The Phoenix Prince

by Kristen Gupton

  Jerris went to sit on the stairs again, looking up at his friend. He rolled his eyes as he watched Keiran blush over Thana. The prince’s feelings toward the girl were easy enough for him to figure out. He never really gave Keiran too much trouble about that anymore. Teasing him and bringing Thana’s name into it was one of the short roads to getting the prince angry. She was, in fact, what had sparked the fight between them two years prior when Jerris had finally won and knocked him out. It was a subject best avoided.

  It was endearing, though.

  The guard sighed and shook his head, turning his attention elsewhere. While Keiran might have been ready to go after this white stag, the guard couldn’t shake the feeling of reluctance he had. Part of him wondered if he was just being selfish again, worrying about Keiran’s status versus his own. Jerris figured that had to be it, and it wasn’t his place to be petty like that. It wasn’t in his nature. Forcing up a smile, he looked back and nodded at Keiran. “We’ll get it, don’t worry.”

  * * *

  The entire castle staff was gossiping for the rest of the day about the alleged white stag. While Peirte was aware that the demon had revealed herself to the huntsman in that form, to hear the news sweeping through the staff filled him with glee. The whispered speculations between the servants made him smile as he roamed the corridors.

  Needing assurance that other parts of his plan were in order and wanting to take care of what he thought were minor details, Peirte slipped out of the castle. He rode into town and straight to the tavern, not bothering to tie up his horse after he dismounted. Still linked into the demon as he was, Peirte wasn’t functioning quite right, small things getting away from him. Even though his plan was going well thus far, he did have some stress over it which wasn’t helping matters.

  Marcus looked up from where he stood behind the bar. He’d been pouring some drinks for a group of customers, but stopped cold when he noticed his visitor. Peirte scowled at him from beneath his cloak’s hood, moving immediately around the bar and going to the storeroom. He knew the bartender would follow him soon enough. Few people ever had the nerve to make him wait.

  The door to the room was closed and locked after Marcus appeared. He looked at the councillor, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope this isn’t some sort of game that’s being played with me, Peirte.”

  The councillor pushed back his hood and gave the tavern owner a critical look. “Pardon? Game? Would you care to elaborate? I don’t make a habit of playing games, Marcus.”

  “The other night, the prince’s guard came to the tavern after you left. Please tell me it was a coincidence,” Marcus asked, feeling a small amount of his instinctive fear for the councillor.

  “It was a coincidence. Jerris is a hopeless drunk, and I’m sure this isn’t the only establishment he frequents in town. I have nothing to gain from simply catching you up in something like this for my own amusement. Don’t you think that if Jerris knew something was up, he would have acted in some fashion?” Peirte countered, growing more impatient. Again, he couldn’t help but think that getting Keiran and Jerris out of the picture would improve the quality of his life exponentially.

  Marcus nodded and stood down, averting his eyes to the side. Peirte’s point had already crossed his mind. Still, he’d done what was asked and figured the councillor was there for confirmation. “That was my thought. It just scared me.”

  Peirte rolled his eyes and snorted. The fact he’d had his own concerns about the other night reared up. “You didn’t do something stupid and let on that anything was up to Jerris, did you?”

  The bartender looked downright indignant. “Of course I didn’t! It’d be my head as well as yours had I done so. I may not be the smartest man in the country, but I know how to keep my ass off the line in that sort of situation. And before you ask, yes, I’ve done as requested. In fact, he should be in place as early as tonight.”

  Peirte gave an awkward smile, accompanied by one curt nod of his head. “That is what I had hoped to hear. It would have been very grave, indeed, had you let me down.”

  Though Marcus despised the monarchy, he took no pride in what he’d arranged. His associate had readily agreed, being of like mind politically and looking forward to the challenge of taking down the heir-apparent. Marcus wished he’d possessed the sort of conscience that would have allowed him to laugh over it like the hired assassin had. Those days were over for him, though. “I don’t want to know the details from here, Peirte. The less a man knows in these situations, the better.”

  The councillor snorted and extended a gloved hand toward Marcus, his smile lingering. He held between them a small leather bag, identical to the one his demon had taken to the huntsman’s cottage the night before. “Well, that is true. Less to be traced back that way, I suppose. One must be weary of loose ends, as they say. I do thank you.”

  Marcus looked down at Peirte’s hand before slowly reaching out and accepting the bag. It was extremely heavy, obviously containing more than the assassin’s requested fee. Peirte had been generous after all. “It was a debt that was due, and I hope it is done now to your satisfaction.”

  Peirte’s grin widened enough to bare his yellow teeth in an expression that looked more threatening than happy. He patted the back of Marcus’ hand after the money was taken. “Ah, yes. I will henceforth leave you in peace, Marcus. For a job well done, you are freed from my service.”

  Marcus nodded and unlocked the door, stepping back out into the tavern, tying the money satchel to his belt. Peirte moved around him, pulling the hood of his cloak into place. As he passed the fireplace on the way out, he tugged off both of his gloves, and with an unseen flick of his wrist, cast them into the flames.

