by N. C. Hayes
Now thoroughly clean and wearing the new dress that had been laid out for me, I found my way back to the parlor where I’d left Aydan. It was empty.
I waited for a moment, admiring the details of the room. Small tables spaced between the furniture held various baubles: gold frames containing charcoal portraits of beautiful faces I had never seen, a working grandfather clock in miniature that had me wondering if it had been built that way or shrunk down by magic, and hand-painted vases filled with flowers that were certainly enchanted to remain fresh and beautiful.
Muffled chatter and banging rang out from behind a door on the far wall of the parlor. I pushed it open to reveal a busy kitchen where the two male servants were now cooking. Both were tall and tan; one had sandy blond hair, and the other’s was so light, it looked silver as the sun shone through the window above the table. They did not see me and instead continued their conversation in a language I couldn’t understand. I watched, fascinated by how they worked in unison, chopping and dicing, kneading and pulling, without ever breaking their pattern. A few moments passed before the door on the opposite wall swung open and the other woman marched in. She stopped abruptly when she saw me standing in the doorway.
“My lady,” she gasped, placing her hand on her chest. “My apologies. Have you been waiting long?” Her face and hair were nearly identical to the silver-haired man’s, and her accent was heavy, though I couldn’t place it. The cooks both stopped and inclined their heads to me, wide-eyed.
“We did not see you, my lady,” said the silver-haired man. His accent was thick as well. “Our deepest apologies.” The second man whispered something in the other language, but the first simply shushed him.
“Oh,” was all I could think to say. “No, I wasn’t waiting long. And please, don’t apologize. I was enjoying watching you.”
“Can I help you with something, my lady?” the woman asked.
“I was just looking for the prince. He told me to meet him in the parlor after I’d changed, but he wasn’t there.”
“Elise returned a few moments ago. I’m sure he is discussing the response from Lady Solandis with her,” she said. “May I show you to the dining room, my lady?”
“Er, yes, thank you. But please, call me Shaye.” She nodded politely and led me through the door behind her. I waved over my shoulder to the men, who bowed one last time before returning to their work. “What are their names?” I asked. “And yours?”
“My name is Isolde, Lady Shaye,” she said as we entered the dining room. “They are Zale and Tory. My apologies for Tory; he cannot speak the common tongue very well.”
“Where are you from? Outside of Medeisia?”
“We are from Xarynn, Lady Shaye.”
Xarynn: Medeisia’s window to the world, I remembered from my reading. The continent was vast and rich with different cultures in each territory, but if you wanted to see what lay across the sea, Xarynn with its ports was the only exit point.
The door opened behind me and I turned to see Aydan, now bathed and changed into a clean set of clothes.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “I hope the dress is suitable.”
“It is.” I ran a hand along the skirt. It was soft, comfortable, and a lovely shade of forest green, which complemented the slight auburn of my hair nicely. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Aydan scoffed. “Don’t start with that. Just Aydan.”
“Fine. Thank you, Aydan.”
He smirked, then looked over my shoulder. “Thank you, Isolde. I think Elise might need some help preparing the rest of the rooms.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” She curtsied and left swiftly through the swinging door into the kitchen.
“Who is staying in the other rooms?” I asked when she was gone.
“The servants,” he replied, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit.
“Are there no servants’ quarters in these chambers?” I let Aydan push the chair in for me. He began pouring wine from a bottle that had not been there a moment before and handed me a glass.
“There are.” He settled in the seat opposite me. “There are also six bedrooms in these chambers that would otherwise remain empty. I didn’t take you for a snob, Lady Shaye.” I flushed.
“I-I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, embarrassed. “I just didn’t think a prince would want—” Aydan cut me off, laughing.
“I’m teasing you,” he said, still chuckling. “Even they get flustered about it.” He gestured to the kitchen. “Fifty years of working with me and Isolde still heads straight for the servants’ quarters.”
Fifty years.
“Are all of your servants from Xarynn?”
“No, Elise is from Sylvanna,” he said. “The other three arrived at the Sylvannian border half a century ago, looking for work in the villages. They couldn’t find anyone to take them on, and eventually ran into Elise, who brought them here. They came to Sylvanna to build a better life, so I took them on. It’s worked out for us so far.”
“That was kind of you,” I said.
“Elise needed help, and they were there, ready to work. It wasn’t exactly charity,” he said. “They keep busy enough, taking care of my household.”
“You have a large family, then?”
“You could say that.” I must have looked confused, because he added, “My friends . . . other council members, they live in my home in Sylvanna. Most of the time, anyway. They have their own chambers in the Grand Palace but prefer to stay with me.”
The door opened again suddenly and there was Isolde, carrying a large tray with covered dishes. She set them before us and lifted the lids. A rich rabbit stew filled large bowls to the brim. Isolde placed a platter with freshly baked bread between us. My mouth watered at the smell.
“Lovely,” said Aydan. “Thank you, Isolde. That will be all.”
She curtsied and left, the door swinging behind her. I heard her call out in Xarynnea to her brother and his husband before it closed.
