by Jaye McKenna
Her chin dipped in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Your Highness. Is there anything you need from the kitchen? Melli’s put together a small lunch basket for your journey. I do hope it’s enough. We wouldn’t want you to be hungry.”
“Don’t fret, Patra,” Jaire said with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Melli’s idea of a small lunch basket would feed an entire regiment.” He held up the parcel. “I’ve room for this in my pack. I promise you, it will be in Ambris’s hands by tonight.”
“Enjoy your stay then, Your Highness.”
“I shall. Thank you, Mistress Patra.”
Jaire closed the door.
“Who is it you’re going to see?” Vayne asked. “Fugitives, are they?”
“Ai, from the Council,” Jaire said, putting the parcel into his pack and stuffing the rest of his shirts in on top of it. “Kian was Ilya’s apprentice until the Wytch Council sent him to Miraen to be healer to Prince Ambris. Ambris is a dragon shifter like Garrik and Ilya, only the Council thinks he’s dead, and Kian, too, and that’s why I have to go and warn them that Wytch Master Faah is coming.”
“Why is a prince of Miraen in hiding?” Vayne wondered, though he could imagine all sorts of reasons for wanting to avoid the Wytch Council.
Jaire was only too happy to explain as he selected three volumes from his bookcase to slip into his pack. “Oh, well, the last Council Speaker, Master Taretha, was Ambris’s aunt, and she was trying to steal his power. She wanted to take over the entire Council, and we don’t know who else might have been in her confidence. She had Ambris imprisoned at Blackfrost, and she sent Kian to be his healer. But Kian fell in love with Ambris and helped him escape. When they came here, Ambris asked Garrik for sanctuary, and Garrik granted it. It was all very romantic, and much more exciting than any tale in a book, because it was real.” Jaire’s eyes became dreamy and distant. “Kian made a very good hero, I thought. I wouldn’t mind having someone like him come and rescue me.”
“And what do you need to be rescued from, Prince Jaire?”
“Everything.” Jaire sounded weary. “I wish I could go away and live in a tiny village, like Kian and Ambris, and not have people looking at me and judging everything I do and say and wear. Even if I don’t have to be the heir, I have to father one, and of course he’ll have to be raised here. Which means I’ll never escape the Court.”
Vayne found himself feeling rather sorry for Prince Jaire. For all that the young man had a physical form and a brother who seemed to care for him a great deal, he seemed to be nearly as lonely and isolated as Vayne was.
Chapter Four
Two guardsmen accompanied Jaire to Aeyr’s Grove, one riding some distance ahead, and one behind, leaving him free to chatter with Vayne all he liked. Vayne appeared to be perched upon the head of Jaire’s sturdy black mountain pony, who was oblivious to his presence.
“What a lovely pony,” Vayne said as soon as the guardsmen had ranged far enough ahead and behind to be out of earshot. “What’s her name?”
“Star Flower Ice Diamond Princess,” Jaire mumbled, cheeks heating as they often did when he thought about the fact that at twenty, he was still small and slender enough to ride a pony. “I was twelve!” he added defensively. “And she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She needed to have a beautiful name. Father rolled his eyes and said I wouldn’t want to be wrestling with that mouthful on the battlefield.”
Vayne smiled. “I think it’s a perfect name.”
“I just call her Star now,” Jaire said. “For the blaze on her forehead. Father said I should have a proper horse when I got big enough, but as you can see, that never happened. It’s probably just as well. I find those great brutes Garrik favors to be quite terrifying.”
“I never enjoyed riding my father’s war horses, either,” Vayne said. “Bad-tempered bastards, all of them. I had a sweet little white mare named Snowflake, much to my father’s disapproval.”
Jaire grinned. Each piece of their childhoods they shared only confirmed his feeling that in Vayne, he’d found a kindred spirit. “Fathers can be so difficult. They have all these impossible expectations. Mine never understood that I preferred books to swords. It’s not my fault I take after my mother. She was small and delicate… well, you know what she looked like, I’m sure. Her portrait’s in the Grand Hall. It’s a good thing one of us took after Father. I don’t suppose he’d have been happy at all if we’d both ended up like me: weak and clumsy.”
