The Wayward Prince (The Redfern Legacy Book 1)

by N. C. Hayes

  “That is a dangerous task, girl. You’d do best to return to your home when you wake.”

  “I can’t, my lord—”

  In the distance, a sudden scream rang out. I whipped around and felt myself dart back into my body, my eyes flying open in time to see a bag go over the top of Hannele’s head, muffling her screams as a group of men pinned her to the floor of the cave. “No!” I screamed, raising my arm to retaliate, only to be met with the grip of another man who forced it behind my back so fast and hard that I thought it would snap. More men appeared, pinning me to the ground while they fastened what I could feel were a set of silver cuffs onto my wrists. One of them cast a purple glow around their hand and pressed it to Hannele’s head. She went limp as I screamed again, “No!” before a bag was shoved over my own head, blocking my vision. A cold hand gripped the back of my neck, and my consciousness fled.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I was shaken awake by slender hands gripping my shoulders.

  “Shaye!” My eyes fluttered open and Hannele was bent over me, looking me over for signs of injury. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m fine.” She moved off of me and I sat up, groggy as I rubbed my eyes and looked around.

  We were in a bedroom. An enormous, luxurious bedroom, with a giant bed covered in plush blankets and expensive furs. Beautiful, hand-carved oak furniture filled the room, including a table filled with food: fresh fruit, cheese, bread, and a steaming roast chicken.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I asked, looking around for our captors.

  “I have no idea.” Hannele looked scared. Her face was dirty and her hair disheveled, as if she had only awakened moments before I did. My own clothes and hair were a mess, and our packs were nowhere to be found. I scanned the room.

  “There’s no door,” I said, heart sinking.

  “No windows either,” she replied. We both swung our legs over the sides of the bed and walked the perimeter with our hands grazing the wall, looking for a notch or a special brick, like the ones in Ayzelle and Sylvanna. Nothing.

  We stopped before the spread of food. My stomach gurgled.

  “Think it’s safe?” I picked a strawberry from a platter and examined it. Hannele grabbed an apple.

  “I don’t think anything is safe anymore,” she replied before taking a large bite. I did the same and nearly moaned. It was the sweetest strawberry I had ever tasted. I grabbed another. Then reached for the chicken. I tore off a leg, took a greedy bite, and let the juice run down my chin. I wiped at it with my arm and kept going. Hannele was eating with just as much vigor. I tore a chunk from a loaf of bread with my hands and ripped a bite out with my teeth before starting back in with the chicken.

  “Well, well—you Medeisian nobles are quite the savages, aren’t you?” a jeering voice rang out from behind us. We dropped the food and spun.

  Standing in an opening in the wall was a man roughly my height, pale as moonlight with silvery hair and violet eyes. He wore a silk shirt of midnight blue, with black leather pants and boots made of what appeared to be snake skin, rather than common leather. He looked us over with an amused sneer.

  “I request an audien—” The back of the man’s hand collided with my face, sending me reeling. Hannele cried out and took a step forward, but guards filed into the room, swords drawn.

  “You request nothing. You have already been granted another day of life after trespassing in our lands.” He smoothed his hair back. “Did you really think we wouldn’t be watching, after you sent soldiers looking for us? Though, I suppose I can’t expect much from fools who would think we’d have strawberries to give them when we’re encased in snow.”

  I furrowed my brow, turning back to the table of food, only to find, to my horror, the same table piled with the discarded carcasses of rats. Platters filled with cockroaches and moldy, decaying bread lined the tables, while maggots writhed over the top of nearly every surface. I vomited on the floor. When I looked up, I saw Hannele wiping her mouth, having just done the same. My stomach turned and I heaved again, and again, until there was nothing left to expel.

  The guards and the man were all stone-faced, watching while we vomited up their disgusting trick.

  “Are you finished?” he asked. I nodded, panting and shaking. “Good. The Mothers would like to decide your fates themselves. Come along.” He turned on his heel and marched through the doorway. A guard’s hand shoved into my back and I followed, trying not to stumble.

