Second Son - A Prequel to The Shattered Throne

by Cate Dean

  With a sigh, he crossed the yard, walking backward as he talked to her. “That does take some of the fun out of it. I’ll only stay at the library until public closing. I have my own key, so I can come and go, but I’ll keep myself from staying late, since I know they will both have to report for training at dawn, no matter what time we return.”

  He waved at her as he joined his guards. Raine hugged her waist, and hoped the dread still in her stomach was a reaction to what Micah told her, and not a premonition.

  Five

  The closing bell echoed up from the main floor, jerking Micah out of the history book he was hunched over. He wanted to learn more about what Raine mentioned. At least, more than he knew about the disastrous coup. He had some ideas, but he wanted more information before he approached Liam.

  He closed the heavy book and stood. Using his good hand, he picked it up and walked over to the wheeled cart at the end of the bookcase. As promised, he would leave with the other patrons. He could surprise Mother and Liam, join them for supper—

  A gloved hand clapped over his mouth. Two more hands jerked him back into the darkness of the aisle between ceiling high bookcases. Micah slammed the book against the hand wrapped around his arm. The pained grunt and the hand letting him go gave Micah hope that he might escape. Until the cold, sharp edge of a blade pressed into his throat.

  A figure cloaked in black stepped into sight. “I would have you give your brother a message.” The cloth over his face muffled his voice. At the long pause, Micah figured he was waiting for assent. Micah nodded, and stilled when the blade slid up, bit into his jaw. Hot, raw pain licked at him, but he didn’t move, barely breathed. “We will have our demands heard, or he will suffer the consequences of ignoring us.”

  Micah’s captor slid his hand in Micah’s hair and yanked his head back. He fought now, desperate, waiting for the man to slit his throat.

  The blade flashed down and cut a shallow but painful line across his chest. He stumbled as the hands let him go, falling to his hands and knees on the wood floor. Blood tapped the wood; he heard it above his harsh, uneven breaths. His chest felt like it was on fire. It shouldn’t hurt this badly…

  Under the copper scent of his own blood, he smelled it.

  The knife had been laced with fire oil.

  The tainted blade moved back to his throat, and he waited for them to cut into him, in too much pain to stop it. Where were Thomas and Xander?

  As if they heard him, they appeared, rushing toward him. His captors let him go, the blade disappearing. He heard them run down the aisle behind him, just as Thomas pulled him to his feet and half carried him out of the aisle, into the flickering lamplight of the reading room.

  “Milord—damn it. Hold still, now.” Thomas eased his shirt open. Micah sucked in a raw breath. “Forgive me, milord. They overpowered us before we knew they were there.”

  “Not—your fault,” he whispered. “They did the same to me.” The air hitting his wound burned, and he tried not to curl in a ball and whimper. “Need—Raine.”

  A long pause opened his eyes. “We will take you back to the castle, milord,” Thomas said. “You’ll be safe—”

  “Wasn’t before.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to explain. “They won’t know—she can help me.”

  “All right. But I must send word to your brother.”

  Micah nodded, swallowing when a fresh burst of pain scored him. “Please—go.”

  He faded in and out as Thomas carried him out of the library, through the dark streets. Raine’s low, quiet voice brought him back, like a balm on his pain.

  “Micah—” Her warm hand brushed his cheek. “What happened?”

  “They surprised us, got past us.”

  “Not your fault, Thomas…” Micah tried to reach up to him. Every inch felt weighted, and he dropped his hand. “Raine…” He felt her lean in, smelled the scent of lemon and wildflowers. “Knife—fire oil…”

  Her gasp told him she heard his faint whisper.

  He was safe now. Thomas got him here, and he could let go, for a little while.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Get him inside, quickly.” Raine opened the door wide, and the Delta guard, Thomas, carried Micah past her. Panic clawed at her; she forced it down and away. She needed to be calm, steady. I can stop it—the wound is shallow. I can keep him from dying, like the others—

  Thomas’s pain harsh voice jerked her back. “What did he say to you?”

