Page 64 of The Prince's Curse

Relief flooded him when Dexil simply nodded. His expression turning weary, he sank into a chair, gesturing for Benjin to do the same. “What do you know of my past?”

Benjin hesitantly took the offered seat. “Not much. Only that you studied at the Arcanum and you’re lowborn, like me.”

“Indeed. I was born in a small town in the western province of Weatheford. My parents were traveling merchants, so I grew upon the road, never staying in one spot very long. They didn’t have much, but that didn’t stop them from sparing what they could for others whenever we set up shop. Gallants mattered little to them. So long as they had enough to keep us fed and clothed, they were content.”

His sad smile tore at Benjin’s heart. “I was sixteen when a local baron arrested them. He claimed that they had aided a group of revolting commoners by offering them free food and clothes and had them hung in the village square.” His eyes bored into Benjin, his expression pained. “You know something of what that’s like, don’t you?”

Benjin’s gut roiled as he jerked a nod. While his own experience of noble cruelty hadn’t been quite as bad, it had still served as a lesson in just how little they cared about anyone they deemed beneath them.

“I sold off everything my parents had left, including their wagon,” Dexil continued. “It was the only home I’d ever known, but I couldn’t stand staying there without them in it. Those coins bought me a one-way trip to Astralyn, where I worked to earn a spot in the Arcanum. I’d discovered a knack for magic years earlier, you see, while perusing some of the oddities my parents acquired. Though like you, I was capable of little more than parlor tricks before the Arcanum.”

His fierce grin radiated pride. “Once I finished my studies, I considered remaining in Astralyn and dedicating myself to alchemical research. Yet, something drew me back to Ilthabard.” He chuckled, though something in it sounded off to Benjin. “I suppose some of my parents’ ideals must’ve rubbed off on me. Or perhaps it was nothing so noble. Though I told myself I was there to help the people who needed it most, I accepted a position with the very baron who executed my parents. And…well, let’s just say I ensured he would never commit such an atrocity again.”

Benjin shivered at the coldness in the Grand Magus’ voice.By the Goddess…

“From there, I worked to rise through the ranks of Ilthabard’s mages, playing at politics to improve my standing until I met Prince Roland. He gave me a position with the royal family here in Revesole, where I’ve been ever since.”

“Why?” Benjin asked as the Grand Magus fell silent. “Why return to Ilthabard and stay here all these years instead of seeking a fresh start somewhere else?”

“I wanted to help the people of Ilthabard however I could. To better their lives. And from here, I can. My position in the palace affords me the unique opportunity to affectrealchange.”

Unease rippled through Benjin. At last, they’d reached the crux of the matter. “What do you mean bychange?”

The Grand Magus’ expensive silk robes rustled as he extended his bejeweled hand, twisting it to the side so that his rings glinted in the light. “Do you know why I dress the way I do?”

Benjin blinked, taken aback by the non sequitur. “W-what?”

“It’s to remind myself of the decadence I came here to stop. So that I never forget where I’ve come from, where I am…or where I intend to go.” He squeezed his extended hand into a fist, unbothered by the rings that must have been cutting into the flesh of his palm. “When I first arrived at the palace, vengeance still drove me. I wanted to rip out the system that had allowed a monster like that baron to fester. Yet after meeting Prince Roland, I began to doubt my chosen course. Perhaps not all nobles were irredeemable after all. I decided to persuade and guide him—to improve his efforts on behalf of the commonfolk. But while I’m certain my advice has had some manner of impact, it was never enough.”

Dexil rose, drifting toward his desk. “And so, I began to make new arrangements. That attack on your caravan might not have been my doing, but you’re right in suspecting my involvementwith certain…extreme elements. I’ve spentyearsnow fostering support, maneuvering my pieces into place. The governors think they have things under control. They are wrong. Soon, Ilthabard shall have its glorious revolution, but it will be a far cry from the one Westley and his ilk envision.”

Benjin felt sick to his stomach. Dexil had been like a mentor to him, or the father he’d never had. And all the while, he’d been using Benjin to plot Haldric’s downfall. Another thought occurred to him, his eyes straying to the half-brewed potions lining Dexil’s workstation.

“All those potions you’ve been giving the king to cure him…there’s no Void corruption at all, is there? You’ve been poisoning him!”

Dexil whirled, his violet eyes flaring. “Of course not! Have you listened to a Void-cursed word I’ve said? For all his other faults, Roland is my friend. I would never do anything to harm him, nor his son. I’ve done all I can to prolong his life and ease his suffering, waiting to enact my plan until he dies. As for the prince…” He gestured to Benjin’s clutched satchel. “Were you not just wondering why I went through all the trouble of commissioning such a spell?”

“Haldric,” Benjin whispered, horror squeezing him.

“Dawnflame’s effects on the mind tend to be less harmful and more permanent than the typical runeflame enchantment, so I turned to an old colleague of mine in Khordan to aid me in the development of the perfect ritual. Once the king dies, I’ll wipe Haldric’s memories and replace them with a new, happy life, banishing him to some far away land to live out the rest of his days in peace. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll even become the hero mage he always hoped to be.”

Benjin’s mind reeled at the revelations. He struggled to process them, shaking his head. “You expect me to believe you’d risk your plans to save Haldric’s life?”

Dexil managed to look vaguely insulted. Benjin might’ve laughed at the absurdity of it if he wasn’t so overwhelmed. “I am no wanton murderer, Benjin. The thought of unnecessary bloodshed repulses me. Besides, even if the princedoeseventually regain his memories, it won’t matter. Once the rebellion has succeeded and there’s no one left to rally around him, he won’t be a threat.”

“What about the nobles?” Benjin demanded. “They’d never willingly relinquish their power.”

“Of course not,” Dexil scoffed. “But without the royal line—and with the other preparations I’ve put in motion—the governors will tear themselves apart, bickering and infighting for control until it’s too late for them to stop the rising tide. And then, at long last, the people of Ilthabard shall be free.”

Benjin’s arms trembled as he crossed them, glaring at Dexil defiantly. “And if I run to the prince and confess everything you just told me?”

Dexil snorted. Pointedly turning his back on Benjin, he rested his weathered hands on the edge of his workstation. “Why would you? You want the same things I do. Like me, you know the cruelty of noble rule. We need a better system—a better path.”

Uncertainty gnawed at Benjin’s resolve. Dexil was right. Hadn’t Benjin similarly chaffed at the incompetence of nobles countless times? In fact, he’d probablystillfeel that way if not for his mixed-up emotions over Haldric.

Despite everything he knew about the prince, Dexil’s question from before the Summit remained:wouldhe make a good ruler? Haldric himself had admitted he didn’t want the burden of the throne. The happiest Benjin had seen him was when they’d pretended nothing existed except the two of them.

Would it really be so bad to go along with the Grand Magus’ scheme? To let the old nation of Ilthabard die and something new rise from its ashes?

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