“I have agreed that we will travel to Gomald,” Rosahd said. “I still think you should consider traveling to Bastiin, and to your father.”
“I’ve considered it, but dismissed it,” Allay said. “My father won’t listen to me any more than you do.”
Mendi shot him a look, one that warned him about antagonizing one of the Magi. Yet Allay didn't see it as antagonizing the Mage, rather it was a questioning. Given all that he had been asked to do—and all that he had seen in his time in Vasha—he thought it only fair to question.
He would serve the Urmahne because serving them meant peace. Given the rumors he’d heard and come to believe, as well as what he’d seen in Vasha, he thought his people needed peace more than ever.
Allay strolled through the castle, feeling less certain now than when he first arrived. Walden and Yongar went with him, but he was separated from Mendi, and nearly a dozen Saeline soldiers trailed after him. He tried not to think about what it meant that Queen Theresa was insistent that they accompany him. Doing so only made him more fearful of what had already happened in Saeline. What choice had Locken made?
He worried about what might happen to Mendi. She was resourceful, and he wanted to believe that, as his presumed servant, she would be safe—especially in one of his father's kingdoms—but if Locken had betrayed his father, neither of them was safe.
Rosahd had abandoned him as well. Allay was less concerned about Rosahd's disappearance than he was about losing Mendi, and unconcerned about his safety. Rosahd possessed the innate protections of the Magi. Additionally, he had two of the Denraen with him. Allay requested the remaining Denraen soldier stay with Mendi.
Ostensibly, he was being led to a meeting with Queen Theresa, yet he had seen little evidence of any of the other ruling family since arriving at the castle. He would've expected a better greeting than this, though wasn't certain he deserved one. If they had betrayed Gomald, would they treat the crown prince well?
Allay kept his eyes open, scanning everything as they made their way through the castle. The walls were a stark gray, stacked stone with thick mortar. Lanterns were bolted to the walls and crackled with the soft, yellow flame. The castle was so different from the palace in Vasha, and perhaps Allay had grown comfortable with that formality. Even his father’s palace in Gomald wasn’t nearly as exquisite as what he had lived in the last two months while in Vasha.
Could it have been almost two months? Two months since he had left his home of Gomald, two months during which he had been able to be with Mendi, two months during which they had the freedom to not worry about talking quietly, or standing too close, or even—the gods forbid—holding hands?
Allay had begun to think that perhaps he was the only one of the two who wanted something more, but hadn’t she told him during their journey that she cared about him? That was a first. Yet she had continued to act reserved the farther south they went, so he couldn’t help wondering whether there was another reason for her reticence.
Allay stopped in front of a wide set of double doors, and the guard escorting him pushed them open, nodding to two soldiers standing on either side of the doors. Allay couldn't help but notice how militarized the castle was. It stood in stark contrast to his last visit here. That was probably answer enough as to what choice King Locken had made.
What kind of welcome would he receive when he went through these doors? What would Queen Theresa do?
The questions left him as he entered the room.
The door opened into a simple throne room. It was nothing quite as ornate or as formal as the throne room in Gomald, but there was still a quiet majesty to it. That sense came from the plain, yet well-crafted, chandelier hanging above the lacquered table that took up most of the space. A tall chair at the opposite end of the table faced the door, two armrests carved with the face of a giant cat. Queen Theresa sat upon that chair—essentially, the throne.
She was a stately woman with fine features. He suspected she had been quite beautiful in her younger days. She watched him with a cool, barely neutral expression. Sitting on either side of Theresa were two elderly men, both with features that reminded him of the Magi. He didn't recall Locken having Magi advisors, but many of the Teachers shared features with the Magi, having descended from them without their particular abilities.
If Allay had any question about how he'd be received, it was answered when none of them stood.
The door closed behind him. He glanced over to note the two Denraen on either side of him. Behind them stood six Saeline soldiers, those that had accompanied him through the castle began to disperse around the throne room, putting themselves into positions from which they could act quickly were he to do something impulsive.
Allay smiled inwardly. Yes, if he had any questions, they were answered now.
He bowed at the waist, trying to show something of deference to Theresa. According to ranks of the kingdoms, he did outrank her, especially now that he was the crown prince, yet he would not force that upon her. Neither would he enforce the expectation that she would stand before him. He wanted their cooperation. He didn't want to anger them.
“Queen Theresa,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I come before you for information, and seek your assistance in finding your husband.”
The queen tipped her head. Her hands were steepled on the table, and she looked at him with an almost sour expression on her face. “Prince Allay. My condolences on the passing of your brother. I'm sure you mourn him well.”
Allay nodded. “My brother sits with the gods. He has always been a faithful Urmahne servant. The gods called him home to sit beside them where he can be exalted.”
He had made a point of adding the comments about the Urmahne for her benefit, not sure if the Deshmahne influence had reached all the way to Saeline. If it had, he wanted her to know where he stood, that he would not convert to the Deshmahne. And, more important, he needed to know where she stood.