“You don’t seem at all clumsy to me,” Vayne said.
Jaire looked away, certain he was just being kind. “That’s because you haven’t seen me try to do anything that involves coordination. Honestly, the weapons master gave up on me. Said I’d never be able to lift a proper sword.” He flashed Vayne a small grin and dropped his hand briefly to the hilt of the knife he wore on his belt. “I’m wicked good with a knife, though. Jorin taught me every dirty trick he knows, and he grew up scrapping in the streets of Mir. He said it was criminal that no one had taught me to defend myself properly.”
“He’s right,” Vayne said solemnly. “Peace is a fragile state. I’m surprised the Wytch Council’s been able to keep it for this long.”
Jaire didn’t answer Vayne, but he couldn’t help but think of the alliance Garrik was hoping to forge. Would it really lead to prosperity for the northern kingdoms? Or could it plunge Skanda into war? Given what he’d learned in his history books, Jaire had always believed the Council had brought peace to Skanda, but now Vayne had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind.
Could it be that the Council really was as bad as Garrik and their father had always said?
When Jaire finally glanced at Vayne again, the ghost-prince was staring up at the great mountain looming over them, clearly enraptured.
“I wish I could smell the air,” Vayne said, a wistful expression on his handsome face. “That’s one of the things I miss the most. I can see and hear perfectly well when I’m here, but smell and taste and touch… those are lost to me.”
“How dreadful! I can’t even imagine that.” The thought of Vayne not being able to experience the smells of the mountains, the taste of food, or even the touch of a hand was like a hollow ache in Jaire’s belly. “Right now, I can smell pine needles, wildflowers, and cold stone,” Jaire said, thinking perhaps he could make up for the lack by describing his own sensations in detail. “And it smells a bit like it might rain later — you know, sort of heavy and damp.”
Vayne listened avidly. He closed his eyes, a slight smile on his face, as if he were remembering something pleasant. “I remember,” he murmured, “but it’s been such a very long time.”
Jaire studied Vayne while the ghost-prince’s eyes were closed. He could see right through him to the mountain path beyond, and he wished there were something he could do to help Vayne find his way back into the world. “I wonder if Kian or Ambris will be able to see you?”
“I wouldn’t hold out too much hope of that,” Vayne told him, opening his eyes. “In all the years since my imprisonment, you’re the only one who’s ever been able to.”
“Ai, and I suppose if Ilya couldn’t see you, there’s not much chance of either of them being able to. Kian is just a healer, and Ambris is a healer, too, but he’s also a dragon shifter, like Ilya.” Jaire paused, recalling the last time he’d seen Ambris in dragon form. “Ambris is the most beautiful of all the dragons I know. His head is a lovely, pale gold, but his coloring shades through all the oranges of fire, and his feet and tail are dark red.” He sighed wistfully. “I wish I’d been a dragon shifter. I dream about being able to fly… all the land spread out below me like a great, living map… and the freedom… I’ve watched Garrik and Ilya playing in the air. It’s… it’s the only thing of Garrik’s I’ve ever really envied. Well. That and my father’s regard, which I never had.”
“In my time, it would have been possible,” Vayne said softly.
“What would?”
“To grant you the ability to shif
t. It was my father’s greatest achievement, and the reason the Council put my entire family to death. I told you I could manipulate mythe-shadows. That was how we intended to build our army of dragon shifters. By conferring the power of the shift upon men who could already touch the mythe.”
“Really?” Jaire could hardly breathe. “There’s nothing about that in the history books. Not even…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “Not even the ones I snuck from Master Tevari’s library.”
“No, I don’t imagine there would be,” Vayne said drily. “The Council would not have wanted even a whisper of such a thing to become common knowledge. My father refused to share his secrets with them, and they killed him for it.”
Jaire cocked his head. “Your Wytch Master, Larana, must have had something to do with it. You said she could create new patterns and manipulate mythe-shadows.”
“Ai, you’ve the right of it,” Vayne said slowly. “It was… very complicated, time-consuming, and dangerous. The technique had not yet been perfected when my father was killed, and not every attempt we made was successful.”