  “There was fire oil on the knife that cut him.”

  “Bloody damn mercenaries.”

  “Remind me to ask you about that later,” she said, and led them to her room. All of them would barely fit, but that meant no one could sneak past them, either. “You can lay him on the bed.”

  Thomas knelt, settled Micah on her narrow bed. He moaned, and the lamp hanging in the corner highlighted the damage.

  “Thomas…”

  “We’re here, milord. I’m going to be right here with you. No one will get past us, I promise you.”

  “Never—doubted you.”

  Thomas stood, gripping Raine’s arm. “Take care of him.”

  “I plan to, Thomas.”

  With a nod he let her go, joined Xander at the door. Raine grabbed a length of bandage and squeezed past the guards, heading for the back room.

  She kept a kettle of water over a low flame, for her nightly tea. As much as she hated to do it, the hot water would help break up the fire oil faster than cold. She poured the water into a bowl and soaked the bandage.

  Pushing past the hovering guards again, she knelt, and pressed the bandage against Micah’s wound. He let out a raw cry, arching off the bed. She anticipated and caught him, easing him back down. “It’s all right, Micah. The pain will be better, just give it a minute.” She noticed the shallow cut on his jaw, and tore a corner of the bandage, pressing it against the wound.

  Micah opened his eyes. Pain glazed the normally clear blue depths, and the only color in his skin was the blood staining his shirt.

  “Micah.”

  “Glad I don’t have to—correct you,” he whispered.

  Thomas moved to her side, cradled Micah’s head, while Xander crouched at the end of the bed and laid both hands on Micah’s legs. Now that they weren’t moving, she saw the blood staining their tunics. They brought Micah here, without even thinking twice about their own injuries.

  “Once I’m done with Micah, you both are next. No argument.” She pulled her satchel out from under the bed, careful to leave her surgical kit out of sight, and bent over Micah.

  It was going to be a long night.

  ~ ~ ~

  Liam showed up within the hour. He pounded on the door, which brought Celia from the main room.

  “What is going on? Raine—” Her voice cut off when Liam stormed in from the narrow hall, hair flying around his shoulders, fury snapping in his eyes. “Milord, welcome to The—”

  “Where is he?” Liam spoke to Raine, and completely ignored Celia. That snub would cost Raine later.

  “This way, milord. He’s sleeping.” She stopped outside the door of her room. “The wound was shallow, but his attackers laced the blade with fire oil. I managed to clean it out before too much damage was done. He is exhausted from fighting the pain.”

  “Where the hell were the guards I sent with him?”

  “They were jumped, and injured badly enough that it took me some time to patch them up. Even with their injuries, they helped Micah, and brought him to me. So don’t go blaming them for any of this.” She was too tired for courtesies. Liam didn’t seem to notice. “One of your guards is with him. The other went back to the library, to track the men who attacked them.”

  “I want to see Micah.”

  “Milord. Liam.” Raine laid a hand on his wrist. “He will recover.”

  Some of the fury eased, leaving behind a worried eighteen-year-old. “We’ll talk later. Once I know Micah is all right.”

  Raine opened the door. Thomas stood, bowi
ng low when Liam stepped inside. Pain flared across his face as he straightened, but none of the pain edged his voice.

  “Forgive my failure, milord. You will have my sword as soon as we—”

  “Stop, Thomas. We will deal with it later.” Liam knelt beside the bed, laid his hand over Micah’s wrist. “I am the one who needs to be forgiven. I didn’t believe they would go this far. Not over a political position.”

  He lowered his head. Raine gestured to Thomas, and he followed her out of the room. She closed the door and led him to the kitchen. Celia was gone, but Raine knew she was in for a tongue lashing later, at the very least.

  “Sit,” she said.

