The Wayward Prince (The Redfern Legacy Book 1)

by N. C. Hayes

  “Shaye, you need to go,” my uncle said. “With him.”

  “What—just me?”

  He nodded firmly. “I can’t come with you. I’ll hold you back, and you must reach your destination quickly.”

  “No. I don’t understand. I’m not just going to leave you here—”

  “You have to.” The horses grew louder. “Go with him. You’ll be safe.” The words sounded like an order when paired with the sharp look my uncle threw in the man’s direction.

  “No harm will come to her, Sir Gideon,” he promised. Gideon inclined his head. Then he sighed, still holding my cheek.

  “You look just like Brina,” he said. My mouth went dry. He’d never said my mother’s name out loud before. Gideon’s eyes scanned my face as if to memorize it, while his own was ashen and swimming with regret. “I never told you. I never told you a lot of things. I’m sorry for that.”

  “It’s all right.” I choked back tears. “Where are we going to—” Men’s voices bellowed from what must have been just outside our garden gate. We were out of time. How would we go anywhere now? There would be no getting past the soldiers.

  “I’ll send word when I can,” Gideon told me over the sound of guards marching through our garden and up the walkway. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Go.”

  I watched my uncle ready his sword, and as the door flew open, nearly exploding off the hinges, the man beside me gripped my hand. My stomach dropped, and we disappeared into darkness.

  ~

  Seconds later, we were standing in a vast field with a bright moon hanging over us in the sky. I yanked my hand back and staggered away as a quiet sob ripped from my throat. He swore from behind me. The field we stood in was empty; not a house or even a road was anywhere in sight.

  “What did you just do?” I asked. “Where are we?”

  “It’s called effuging. A way of transporting oneself quickly across long distances,” he replied. “As far as the where of things . . .” He looked around once again, apparently recognizing our location despite the lack of landmarks. “I intended to take us to my home, in Sylvanna, but it looks like the Nautian witches’ wards work both ways. I’d say we’re about a mile from the border. We’ll have to walk and cross into Medeisia on foot.”

  “Medeisia?” I gasped. “I can’t go to Medeisia. That’s where—the Old Ones—” I stopped at the man’s loud sigh. He shook his head and knelt before digging through a knapsack I hadn’t noticed before. He pulled out a canteen. “What?” I asked.

  “I haven’t heard anyone call us ‘the Old Ones’ in decades, my lady.” He handed me the canteen. “Take a drink.”

  “What do you mean ‘us?’ You . . . you’re—” I fumbled as the realization washed over me and my voice came out thinner. “You’re not like the stories.”

  He conjured a ball of blue light once again. “What do you think this is, if not sorcery?” I stared.

  “It didn’t really occur to me what you were doing. I’m very . . . confused.” I took the canteen and drank quickly before handing it back, unsure if declining an offered refreshment would be seen as an insult. I had once poured over books that Gideon insisted be kept secret—contraband, like his maps—some of which detailed the history and geography of the continent before the revolution, while others told stories of nobles and royals among the Medeisians. The most documented figures in these tales were those who had committed monstrous acts against mortals and other sorcerers alike. I vaguely remembered a footnote somewhere noting that insulting a sorcerer was a dangerous act.

  “I can’t go with you,” I blurted out. “I don’t even know your name. I have to go back and help my uncle—if I just explain—”

  “My name is Aydan, my lady.” He closed the canteen and shoved it back into the knapsack. “There is no good that can come from you going back anywhere near that village.” I glared at him. “I am sorry, Lady Shaye. I know this must be very overwhelming—”

  “I’m not a lady,” I snapped. “You keep calling me that. My uncle is a blacksmith. We aren’t titled. We barely make ends meet.”

  Aydan blinked a few times, then ran his hands over his face and up through his shaggy hair, sighing again in frustration. “You truly don’t know anything? Gideon never told you about your past? Your connections? Your parents?”

  “I-I . . . he told me that my mother died giving birth to me, and that my father was killed before then. I’d never even heard him say her name before tonight,” I stammered.