He watched Queen Theresa's face, searching for any sign that might betray her feelings, but she gave none. He should not have been surprised that she was a skilled politician. Likely Locken was as well.
“Why have you come to Saeline, Prince Lansington?” she asked.
Allay smiled. He was almost pleased that she dispensed with any pretense of trying to play some political game. He'd seen it frequently in Gomald. Too often, men came to his father wanting something but danced around their intent. Far better to simply ask for what they needed than to play games and dance around their true intent. He didn't remember Queen Theresa well from his visits, but already he liked her.
The two Teachers on either side of her watched him, deep frowns on their faces, eyes locked in such a way that told him they found him distasteful. Allay almost couldn't blame them. How could he, when his father had triggered this war?
“Your father has made alliances,” Theresa said. “Are you aware of these?”
“I have been gone from Gom Aaldia for several months. If there are alliances, I have not been privy to them. I’ve seen the presence of soldiers on my travels to Saeline, and in numbers that worry me. If you will allow me to introduce you to my Mage escort—”
One of the Teachers leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “If you think having a Mage advisor will bring you greater credibility, you are wrong.”
Allay wondered how he was expected to do anything to sway these people. The Magi had intended for him and the other delegates to serve in some way, but they hadn’t told him how. He didn't have the influence needed to convince his father to abandon his attack, and he didn't have the authority to do anything else. He suspected the Magi had intended they all work together, but even that had been idea had been hampered by the fact that the other delegates had returned to their homelands. Without having any way to contact them, and without having any way to influence them, what could he do?
Allay still believed in the need to reestablish peace, he just wasn't sure there was anything he could do to accomplish it, especially given
the number of Deshmahne they had encountered. How could he do anything here that would make a difference?
He had come seeking information, to discover what was taking place. Now that he saw that Locken was gone and had taken his men with him—presumably heading toward Bastiin to join with Richard’s men—he should move on. He could return to Gomald, get an understanding of the rebellion. That seemed as if it might serve a purpose.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Queen Theresa. I won't be staying long. I intend to return to Gomald.” He hesitated, before adding, “You should know that I don't feel my father's plan is well founded.”
Theresa watched him, eyes unreadable. Allay hoped she wouldn't decide to have him held, and wished he had Mendi with him. She often saw things that he did not. She could go places that he could not. That would be valuable now.
“You will be granted the warmth of our hearth for the night. You will be granted food at our table. Saeline has ever been faithful to the throne, and to the Urmahne.”
Was that her admission that Locken had not gone to Bastiin at all, and instead had been working to clear out the threat of Deshmahne from his land?
He watched Theresa for answers but saw none. Allay tipped his head in a nod, one that was almost a bow, and turned to the door. There was some relief in what he had managed to discover: Saeline had not converted—not yet. How much longer would they be safe?
As he left, his gaze skimmed over the soldiers lined up around the room, and he noted their relative age. These were older men, not the usual fighting men. Had Locken left soldiers to protect Saeline, or had he taken all of his fighting men with him?
They were questions he had to ask Mendi when he returned to her.
He hated that everything was so unsettled, just as he hated that he was now crown prince with all that entailed. His role for the Magi would've been easier had he not been the heir. It would've been easier for him when he was only Allay Lansington. It seemed the gods chose to test him, but he didn’t yet know why.
Chapter Seven
Alriyn hurried through the palace, his mind racing. Tapestries along the wall blurred past, and where he would normally pause to study them, hoping for a hint of something known in the past, he did not dare. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to anyway. His head still pounded from what he’d done to it when facing Jostephon, as well as his efforts to heal Haerlin—a constant throbbing that clouded his thinking, enough that he wondered whether he really had done what he imagined. It should not have been possible, and still—somehow—he had.
He shouldn't have been able to expand his mind the way he did. Such a thing had been studied, but none had ever attempted it. Why would they, when Mage scholars claimed that something terrible would happen if they did?
Through the years, there had been many attempts to increase potency, but none had ever succeeded. Some had attempted to expand their minds the way he had, but none had succeeded. Maybe they’d never pushed far enough for fear of losing themselves. Had he not had the need, he would not have, either.
His mind ached, but at least he hadn’t lost his abilities. He still had that connection to the gods. That much remained. Alriyn hoped there were no other long-term consequences.
It still shocked him that Jostephon had been compromised by the Deshmahne. Not only compromised but converted, and he had progressed far enough with them that the Deshmahne had placed their tattoos upon him. What would have convinced him such a thing was necessary?
Jostephon had been a scholar, a man of belief, and one who was fully aware of the importance of understanding the past. He had never known Jostephon to seek power, not like the man he had seen in the hall. That was not the man Alriyn had once known. Jostephon had even refused the title of Eldest until he no longer had a choice.
Why now? What had changed with him?
Without him, what did the Magi lose? Jostephon was the Mage who would know the key to choosing a Uniter. Without him, would they succeed? Their odds had been poor before, but now they were even worse.
Alriyn glanced at Endric, thankful for the Denraen general’s presence. Without Endric, would he have managed to get free? He might have ultimately killed Jostephon, but at what price? What would he have sacrificed by killing his old friend?