Ravenous, I took a huge bite and nearly groaned. Aydan reached for the bread and placed a thick slice on a small plate for me before taking one himself. I could only gesture a thank you with my mouth full, but he wasn’t looking anyway. It seemed a week straight of walking with nothing but cheese, apples, and tea had gotten the best of both of us.
After a second bowl, we both had our fill. Aydan had gone to the kitchen himself for our second helping, much to the protest of the servants who were eating their own lunch. Once our dishes were piled together, Aydan waved his hand over them and they vanished from the table. He topped off both of our wineglasses and sat back in his chair.
“So,” he said. “I promised you answers. What do you want to know?”
“Well.” I considered, my thoughts now slightly hazy with my stomach full. “Before anything else, will you tell me what a blood shield is?”
“Oh,” he said, “that.” He set his glass down. “A blood shield is an ancient type of protection magic. Only members of royal bloodlines can tap into it, so it is very rare to come across—and makes it dangerous to attack members of the royal family.”
“But what does it do, exactly?”
“For as long as the person who created the shield is living, the person being shielded will be protected by their power against any attack, even a weapon made of silver. If someone were to injure or kill the person being shielded, the injuries would simply reflect back on them.” Aydan motioned for my hand. “Look,” he said, producing a pin from nowhere. He pricked the tip of my finger, drawing blood.
“Ouch.” I jerked back. “You could have warned me—” He held up his own finger, showing a trickle of blood sliding down from an identical puncture. “Well, that’s not exactly protection.” I flushed, hiding my wounded hand beneath the table. “I’m still bleeding.”
“A deterrent, then.” He chuckled. “A piece of the shielder’s power covers the one being shielded, and any attacks are mirrored back onto the attacker. It doesn’t take long to rea
lize that the person you’re harming is shielded, and then you must decide if you’re willing to part with your life to make a point. Most are not.”
“You gave up a piece of your power to protect me?”
“A very small one,” he confirmed. “Hardly noticeable.”
“I—um, thank you.” He waved me off.
“It’s nothing. We were headed to hostile territory. I had a way to help.” He took another drink. “Anything else?” I sighed, wringing my hands.
“Is silver truly the only thing that can kill you?”
“No,” he replied, his voice flat but not unkind. “That is another story from the younger mortal generations. Plenty of things can kill us—most of the same things that kill mortals, actually. We simply have magic in our veins to heal ourselves should the need arise. The only thing that cannot kill us is time. Illness and injury come for us all eventually, but our bodies will not age after we’ve reached maturity. Silver simply inhibits our magic. A useful weapon, but certainly not the only one.” Aydan gestured for me to continue with my questions.
“I suppose . . . I suppose we should just start at the beginning. My beginning, that is. Who am I? Who was my father and why does the king want me dead?”
“All right,” he said. “Well, you know, your mother was a mortal woman named Brina Eastly. She was a commanding officer in the Ayzellen army. She met your father at a ball here in this castle. His name was Lord Ronan Redfern, the king’s Chief Advisor.” Aydan paused to take another drink. I did the same.
“I knew Lord Ronan for most of my childhood, before I moved to Sylvanna. He was a tough man, but fair. He taught me much about my powers and how to wield them. Ronan was one of the most powerful sorcerers to ever live. In fact, after centuries by my father’s side, and especially after the mortal rebellion, there were some who looked to Ronan as the true leader of Medeisia while my father warmed the throne.
“His courtship with Brina was a whirlwind, as I understand. Love at first sight, that sort of thing. Within a month of meeting, they were married. Less than a year after that, they announced that Brina was with child.”
“Are marriages between sorcerers and mortals forbidden?” I asked.
Aydan shook his head. “Not at all. It is certainly warned against by some. Watching a spouse grow old and wither away while you stay forever young would be excruciating, in my opinion. But plenty of couples make it work. Brina and Lord Ronan were apparently committed to doing so.” I drummed my fingers on the table nervously, waiting for him to continue. “You’re sure you want me to go on?”
I nodded. “I want to know.”
“No one is quite sure when his descent began, but some suspect that it started years before he met Brina. You see, Ronan was one of the most powerful sorcerers to ever live, yet somewhere along the way, he began consulting with witches.”
“What’s wrong with witches?” I asked as Aydan reached for the bottle and topped off both our glasses. The witches of the mortal palace held high status in Nautia and were not to be crossed. It was considered an honor to be received by them, and deadly if they deemed you undesirable. They mostly stayed behind the palace walls. I had seen the witches of the Grand Palace only once, when they’d accompanied King Mal during an appearance in the capital square. They stood behind him, stoic and silent, observing the crowds. I remembered feeling the power surging from them, knowing that something ancient lay beneath the surface. Perhaps it was my own magic sensing theirs.
“Witches are born mortal,” Aydan said. “They use unnatural means to gain their power, and many would say that it is an affront to nature to harness magic that was not yours to begin with; that the magic of the sorcerer is a divine gift from the gods, which is why we can wield it at will, without relying on spoken spells or potions.”
“Do you think that?”
Aydan shrugged. “Whether it is the will of the gods or simply an accident of nature, our power appears to us and theirs is forced. I’ve never heard of a witch with good intentions, but I’d be curious to meet one who claimed to have them.”