  He stiffened. “I do not—”

  “Take orders from a half-blood? All right, then. Sit, please.” Raine didn’t wait for him; she grabbed bread and cheese off the counter, broke off a generous piece of each before she set it on the table. “Eat. Please. I’ll be right back.” She meant to leave the food on the small table near the back door, but found Xander headed across the cobbled yard, limping. She handed him the food. “Sit. Eat. And stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t prevent. Lord Liam is here, and he will want to know what happened.”

  “Milord is—”

  “He’s sitting with his brother.”

  Xander lowered his head. “We failed the young lord.”

  Raine laid her hand on his arm, well aware she could be slapped down for it. Instead, Xander looked at her; the anguish in his eyes left her heart aching.

  “Lord Liam knows what you did. I’m going to talk to Thomas about what happened. As soon as I finish, you’re next.”

  “I do not—”

  “Already heard it. Now eat.” She closed the door on his protest, and made her way back to Thomas, sitting across from him. “What exactly did you mean when you cursed the mercenaries for hurting Micah?”

  He stared at the table. “It is an old Delta trick—the fire oil. Even a minor wound can drop an enemy, because of the pain. It was considered cowardly, and soldiers stopped using the oil. After that it became the preferred method of slavers and mercenaries.”

  Raine swallowed. “Slavers?”

  Thomas lifted his head, studied her. “Your bond—”

  “Is not important. Why would mercenaries attack the son of the Duchess? The Delta have no quarrel with the West.”

  “They don’t care who they work for, as long as money is involved.”

  Raine sat back, exhaustion hitting her, now that she stopped doing for more than a minute. “So, they may not even know who hired them.”

  “Most likely, no. But it will give us a starting place. Someone to interrogate.” He perked up at the thought.

  Raine couldn’t help but smile. It faded when Liam appeared, the cold fury back.

  She stood, Thomas moving with her. “Milord,” she said, keeping her eyes down.

  “Thank you.” His calloused hands closed over hers. “Thank you for tending him.” He let go of her. “Thomas.” The ice in his voice brought her head up.

  “Milord.”

  “You and Xander are not to leave my brother’s side. I have decided to move up the date of my ascension ceremony, and I would have Micah protected once it is announced.”

  “Milord—you can’t think to—”

  “No more!” His shout echoed through the back room. Xander burst in, halting when he saw Liam. “I will have the authority I need to deal with these traitors. See that no one disturbs us.”

  He turned around and headed back to her room, closing the door.

  Raine looked at the guards, unsettled by the stunned looks. “How bad is what he plans going to be?”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “No Duke, in the history of our city, has ever changed the tradition of the ascension in the New Year.” He glanced at Xander, who nodded. “You are a foreigner, so you wouldn’t know, but these ceremonies tie in to old rituals, before the one religion brought together the different practices. The people will not be happy.”

  Six

  It took a week before Micah was able to convince Liam to allow him more than a few steps beyond the castle wall. The announcement had already been made, but Liam was keeping quiet about any response, and living in a castle overlooking the city made it difficult to eavesdrop on gossip. Even the servants stopped mid conversation every time Micah passed them.

  He discovered the reaction to Liam’s announcement when he was in the central market several days later. The people who normally ignored him when he wandered the market surrounded him, demanding answers.

  “He’ll know why!”

  “Let me closer—I want to be the one to—”

  “No one can be changing ritual like that!”

  Micah backed away from the reaching hands, and trapped himself against the side of a stall. He could see Thomas, dressed as a dockworker and inches taller than most of the crowd, fighting to get to him, Xander right behind. Both of them too far away to help. Panic threatened, and he pushed it down.

  He knew these people only wanted answers. If he could somehow speak over them, maybe they would—

  “Micah.” The quiet, urgent voice came from near his feet. He glanced down, and relief filled him when he saw—

  “Raine?” He recognized her voice, and the blue green eyes that stared up at him. The rest of her—

  “You have to move now, before they trap you.” She reached out through the layers of bright fabric that draped the display shelf of the stall.