  ~

  I had assumed we would be taken outdoors and led to the encampment rumored to be the home of the Children, but the further we walked through the empty corridors, the more it dawned on me that we weren’t just inside a building. We were inside the mountain itself.

  That was why they couldn’t be found. Not because they were some roaming, nomadic tribe of witches organized into tents by their queens. But because their home—their palace—was built deep into the mountain itself. When we came to a stop, we stood before a pair of large carts. The man got inside one, with two guards joining him. Hannele and I crammed into the other, joined by three guards who squeezed in behind us. The man’s lips moved, and he pointed at our cart, then his own. Both lurched forward, up a steep, spiraled slope and into the darkness. I clutched Hannele’s hand.

  We emerged into the light, opposite a pair of large doors that looked to be carved from onyx stone. The man spoke words I did not recognize, and the doors flew open. Hannele and I were ordered out of our cart and marched forward through the doors.

  Much like the first day in Ayzelle with Aydan, people lined the huge, black room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were all onyx, down to the dais containing three empty thrones on the opposite end. My legs resisted and my mouth went dry as we approached, then were forced to our knees before the thrones. Though hundreds of witches lined the room, it was completely silent.

  “Alert the Mothers that our guests are waiting at their pleasure,” the man said to a guard, who swiftly exited through a hidden door. Minutes passed, and I began to wonder if this might be a trick, if there were any queens coming at all, or if we were on our knees awaiting an executioner—when the door opened and out walked a trio of crowned women.

  I watched as they glided silently toward their thrones, where they sat in unison, and I trembled. None of their faces were showing. The queens—Mothers—on the left and right sides wore long red veils that draped over their entire bodies, held in place with golden crowns upon their heads. The left Mother’s hands were pale, like the man’s skin, while the right’s were a deep brown. The middle queen wore a more elaborate crown: gold, and completely encrusted with rubies and emeralds, with a piece like a knight’s visor covering her eyes but leaving her pale mouth and nose in view. Her face and hands, like the hands of the other Mothers, were covered in reddish tattoos—runes, by the look of them—that I didn’t recognize.

  The middle queen spoke. “Deimos, are our guests well rested?”

  The man who had retrieved us from the room slapped me forward. “Yes, Your Majesty. However, they were quite displeased with the meal we provided them.”

  “How ungrateful of them,” the middle Mother observed, bored. “Tell me, ladies, why has Zathryan Aevitarus sent more spies to lurk around our territory?”

  “We don’t work for Zathryan, Your Majesties,” I said, keeping my eyes averted.

  “Oh?”

  “We are members of the Cabinet of King Aydan Aevitarus, son of Zathryan. Zathryan has been dead several months now.” The Mothers did not seem interested in this information.

  “What is it that you seek?”

  “Peace, Your Majesties,” I replied. “And a teacher, for myself.” The left Mother straightened.

  “A teacher?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” I said. “You see—”

  “The last sorcerer who came searching for a teacher also promised peace between Medeisia and the Children. He sought the power to defeat his great enemy. What
is it you seek?” the left Mother asked.

  “I seek nothing more than someone who would teach me to control my powers,” I replied. “The last sorcerer you spoke of, it was Lord Ronan Redfern?” No reply. “He was my father. Executed before my birth. My name is Lady Shaye, head of House Redfern. The powers my father acquired passed on to me, in addition to the magic that runs through my veins as a sorceress. I am a born witch.”

  I had their attention now. The middle Mother tightened her grip on the arms of her throne, and the right one sat straighter.

  “Such a thing does not exist,” said the middle Mother.

  “Your Majesty, I have no reason to lie.”

  “You belong to the Cabinet of the Medeisian king, you need no more reason than that,” she snapped. “The Children of the Onyx Temple have always remained neutral. We have never stepped into the affairs of the Medeisian Courts, or the grudges the other covens hold toward you. We’ve simply wanted privacy. And you cannot grant us even that. What is it you have to offer us? Peace? We would already have that, had you not come snooping.”

