The Wayward Prince (The Redfern Legacy Book 1)

by N. C. Hayes

  I counted the minutes while Hannele was gone, and, to my surprise, it was less than an hour before the door opened once again and the princess stumbled back into the cell, followed by Deimos and the same guard he had come with before. Hannele clutched her arm, and it wasn’t until the guard forced a wrist back into her cuff that I realized her other arm was limp. Blood trickled down beneath the leather sleeve of her jacket and onto her hand. She was trying to hold it close to her body. Her face was pained.

  “What did you do to her?” I snarled as the guard approached me.

  “I did nothing,” Deimos replied. “We didn’t even make it to the interrogation room. The princess tripped over her own boot and landed on her arm. Nasty break, by the sound of it.” I twisted as I was dragged to my feet by the guard. If she was bleeding that freely, it meant bone had punctured the skin beneath her jacket.

  “Heal her,” I demanded.

  “No.” It was Hannele’s voice this time. My head snapped toward her. “I don’t want their help.”

  “Come along, Lady Advisor,” said Deimos, turning again on his heel. He led me into the corridor, followed by the guard. I tried to look back, but the cell door slammed shut before I could catch a last glimpse. Palms clammy, I marched forward.

  ~

  “So, Lady Redfern, we’re finally alone.”

  I glared at Lyra, who sat opposite me in an interrogation chamber. Deimos had led me around, marching me up and down corridors for nearly half an hour before we arrived at the door to the room I now sat in. He’d remained outside while a guard chained me to an uncomfortable wooden chair. I waited alone, anticipation brewing in my stomach while sweat beaded on my forehead, sure that at any moment, Deimos himself or one of his men would enter, whip in hand, ready to reopen the scarred flesh on my back. Instead, the door opened and in strode Lyra, humming softly as she made herself comfortable, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked after several minutes’ silence. “I’ve been locked away for I don’t even know how long—”

  “You’ve been our guest here for just under a month, Lady Advisor,” the keeper replied. “The Mothers wanted to be sure that the Medeisian armies wouldn’t come marching in to save you.”

  A month. I clenched my jaw.

  “They won’t. The Crown will honor its promises.” A month. “All we ask is for someone to teach me to control my powers. We’ve tried with sorcerer teachers, it doesn’t work. The magic I inherited from my father, the magic he learned from the Children—I believe only someone from your coven can teach me to manage it.”

  Lyra scanned me up and down, still tapping her fingers. “You say you can control the elements. How did you come to learn this?” I blinked.

  “It was an accident, I suppose. First it was fire. I was scared, having a nightmare, and I woke with my hands engulfed in flames . . .” I continued to describe each instance in which a new element had appeared to me. Lyra’s expression did not change.

  “And the mindwalking?”

  “Another accident,” I said. “My friend, he has a peculiar gift. He was trying to show me an image from his memory, but when I took his hand, I was able to relive the whole thing from his perspective. I’ve only done it twice.”

  “I see.”

  “What is it that you’re trying to learn from me? If you want to know my intent, just have another mindwalker come in here and look at my thoughts.”

  “That would be impossible, my lady,” said Lyra. “We have not had a mindwalker among our ranks in years.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Witchcraft is learned, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “So how can there be no mindwalkers? No one has bothered to learn—”

  “Do you know much about our goddess, Lady Shaye?” Lyra asked, folding her hands in her lap.

  “Your goddess?”

  “Otana,” she said with a single nod. “Much like the Medeisian goddess Ehnara, we consider her a mother figure. But her main passions lie in wisdom and learning. She gifts us with our markings to show the world what we have achieved in our studies, our practice of her craft. It is said that only when one’s markings cover them from their head down to the bottoms of their feet are they worthy to learn the art of mindwalking,” she said solemnly. “In my two hundred years of life, I have never met a mindwalker. No one still living has.”

  “But—but the elemental magic. Someone could still teach me that, couldn’t they?”