  He understood a moment later, when the sheer numbers pressed those in front forward. Thomas met his eyes, nodded once—and grabbed the coat of the man next to him.

  “Ho—you think you can lift me coin, what with all the commotion? Give it back!” He punched the man. Micah flinched—right before Raine’s hand caught the hem of his coat and yanked him down.

  “We need to take advantage of Thomas’s distraction,” she whispered.

  Micah nodded, and crawled after her, under the deep display shelf and into the small merchant’s area of the stall. When she turned to face him he stared, his mouth dropping open. Her head was swathed in a length of shimmering blue silk, like one of the upper desert women, covering everything but her eyes. She had lined those with dark kohl, the stick still in her hand.

  “Raine?”

  She smiled—he thought, since he could only see movement behind the silk. “Time for your transformation. Take off your coat.”

  Within a minute, he wore a long brown robe, slit on each side, with a matching head and neck wrap. She had pulled on a loose gown that matched the blue silk covering her face. If he passed her in a crowd he would not recognize her.

  “How did you know this would be here?”

  “I spend every day in the market, and I am friendly with the owners of this stall. Come on.” She crept to the back of the stall, and inched the drape aside. It faced an alley that led to dockside. “We can wait out the crowds in The Black Arrow. Look at no one, assume they will clear out of your way, and walk like you spent your life on a horse.”

  Micah smiled over at her as she moved aside. He started to crawl past her, and stopped. He surprised them both by kissing her cheek. “Thank you.” This time he could tell she smiled, because it reached her eyes. “You look—beautiful.”

  Surprise flared in the clear blue green depths. Before he could say something else to embarrass himself, he pushed through the drape and stood, waiting for her to join him. With a deep breath, he adopted the arrogant stance of the desert men he saw often around the city, and strode to the alley, ignoring everyone around him, including Raine.

  He heard the quiet footsteps ahead of him, just before they appeared, blocking the alley.

  “Go, Raine,” he whispered.

  “Micah—”

  “Run!”

  She bolted, Micah right behind her. He preferred the honest anger of the mob to these silent, faceless men.

  Pain blossomed in his hip. Between one breath and the next his knees buckled, numbing
cold shooting down his legs. He heard Raine shout his name, opened his mouth to warn her off. A damp rag was shoved against his mouth, a sweet smell lodging in his nose.

  He clawed at the rag, held his breath as long as he could. A fist ploughed into his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs. He had no choice—he had to breathe. When he sucked in a ragged breath the sweet smell filled his throat. He gripped the hand holding the rag, every breath pushing him closer to the darkness.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Micah!”

  A strong hand covered Raine’s mouth, the owner’s arm wrapping around her waist when she fought to free herself.

  You aren’t there any longer—they can’t take you off the street and—

  “It’s Thomas.”

  Relief left her lightheaded. She let him pull her into another alley, clutching the wall when he let her go. Blood streaked his face, from a long cut near his hairline. “You’re hurt—”

  “It can wait. Did you see their direction?”

  She nodded. “They headed toward dockside.”

  “Good girl. Go inform Lord Liam. Tell him I am already tracking them.”

  “Thomas.” He halted, glancing over his shoulder. “Please be careful. These people—they’re playing for keeps.”

  “I will find him.”

  He took off, disappearing in the shadows of the alley.

  Raine closed her eyes, let out her breath, and walked back into the market. The crowd had broken into smaller groups, less violent, but still emotional. She decided to keep her costume; few in Palamar would confront a desert woman, since the men usually fought to the death over even minor disagreements with foreigners.

  No one came near her, and she reached the castle in record time, breathless from her dead run up the steep road. The guards at the gate stopped her.

  “I need to see Lord Liam—”

  “All diplomats and foreigners require an appointment.”

  She yanked off the head covering, knowing she would be recognized, if only by her hair. “Lord Micah has been taken.”