The Phoenix Prince

by Kristen Gupton

“I’ll get it done, no need to worry.”

  “I won’t worry, not one bit,” Peirte snorted before straightening up and moving back toward the door. “You won’t dare let me down.”

  Chapter 3

  The gray morning light pushed its way into Keiran’s room through the curtains. Jerris groaned and opened his eyes. He’d slept the entire night in the chair, the fire long since burned out. He rose stiffly and stretched, looking around to see Keiran exactly where he’d been put the night before. The young guard shuffled over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to pat the center of Keiran’s chest.

  The prince didn’t respond in the least. Jerris patted again, before jostling Keiran for several moments. He knew it was more than a little difficult to get the man to wake up anymore. The days of Keiran springing out of bed, ready to go, were long over.

  Finally, one of his green eyes made a minor appearance. Keiran drew in a long, shuddering breath and draped his left arm over his eyes. “Why won’t anyone just let me sleep?”

  Jerris reached out to grab Keiran’s arm and pulled it away from the prince’s face, generally being a nuisance. It was no small task to get Keiran going, but constant harassment eventually worked. “I did let you sleep. In fact, I’m the one that put you in bed last night, thank you very much.”

  Keiran made some odd sound and then dragged his body into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. “Oh God, you didn’t sleep with me, did you? That’s really the last sort of rumor I need going around, Jerris.”

  “Relax,” he snorted back, standing and cracking his knuckles. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last woman in the world, Keir. Your virtue remains flawlessly intact.”

  “M’not a woman.”

  Jerris shrugged and turned away, looking over at the cold fireplace. “We used to sleep in the same bed all the time when we were kids. You didn’t have a problem with it then. You’ve changed, Keir, and I’m not sure it’s for the better.”

  “We were five, Jerris,” Keiran replied, giving a wry smile. “We all change, it’s called growing up. I seem to remember that you liked to eat worms when we were that age, too. Now as a grown man, I’m sure that’s no longer in your repertoire.”

  Jerris gave a suitably indignant scoff. “Who’s to say that I don’t? You never savored the delights of worms, from what I recall, so you don’t know what you’re missing out on, Keir. Regardless, I’ll have you know that I did my duty and sat over there, in that chair, and guarded you all night long. Again, after putting you in bed so that you wouldn’t be any more messed up in the morning than you already are.”

  “A guard sitting up being vigilant? There’s a novel concept. Wait until your father hears of this breakthrough that you’ve made. I’m sure he’ll be quite proud,” Keiran replied, giving his crooked smile and running his hands through his hair. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up, but quickly sat back down again as his world spun and his strength evaporated.

  Jerris turned around and frowned, giving Keiran the once over. He stepped closer and crossed his arms over his chest. Corina had told him several times that Keiran had been increasingly wobbly when he first got up in the morning. Some days, she claimed, it took him three or four times to get up and stay standing. It wasn’t something he’d seen for himself, and he didn’t like in the least.

  “Are you okay?”

  Keiran shook his head and pressed his hands against his eyes, grunting. When he dropped them back to his lap, his complexion had gone waxy. He’d been honestly hoping not to waver like that in front of his friend. The prince generally thought he did a good show of hiding how he felt physically from Jerris most of the time. It was damaging to his pride, so he muttered out the first excuse that cropped up. “Hung over, that’s all.”

  There were several moments of silence as Jerris studied him. Though he and Keiran tended to tease one another and point out each other’s faults, the guard restrained himself. He knew good and well that Keiran hadn’t had near enough to drink the night before to suffer a hangover; much less one so bad he couldn’t get up.

  Jerris forced up a smile and put a hand on Keiran’s shoulder. “Aye, I’m sure that’s it. That was some pretty powerful stuff last night. Need some help downstairs?”

  “I’m all right,” Keiran said quietly, shaking his head again. He looked a little troubled, realizing that Jerris was seeing right through him. Once more he attempted to get up, this time managing to stay on his feet.