  Aydan stared at me again, shaking his head. He swore under his breath, then turned away and paced a few times before saying, “There is . . . much to tell you, then. I’m sorry, my la—Shaye,” he corrected himself. “I will explain what I can on our way to Medeisia.”

  “Why must we go there?” I asked. “Surely, Nautia would be safer—”

  “It isn’t,” Aydan said. “You may become the most wanted woman in Nautia before the night is through. There is nowhere in the world more dangerous for you right now. If they find you after a pair of their guards were killed by magic . . . if he’s kind, the Nautian king would simply execute you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I’m nobody. What would the king want with me?”

  “He will want to know how a sorceress was raised from infancy in his capital, without his knowledge.” My stomach dropped. “He will believe you to be extraordinarily powerful, regardless of what power you do or do not contain. The Grand Palace knows sorcery has been in that cottage. We need to make sure you’re as far away from it as possible.”

  “I’m not a sorceress.” I could barely form the word.

  “I can assure you, Shaye, you most certainly are.” I gaped at him, sure somehow that he spoke truth. There was no way to know, but the knot in my stomach had transformed itself into a fluttering ball, urging me forward. “I’ll explain what I can.” Aydan placed his hand on my back and guided me into the darkness.

  Chapter Three

  We walked in silence for a time as I worked to find my footing in the dark. Though the moon hung brightly over our heads, it was difficult to see where we stepped, and while the field had at first looked to be just grass, the terrain was rockier than I’d anticipated. I found myself stumbling more than once over sizable boulders; meanwhile, Aydan walked smoothly beside me, as if the magic he held also kept him poised at all times.

  “Your mother’s name was Brina Eastly,” my new companion started after a couple of minutes. “When the King of Medeisia was exiled during the Nautian Rebellion, he and his court were forced to retreat west to a smaller territory called Ayzelle. There were a few dozen mortal families who stood by the royal family and followed them to this new territory, taking up residence in the villages alongside the sorcerer commoners who fled the capital. The Eastly family was fiercely loyal to the Crown. Every man in their family from the time of the Rebellion served in the King’s Guard, or on the battlefield. Brina was the first woman in the Eastly family to join the army. Enlisted the day she came of age if I remember correctly.”

  “You knew her?” Gideon was the only person I’d ever known who knew my mother when she was alive. Aydan shook his head.

  “Our paths never crossed. I was an emissary at that time, living in Sylvanna. But the gossip traveled the way it always does in those circles. An Eastly woman, not yet twenty years old, joining the ranks. Rumor had it your grandfather threw a fit,” he added. “But she must have known what she was getting into, since her brother Gideon had gone before her.”

  “Gideon, a soldier—” I began with a laugh, but Aydan continued over me.

  “For a time, yes. But then he joined the King’s Guard and was knighted. He served his term and retired to Xarynn before Brina began training. Within a few years, she was climbing the ranks, and by her mid-twenties, she was made a commander and leading her troops into battle when the king’s new home was attacked. Those who knew her well tell me she was quite remarkable.”

  I shivered and crossed my arms over my ch
est. It was a strange thing, to hear someone—a stranger, a sorcerer of all people—tell me things about my family that my uncle could never bring himself to. Silence hung in the air for another moment while I let his words settle, then I asked, “And my father?”

  He sighed. “I did know your father, for a time. It is his immortal blood that has passed to you.”

  “Are you . . . taking me to him?”

  “He’s dead.” Aydan stopped and looked at me. “You said Gideon explained this to you.”

  I ducked my head. “I just thought, I don’t know, maybe he was lying. You’re telling me my father was a sorcerer. The stories all say it’s nearly impossible to kill them.”

  Aydan mumbled something about mortals and their legends and then said to me, “The mortals like to tell tales that make our kind seem more fearsome than we are. Before the Rebellion, it was because they worshiped us. Now it’s because they fear us.”

  We kept walking, and I looked him over out of the corner of my eye. He was the first immortal I’d ever met. I had assumed he was my age, but now . . .

  “How old are you?”

  “One hundred and sixty-eight,” he said.