  The tavern owner eyed his patrons momentarily after Peirte was gone, making sure that everything was all right. He reached down and toyed with the money bag for a while, knowing that it held more than enough to pay the assassin off. Surely, there would be enough left over to get him out of Tordan Lea and back to the coastal town where his family still lived. The prospect of never having to deal with the councillor again was wonderful, even if someone had to die for it.

  He went back to work, trying to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. It wasn’t long before one of his hands started to burn. At first, he wrote it off to all the dish washing he’d been doing, but it grew in severity quickly, spreading up his arm. He began to feel feverish as he continued to move around the tavern, serving his customers and clearing tables. The bartender’s heart rate skyrocketed, and his throat went dry while he pressed on with his daily tasks. He felt increasingly ill and was just about to order everyone out so that he could close up the tavern and go home for the night when he stumbled, and fell dead to the floor.

  * * *

  Across town, inside Ivan’s home, the huntsman suffered much the same fate, sitting at his dining table. About halfway through counting the gold he’d found under his bed for the third time, he suddenly took his last breath before keeling out of his chair and hitting the floor. Both bags of money had been laced with the same contact poison.

  * * *

  That night, Peirte again was sealed in his room, kneeling within the circle drawn on his floor. Since Marcus had told him the assassin was due to arrive on scene in the evening, he figured he might as well try to tap into the demon and get the meeting over with.

  The demon caught the cue from Peirte’s distant mind and solidified again, opting to form up with the head and torso of a woman in order to make the meeting with the assassin simpler. Out of the fog the demon emerged dressed in a white cloak, her hooved legs hidden beneath.

  The assassin had arrived several hours earlier, his travel made easy by the mild weather the day had brought. He’d set up camp in one of the abandoned buildings which made up the small ghost town and sat in a doorway, making his presence obvious to whoever his contact was supposed to be. He’d not known who was going to come meet him to finalize the plans, but the appearance of a female in the
street drew his attention instantly. He stood up and stepped outside. He kept his guard up, however. In his business, one could never be too careful, and women were just as likely to be assassins as the men. “Hello.”

  She stayed put, drawing in deep breaths to sample the air and gather the sorts of animal information available to her that humans were oblivious to. “I have come to discuss where you would have the best shot at taking out the prince.”

  He nodded and remained a few yards away from her, shivering slightly in the damp cold. He’d been waiting for quite a while and was chilled through. The assassin was a scruffy-looking, average man. Yet he was eagle eyed and a crack shot with his crossbow. “Come with me.”

  The demon gave no visible expression and silently waited for the man to move.

  The assassin hesitated for a second, feeling very uncomfortable around the female. His instincts picked up on how unnatural she was, though he couldn’t consciously pin down what it was about her that was troublesome.

  He stepped around the corner of the structure he’d been waiting in, showing that there was a small trail between it and the next building. He walked down the alleyway until he came into a little clearing between a total of four buildings. To the left, there was another building staggered just enough to block the way, making a dead end. This structure was taller than the others and offered a platform up where the assassin could lay in wait, aiming out of a broken window.

  He turned around to see the woman just a few inches from his back, startling him badly. How she’d gotten so close without any sound filled him with discord, but he forced back his instinct to jump away. Instead, he just looked her up and down before pointing toward the window. “Up there I’d have a perfect shot at anyone that found themselves down in this little dead end.”

  Her eyes followed to where he was pointing before meeting his, her thin, pale lips parting slowly. “Then up there you will be, and I shall draw him into this space.”

  “Right, and I guess this will happen day after tomorrow?” the assassin asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was only now noticing that her eyes seemed red in the darkness, even the whites of them tinted.

  “Yes, it will happen then,” she replied. “Do not fail.”

  The cocksure man scoffed, cracking his neck to the side. The very idea that someone could doubt his ability made him smirk, especially a woman. “I never fail.”

  One of her clawed hands, previously hidden in the cloak that wrapped around her form, shot out, clutching his chin and lower jaw in a painful grip. She looked deep into his eyes and growled, before releasing him and walking away, slipping between two buildings and disappearing.

  The assassin didn’t get a chance to react before she let go, stunned at the speed she’d moved. He brought a hand up to his cheek where her claws had scratched him, before pulling it away and seeing blood on his fingertips. He jogged forward and looked down the way she’d left, but saw nothing except fog rolling down the main road. Quickly, he reminded himself that it wasn’t his job to ask questions, just to shoot at who needed shooting at. Moving off, he found a place to make a small fire and settled in for the night, though he never slept well. He found himself wondering just who the woman was and moreover, where she had gotten to after disappearing.

  Chapter 6

  Jerris kept his word and never left Keiran’s side. There was a lingering fear that he couldn’t quite pin down. He felt that if he let the prince out of his sight, his life would be in danger. Whether he was protecting him from some assassination plot or from death due to not taking the human blood he needed, Jerris didn’t know. Either way, he’d be damned if he was away from the prince for more than a few minutes at any given time.

  On the day that King Turis Lee was to be cremated, he awoke in the chair before the prince’s fireplace. His entire body was sore from sleeping there yet again. He looked over to see Keiran a tangled mess in his blankets, face down on his pillow. They’d behaved themselves after their last outing, opting not to push their luck with Corina or anyone else.