  “All right then. I’ll step out and give you a little while to get changed and what not. Actually, I’ll go do the same. I’ll see you shortly.” Jerris gave Keiran one more thinly disguised inspection before heading out of the room. He was reluctant to leave at all, but he knew he had to give Keiran privacy, even if he feared that letting him out of his sight meant he could come to any harm. Not just from the potential threat of Peirte’s questionable intentions, but from succumbing to his deteriorating constitution.

  Keiran watched him go and then got ready for the day. He spent an hour sitting in his bathtub, falling back asleep and nearly slipping under the water a few times. After the fourth time he startled himself awake, he decided enough was enough and got out. Once shaved and dressed, he opened his door to find Corina right on the other side. He wondered how long she’d been waiting, and wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that she’d been there since Jerris had left earlier.

  “Good morning, Keiran. How are you feeling?” she asked, taking his arm and leading him down the hall toward the stairs. The old woman was relieved that he’d finally emerged.

  “Can’t complain.” Keiran moved along at her side, used to her literally dragging him off to breakfast much of the time. He’d managed past most of his initial grogginess, mind clearing to the point where he was thinking into the near future. “Do I have things to do today? People waiting to see me or what not?”

  She nodded as they started down the stairs, tightening her grip on him instinctively. “Aye, you have several appointments today. The preparations are moving forward. First, though, you’re having breakfast. You won’t see a one of them until you’ve gotten something in your stomach.”

  His stomach actually knotted at the thought of sitting down and eating. He would have been all right with skipping out on breakfast all together, but he knew that she’d never allow it. Keiran opted to play along. “And what am I having this morning?”

  “I’ve had them make a little of everything. Surely, you’ll find something on the table to get down. I know you don’t like me pointing out anything, but you hardly ate last night, and I will make your life hell until you have a sufficient meal.” Corina got him all the way into the dining room and stood next to him as he dropped into his chair.

  Keiran looked up at her and quirked a brow, fully aware that she wasn’t joking and was definitely capable of following up on her threat. Pointing out how wasteful it was to have the cooks make as large a spread as they had seemed imprudent. He may have been full grown, but Corina wasn’t above swatting him in the back of the head now and then. The prince reached out and dragged over a plate of plain toast. It seemed like as good a place as any to start, and relatively inoffensive to his stomach.

  Corina relaxed a little when she saw that he was going to comply and moved to sit across from him. She would keep an eye on him to ensure that he didn’t leave before she was satisfied.

  When she had run into Jerris outside of Keiran’s door earlier, he’d quietly told her what he’d seen that morning. The two deliberated momentarily on what, if anything, they could do about it. The verdict had been to at least get him to eat. What else could they do before treading into unethical waters? She’d already come too close to doing that the night before.

  Keiran ate some and drank a goblet of left over blood-wine from the night before. With the stale drink down, he perked a bit and felt like he was up to the tasks at hand. He departed the dining room with Corina’s blessing, and he went to land in t
he throne, getting down to it.

  There was a stream of people that filtered through the room before him. Most were event planners figuring out his preferences for the assorted things scheduled to happen over the following days. The prince was beyond really caring enough to have an opinion on many of the things they questioned him about, but he tried to be a good sport. After having his father screaming over everything, he couldn’t blame them for trying to be thorough. He figured they’d realize he was considerably more laid back in short order.

  Eventually, the court jeweler arrived to fit Keiran for a ring that he’d be given to wear at his coronation. There was a general coat of arms for the Sipesh family that Keiran, like all in his family before him, had branded onto his right upper arm at birth. However, there were individual seals for each king in the bloodline. The seals were made up of the images of two animals. One was chosen by the new king himself, the second was chosen by the church. Keiran’s father’s seal and ring had been of a dragon and a lion. The prince had always rolled his eyes at the thought. His father was about the furthest thing from a lion, and as undragon-like as they came. Keiran felt like the whole idea of picking out some supposedly noble creature to represent himself was utterly silly. Thoughts of choosing something completely absurd like a bug made him intermittently smile, though he tried to be serious for the jeweler’s sake.