  I faltered, then asked, “How old were my parents?”

  “I’m not quite sure about Brina. But Lord Ronan would have been nearing his nine-hundredth birthday when they wed.” I swallowed. Nine hundred years old.

  “How did he die? Was he a soldier as well?”

  Aydan’s jaw shifted as if he were biting the inside of his cheek. “No,” he finally said. “He wasn’t a soldier.”

  “What killed him, then?” I pressed.

  He was quiet again, then opened his mouth but I turned away from him, suddenly overcome with a strange sensation. It was a prickling on my skin, like I’d just barely run my hands over the top of a thornbush. My palms hummed and my fingertips twitched while I stared down at them. “What in the world—”

  “We’re about to cross the border.” I looked to where he pointed, not seeing any physical landmark, but sensing it apparently in my very skin and bones. I felt drawn to it, like I should walk faster. I did. “Can you feel it?” Aydan asked as he sped up to keep pace with me, hand hovering near my elbow in case my overeager feet led me to step on a loose stone.

  I nodded. “What is that?”

  “Magic calls to magic. Your blood is drawn to it.”

  I stopped just before the edge and looked to Aydan, who stood a few feet back from me. I turned back toward the invisible boundary.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said from behind me.

  I didn’t have much of a choice but to believe him as I stepped over the line, into Medeisia. It felt familiar. My palms hummed more urgently, like crossing over had given whatever lay beneath the surface permission to show itself entirely. I looked at my hands, opening and closing them, and then glanced at Aydan, who was watching me.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “You haven’t been in Medeisia since you were a baby, so your power has never been exposed to the ancestral magic here. You’re waking up.”

  My blood suddenly ran cold. Medeisia. I was in Medeisia. The enormous weight of it all began hammering down upon me. I had just chased magic over the border of Medeisia, while traveling with an apparent sorcerer. He knew about my family—knew Gideon well enough to seek him out—and said I was . . . one of them. A sorcerer. But it was impossible. It had to be a lie, a trick of his magic, somehow. Sorcerers were the villains in every story at school; they were mentioned in every decree. Every announcement made by the palace warned of the imminent danger of sorcery. How could I have sat there and listened to it all, agreeing with it, if I were tied to Medeisia somehow? How—how would I get to Gideon? How would he contact me, or know where I was going? Did Aydan tell him? How would I—

  “Lady Shaye.” Aydan’s hand was on my shoulder and I realized my breathing had gone ragged as I swallowed air in deep gulps. My eyes burned and blurred with tears. “Shaye. I need you to find your breath and get ahold of yourself.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “I imagine this is very difficult, but I need you to stay calm for a few more moments. It is late. We need to find a safe place to camp. You’ll feel better when you’ve had some rest.”

  I didn’t quite believe him, but I nodded anyway. A place to camp. Yes. Okay. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms and exhaled shakily.

  The only useful light was the moon above us, but soon we found a flat enough spot. Aydan rummaged around in the knapsack again, and I realized the bag must have been enchanted. It looked like it might hold the canteen and some simple provisions if you packed it tightly, but Aydan produced a small tent and two bedrolls. He began setting up the tent by hand.

  “Wouldn’t it be . . . easier to use magic?” I asked in a slightly shaking voice, both horrified and curious at the thought of seeing magic at work again. At least my breathing was calming down.

  “Yes, it would.” Aydan staked the tent into the soft ground. It was a low shelter that felt safe even without much cover around. “But unfortunately, I’m not welcome in this part of Medeisia, so I mustn’t use magic if I can help it. I’m being tracked.”

  “Is that why we aren’t effu . . . whatever it was you did back there?”

  “Effuging. Yes, it is,” he said. “The people tracking me would be able to tell I was here, and it could cause problems for my lord and lady. I’m not eager to be on their bad side, considering I already went on this mission without their knowledge.” My interest piqued, and I cocked an eyebrow. I felt a bit better with the distractions around me.

  “Why aren’t you allowed here?”