“You said you’d seen men die in agony when it was done wrong. I didn’t realize you were talking about making shifters. Is it really that dangerous?”
“Ai.” Vayne looked decidedly pale.
“And… your father… he made you do it… even when you didn’t want to.”
“Ai, he did.” The shadows in Vayne’s eyes cut deep into Jaire’s heart, and he quickly changed the subject.
* * *
With a companion to talk to, the journey to Aeyr’s Grove passed swiftly. Jaire was surprised when the path opened up into the empty village square. The long shadows of evening stretched across the packed dirt, and it was very quiet, most of the villagers having gone to their evening meal.
“I’m off to have an explore while you get the horses settled and greet your friends,” Vayne said before the guardsmen drew close enough for them to hear Jaire’s response. “I’ll find you a bit later. Don’t worry — the amulet will lead me back to you.”
Jaire nodded. He knew Vayne was right taking himself off while Jaire made arrangements for his escort, but he still felt a bit bereft when Vayne drifted off into the village, leaving him alone.
They stopped at the inn, where they left the horses in the care of the stable boy. Jaire handed a small pouch of coins to one of the guardsmen to pay for stabling for Star and their horses, and for food and lodging for the men. One of them planned to return to the castle in the morning with Star, and the other would wait in the village and report back to Garrik when Faah had finished his business.
After making certain Star was settled comfortably, Jaire set off for Ambris and Kian’s cottage. Ambris would find something for him to eat, even if it was only some bread and a bit of cold meat, and Jaire would prefer their company to that of the guardsmen.
He hoisted his pack over his shoulder and gave his escort a cheerful wave before heading across the square. Aeyr’s Grove was so small, he was soon past the main track through town. The dark purple shadows of twilight were just settling over the forest when he turned down the narrow path toward the little cottage where the two healers lived.
Ambris and Kian were outside, Ambris weeding the herb garden in the last of the dying light, and Kian lounging on the front step watching him. Shirtless, with his long, dark hair unbound and spilling over his shoulders, Kian was as handsome as ever, and Jaire’s heart beat a little faster at the sight of him. He could see why his brother had taken Kian as his lover all those years ago. Swallowing past a mouth gone suddenly dry, Jaire dragged his gaze away from the man he secretly yearned for and took in the rest of the scene.
The roses trained around the door were in full bloom, and Ambris’s little herb garden was looking very healthy indeed. He’d planted rabbit-bane all around the edges, forming a neat, dark green border dotted with hundreds of tiny yellow flowers.
Kian caught sight of Jaire and came forward to engulf him in a hug. The healer still worked in his father’s forge a good part of each day, and his arms were as thick and strong as ever. “I’ve missed you, Your Highness.”
Jaire scowled up at him. “Don’t Your Highness me, Kian. Not here.”
Kian’s dark eyes crinkled with amusement as Ambris joined them and gave Jaire a much gentler hug. Like Jaire, Ambris was slender. He stood a bit taller than Jaire, though he was nowhere near Kian’s height. “What are you doing here?” Ambris peered down the path, mouth pursed in disapproval. “And without an escort.”
“I had an escort,” Jaire said. “Garrik insisted on it. I left them at the inn. I’ve a message to deliver, and I’ve permission to stay with you until things settle down, if that’s all right. Patra and Melli sent a parcel for you, and I imagine it contains a note from Garrik explaining everything.” He scowled again. “And no doubt informing you that I’ve a delicate constitution and am in dire need of a rest.”
“Until things settle down?” Kian frowned and gestured for him to follow him into the cottage. “That sounds ominous. What’s happening?”
“The Wytch Council sent a Wytch Master to the castle,” Jaire said. “He says there’s a new High Wytch, and he’s threatened to replace Master Ilya. He’s coming here. He’ll be on his way tomorrow.”
“Here?” The color drained from Ambris’s face. “Why?”
Kian placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Shh. It’s all right, Ambris. We knew this was a possibility.”