  As time droned on, the levity of it waned. Keiran sat on the throne and watched as the jeweler flipped through assorted crest designs for his approval. He looked increasingly bored, as he listened to the virtues of all the animals the man showed him. None of the eagles, dragons, unicorns, or gryphons really did anything for Keiran, and his expression made it painfully obvious.

  The jeweler grew frustrated, as he’d worked hard on all the designs he’d presented. Since the king had first been rumored to be in poor health, he’d started drawing, wanting to have a decent number of potential candidates ready for the prince. “Do none of these symbols mean anything to you?”

  Keiran sat up straight and put on a faint smile. “It’s nothing personal. I think all those designs look wonderful, really. I just I don’t see myself as a tiger or the like. I mean, why not draw me up a snail or a cricket? What’s it all honestly for in the end? Is someone going to see it and have fear for me stricken in to their heart? I just don’t get it. Why can’t my name just suffice? Whatever happened to simple signatures?”

  “These are all very regal animals and have been used by many of your predecessors. It’s tradition, My Lord. Besides, do you really want to have your image represented by an insect?” he countered, rolling his parchments back up. He knew Keiran was being a little bit of a goof about things, but this was a serious conversation. The seal would have to remain unchanged for the duration of his reign.

  “I know, but those sorts of animals always seemed a little presumptuous to me. Who am I to say that I’m like some fierce lion? I mean, really…” Keiran raised his eyebrows and thought for a moment. Surely, somewhere in the animal kingdom there was something that was practical to use.

  “It’s a king’s prerogative to be compared to whatever he likes or wants to be equated with. What virtues do you want to capture? What sort of king do you hope to be?” The jeweler bent down to shove his rejected drawings into a leather bag that rested on the floor.

  “Well, I don’t want to be a dragon. Maybe it worked for my father to be seen as a creature that swept out of the sky to burn crops and kidnapped maidens, but that’s not really my style. I want to be something that allows the country to get on with its business. An animal that facilitates the assorted daily work, but something that, should the need arise, go into action to help defend the land.” He stood up and hopped down to stand right before the jeweler. “Do you know what that would be?”

  The craftsman shook his head.

  Keiran smiled to him and patted his shoulder. “I think a draft horse would about sum that up, don’t you? It gets things done without too much trouble but can be taken into war. Not too pretentious, I’d hope. I mean, this all is a little silly to me, but if tradition dictates I have to pick something, I’m going with that. It’s at least practical.”

  “A work horse? I suppose I could come up with something.” The jeweler knew that he could design the seal using a horse easily enough. All he’d need to do was take off the horn from one of his more equine unicorn drawings and beef it up a little. Thankfully, Keiran wasn’t asking for something outlandish. Thinking about it, he could see the reason in the prince’s choice even if it wasn’t particularly glamorous.

  Keiran gave him another smile before turning to go back up and land on the throne again. “Good. I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great. You don’t even need to come by and run the final plan past me. I will trust your judgement. I mean, we all know what horses look like. Besides, the church still gets to pick the second icon that won’t be revealed to me until the coronation. I hope Father Beezle is kind with his choice.”

  “Then a horse you shall have, Your Highness. Your seal will be unique amongst the other monarchs. Perhaps it will be refreshing. Good day.” The jeweler bowed before moving to depart the room.

  The prince watched him retreat, propping his chin in his hand. He frowned soon after, though, when Peirte swept into the room, marching right up before him. “Good morning, Councillor.”

  Peirte looked haggard after his long ritual the night before, his black hair hanging in dirty locks around his face. He fought the instinct to frown or roll his eyes. “It’s afternoon, actually, Prince Keiran. Since it is my job to oversee that this transition period be carried out efficiently, I had an idea to run past you.”