I felt my stomach turn as Aydan continued.
“One day, I received word in Sylvanna that Lord Ronan had been arrested for treason. I thought it was a joke. Ronan had always dismissed any talk of him being the ‘true leader’ of Medeisia as ridiculous. He’d had men flogged for even suggesting it. But, after further investigation, it seemed Lord Ronan had been practicing witchcraft in secret to further expand his power, amass an army, and usurp my father’s throne.
“My father was devastated. Ronan was his oldest, dearest friend. To learn of this betrayal, which was so sinister . . . it nearly destroyed him. He insisted on multiple trials; he wanted to hear Ronan’s confession. But Ronan remained silent through all of them.”
“He wouldn’t admit his crimes?” I asked.
“No. That was the strange thing. My father was offering mercy in exchange for a confession, but Ronan would not say a word. Not until Brina was brought up.” He traced the rim of his glass with a finger. “When the interrogators brought up the subject of your mother, who was being held in their home under house arrest, Ronan began to speak. He insisted that Brina knew nothing of his activities. When she was questioned, Brina pleaded with the interrogators to let them go, to not harm her baby, and to understand that this was all for the greater good.”
“So my mother must have been in on it as well, then,” I said.
“Some think so. Others believe, and I’m inclined to agree with them, that she was . . . well, a victim in his plot.” Aydan elaborated, “If Ronan was trying to take the throne, he would have had a stronger claim if he already had an heir in place. A mortal wife would be easier to control and would be out of the way sooner or later, while his heir would be immortal and just as powerful as him. His bloodline would be secure. It is likely that Brina was bewitched that night at the ball. Their swift marriage and pregnancy all but confirm it.”
I swallowed thickly. The wine in my glass cast a bloody shimmer on the table before me, seeping into the polished grain and churning my stomach.
“I was monitoring the situation as well as I could from within Sylvanna. Lord Ronan had requested several meetings with me in the year prior to his death. They all wound up postponed or canceled for one reason or another. We corresponded often, but he never told me why he needed to meet in person. I now suspect that he was going to request my support for his claim.”
“You’re the heir to the throne. Why would he think that you would support such a thing?” I asked.
“I’m not the heir,” he said. I raised my eyebrows but he either didn’t see or didn’t care to acknowledge my surprise. “But I am considered a senior member of the royal family, regardless of what my father thinks of me. If I were to support Ronan’s bid for the throne, many on the continent would have supported the claim. I never would have considered such a thing, of course, but the risk would have been worth the potential gain in his eyes.
“One week after his final trial, Lord Ronan was executed. When asked if he had any last statements, he stood before my father and every courtier in Ayzelle and declared: ‘Beware the jackal among the pride.’”
I blinked. “What does that mean?”
“Who knows?” Aydan shrugged. “Some final dig at my father, apparently. He didn’t resist as they brought him to the chopping block.” I shuddered.
“How do you know all of this, if you weren’t here?”
“Irsa wrote to me,” he replied. “It devastated her. Ronan was our mentor, and she was . . . well, rather infatuated with him when we were younger. She was the one who discovered him practicing witchcraft.”
I bit the inside of my cheek while Aydan sighed and said, “A few weeks after Lord Ronan’s execution, you were born. Brina had been under house arrest for more than a month by then and was unwell. She didn’t trust any of the servants or healers sent to help her, wouldn’t take any remedies she was given, and barely ate. She tried to deliver you by herself. By
the time the healers arrived and figured out what had happened, it was already too late to stop her bleeding. She died later that night.”
My eyes burned as I asked, “So your father, what, just gave me to Uncle Gideon?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t know what he planned to do with you, but you were immediately taken to Castle Ayzelle. You were left in a cradle, and when the guards returned with the king, you were gone. My father ordered for you to be found, but after years of searching every territory in Medeisia, he must have given up. No one knew what happened to you until my friend discovered your location a few weeks ago.”
I stared at the table, watching myself fold and unfold my hands as I listened to his story.
“Are you all right?” Aydan asked after a moment’s silence.
“I’m just digesting, I suppose. It’s not every day you learn you’re a traitor’s daughter.”
“Listen. You are not responsible for his choices. I don’t care what anyone in this court, including my father, has to say. Lord Ronan did terrible things, broke his vows to not just his king but all of Medeisia. He was the Chief Advisor, the right hand to the king, which means he took an oath to serve the Crown, and instead he tried to take it for himself. You share blood with him and nothing else. I haven’t known you for long, Lady Shaye, but I do know you are a loyal companion and an honest woman.”
I let it sink in for a moment. Aydan’s words might have been reassuring if I hadn’t just witnessed his father’s disdain for me. It did not seem that the prince’s trust in me would get me very far beyond these chambers. “So Zathryan thinks I’m here to, what, finish Lord Ronan’s work?”
Aydan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Probably. I’m sure now that we’ve been seen together, he’ll insist that Sylvanna has declared war. That’s why I alerted my Lady as quickly as I could. They’re preparing for an attack from this court as we speak.” My eyes widened. “It’s unlikely that Ayzelle will attack Sylvanna,” he clarified upon seeing the worry on my face. “My Lady just prefers not to take chances.”
