The Fifth Son

by Blaine D. Arden

  NEIA DIDN'T SEEM completely comfortable as she posed for me at the edge of the fen with the waterfall roaring behind her, despite her enthusiasm when I told her I was going to paint her on our way here. She stood still, her hands clasped behind her back, half looking at the fen, half looking at me, her thick, dark blond hair hanging loose around her face. Because she wore her uniform, I intended to paint only her face, but Neia had insisted I do a full body portrait. She was proud to be a soldier. Undoing her braid had been her only concession.

  A soldier at rest, if barely. If only she would show more of a smile, or would relax into her stance. But despite my attempts to lighten her seriousness, Neia's body seemed poised to jump into action at any time, and she kept turning her head at every movement around us. "To watch for intruders," she'd said when I asked her to hold still. Even posing, Neia was doing her job.

  "I saw your painting of the water nymphs," Neia said as she looked across the fen again. "Do you think they'll show themselves today?"

  "They don't come out often. Besides, it's too early for them."

  "Pity. I'd have loved to see them."

  "If we stay here long enough, we might." I doubted it—in all the times I'd been here they'd rarely shown themselves to me—but I liked the look of hopeful longing it created on Neia's face. A look I had to paint, because it fitted her so much better than a smile.

  Surrounded by the sound of the thundering waterfall, I finished my painting of Neia. Her expression gave the painting a melancholy feel, her head turned away as if she was looking at something just out of frame, her dark blond hair nicely framed by the blues and whites of the waterfall. I hoped she would like it.

  Neia's head snapped to the left, her eyes narrowing as she studied something behind me. I turned when her eyes widened and she reached for her shooter, and froze when I smelled magic. Behind me, Neia gasped. I couldn't look away from the shooters pointed at us, but I let out a breath in relief when I heard a thump instead of a splash; at least Neia hadn't fallen into the fen.

  The shooters looked different from ours—some dull grey material I didn't recognise instead of copper, and the hands holding them dark like those of the Atan people—but the effect on me was the same. I stood frozen, eyes drawn to the shooters, and swallowed against the arousal I couldn't suppress. I should have ducked, run, jumped into the water, should have done something, but all three shooters were pointed at me, and I couldn't move, couldn't look away. Even if I could move, now, it would be too late. I couldn't risk letting them know their magic didn't work on me. Who knew what they'd do if they found out?

  In that moment, I was convinced Mother had always been right. I couldn't protect myself. Despite being immune to magic, despite my training, a shooter pointed at me was all it took to render me useless.

  I'm sorry.

  The zing of a shooter pierced through the sounds of the thundering waterfall. When the scent of magic reached me, I counted to five and let myself drop back as if hit, hoping the moss would cushion my fall.

  I'm sorry.

  My head hit a rock before bouncing on the moss. I nearly bit my tongue at the pain, but I didn't cry out and didn't move. Closing my eyes, I hoped they believed my act.

  I was grabbed and carried through the forest. The movement made my stomach lurch. I tried to remember where we were going, but they weren't taking paths I recognised. Sometimes leaves brushed my face, sometimes they tilted me sideways to worm their way through the dense trees. All I was aware of was the sound of the waterfall fading into the background.

  I'm sorry, Ariv.

  It was silly to think of our outing, of not being at the gate when he expected me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't give myself away and my head was pounding. So I stayed silent and let them carry me farther and farther away from my home.

  Finally, I was hoisted into some sort of cart.

  "Should we bind him, Overseer?"

  "No. No marks."

  "What if—"

  "Then we'll stun him again. Understood?"

  "Yes, Overseer."

  Overseer? What sort of rank was that? There was no such rank in Father's army. Maybe they were slave traders. It had been a long time since those had ventured into Eizyrr, and I only knew about them from rumours, but it was all I could think of. They might not even know who I am; they could have stumbled across us by accident, just a painter and his model. Of course, with Neia dressed in soldier's garb, I knew I was only deceiving myself.