  The falsely kind tone that Peirte spoke in made a knot tense in Keiran’s gut, and he leaned forward. It was still too early to deal with him, afternoon by then or not. Though it was said there was a place and a time for everything, Keiran was pretty sure that Peirte broke the rule. “Go on.”

  He nodded and started to pace before the throne. “I know you are a proficient hunter, and that you will undoubtedly go out to do the hunt for the banquet yourself. However, time is limited. Since you’ll only have a day to do it by tradition between the cremation and the coronation, I would urge you to send a huntsman out to scout for you. That way, you could head out immediately in the right direction, without wasting time trying to locate your quarry. I know that Ivan, your father’s huntsman, is available to do this. He is one of the most experienced we have in the area.”

  Slowly, Keiran nodded before sitting back and lacing his hands together in his lap. It had been a long time since he’d last had any contact with Ivan, but he knew that the councillor was right about the man’s proficiency. Besides, though the forest was generally abundant with deer, not having to risk missing a herd made sense. “That, Peirte, is actually a good idea.”

  The councillor’s lips twitched upward for a second as he tried to hold back the genuine smile that was trying to get out. It had nothing to do with Keiran’s praise, however. “I took the liberty and met with him briefly, in the hope that you’d agree it was worth doing. He said it would be an honor to go tracking for you.”

  “All right.” Keiran wasn’t really sure what to say. It was a good idea, after all, even if it was coming from his father’s right-hand man. “Very well then, give him the go ahead. When he returns, have him meet with me directly.”

  Peirte stopped his pacing and stood in the center of the room. “I think he is quite honored. It has been a while since he’s done anything for the court, really.”

  Keiran cocked his head to the side and drew a long breath. Ivan may have been one of his father’s employees, but he couldn’t recall personally having any misgivings for the man, limited though his contact with him had been. “Yes, I suppose it has.”

  “Very well, I shall see to it,” Peirte replied, before bowing and giving a flourish with his right arm in the process. “It will be done.”

  Keiran nodded dumbly and leaned back again, as
he watched Peirte leave the room. He couldn’t help but think that the reality of his authority was sinking in finally, and the grand councillor was simply trying to get in his good graces.

  It would take a whole hell of a lot more than one good idea though, Keiran thought, shaking his head.

  In fact, he couldn’t think of what Peirte could do at that point to actually redeem himself in any way that would make him worth keeping around. The more Keiran bothered to try and think it over after the councillor had left, the more his daily headache seemed to threaten a serious return.

  * * *

  After getting Keiran’s approval on the plan to send Ivan out scouting for him, Peirte retreated to his quarters again. He locked the door and gave himself a mental pat on the back over it. He opened up the cabinet that contained the bottle with the demon inside and moved it over to his desk. Sitting there, he folded his arms on the desktop and rested his head upon them, studying the bottle silently for a long time.

  Part of him wanted to send one of his minor, easily evoked demons out to spy on Keiran and the others to see exactly what was being said. There was no doubt that his fate was being discussed amongst them. He refrained, however, knowing that the work with the bottled entity would take all the energy he could muster, and wasting any by toying with lesser demons wasn’t reasonable.

  The bottle still pulsed with the odd, sickly light. The creature contained inside intermittently tapped from within. Peirte couldn’t help but smile as he watched and listened, pleased with the ability to have captured the demon inside.

  “Soon, very soon,” he said, reaching out and running a hand down the side of the bottle.

  Realizing he needed to get to work, he pushed the bottle aside and got up to retrieve a specific book. He returned to his desk and opened the tome, beginning to memorize the painfully intricate seal that he needed to draw out for the next act of magic. He did a preliminary, basic sketch of it on parchment that he then carried to the center of his floor along with his charcoal. The first thing he measured out and drew was a six pointed star in the dead center of the space. He circumscribed that with a nearly perfect circle. With this rudimentary outline started, he got to the task of filling in all the spaces with the required runes, sigils, and words needed. Utterly entranced with his work, he tuned out the rest of the world, being driven onward by some maddening force.