by Sarah Dalton
The guards at the gate stare at us, their mouths gaping in shock at the strange sight of a dirty prisoner riding a white stag. They raise their swords but I don’t even give them an option. I use wind to blow open the gates and ride straight through. My powers are draining but the anger is still there in my belly. I must use it to fuel me, to get us out of Cyne once and for all.
Through the gate we’re plunged into the chaotic business of the city. With merchants and residents in our way, we navigate a meandering path through the bustling streets. Anta has to negotiate the cobbles while I hold on with my one good hand, my stump lying uselessly on my thigh. My legs grip his sides, determined to stay on, determined to get away.
“Keep going, boy,” I whisper. “Get us out of here.”
The guards chase us all through the streets of Cyne, but I create fires in shops to distract them. Anta moves swiftly. I try not to let my eyes linger on the arrows poking from his flesh. I can’t think of that now. We need to get out. We need to be away from the king.
The guards soon learn my trick, and they ignore the fires. They ride furiously until they begin to catch up with us. Anta takes a sharp left turn and I hang on with my one hand, my muscles straining. I slip to the side, barely able to keep hold. But Anta swings to the right and I manage to get a better seat.
The gate out of Cyne looms ahead, but a guard rides parallel to us, pushing his horse closer and closer until our legs almost touch.
“Stop in the name of the king!”
An arrow whizzes past my ear. I duck, and urge Anta on harder. It hurts me to ask so much of him, but if we both stop, we both die. I dig deep and let out another fireball, not enough to seriously hurt the guard, but enough to throw him off course. I don’t want to kill innocent people. These men are only doing their duty.
“Not far now, boy,” I whisper to Anta.
The Cyne gate is up ahead but already a line of guards is in position to defend it, their bows raised high. Anta swerves around a young girl in the street and I lose my balance. Sweat pours down my forehead. I have to do something to get rid of the guards before they release the arrows.
“Come on, wind. Come to me,” I whisper.
There’s a change in the atmosphere as wind comes to my call. I feel it at my back. The power creates a still tension that hangs in the air before it blasts forth. The force rips open the gates, scattering the men far and wide. They land on their backs, their screams loud and piercing. I can’t look.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as we pass through the gate. Anta lets out a snort and keeps going. I bury my head in his coat, both afraid and appalled at what my power is capable of.
But I can’t think of that now.
We’re on the open road. Anta gallops onwards. The ground disappears below us in a blur. My thoughts are all jumbled up. I got away. I survived. Anta is alive. And yet I have caused destruction. I have hurt innocent people to save myself and my stag. I’ve outed myself to the world as the craft-born. I turn back for one final glance. Cyne has been a place of horror for me. It’s been a place where I’ve almost died, been taunted and bullied, and pulled into sick games by the Nix and the king. But Cyne is where Cas is, and now I am leaving him behind. What will happen next? I don’t know. All I know is, I am alive, and I must keep going.
Part Two
Chapter Five – The Hollow Royals
Casimir
Before Mae came to Cyne, the skies were always a murky grey. Now they are bright blue and the sun shines starkly in the sky. The palace thrums with new energy—her energy—sparked by her blood. How could I have thought Ellen was the pure hearted craft-born, the girl descended from the Ancients? How could I ever have believed that the girl with such power is also the girl who disregards the servants with an arrogant wave of her hand, and whose knowledge of Aegunlund is ignorant at best?
I am so stupid.
Outside the palace window stretches Cyne, with the Waerg Woods far beyond the city gates. I look south, towards Halts-Walden, the place I first met her. The true craft-born.
I cannot speak her name. Not yet. I have not uttered it aloud since she left.
Mother’s hands clasp my shoulders. “You miss her.”
“No,” I whisper. I lie. “Not after what she… she did.” I think of the fireball thrown towards me and shudder.
“She protected herself, Casimir.” Mother’s voice is soft, filled with pity. Sadness.
My throat burns as I hold back tears. “She lied so that she didn’t have to marry me. I didn’t know she hated me so much.”
“Hate? Oh, my darling Cas, you’re too naïve. There is no hate there. Fear maybe, but no hate. Why that girl loved the very bones of you—”
I shrug her away. “That’s not true. She threw the fireball right at me.”
“She threw it at your father because he was killing one of the few things she loves.” Mother forces me to turn to her. “Casimir, listen to me. Mae had her reasons for keeping her gift a secret. She is a young girl, one with a huge responsibility on her shoulders, and young girls make mistakes. They are afraid of their destinies. No, this isn’t about you, Cas, it’s about her.”
“She lied to me,” I say. “How can I ever…” I trail off, unsure of how to end the sentence, unsure of my feelings for the girl I always thought of as a friend. Or did I? Did I want more from her? I still don’t know. “Why aren’t you angry with her? Why weren’t you more surprised when she left Cyne?”
Mother’s lips move up in a half smile. Her blue eyes shine with triumph. “I always suspected. I saw it in her.”
I let out a hollow chuckle. “That special gift of yours.”
“Don’t scoff, Casimir, it is a gift. I saw her aura as I see yours. I knew she was special.”
“What about Ellen?” I ask.