  Neia. Had they taken her, too, or had they left her at the waterfall? Would they have let her live? I tried to convince myself she was alive and would alert Father, my family, and Ariv about my abduction. They would come for me. Ariv would come for me.

  For now, though, I was on my own, and I needed to know where they were taking me. So, I swallowed against the pain and the nausea, and listened for their voices, hoping they would give me a clue about who they were and who they worked for. I listened to the sounds around me, the rustling of the leaves, birds, boars, a wolf even, hoping to pick up something that would tell me where I was or where we were going.

  It became colder, more windy, and I realised we had reached the far edge of the forest. We were nowhere near the castle. The ground under the cart was uneven and the footfalls sounded soft, as though my captors were walking on grass or moss, which meant open fields, not farm land.

  And the only open fields on this side of the forest were the ones separating Eizyrr from Atan. They were taking me to Atan.

  Chapter Seven

  MY HEAD HURT. It was throbbing, following the rhythm of my heartbeat, and I wished it would stop. I couldn't think. There was something in the back of my mind, something I should be doing, had been doing. What was it?

  Ariv. I was meeting Ariv at the gate. Had the dinner bell sounded already?

  I carefully rolled onto my back, wriggling until I lay comfortably on the soft bedding. Why did my head hurt so much?

  I opened my eyes. The image was a bit fuzzy, but of one thing I was certain. This was not my bedroom. I closed my eyes again. Where was I?

  Too many questions I had no answers to. I needed someone to answer, but just as I wanted to call out, I remembered I had been at the waterfall, painting Neia, and I remembered falling. I faked falling because people were pointing shooters at me. Then they carried me through the forest, towards Atan.

  Yes, Atan, that was where they had taken me. But why?

  Opening my eyes again, I blinked a couple of times to clear the image. The room was dark, a reddish brown hue on both walls and ceiling. I turned my head to look around and instantly regretted it. My head burst with pain, and the throbbing got worse. Just my luck to hit a rock instead of landing on the moss as I had intended. I breathed against the pain until it became more bearable, and tried to study the room without moving my head. There were large, darkened windows. It seemed to be twilight outside. How long had I been here? And where was Neia? I hoped she was all right. I wished I knew whether they'd brought her or left her behind.

  I hoped they'd brought her. I could use some help getting out of here.

  I lifted my hands, relieved they weren't bound. "No marks," I remembered the overseer saying. If only my head didn't burst at even the slightest movement, I could have planned my escape already. But all I could do now was close my eyes, and hope I'd feel well enough to try later.

  My thoughts of later vanished when the door whooshed open. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I turned my head, and opened my eyes to see Queen Solanta enter the room, followed by two Atan guards and a meek–looking Orna.

  "Good morning, Prince Llyskel," Queen Solanta said cheerfully as she approached the bed. "Welcome to Atan. I was sorry to hear about your little mishap on the way here. A concussion, my healers tell me, but they assure me that with plenty of bed rest, you'll be fine in no time."

  "Where is Neia?"

  "Who?"

  "Neia, my guard. She was with me—"

  "You came alone, Prince Llyskel."
<
br />   Came alone? I frowned. So, they had left her behind. If only I could be certain that meant Neia was all right, that they hadn't hurt or killed her, and that she'd been able to tell Father and Ariv what happened to me.

  Ariv, who would be waiting for me at the gate. But I wouldn't be there. I had let Atan soldiers ambush me—who else would do Queen Solanta's bidding?—had let my obsession with shooters get the better of me. I had let Ariv down.

  Queen Solanta sat on the edge of my bed and smiled at me. "We're already preparing the ball in honour of your visit and the upcoming betrothal. Orna is quite delighted."

  I frowned and looked at Orna, who didn't even look up from the floor. So much for being delighted. As for the queen… I couldn't understand. She had had me abducted, yet here she was, talking to me as if I travelled here for a voluntary visit. And what was this betrothal? What did it mean?

  "I'll have one of the cooks bring up some broth for you. I've been told you need rest, so I'll not keep you long." Queen Solanta rose and righted her skirts. "Rest well, Prince Llyskel. I'm looking forward to seeing you dance with Orna at the ball."