  “Of course they could, my lady,” Lyra said. “The question is whether they will.”

  My palms were sweating. If I weren’t in silver, I was sure I’d be aflame by now. “Will they? Have you learned anything new from this conversation that will help the Mothers make their decision?”

  “We’ve barely had a discussion,” she said. “It may take three or four more—”

  “I don’t have that kind of time!” I nearly yelled. “I have a life! I have a family—” I stopped myself, realizing it was the first time I had called them that. “My king awaits my safe return,” I said softly, not caring if I sounded weak. “I am begging for a teacher, Lyra. If the answer is no, then . . . then wipe our minds and send us back, like the sentries. Let us think we failed. But don’t live up to the cruelty my people think exists here.”

  Lyra stared at me blankly for a moment. “You said your flame appeared after having nightmares.” I sighed.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you often have nightmares?”

  “I did,” I told her. “Until I found myself sleepwalking so many times that Aydan sent for a tincture from a trusted healer. Keeps me from dreaming.”

  “You call your king by his first name,” she observed. I pursed my lips. “You haven’t had any of your belongings since arriving here. Have you been having nightmares these past few weeks?” she asked. I frowned.

  “No,” I said. “I didn’t realize . . .”

  “Have you had any dreams at all since leaving your home?”

  “Just—” I stopped myself, not sure if I should continue. I lifted my gaze to meet hers and felt the words escape my lips. “I had a dream about my father, the night Hannele and I were captured by your guards.” Lyra rested her chin on a fist.

  “I think I have what I need for today,” she said suddenly. She snapped her fingers once and the door opened; Deimos swept in and roughly hauled me to my feet.

  “Wait—” I said, pulling away from his grip. “Please, Lyra, I want peace between our people. I want to learn—” Deimos clutched me tighter, dragging me from the room. I resisted, and one of the guards’ fists collided with my jaw, filling my mouth with blood almost instantly. I heard Lyra’s muffled voice scold the men while I blinked away stars. When the world came back into focus, I was being all but dragged away, back to the darkness.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Time continued to pass.

  When I had been tossed back into our cell and my chains fastened once again, Hannele questioned me about my so-called interrogation.

  “It felt like she was trying to get to know me,” I said. “She was just asking questions about how my witchcraft appeared, and then Deimos and the guards were there and I was getting punched.”

  “Strange,” was all Hannele had to say. She looked ill, with her arm still kept close to her body.

  “Won’t you let them look at that?”

  “No,” the princess said. “If there’s any chance of Kenna still knowing where we are and if we’re alive, I can’t let them perform spells on me.”

  “I highly doubt Kenna can see you right now.”

  “Maybe not, but when we get out of here she needs to know where we are. If I’m tainted by their magic, it won’t matter,” she snapped, then winced.

  “Okay,” I said, not wanting to get her any more worked up. “I’m sure we’ll be out soon.”

  ~

  A few days passed, and Hannele was starting to scare me. A permanent sheen
of sweat lay across her forehead, and her breathing had become labored as her limp arm lay across her lap. Any movement on Hannele’s part made her cry out in pain. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t reach for food, let alone bring it to her mouth if she tried. The princess’s complexion was ashen, and bags had formed under her eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Between the weakness from lack of sustenance and what was almost certainly an infection in her wound, I knew she wouldn’t live much longer unless she got some help.

  When a guard entered to allow me to relieve myself, I begged him to let me feed her.

  “Please,” I said, pulling against his grip on my arm. “Keep the cuff on me, chain me next to her, but let me give her some food—” The guard kicked my leg out from underneath me, knocking me to the floor, where I landed with all of my weight on my other knee. The unsettling cracking sound and sharp pain of my flesh against the stone floor brought bitter tears to my eyes. “Please,” I begged again as I was hauled to my feet and the guard again fastened the chain to my cuff. “She’s dying, please—get her a healer, let me feed her—” He left, slamming the cell door behind him. A sob tore from my throat.