Mother tilts her head to one side, and her curls of gold shimmer in the afternoon sun. “She’s not a bad person, but her aura is not quite as… special… as Mae’s.”
“You should have said something.”
She readjusts her arms and the sleeves of her dress ruffle. As the Queen of Aegunlund she wears fine, heavy dresses of expensive cloth no matter how warm it may be. “We all have the right to express ourselves in whatever way we choose. Who am I to force someone to reveal their secrets?”
“But what now? What do we do now? Will I still marry Ellen?”
After Mae left the wedding ceremony on Anta, the court has been in chaos. The wedding ceremony had been disbanded and my father ordered a group of guards to chase Mae down. They have been gone for three days and there is no word of Mae or Anta. I am torn between wishing to see her face again, and wishing for her to be safe and well somewhere, perhaps with Sasha in the Waerg Woods. Now I know that she is the craft-born I am less concerned about dark creatures capturing her. I only hope that she is strong enough to last the physical torments of what might happen to her now.
“Do you want to?”
My stomach twists, as it has many times when thinking of my forthcoming nuptials to Ellen. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I had a choice so I never gave it much thought.”
Mother leans in. “If I told you that you did not have to marry Ellen, how would you feel?”
“Relieved,” I admit. “And I think she would to.”
“Very well. You do not have to marry Ellen.”
“Will I have to marry Mae?” Speaking her name feels like one of Lyndon’s punches to my gut.
Mother’s eyes narrow. “And how would you feel about that?”
“Truthfully? A little queasy at the moment.”
“And why is that?” asks the queen.
“I’m not sure.”
“Is it because of her injury?”
My cheeks flare with heat. “No, of course not. How could you say such a thing?”
“Good,” she replies, as though it was a test. “Then what is it that makes you feel queasy?”
But I am not able to repl
y, for at that moment the door to my chambers bursts open and the king strides in with Lyndon at his heels. Right away I can tell he has been drinking. When he regards me I’m met with the familiar red tinge to his eyes, the same bloodshot and milky appearance that I associate with his drunkenness. Lyndon hides it better, but I know he has the same vices as Father.
He knocks Mother to the side and takes me by the throat. Mother regains her balance and reaches out for me but Lyndon grasps her around the waist and holds her back.
“You know something. I know you do. You know all her little secrets after spending time with the wretch in those blasted woods.” He leans forward so I can smell the sour ale on his breath. “You know everything about her. I bet you had your way with her, alone in the woods, during those cold nights.”
“I did not!” I protest. “We did not.”
He breaks into a grin. “Because you’re a coward. You’re not a man. You’ve got nothing in your trousers, I always suspected it. I always knew. Right from the first moment I saw you. You’re not an heir. You’re not fit to rule.”
“Then why haven’t you killed me?” I blurt out, sick to death of the same insults. “You’ve been telling me I’m worthless since I was born but you’ve never done anything about it.”
“Casimir, stop,” Mother says in a desperate voice. Tears run down her face, rolling down her chin towards the neckline of her gown. Lyndon tightens his grip on our mother, his eyes glinting and cold.
“There were times, boy,” Father says, drawing my attention back to him, to his whiskered face and puckered skin dotted with broken blood vessels; to his spittle coated lips and wrinkled eyes. He appears old. “There were times when you were a babe and I knew then, I knew what you would become. There were times when I saw your delicate neck and fantasised about how easy it would be to wring it.”
I knew it was coming but that doesn’t stop the thump of pain in my chest. How can a father say such things about his son?
And then I realise for the first time in my life—he is jealous. He never wants to stop being king. When I was born he realised that one day I will take over from his reign. He can’t face it. He is… afraid of me.
“Do it,” I challenge.
“NO!” Mother shouts.
Father’s eyes grow wild, and I feel the strength in his forearms.
“Go on, do it.” And for a moment I want him to succeed. For years I have dealt with his hate. For years I have taught myself to push my despicable father and brother out of my mind so I can see anything good about the world. Now I am sick of it. I am sick and tired of the struggle to find the good in the world. She has gone and left me alone. Mae has gone.
The king lets out a growl as he presses down on my windpipe. Panic fills me and heat spreads to my face. He’s really going to do it. He’s really going to kill me. I draw back my leg and kick him as hard as I can between the legs. The king doubles over in pain.
I’ve attacked the King of Aegunlund. Crown prince or not, that’s a serious offence. I try to ignore my roiling stomach as I stand up straight. “Still think I have nothing in my trousers?”
I back away from him when Lyndon lets go of Mother. “You shouldn’t have done that.” My brother sneers and pulls his arm back at the elbow.
His fist comes at me so fast I have little time to duck. I manage to twist away so that his knuckles only graze my chin, not connect with my jaw as intended. A red hot anger builds from my gut and I fly at him, my sweating palms clenched into fists. As princes we are trained fighters, and as brothers we are trained enemies, but all of my training leaves my thoughts as I fly at my brother with flailing fists. He blocks, dodges, his eyes cold and calculating, assessing my every move. My brother has no temper. He has no emotions, only cunning and malice. I draw back my right fist, ignoring Mother’s pleas and Father’s laughter, and I let it fly towards him, hoping to connect with his nose. But Lyndon knows my moves and knows me. He catches my wrist, clenches it with his stronger hand, and twists my arm behind my back.