  When Orna moved to follow her mother, Queen Solanta turned to her, shaking her head. "No. You stay. Get to know him."

  Orna flinched when the door closed. She didn't move and stood with her back turned to me, watching the door.

  "This betrothal," I asked her. "Is that an Atan celebration?"

  Orna's head shot up, and she turned around. "You don't know?"

  "No."

  Orna looked at the bed and back at the door. She took a few steps and stopped. "It's when two people promise to wed."

  Wed, that meant marriage. It sounded like a betrothal was like a courtship. "And who will be betrothed?"

  Orna shook her head.

  "You don't know?"

  Orna shook her head again.

  "You do know."

  This time, Orna nodded.

  That didn't make sense. Unless… "You don't want to tell me."

  A shake again.

  "Why not?"

  Orna bit her lip. "Mother told me not to."

  It had to be the concussion, because it took a while before it dawned on me what that could mean. "I'm one of the betrothed, aren't I?"

  Wide golden eyes locked onto mine, even as Orna said, "No."

  She was lying, though I wished she weren't. Abducted to marry me off to… to whom? Vik or… No. Orna was a mere stripling, a shy stripling who could barely stand to dance with a man. "Why?"

  "I will be fifteen in six moons, and Mother thinks you'd be a suitable consort for me."

  Though the answer came quickly this time, it sounded as if rehearsed, and Orna looked anything but happy about it. A sentiment I shared. Me, a suitable consort for a stripling girl? Was the queen mad? I was already being courted. Of course, the queen probably didn't know about that.

  "It's our way," Orna continued. "When a girl reaches that age, her parents find her a suitable, mature husband, to guide her and father her offspring."

  Those words coming out of Orna's mouth made me shudder. She couldn't seriously be expected to raise a family at this age. Let alone with me. "Why me?"

  That seemed to startle Orna. Though, honestly, anything seemed to startle her. "Because of your… because you…"

  It was suddenly painfully clear to me what Orna was too embarrassed to say; her eyes said it for her. Queen Solanta thought I was a perfect consort for Orna because I was the fifth son, the powerless Prince of Eizyrr. I remembered what my parents had said about Royal Consort Rass. "No rights," Mother had said. He had no rights aside from those Queen Solanta granted him. The queen wanted me because I had no powers. I couldn't even leave this room, as the door and windows opened with magic. I had a feeling the queen wouldn't be amenable to making the castle more accessible to me once I wed her daughter.

  I swallowed and clenched my fists to quench my anger. This wasn't Orna's fault. "Why abduct me? She could have petitioned for me during your visit." I knew the answer even before I finished asking the question. Queen Solanta's request would have been declined. My parents had refused to let me visit Atan to paint; they weren't going to be open to a petition to wed their daughter. Especially now that Ariv was courting me. "I'm not going to do it."

  "You have to."

  "Do you want to be wed to me?"

  "No!" Orna shrank back as she said it, eyes wide with fear.

  I smiled at her and hoped she didn't think I was angry at her. "It's all right to feel that way." How could I blame her? I didn't want to be wed to her, either.

  "No. Mother said you're to be my consort. She said… she said…"

  I could well imagine what Queen Solanta had said. She would expect Orna to do as she was told. I closed my eyes. I couldn't expect Orna to go against her mother's wishes, her mother's command. It was up to me to try and stop this betrothal.

  I SPENT THE next two days sleeping and planning. Though less planning than sleeping, unfortunately. Orna kept visiting me, and there were times I thought being betrothed to her wouldn't be such a bad thing. It would keep Queen Solanta happy and Orna away from being betrothed to the next best potential consort in line.