  There was a pounding at the door, and while Keiran didn’t respond, Jerris moved over to answer. He cracked the door open, spotting Corina out in the hallway.

  The old woman tried to look around the guard. “Is he up yet? It’s time to get going. Is he feeling all right?”

  Jerris took a quick glance back over his shoulder, confirming that Keiran was still in bed, though he was now on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Aye, he’s in the process of getting out of bed. He’s fine.”

  Corina shoved a bundle she was holding into the guard’s arms. “Well, here’s his outfit the tailor left for him. Get him dressed would you?”

  “You know, I can dress myself these days,” Keiran grunted.

  “Aye, he can,” Jerris replied, a little surprised that the prince was tuned in enough to follow their conversation.

  “All right, just get to it. The priests will be getting antsy if we don’t get down there shortly,” Corina said. She tried to steal one last glance around Jerris at her charge, but realized the guard wasn’t going to move. She gave up and left.

  Jerris sighed and closed the door, clutching what Corina had passed off to him against his chest.

  Keiran had managed to get up and was standing at the side of his bed, a blanket pulled around his shoulders to ward off the morning chill. He was staring right through his friend, wavering like he was about to go right back down.

  “I think that’s the quickest anyone’s seen you go from sleeping to vertical in a long while, Keir. Good job.” Jerris moved over and tossed the clothes onto the prince’s bed, before looking down and realizing he was due to change. “You get all prettied up so Corina doesn’t get any more annoyingly motherly, and I’ll go get changed up. Deal?”

  The prince gave something along the lines of a nod, his left hand appearing from inside the blanket to run down his face. He wasn’t even remotely close to being social yet. Everything seemed to hurt. Even though they hadn’t poured down a single drop of alcohol the night before, Keiran felt a lot like he was hung over. The fog started to lift, however, as he came around to the fact that he was going down to the cathedral for what amounted to his public unveiling. Having that many eyes on him and losing his anonymity wasn’t appealing. It started to instantly do a number on his nerves. Then, there was the issue of getting branded with his father’s old seal. Keiran wasn’t looking forward to that pain in the least. He wasn’t that sort of masochist.

  Realizing that was as much of a response as he was going to get, Jerris turned and moved out of the room, leaving Keiran for a while.

  The prince went through the motions of getting cleaned up and ready. He dug through the outfit that had been given to him, pulling it on. The whole of it was black, since this was also his father’s funeral day. His shirt’s sleeves were loose fitting and tied at the wrists. That would make it easier for the priest to get his arm exposed when it was time to add the old king’s mark to his existing brand. There was a sleeveless doublet that went over his shirt, the front of it embroidered with a little gold thread, but nothing particularly flashy. The outfit was finished off when he got on his black riding boots and hung his best sword from his hip.

  The prince briefly inspected his image in his room’s mirror, figuring it was good enough. He pulled his hair back and headed out.

  He walked out into the courtyard, finding Jerris there, waiting with his horse. The prince had not thought about bothering to grab anything to eat, but Jerris obviously had and was gnawing on a chunk of bread. He, like all the other guards, were in their dress uniforms. The armored pauldrons on their shoulders glared in the morning light. Jerris detested the fancy outfits, his expression dour.

  Keiran took the reins of his horse from the guard and hoisted himself up into his freshly polished saddle, fidgeting to get comfortable. Jerris got up onto his horse as well, tossing the rest of his breakfast to one of the assorted dogs that were generally wandering the courtyard.


  The young guard’s father, Kanan, moved over to them on his horse, eyeing Jerris as if to warn him this was the one time he expected him to act like an adult. “Aye now, you keep in formation. I’m going to ride at the head of the party behind the standard bearers.”

  Jerris rolled his eyes as soon as his father’s back was turned. He didn’t really feel like he needed instructions for this particular occasion. It’s not like he’d never ridden into town before. If the old man only knew how often he and Keiran had ridden down into the city. Actually, if he knew that, Jerris supposed he’d have been killed outright long ago.

  Keiran looked at him and quirked a brow. Though that was pretty classic Jerris, the prince was hoping that at least for the day, the young guard would try to act right. It was a lot to ask, though. Then again, he wasn’t all that thrilled with the day’s planned events, either. Neither of them quite understood what appealed to anyone about dignified, traditional ceremonies. While Keiran knew that he could fake his way through it all and come off well enough, he did have his doubts about his companion.

  The redhead slowly turned his head to look at Keiran. “Are we ready? I hate wearing this crap so if we could get this over and done with, I’d be much obliged.”

  The prince gave his first smile of the day. “But you’re so glorious, Jerris. All shiny.”

  Jerris gave him an absolutely deadpan look. He was short on sleep given the arrangements of the past few nights, and sincerely irritated at what he was wearing.

  Keiran shrank back a little. Jerris wasn’t in a good mood, it seemed. “All right, then, let’s go.”

  The group started to move out of the castle gates, led by two standard bearers. One carried a black flag with the Sipesh crest on it in gold, the other a white flag with Turis Lee’s seal on it in red. Once on the road, they fell into formation with Keiran riding at the center of the group, Jerris immediately behind him.