  I glanced at Hannele, who had sweat beading on her forehead. The strategy expert was playing out the plausible outcomes of this audience in her head, and by the look on her face, I could tell our odds were not good. “Your Majesties,” I said, “I am the right hand of King Aydan—his Chief Advisor. I tell you now that I am acting as his voice, and any promises made to you now will be upheld by the Crown of Medeisia. You have my word.” The Mothers said nothing, so I continued. “As you know, the mortal kingdom of Nautia broke from Medeisia over a century ago, and we have been at war or close to it ever since. Under King Aydan’s leadership, we are now organizing peace talks with the Regent of Nautia. His Majesty has no desire for war, and in fact wants to build a new world, a new era of peace, friendship, and prosperity between former enemies. We would like to offer you a seat at the table. To be part of building this new world with us.”

  The room was silent, save for the gentle tapping of the middle Mother’s tattooed fingers on her throne. “A lovely speech,” she said finally, “though I cannot say that I find your pleas for a better, more peaceful world to be too convincing when they come with the attached strings of our court giving up a member to teach you.” Her head moved as if she was looking me up and down, though I could not see her eyes. “You say you’re a born witch. What powers do you claim?”

  “I can conjure the four elements, Your Majesty,” I said. “And I have displayed the abilities of a mindwalker.”

  The Mothers did not reply. Instead, the middle one spoke again, this time saying softly: “Lyra.”

  A young woman who looked no older than twenty stepped forward. Lyra’s brown skin held the same tattooed runes as the Mothers’, with snow white hair standing out in bright contrast against it. She wore layered black skirts with a brown sleeveless blouse that revealed more runes coating every visible inch of her skin, save for her face. Her eyes—one an icy shade of blue, the other nearly black—looked me up and down while the rest of her face remained expressionless. She approached, then stopped at the edge of the dais where the Mothers sat.

  “Dearest Lyra is what we call the keeper,” said the Mother seated to the right. I bowed my head. No response.

  “Lyra, what do you think of this proposal offered by the Medeisians?” The left Mother asked.

  “I think that I would be inclined to consider this offer,” she said with a girlish, lilting voice, “if I felt that I could trust them.”

  “And how would you build trust with these women? With this supposed Voice of the King?” asked the center Mother.

  “By inviting them to stay, of course,” Lyra smiled sweetly.

  “Yes, an extended stay may be the only way to determine their trustworthiness,” the center Mother agreed. “Guards.”

  My body seized as invisible hands gripped my arms, legs, and neck, holding me in place where I knelt. My eyes darted around the room, and dotted throughout the crowd, I saw various men and women holding out their hands, using their minds to pin me in place. I looked to Hannele, who was pinned as well.

  “The Medeisians will be our guests for the time being,” the Mother announced to the room. Her focus landed on the man behind us. “Deimos, if you please.”

  Deimos’s hand connected with the back of my head, and the world went black once again.

  ~

  I woke to my arm being roughly lifted above my head. A large hand gripped my wrist tightly, attempting to lock me in another silver cuff. Instinctually, I tried to break free, but my resistance was met with a slap to the face. I blinked away the stinging and let my eyes focus on the room around me—a dark, dirty cell with water dripping from the walls. On the opposite wall, another guard was chaining Hannele, who was struggling even as they hit her.

  “Get your filthy fucking hands off of me!” she growled. The man just chuckled and fastened the lock around her wrist. My attention turned toward the door as I heard the disapproving clicking of Deimos’s tongue.

  “My lady, is that any way to speak to your gracious host?” he asked Hannele. She spat at him, and he watched as the spittle landed a foot away from his boot.

  “She’s a princess of Sylvanna. Address her as such,” I corrected him. “And most gracious hosts don’t throw their guests in a filthy cell—”

  “Are your accommodations not to your liking? They didn’t seem to be a problem an hour ago, Lady Advisor.” I scanned the room again and understood that we had in fact been in the same room before. The glamours were now removed.

