Page 7 of The Prince

Fenwick’s mischievous grin returned. “I know just the place. Guarded, yet very comfortable. Do you have a few minutes to spare to come inspect the location with us, healer?”

Alina nodded. “Lead the way.” She took a few extra seconds to fuss over making sure Clament was comfortable, pulling the blanket even higher around his face in the process, before gripping the chair handles and pushing him along the hall after Fenwick. They stuck to less-used hallways, ones without windows so the only light was from evenly spaced lamps. Most of the people they passed wore some sort of servant or secretary uniform, and when they saw Fenwick they bowed low and hurried away without sparing much of a glance at Clament. When they reached a long hallway with widely spaced doors, Fenwick slowed so he was walking next to Alina.

“Were you able to take a look at the bodies?” he asked her.

“A quick one. Just enough to check what poison they used to be sure it wouldn’t spread through the air. I didn’t recognize them, but they each had an odd tattoo behind their right ears. A red star of some kind, but it didn’t look right.”

“Three interconnected triangles, each triangle a different shade of red?” Clament choked out, his voice strangled by the knot in his throat.

“Yes, exactly like that,” Alina replied.

“You know what that star means,” Fenwick said to Clament, his tone curious, but when Clament glanced up, Fenwick’s eyes were sharp and serious.

Clament swallowed hard and then again when the first time didn’t clear his throat enough to speak.

“Tell Braxton I’m ready to talk. About everything.”

Interlude

THIS HIGH INthe Spikehorn Mountains, winter came early. Most of the trees and shrubs had lost their leaves, a scant few resplendent in reds and oranges clinging to the otherwise bare branches. Braxton was a little surprised he hadn’t encountered any measurable snow on the journey here. Back in Etoval, the trees were a full a riot of color, despite the occasional flurry. He crouched in the brush, letting those remaining leaves help conceal him, and squinted through his binoculars at the campfire merrily burning in a small clearing caused by a fallen tree. A man huddled there, his hands out to the fire. Braxton glanced at his watch briefly before returning his attention to the man. Another thirty seconds went by before the man reached into the pack next to him, pulled something out, and threw it on the fire.

The flames flared, glowing a strange blue green for a brief moment, before subsiding to normal orange red.

“That’s the signal,” Braxton whispered. An answering rustle from the two people who had traveled with him on this mission was his only response. He extricated himself from beneath the bush, tucked the binoculars away, and headed down the hill. Shir stayed close, guarding Braxton’s back, while Davon stayed behind, hidden in case of an ambush.

The man by the fire looked up as Braxton approached but didn’t stand. Braxton only knew him by the name Ama. His hair and eyes were ordinary shades of brown—although the hair might be dyed and the eyes magicked. His skin was lightly tanned, a color that could be seen in most kingdoms but could also be the result of rubbing juiced nutberry on the exposed areas, which temporarily darkened the skin for a few days. Ama claimed he was eighteen years old, but he had been claiming that for the five years Braxton had known him. He didn’t look older than midtwenties, but again, that could be a ruse. All Braxton could really confirm about Ama was he was incredibly trustworthy as a spy for Toval. Braxton couldn’t say why Ama had chosen Toval to support, but Braxton had never once doubted the intelligence Ama provided.

Most of the time Ama traveled to Braxton to report or sent information in coded letters. On rare occasions, Ama couldn’t afford the time it took to travel all the way to Toval, when he had information that needed to be delivered in person, so Braxton met him halfway. Most people traveled through the Spikehorn Mountains with caution and in large groups. Ama traveled alone and never seemed bothered by the danger.

“The great all-knowing king is furious.” Ama’s voice was gentle but also unremarkable. If Braxton heard Ama speaking in a crowd, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the speaker.

“The king of Namin is always furious. What’s caught his attention this time?”

“You didn’t kill his son, of course,” Ama replied with an easy shrug. “The unwanted. The bastard. Sent to Toval as a distraction, but also in the hopes he would die at the hands of a Tovalian prince so Namin could have an excuse to declare war.”

Braxton frowned, trying to parse through everything Ama was saying. “That damned king has been mad at us before.That’s nothing new, although it would explain the information I’ve been receiving about Namin forces amassing in the south.”

Ama shook his head. “You’re not listening, princeling. The unwanted son is who angered the all-knowing for daring to survive and thereby thwart their plans. The all-knowing now believes the bastard son dying while under Toval’s protections would serve the same purpose so has sent people to ensure that occurs.”

Braxton didn’t know why Ama kept calling the Namin prince “unwanted” or “bastard”—probably for the same reason he referred to King Cyphus as “all-knowing” rather than by name—but there was only one Namin prince currently living in Toval.

“Clament!” Braxton gasped, surging to his feet, his heart thudding in his throat. He had to get back to increase protection around Clament. Braxton wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow anything to happen to stubborn, beautiful, far-too-enticing Clament, especially not after everything Clament had already suffered due to Braxton’s incompetence.

Ama rested the tips of his fingers against Braxton’s forearm. “Whatever they planned has already happened. Even if you rush home now, you will not reach him in time. It’s much more important to stay and hear the rest of my information.”

Braxton clenched his fists and growled. His heart hadn’t slowed, and all he wanted, with every fiber of his being, was to know Clament was okay. Braxton just plain liked him. Clament was sweet and stubborn, sad and desperate for attention, and Braxton wanted to be the one to bring a smile to his face. What had started as a simple task to obtain information from an enemy prince had evolved to so much more in the past few months, particularly in the last couple weeks while Clament had been recuperating and they had been able to actually have conversations.

“Why do you call him unwanted?” Braxton asked, trying to distract himself. He crouched back down next to the fire.

Ama shrugged. “It’s the same as his actual name. But that’s not my tale to tell. You will have to ask him. Instead, you should be asking me what else the all-knowing has directed his fury toward.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What else?”

“The harvest failed in Namin. Not through drought, but through gross mismanagement. The king demanded his tithe. The lords demanded theirs. And once the tithes were stolen, the farmers did not have enough seed remaining to plant this past spring. No one has gotten their tithes this autumn, and starvation is the least of Namin’s worries this winter. The all-knowing has seen coup plotters around every corner, and you have heard of his forces testing Toval’s southern border. He doesn’t want those farms. Heneedsthem. Coup plotters can’t keep falling off parapets or drowning in moats before suspicions arise, and those who ascribe to the all-knowing’s enemies grow to levels he can’t suppress.

“To solve everything, he is building a military fortress in these mountains. He will have the height advantage, and will be able to position troops and supplies closer to Toval for when he is ready to plunder. He is also using it as a base to recruit spies in the name of Randolph to keep Toval focused on defeating that enemy rather than focusing exclusively on Namin.”

Braxton pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off an oncoming headache and understanding now why Ama couldn’t put this intelligence in writing.

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