We’ve angered him even worse, stealing back Baelur. It’s one thing to humiliate him by interrupting caravans, stealing what we can, but now that we’ve stolen back the one thing he could use to get back at us?
“So, we need to find what he’s looking for. Beat him to it,” Irric surmises. He rubs his chin in thought. I weigh the options. We don’t even know where to start. Is he searching for those with traces of affinities? My mind flashes to Isla.
“And then what?” Ewan asks. “We ask for what? A simple cease and desist? Make him promise to stop destroying the kingdom? Quit raising taxes?”
There’s a small knock at the door. Isla stands in the doorway with Maisie and Raia. All three women are in men’s trousers and tunics. Their boots hit right below their knees. There’s a seriousness about them as they walk into the room. Isla’s chin juts slightly out, set in determination.
Isla strides up to me. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I brace for whatever she’s about to throw my way. “Hello, love,” I greet her.
“Thief.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” I prod.
We have plans to put into motion, motives to discover, and people to save.
I don’t have time to play into her hands today.
Not that I ever want to, in the first place.
My mind flashes images of her body in the bathtub, and another one of her with her dress half laced.
“Hello,” she huffs, pulling me from wicked daydreams. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Afraid my ears quit as soon as they heard your beautiful, siren voice.”
Isla scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”
“I’m not sure you’ll ever let me forget,” I counter. Isla looks around at the men around the table. She spots Baelur, surprise flickering over her face. Interesting. So, she isn’t fully aware of what her affinity can do. Amos clears his throat. Isla gives him a sheepish look.
“I think I have an idea on what the prince is looking for,” he says. Ewan groans, putting his hands in his face.
“Not this again.”
“Ewan,” Amos protests. “Listen to me. You all think I am some foolish old man, but I’ve heard the rumors.”
“Rumors. Exactly that,” Ewan argues. “There’s no truth to it at all.”
Isla looks at the men in front of us. Dread sinks into the pit of my stomach. I know the rumors Amos is alluding to. It’s all hopes and dreams. An impossible wish. “What rumors? What are you talking about?” Isla asks.
“The legend of the lost prince. The first heir,” Amos supplies.
“The first heir?” Raia speaks up. “He died a long time ago.”
Ewan shakes his head in disbelief, stands up, and walks away from the table.
Wyll and Irric watch him leave, but he doesn’t go far.
He turns his attention to the fireplace, unwilling to partake in the conversation at the table any longer.
I don’t blame him. I want to do the same thing.
This lost prince legend is a fallacy. Something made up by dukes that couldn’t stand the prince and his mother.
“It’s not true,” Amos states.
“Care to elaborate?” Isla asks.
“Before the prince was born, our king was married to someone else. A kind queen. She was patient, and endearing. As beautiful as they come.” Amos looks off into the distance, as if he was watching the queen and king stand in front of him.
“There wasn’t a person in this kingdom that didn’t love her. ”
“Oh,” Maisie interrupts. “I remember her. My parents always talked fondly of her.” Amos gives her a small smile, nodding his head.
“She was the greatest Queen I fear this kingdom will ever see,” he sighs. “The king and queen couldn’t have a child. They tried and they tried. Finally, when all seemed lost, the queen became pregnant. Everyone rejoiced. We were all so excited to hear the news of the coming babe.”
I look around the room. Everyone listened to Amos recount the days when the kingdom was the happiest. Trade thrived.
The land was healthy and producing. We were in a much better position than now.
Tales of our first queen were always told with a wistfulness, a wish that her fate had never befell her. But fate had other plans.
“Unfortunately, the queen passed right after she gave birth to the heir of the kingdom. A happy, strong, beautiful baby boy.” Amos continues. “The king was distraught. His queen was his everything and for the first time, he had to live life without her.
A year later, his council was adamant that he move on. The kingdom, and the prince, needed a queen. We couldn’t mourn forever, so he relented. In came Sarina. A stunning queen, but a far, far cry from Queen Bridget.”
“I fail to see how this reveals a missing prince,” Wyll mutters. His twin elbows him, cutting his eyes at him.
“King Soren, in his grief, agreed to marry Sarina, but he would never love her. Instead, he spent his time away. He took his time visiting each dukedom, checking on them, what they needed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was getting better.
