Page 68 of The Uncrowned Prince

Karreya dropped low and moved swiftly away from the door, but had not taken more than three steps when something seized the back of her clothing. She whirled, dagger in hand, striking with all her strength at the enemy she could not see, but her dagger bounced off her attacker as if he were clothed entirely in armor.

She relaxed abruptly, allowing all her weight to drag against the grip on her cloak and tunic, but it did nothing. Whatever held her only lifted her off the floor and began to carry her away.

A mage’s familiar, she thought grimly. Some were able to hold creatures in thrall to do their bidding, which meant the mage was likely close by as well.

Her hands were still free, so she drew another dagger and attempted to slice through the fabric of her tunic. Better to lose her clothing than allow this creature to drag her before its master.

Fabric tore. She heard a brief growl, and then she was dropped to the floor, where she barely avoided stabbing herself with her own blade.

Then a deep, guttural voice said, “Sleep.”

And before she could think or say a single word in protest, she slept.

CHAPTER17

It was twilight when Vaniell stepped into the street. As he walked away from the warehouse, a hollow ache settled in his chest, while the grim shadows of failure gathered behind his temples. He’d slept the day away, and now he was running for his life. Again. Leaving behind this strange little community he’d found in the midst of a city not his own.

He felt more at home here than anywhere he’d lived before, and it was not the buildings or the weather or the simple life he’d chosen to lead. This felt like home because of the people who had accepted him as their own, and now he was leaving them.

But that had always been the inevitable future. His friends had accepted him as Niell, and Niell was nothing but a fabrication. Once they discovered the truth about his past, the people he came to care about always either wanted to use him or they wanted nothing to do with him.

Was this the sum total of his life and ambitions? Running from place to place, forming temporary friendships, hoping only to keep ahead of Garimore’s king while scrabbling for one more day to fight from the shadows? Trying futilely to save the lives of those in his care, only to lose them in the end?

He’d come so close to asking Karreya to stay with him. Begging her to fight this fight beside him. But it would have destroyed them both in the end. How could they have faced one another with this knowledge he now carried?

If only they’d had more time. If only Senaya would have granted him one more clue. But if he were captured here, and turned over to the Garimoran ambassador, all of his efforts would be for nothing.

Ahead of him, Jarek stopped at the opening of an alleyway, looking both ways down the street before beckoning Vaniell forward.

“The way is clear,” he murmured. “At least for now. But if we do happen upon any guards, your only job is to run and let me deal with them.”

Vaniell laughed, but it was a dark, bitter sound. “Yes, run, Vaniell. Let those left behind bear the consequences. Let those around you die for your sake while you hide in the shadows like a coward.”

Jarek paused and turned, regarding him with a piercing glance that seemed to see straight through Vaniell’s soul.

“Is that truly what you think is happening here?”

“Isn’t it?” He was too tired to contain the caustic bitterness that ate away at his heart. “My mother is dead. Five other people are dead along with her, and that count is only among the royal families of Abreia. It says nothing about the mages who have been hunted down, or the breadwinners forced into the army while their children starve. And here I stand, running again, because I am not yet strong enough to stop what is happening. But when will I be strong enough? When is it time to say that enough is enough, to stop searching for the perfect moment, and stand against the darkness with whatever light I can hold in my hands?”

“There is no shame in strategy,” Jarek returned quietly. “No cowardice in knowing when to retreat, rather than breaking yourself against a foe too strong for you.”

“And yet, for every moment I delay, does that foe not grow stronger?” Vaniell demanded. “I retreat and retrench, looking for a weapon, and each time, hope dwindles.”

“But it is not fully gone,” Jarek insisted, taking two steps forward to grasp Vaniell firmly by the arm. “Darkness can only truly win when there is no light at all, and even the smallest candle is enough to push it back.”

A surge of anger caught Vaniell by surprise, and he yanked his arm away. “Why? Why do you care? Why are you trying so hard to save me, and why does it matter so much that I not abandon this fight?”

Jarek’s eyes glittered and his lips thinned as he stood there in silence for a moment, hands at his sides, fingers clenched against some strong emotion.

“I am from Garimore,” he said at last. “You likely do not remember me, but I was a member of the king’s own guard. I quit when the prejudice against mages grew violent, because…” He paused, as if to gather his courage for what he must say next.

“My son was a mage. He was only a boy, and I tried to hide us both, but they shot him. Cut him down with arrows from ambush, for the crime of bothering no one.” His voice shook, and whether it was with grief or fury, Vaniell could not tell. “He had a gift for communicating with animals, so he spent most of his days in the forest. Our new neighbors found it… odd, so they…” He broke, his face crumpled, and for a moment he could only stand in silence, fighting for composure. When he spoke again, it was in a quiet tone that nonetheless held an edge of solid steel.

“Do you not realize that you are the only hope we have? For those of us who have been living in hiding for years, we have nothing to cling to but the distant dream of a king who will not encourage our neighbors to hate us. Who will not hunt us out of prejudice, or force us out of our homes. Even if Melger dies, your brother has been disinherited. If you do not claim the throne, it will fall to one of the king’s lackeys, and our lives will be the same as they ever were. Do you understand now?”

He did.

For his entire life, Vaniell had thought of himself as a second son. Useless, except as a thorn in the side of his father and brother. His actions since leaving home had been borne in part of that understanding—that if he could accomplish enough in the shadows, perhaps someone else would step up and end the imposter’s reign. Perhaps he could expunge his guilt by paving the way for a true leader. Someone brave and honorable who could be trusted to take the helm.

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