  “It’s no use, Shaye,” came Hannele’s weak voice. “They won’t kill me outright, but I will die here. You’re going to have to—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped at her. “You will not die here. You will not give up. I order you—” I stammered through the tears. Staring at my lap, I whispered, “Don’t leave me alone.”

  She didn’t reply, and when I looked up, she was asleep.

  ~

  Hannele didn’t wake much the next day. Each time a guard entered to make their rounds, I begged for a healer. Each time, they ignored me.

  Finally, after being ignored once again by the guard dragging me to the chamber pot, I bent toward his arm and bit down as hard as I could, and he roared in pain. He ripped his arm from my mouth, my teeth tearing a chunk of his flesh from the limb. Blood poured from the wound, and when he raised his arm to strike me, I dodged him, ducking out of the way and shoving my weight into him. He raised his other arm to block me and I bit that one too. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and I shoved my knee into his groin, sending him to his knees with a yelp. I got in a few punches before the cell door flew open and in poured another four guards who yanked me away and pinned me to the ground. I shielded my head as I received several blows to my face and body.

  “Trying to escape, are we?” crooned Deimos’s voice from the doorway. The guards moved and I saw the witch leaning against the frame, smirking at me. “I have to say, I expected better from you, Lady Redfern.”

  “I’m not trying to escape,” I said, flecks of blood falling from my mouth to the floor. “I just need someone to listen to me.”

  “Oh?” said Deimos, now approaching me, bending so that his face was inches from mine. He spoke softly. “And here I thought we were such gracious hosts. The Mothers will be devastated to hear that you feel so ignored. We’ll be sure that you receive the extra special attention you so crave—” I spat in his face.

  Deimos jerked away, wiped the blood and spittle from his eye, and chuckled darkly. Then he moved so quickly that I didn’t realize what was happening until the back of his hand collided with my cheek. Fingers wrapped themselves around my throat. I choked, clawing at him, but the guards caught my hands. That smirk remained on his lips as my vision grew fuzzy. It felt like hours, but only a few seconds later, I heard a muffled voice say, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Deimos let go and I gasped for air, nearly crying as relief filled my lungs. Coughing, I looked up and saw Lyra standing in the doorway, gawking at the scene before her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked as he turned to face her, smoothing his hair back.

  “You have your role, darling, and I have mine.” He reached to place his hand on her chin, but Lyra slapped it away.

  “Your role is to do as the Mothers say: keep the prisoners safe.”

  “She was never in any real danger—”

  “Because I happened to show up.” She moved to clear the doorway, pointing to the corridor. “Get out.” Deimos clenched his jaw but didn’t say another word as he strode into the corridor and turned the corner. Lyra glared at the guards holding me. “Secure the prisoner and leave.” They quickly followed her instructions, this time chaining me beside Hannele before they left. The three of us were quiet and alone, Hannele likely not even aware of what had just happened.

  “Lyra, please,” I said, my voice dripping in desperation. “You have to heal her. If she dies—”

  “I can’t,” she said, squatting and examining Hannele’s arm. Her finger grazed the princess’s jacket, and Hannele cried out softly in her sleep. “The infection is too widespread. Nothing that I know how to do will help. But, here—” Her hand hovered over the broken arm as she murmured under her breath. “I can’t stop the other effects, but she won’t feel any pain from the injury now.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, tears slipping down my face. The keeper gave a small nod before turning and leaving, the cell door shutting behind her with a thud.

  ~

  It was a struggle to stay awake.

  I spent the next two days drifting in and out of sleep. My body was too exhausted to do much else, and for the first time since the night in the cave, I dreamt—mostly of Aydan. Of the future we would never have, of his face, so stoic and serious when we met, smiling and laughing for me. I dreamt of Kenna and Gerridan. Of Alastair—and even my mother. All the people I loved, and who loved me, all the people I had betrayed by being so selfish, so foolish as to think I could stride into the Onyx Temple and talk my way into an agreement with the Children.