” Amos explains, ignoring Wyll’s outburst. “But then, something unfathomable happened. The prince had passed in the night. Along with his night nurse. Murdered in their sleep.”
Isla gasps. Her hand covers her mouth in horror. “I never knew that,” she states.
Amos lifts a shoulder, “no surprise. The king rushed back, but the baby was gone. Buried next to his mother in her garden. The grief was too much for him. He died under the heartache of it all.”
“So, let me guess,” Raia speaks up. “You’re saying the baby never died? That he just, what? Crawled out of the castle and disappeared?”
It’s what it would seem like,because what other explanation could there be? Everyone sits around the table, pondering what could have possibly happened, when the door slams open. Argus stands looking worn and beat up. “Sorry, I’m late,” he quips.
Argus saunters in, arrogance exudes from him, regardless of his disheveled appearance. Wyll smiles wide, standing up, he embraces him first. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says. “Where have you been?”
“Ach, here and there,” Argus pushes him off of him. He looks at Baelur, shock fills his gaze. “Surprised to see you up and about?”
“Good meds,” Baelur replies in a casual voice. There’s a strange animosity in the air. Argus takes an empty chair next to Irric. He leans back and kicks his muddy boots up on the table.
“Sure, Argus. Make yourself at home,” Wyll scoffs sardonically. Ewan looks at his friend, unable to hide the revulsion, shoving his nasty boots off the table. I glare at Argus. Something is off. Something beyond the sulky appearance Argus always displays.
“How’d you get away?” I ask him, curious of his tale.
What happened? Why did it take two days for Argus to re-appear after simply “distracting” the guards for us?
Anyone should be capable of slipping those incompetent guards.
The back of my neck prickles in suspicion, but Argus sits in his chair with a nonchalant mirth about him.
His lips twist into a sly grin, “I found something interesting while I was searching for my exit.”
Ewan turns his attention back to the table. He wears a bored expression and shifts forward in his seat, “what’s your point Argus? Get to it.”
Argus throws a scathing glance at our friend. “Her wanted posters are popping up all over the kingdom.” He looks at me, “sort of like you, Rhylen.”
“And mine?” Raia asks. Argus narrows his gaze at her, pursing his lips.
“Interesting, so he makes a poster for her, but not you?” Irric looks at Raia. She simply shrugs.
“Our favorite Captain is eager to get his betrothed back,” Argus smirks, pompously.
Isla’s head whips towards Argus at the mention of “betrothed.” She shifts uncomfortably in her place and visibly swallows.
”I beg your pardon,” I growl.
A smug smile fills Argus’ face. “Ach, he’s determined to get her back. In a right state since she’s been gone. At least that’s the rumor.”
Silence fills the room. I stand from the high-backed chair near the fireplace. Stomping towards the table, I hover over Argus. “And what do you propose?”
“We use her,” he replies simply. “Send a letter to the prince, letting him know she’s our captor. They don’t follow our demands, we send them her head.” He says it so casually, as if this was the plan all along. Argus looks up at me, waiting for me to challenge him.
A chorus of “no’s” sound off around the table. Irric and Raia give Argus matching threatening looks, but it’s Isla who speaks up. “Have we not learned our lesson regarding rumors, Argus?”
He narrows his eyes at her, but doesn’t say anything.
She gives him a small smirk. “It’s interesting to me, that you’re so willing to believe the crown’s word regarding who may or may not be betrothed to who, yet you’re so adamant that they’re lying when it comes to what the rebellion is doing. That’s quite confusing, isn’t it?”
Argus’ eyebrows knit together in confusion for a quick second before he quickly masks it. “You’re only saying that because you found a new bed to warm and a new body to pleasure.”
Maisie gasps at his disrespect, while Wyll and Irric jump out of their chairs in outrage, slamming their fists on the table in mirrored movements.
I didn’t think, just moving through the motions.
The dagger I was once playing with slams into his hand, pinning it to the table.
I revel in the screams of pain coming from his mouth.
Bending down to his ear, I threaten him. “Say something, anything, about her again, and it’ll be your throat. Do you understand?”
Argus nods swiftly as he tries to remove my hand from the dagger. “I said, Do. You. Understand?” I grit through my teeth, twisting the dagger a bit more.
”Yes, please,” he begs. “Please, Rhylen. I understand.”
I stand up, leaving the dagger buried in the table. He can pull it out himself.