  “How do the Mothers—and that keeper woman, Lyra—expect us to prove ourselves, to earn their trust if we’re locked away like this?” I asked.

  “The Mothers will convene with Lyra and decide what they want done with you,” said Deimos. “My wife is a creative woman. I’m sure she’ll think of something. Prepare yourselves for . . . challenging days ahead.”

  “Wife.” I leaned my head against the wall. With what we had seen of Deimos, I didn’t have much faith in the compassion of anyone who would choose him as a husband. He crouched in front of me and lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

  “Trust me, my lady, when I say the days ahead will not be restful for you,” he murmured, barely an inch from me. His gaze lowered to my mouth, and he dragged his thumb over my bottom lip. I snapped my teeth but his hand narrowly escaped me, then slapped my cheek once again. “Manners, my lady,” he chided, standing up again. “Someone will come for you when a decision has been made. Try to stay alive until then, I suppose.” Deimos left the cell, and the guards followed closely behind him.

  When the door to our cell slammed shut and the footsteps disappeared in the distance, I said to Hannele, “Are you hurt?”

  “Not that I can tell.” She pulled at her cuff. We each had one wrist in a silver cuff, which was attached to a chain and then to the wall, and our other arm free to move. The solid silver was no match for the free hand, and we were far enough away from each other that we could not touch. Not that we would be of any help to one another without access to our magic.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I tried—I tried to make them listen—”

  “Your little speech likely bought us some time,” Hannele replied. “They’re intrigued by you—they want to see what you’re capable of. Good work.”

  “Does that help you? Their interest in me, I mean?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” She shrugged, giving up on the cuff and leaning against the wall. “If not for my power, they may still decide that a princess has information they’d like to hear. I’ll likely be tortured if we don’t escape, and”—she gestured around the cell—“that doesn’t seem likely.”

  My mind drifted to memories of a whip cracking against my naked body, the sound of my own pleas and screams filling my ears—

  “No, no they won’t—they can’t—”

  “Shaye, calm down,” Hannele said, her own voice steady. “I know how to do this. If it can be avoided, fin
e, but I am ready and willing. We need this mission to work.” Ever the strategy expert, the military official. “If we go home empty-handed, then this was all for nothing.” I breathed out shakily and nodded.

  “So,” I said. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  We waited.

  And waited.

  Days passed and we saw neither hide nor hair of Lyra, or even Deimos. Cold, barely edible meals were left nearby each of us while we slept, our days’ rations within reach of our unchained hands so we could pick mold off of bread and shoo rats away from the scraps we wanted for ourselves. The only time we saw guards was when, twice per day, someone would come in and let us take turns using a disgusting chamber pot in the corner.

  The cell itself was dark and wet, with no windows. Time seemed to press itself together. Keeping track of the days grew more and more difficult, and when I tried to make sense of the guard shifts, I realized they were switching guards out at random, with no measurable schedule to be seen. Hannele and I grew lethargic, sleeping often both from boredom and weakness. I wondered quietly if we would simply be left here to rot.

  ~

  My question was answered when, one day, the door opened, and it was not a guard coming to let me use the chamber pot, but Deimos striding into the cell, sneering down at me. He glanced at Hannele. “Come with me, princess. I have a few questions for you.” My mouth turned to ash as I watched Deimos unlock Hannele’s cuff, and it fell from her wrist. She weakly pushed herself upright. Her expression was ice cold as she met his gaze.

  “No,” I said. “She knows nothing, she’s just my traveling companion.”

  “Keep your mouth shut,” he spat. “You’ll have plenty of time to answer my questions for yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine, Shaye,” Hannele said, her voice unwavering. I met her eyes and they held no hint of fear. She turned back to Deimos. “Let’s go.” I watched as she was led from the cell and the door slammed shut behind her. A sob tore from my throat as soon as I was alone. I did not know if I would see my friend again.