“He’s come to test the children for Rakken Academy, or so he says,” Jaire said. “He says the Council doesn’t think Ilya’s been doing a good enough job of it. Garrik sent me ahead to warn you that you’ll need to go into hiding for a few days. He’ll send Ilya to you when it’s safe to return.”
Kian took the parcel to the table and carefully untied the string, which he handed to Ambris to put away for later use. Inside was a new shirt for each of them, two pots of Melli’s strawberry jam, packets of various dried medicinal herbs from Mistress Polina, and an envelope bearing Garrik’s seal. Kian broke the seal and scanned the letter, frown deepening as he read.
“Wytch Master Faah,” he said softly, glancing at Ambris. “He’d know me on sight.”
“How?” Ambris wanted to know.
“I’ve told you the story of how I had to ride out to Askarra to fetch help for Garrik when his Wytch power awakened.”
“Ai, I remember,” Ambris said. “And a very exciting story it was.”
“Well, Faah was the one they brought me to when I arrived in Askarra, filthy and half dead after riding as hard as I could to get there. He was rather put out that I refused to speak to anyone but Master Ilya.”
“It was very brave of Kian,” Jaire added. “Father had forbidden anyone to go for help, and Father’s temper was much worse than Garrik’s. With Master Tevari dead in the fire, Kian had no one at Court to protect him.”
“I had no wish to make trouble for your father,” Kian said, “but I feared Garrik would not survive if someone didn’t go for help. Master Tevari had told me to lock a blood-chain around Garrik’s neck, but not what to do after that. The blood-chain was slowly killing Garrik, but I dared not remove it. I was there when he burned the forest.” Kian’s dark eyes were distant, and Jaire shuddered at the memories his words called forth. Jaire hadn’t been there at the cottage when Garrik had gone mad with the pain of being trapped in a partial shift, but he’d seen what was left of the place after the fire, and he’d watched his father, the Wytch King, struggle to call a storm large enough to douse the flames before the entire forest burned.
From the expression on Kian’s face, he, too, was caught up in the grim memories. Ambris put a gentle hand on Kian’s shoulder, and Kian covered Ambris’s hand with his own.
“How do you feel about spending a few days in our hideaway?” Kian asked. “Garrik thinks Faah will only be in the village for a day or so.”
“I’ve no patients at the moment,” Ambris said, running a hand through his short
, golden hair. “And you were just saying this morning that things have been slow at the forge.”
“Ai, and that new apprentice of ours is working out well. She can handle anything Da can’t manage. We’ll pack up tonight and leave first thing in the morning. I’ll stop in and see Da on the way out. I suppose we’ll take this young troublemaker with us, too. Garrik says he could do with a break.” Kian looked Jaire up and down, eyes slightly unfocused as he examined Jaire with his healer’s sight. “The Council finally managed to convince Garrik to betroth you to Lady Bria, did they?”
“No,” Jaire said flatly. “That was my idea.”
“Oh?” Kian’s dark eyes focused sharply on his face.
“When Wytch King Ord made the formal request to open negotiations, I, um, accepted before Garrik could get a word in.”
“Ah. I’ll wager that went down well.”
“Actually, he was quite restrained, at least in Court,” Jaire said. “He adjourned Court for the day and dragged me off into his study to have a shout at me. Reminded me of Father, a bit.”
“I can imagine. He’s been fighting the Council for years on the subject of your betrothal.”
“So he reminded me. At the top of his lungs.” Jaire grimaced. “But I knew that Altan would suffer for it if he didn’t eventually give in. Regardless of how Garrik feels about it, Altan needs an heir. I told him I was as willing to make a sacrifice for the kingdom as he was, and that shut him up right quick.”
“But it’s not what you want,” Ambris said softly.
“No,” Jaire agreed. “Of course not. But someone has to think of the kingdom. Garrik needs Ord’s cooperation for some venture he’s cooked up. If I can get that for him by marrying Bria…” He trailed off, shrugging. “Well, I have to marry someone, don’t I? And we already know the Council approves of Bria. It seems like the sensible thing to do. And… and she and I have talked a bit, and… well, it sounds like we might be able to come to an understanding.”