  “Sorcerers have very long memories. We’re prone to grudges.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he said without looking up. “I can’t be expected to answer all of them. Get some sleep, Lady Shaye.” He opened the tent flap for me. His bedroll was spread out just a couple of feet from the tent’s opening, near enough for me to not feel alone but far enough to give the illusion of privacy.

  I mumbled a tired “good night” before crawling into the tiny tent, not bothering to even remove my shoes. I lay on the soft bedroll and took a deep breath. Two. And before I remembered taking a third, sleep overcame me.

  Chapter Four

  Just a few hours later, I woke as the sun was rising, the light on my face enough to pull me from sleep. I blinked a few times, remembering where I was and what had happened the night before. The image of Uncle Gideon as he held my face flashed in my mind, and my chest ached.

  Go with him. You’ll be safe.

  I swallowed, knowing Gideon would say this was not the time to be emotional. There would be plenty of time to recover and figure out what to do next when we got to wherever it was we were going.

  I crawled out of the tent and brushed damp grass from my skirt, wishing I’d had time to pack something else. This would have been easier in my gardening trousers. With a deep breath of crisp morning air, I looked around and couldn’t help but gasp at the view before me:

  Lush, green fields as far as the eye could see. No hills or villages, nothing to block the view of the sprawling, ancient trees along the horizon, with branches reaching toward the heavens. They formed a perfect line stretching for miles.

  Aydan appeared next to me, holding a tarnished kettle. I jumped. “Sorry,” he said. “Do you drink tea?”

  “Sure.” I noticed a small fire for the first time. Aydan must have built it before I woke. My stomach growled and I found myself hoping there might be more than tea for breakfast. I moved to take advantage of the fire’s warmth, slowly shuffling, my body stiff and aching from sleeping on the ground. I sat on Aydan’s bedroll while he set the kettle over the flame. From the knapsack, he produced a pair of teacups and a small wooden box.

  “Only bags, unfortunately.” He pulled two from the box. “But it’s better than nothing.” We both watched in silence as the kettle heated, and once it began to whistle
a bit, Aydan poured water over the tops of the bags and passed my cup to me. I let it steep for another minute, blowing on the steaming tea.

  The taste was weak, but I gulped it down, grateful for the temporary warmth. Aydan handed me an apple from the bag and kept another for himself. “How can you fit all of this in there?” I asked. “I mean, obviously it’s magic, but . . . how? A spell?” I bit into the fruit.

  “We don’t use spells,” he replied. “Our magic doesn’t need them. Sorcery is a gift from the gods. The power exists within us and we simply learn to wield it.” He chewed and swallowed before adding, “The bag is standard-issue for soldiers in Sylvanna.”

  “You’re a soldier, then?”

  “No, I’m not a soldier. Not anymore, at least. I borrowed this from a friend. He thought I might run into trouble while trying to locate you and did not want to send me on this mission unprepared.” He took another bite of apple.

  “A friend sent you to find me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  I huffed. “Why did this person decide that last night was the right time to come? They must have known your presence would attract the attention of the palace. My uncle is wounded and probably sitting in a prison cell right now. I’d like to know who decided his freedom was a fair price to pay,” I said, angrier than I’d realized.

  “My presence didn’t attract the attention of the palace, Shaye.” He poked a stick into the fire. “Those guards were coming whether I arrived or not. You’ve been pouring out magic for months.” I blinked. “I’m just glad I got there in time.”

  “The palace witches . . . they were detecting me? How? I’ve never used sorcery.” Suddenly the meager breakfast sat heavy in my stomach.

  He shrugged. “Our powers usually start emerging as we reach adulthood. Sometimes they can arrive early, like they did for my sister and me. Sometimes they arrive late, as they seem to have done with you. Some believe it has something to do with bloodlines, or the land, but really, no one knows for sure. My best guess would be that being hidden away amongst mortals kept your magic below the surface a bit longer than most.” Aydan stood and tossed his apple core behind him. “Once they arrive, there’s not much you can do to hide your abilities until you’ve mastered them. Magic calls to magic—clings to it—and if it isn’t released, it will fill you up until it bursts from you with no warning.”