“Lyndon, stop it!” Mother cries out.
Father claps his hands in celebration. What kind of family is this?
I double over with the pain. It shoots up and down my arm like tiny lightning bolts of excruciation. For the first two seconds I manage not to cry out, but then Lyndon lifts my arm higher and I scream from the pain.
“Lyndon, you’ll break his arm. Lyndon, stop it!”
I glance towards my mother’s red, blotchy face. Her hair is dishevelled from her struggle with my brother. She’s right. He will break my arm if he applies any more pressure.
Mother rushes across the room. She puts a hand on Lyndon’s shoulder. “Please, my darling son. Release your brother. Do it for me, Lynnie.”
The pet name jars my brother. I feel his grip loosen. She hasn’t called him that since he was a little boy, at least not in front of me.
“Oh, don’t be a pussy, Lyndon. Lynnie indeed. Why have the Gods cursed me with such sons?” the king snarls.
Once again I am forced to scream in pain as Lyndon lifts my arm even higher. Behind me I can just make out the shape of Mother as she attempts to wrestle Lyndon away from me.
“Stop it! Stop it now!”
My brother is forced to let go of me, but in the chaos Lyndon’s arm comes up and he elbows Mother in the face. She falls back onto the rug, her face a pale mask. Blood streams from her nose. My body aches and protests, but I am by her side in an instant, glaring at my brother.
For once Lyndon is shocked. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to.” He reaches out a hand to Mother but she flinches away. There’s a flicker of sadness—of hurt—in his face, but it is soon wiped away by a sneer. “I was never good enough for you, was I? It was always Casimir. The future king of Aegunlund, the golden boy with silver eyes. I hope you both choke.” He turns and strides out of the room, Father following him, still laughing at our expense.
“Could the king be any more diabolical?” I say as I help Mother to her feet.
“He is getting worse,” she admits. “He seems to enjoy inflicting cruelty more than ever before. It was never a sport for him before. Now I see that it is. Something needs to be done.”
“What do you mean?”
Not here,” she says. “The gardens.”
*
When I was a boy, I used to walk with Mother every afternoon in the gardens. The morning would be spent with her handmaidens and advisors. Part of that morning was taken up simply by dressing in her extravagant outfits. She used to tell me that her duties as queen could be split into looking the part, acting the part, and playing spy. The spying was her favourite role. I watched her carefully during Father’s banquets, noticing the way she casually asked questions and acted dumber than she was to gather small portions of information. She then kept those pieces of information to herself. She said that when I came of age I would have to learn the same tricks, that I would rule in a different way to the king. Instead of bullying, I will rule through knowledge. I will rule with my head and my heart… if I’m not killed by my father first.
Those chats in our gardens are some of my favourite memories, but now I know they were lessons, too. She was preparing me for what was to come. As I make my way to the garden maze, passing the fountain and the roses, my muscles clench for what I know is coming. It is time now. I’ve grown into a man, and a man must know when to challenge the evil in his world. The queen is ready to act against her king, and I am instrumental in helping her dethrone him. My heart is aflutter. Is it fear? Excitement? Anticipation? I have longed for this moment and yet dreaded it all the same. Mother has been preparing me since I was a little boy. She has kept me guarded, taught me how to stay on alert, and how to act more foolish than I am. Although, it’s true that I am far better at strategy than I am at physical defence, I am still more than capable at all my princely duties. Mae saw a pampered prince when she met me, but I am not.
She stands in the centre of the maze as I
knew she would. We have no guards left to watch over us. Most are chasing Mae or with the king. It was easy enough to come out here without being seen. Her eyes are narrowed and her lips puckered. There’s a crease down her forehead. This is my mother’s worried expression, and it usually means that I should also be worried.
“Mae confided in me before she left.”
“What?” I say, jarred by the statement, but also by the way Mother jumped straight into the conversation without so much as a hello. She is never usually so direct with me.
“She told me of her concerns. She thinks your father is searching for the Ember Stone, a powerful diamond with magical powers. With it your father would be unstoppable and un-killable.”
I’m reeling, leaning back on my heels. “This is… all too much. Is she right?”
“There’s no time for you to let this sink in, you must accept it at once. Now that we know Mae is the craft-born we must take this seriously. I have already gathered my most trusted advisors and I am keeping them close. They, in turn, are watching the king very carefully. One thing I know for certain, is that all throughout Cyne horses are going lame because the smiths are not working on shoes anymore. They are working on armour and weapons for your father. The guards and the soldiers are nowhere to be seen because they are training in the south.”
My jaw drops. “I had no idea. I thought the royal purse was empty.”
Mother’s jaw clenches and her eyes flash with anger. “The king has been raising taxes.”
I nod. “That I knew, but I thought it was for his wine and fine clothes.”
“It is to prepare for a war,” Mother says.
I blink. Aegunlund has not seen war for decades. Aegunlund is fearful of war, after the hundreds of years of fighting between the Aelfens and the humans, and later between the north and the south of the country. “But who with?”