  Hannele was dying, and there was nothing I could do but watch her waste away. The infection, which if not for the silver cuff on her wrist would have healed itself by now, was ravaging her body. She drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to fight it, but she was weak. She couldn’t chew any of the food I gave her, and when I was given broth to help her sip, I saw that it was barely more than water.

  Hannele shivered with fever, and when she did open her eyes, they were glazed over. As I slipped into sleep once more, I doubted she would make it through another day.

  ~

  I stood in blackness again, watching on as Lord Ronan paced his secret study. I didn’t feel any of my injuries here, only the chill of the darkness surrounding me. I stepped into the room.

  “Hello.” I didn’t wait for him to notice me this time.

  “You again,” he said with his back turned, rearranging some books on one of the many shelves lining the perimeter of the room. “Did you make it home safely?”

  “No,” I replied. “My friend and I were captured. We’ve been in a cell in the Onyx Temple for weeks. We’re injured, and held in silver. She’ll soon be dead.” Ronan faced me.

  “That is unfortunate,” he said. “Weeks, you say? Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s been two days since you last appeared to me.”

  “That is interesting.” After a pause, I continued, “I wonder if you could help us, my lord.”

  “How and why would I do that?”

  “Because I am like you, sir, and I—I don’t even know if this is real—” I halted. “I am a sorceress of Medeisia, but I can also wield witchcraft. Perhaps a spell—”

  “If you are held in silver, young lady, no spell I know can help you.”

  “I thought as much,” I sighed. “It was worth a try.” I quieted, and Ronan went back to his work. He shifted items around while flashes of red and purple burst from his hands. Some were accompanied by words muttered under his breath, but nothing changed. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Warding,” Ronan replied.

  “Against whom?”

  “Anyone who might stumble across this place.” He faced me again. “Tomorrow, my king wishes to honor the officers who fought for us last year. Some trouble with the Nautians. There will be visito
rs everywhere. Can’t have anyone go exploring and find this place by accident.” My heart was in my throat. Tomorrow was the officers’ ball. Ronan would meet Brina tomorrow. I swallowed.

  “You mustn’t—” I started impulsively before pressing my lips shut.

  “What?”

  “Nothing—nothing of importance,” I replied. If this was real, if I was really seeing Ronan, then I must tread carefully with what I might tell him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a loud noise startled me, and when my eyes snapped open, I was back in the cell.

  Deimos towered over me, and a plate of what barely passed as food lay on the ground, most of its contents scattered on the stone floors. The witch stood with his legs on either side of mine, so when he squatted down, he straddled my lap.

  “Wakey wakey, Lady Redfern,” he crooned, brushing hair from my forehead. Dried blood flaked beneath his fingers as they dragged across my skin.

  “Stop,” I rasped. “You win—just, just stop.”

  “My lady, I’ve barely started,” he murmured.

  “My king will have your head,” I said with all the venom I could muster. “Kill me, do what you want—but know that he will not rest until your head is on a spike at the palace gates.” Deimos huffed a laugh.

  “I’ll take that into consideration after I’ve had my fun.” He slammed his mouth against mine. I tried to turn my head away, but Deimos grabbed my jaw with one hand and held me still while the other pressed in between my legs. His slimy tongue forced itself between my lips, my teeth, and into my mouth—

  I bit down, hard.

  I wasn’t sure which was worse, the feeling of a severed piece of tongue floating around in my mouth or Deimos’s shriek as he pulled himself away. His hand clutched at his mouth as blood gushed past his fingers and his wide eyes stared into mine in disbelief. I spat his tongue out onto the floor, a mouthful of his blood sprayed out along with it. He looked like he might vomit or strike me. Instead, he snatched the piece of tongue and fled the room.