  I only had to think of Ariv to stop myself from giving in to those thoughts. There was nothing I wanted more than be back with him. I closed my eyes and imagined Ariv as he trained with me, his suntanned skin glistening with sweat, his eyes locked on mine, a hint of promise in them. How his strong arms would wrap around me as he kissed me, how they would pull on the rope he bound me with…

  The door opened, and I jerked, head throbbing, making sure I was completely covered. Orna approached my bed and sat on the edge. I pushed the thoughts of Ariv down as I willed my body to relax into the bed. I wanted to go home. Still, looking at Orna, I wished I could take her with me, at least until Vik and Royal Consort Rass returned from their trip. A trip I had no doubt had been planned by Queen Solanta to keep them away.

  "No sign of Vik or Father," Orna said, sounding disappointed.

  I wasn't surprised. Orna was convinced that Vik would talk Queen Solanta out of the betrothal. He had already told her to wait to find Orna a consort, that Orna was too young to be betrothed. I had no doubt Vik would try again, but abducting me seemed a clear sign that the queen had no intention of listening to her son. In any case, I didn't think Vik and his father would be back in time to stop the betrothal.

  That was why I'd decided to make a run for it as soon as I could. If only my plan worked.

  "Tell me more about the gardens, Orna."

  "Oh, the merus flowers are blooming near the south gate. They're yellow and orange with large dark green stems. They smell like honey. Or honey smells like merus flowers. I can't remember what the gardener said." She glowed. "Have you ever seen a merus flower?"

  I shook my head and listened carefully for any hint of a layout of the gardens. It was hard to form a clear picture, but I knew I needed to keep away from the south gate she kept talking about. Orna mentioned a smaller gate to the west, once, but nothing about guards. Still, that gate would seem safer for me to get through. Less crowded.

  Orna had already told me all I needed to know about the layout of the castle. Even if I didn't have a complete image, I knew I'd be able to find my way around. I hoped that one day she would forgive me for using her this way.

  As soon as Orna left, I would get out of bed and look out of the window to confirm what she told me. My head still throbbed, but concussion or not, I only had one day left before the ball. If I didn't get out of bed now, I might as well give up.

  I HATED THE tunic, trousers, and thin leather shoes I'd been presented with. I put them on, of course—running away in a sleeping gown would be madness—but the colours were far too bright to be inconspicuous, and the shoes weren't meant to be worn on long walks.

  Orna had left a little while ago, and I felt a pang of regret for leaving her behind. I hoped her faith in Vik was well–founded, and that he would keep her safe from the quee
n's plans. There was nothing I could do for her, short of wedding her myself, and I was not going to let that happen.

  The doors were almost as thick as the walls, but through the cracks I could hear slivers of chatter coming from downstairs. The guests were arriving for dinner. Just a little longer and I'd be gone.

  I waited until the voices died down, assuming they had all been led to the dining room. I didn't know exactly where that was, but there was at least one hall between the entrance and the dining room. I hoped that meant the entrance was free, because I didn't fancy jumping down from the balcony. Too big a risk of breaking bones. Not to mention having to smash a window to get to the balcony. Bloody magical doors.

  Getting out of bed was less challenging than I'd expected. Until lunch time, I had still felt light–headed every time I sat up. I had no idea what the queen's healer had given me, but I could barely even feel my head throb any more, which was a good sign. I hoped it would last.

  The day before, my plan had been to tear my tunic and ask the guard outside my door for help, hitting him as soon as he came in. And then I'd been told I could walk to the toilets by myself. This solved the problem of having to run around with a torn tunic, as well as the indignity of a bedpan.

  All I had to do now was knock and tell the guard I needed to go to the toilet. It seemed so simple, yet I couldn't bring myself to do it. I stood in front of the door, staring at it, willing it to open on its own. Despite Ariv's lessons, I was afraid I would miss or not punch the guard hard enough.

  When I had finally gathered enough courage to knock, the door opened immediately. The guard had barely taken one step into the room, when I raised my hands, pulled the right one back and punched him…in his shoulder. He opened his mouth, but I quickly followed up with my left, hitting him in the jaw this time. My hands hurt, but the guard staggered back and fell against the wall next to the door, hard. I stared at him as he slid to the ground. I'd done it. I had actually knocked the guard out. And then the door started sliding shut.