Worse, though, was that Alriyn wasn't certain it wouldn't still come to that. Regardless of the temporary defeat, Jostephon remained somewhere within the palace. Of that he was certain. The man wouldn't abandon whatever plan he had in mind so easily. Not if he had been so willing to sacrifice his beliefs. Not if he had been willing to sacrifice those he was supposed to serve.
“Where are you leading us?” Endric asked.
Alriyn forced the thoughts out of his mind. They were dangerous thoughts, ones that came with the fear he'd felt the moment he realized Jostephon had involved himself in something far more dangerous than Alriyn could ever have imagined. “As I said, we need to secure the mahne. Once it is secured, then I can focus on discovering what else Jostephon had in mind.”
Endric's brow furrowed. “I fear his intent was to disrupt everything within Vasha. If he was able to infiltrate the Magi, and we know he has helped the Deshmahne infiltrate the city, I worry about the Denraen.”
Alriyn almost stumbled as he stopped. “You worry more about the Denraen than about the Magi?”
Endric took a deep breath and cast a quick glance to Novan. “The Magi have always possessed power. Having them converted… It's dangerous. There are only so many Magi. I worry more about having fully trained soldiers infiltrated by such power. The Denraen maintain the peace. If the Deshmahne have somehow managed to infiltrate my men, I worry what else might happen. What if these men—men I trust on patrol—can’t be trusted? What if the men I've sent out, expecting them to maintain peace, do nothing of the sort?” He stared at Alriyn, letting the question linger in the air. “So, yes, I’m more concerned about the Denraen than about the Magi.”
“You’ve done all that you can to keep those men safe,” Novan reassured.
Endric gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles whitening, and the scars on his face distorting slightly. “I’ve done what I can, but I still fear some might have slipped through. It's happened once. That's enough for me.”
They reached the library on the fifth level of the palace and passed through the massive oak door. Rows of shelves filled the room, towering toward the ceiling. There was a certain organization to the books, one that Alriyn had long ago mastered. The works stored here held the knowledge of generations of Magi scholars. There were tomes from the university as well, the Masters there often the equals of the Magi scholars. Alriyn knew that works of the historians guild were also here, though none were the originals. The guild kept those locked away—along with the added comments the historians were rumored to make in them—as if to prevent the Magi from knowing what secrets they knew.
Was he too late? Had the Eldest already reached the library? If they lost the mahne, more than their heritage would be lost—they would lose the chance to follow the ancient prophecy.
Alriyn saw no movement. There was nothing but the regular activity of the librarian, making his way along the shelves. Efrain’s eyes widened when he noted Novan and Endric with Alriyn, and he stood between shelves with his hands clasped in front of him.
Were there only the time to send Novan away. Having the historian gain access to the library seemed a mistake—especially with his past. Worse, it was a mistake they had already made when they’d let him get too close in the past. Novan was far too eager to discover secrets the Magi scholars kept and seemed far too eager to interfere.
Yet Alriyn suspected Novan had secrets of his own that he had not yet shared. Perhaps he could leverage that to prevent Novan from reaching what they didn’t want him to reach.
What had the historian been doing when the Deshmahne attacked? Alriyn had seen him speaking softly to himself, not seeming nearly as perturbed as Endric, and not nearly as injured as the Magi. That hinted at some g
reater ability that Novan possessed.
How could that be possible?
As far as he knew, Novan was nothing more than a historian. He had a sharp mind—almost too sharp—but was not Mageborn, and was certainly no soldier.
Yet… There was no disputing that Novan had handled the attack much better than Alriyn would've expected. For that matter, he’d reacted much better than Alriyn had.
More secrets for him to understand.
He stopped at the back wall of the library. A massive shelf lined the wall, making it appear no different from the rest of the library. Without looking over to either man, he used his Mage abilities, drawing the manehlin in such a way that he pressed it upon the shelf, pulling it back. On the other side was a blank wall.
“You will be the first not on the Council to ever have stepped into this room. You should understand that were this not necessary, I would not do this.”
Endric chuckled. “I think you overestimate the security of your chamber.”
Alriyn turned to look at him. “What do you mean? Only the Council has ever been granted access to this chamber. Even the librarians are forbidden access.”
Endric nodded toward the section of wall. “Are you going to open the door, or do you need me to?”
“You wouldn't be able to—”
Endric shouldered past him and slapped his hand on the wall, and power surged.
The section of wall slipped open, revealing the chamber on the other side. Alriyn barely noticed that the mahne was still present. Relief swept through him, but it was tempered by what he had just experienced.
“What… How…”
Endric stepped into the room. “One failing of the Magi has long been their belief that they are the only ones with any sort of power.” Endric glanced back to Alriyn. “Even you, Second Eldest, suffer from that belief.”
Novan followed Endric into the room. Alriyn hesitated a moment, before hurrying in after them.
The only way that Endric would have been able to open that door…
The Lost Prophecy Boxset Page 74
