Page 60 of Kingdom of Locks

Amell nodded, needing no more opening. In a matter of minutes, he and Furn were on the road, heading south east toward Fernford.

“What do you really plan to do in the city?” Furn asked, no hint of accusation in the casual question.

“I really am going to speak to Bartholomew at the Enchanters’ Guild,” said Amell, a little aggrieved. He considered the list he’d scribbled on the blank parchment before they left the prison. “And I might visit the market as well.”

“The market?” Furn sounded bemused, but when Amell didn’t elaborate, he let the matter drop.

“Are there things you need to attend to as well, Furn?” Amell asked. “It was a paltry trick, pulling you away on this mad venture a day after we arrived back from Entolia.”

Furn smiled. “Not at all. I have nothing tying me down, so I can afford to be dragged across the continent by my charge.”

Amell chuckled, but he thought there was a slight edge to Furn’s voice. “Do you want something tying you down, Furn?” he asked, considering the matter for the first time. “I suppose you’ll get married sometime, won’t you? Have a family, settle down. Then I’ll be in the basket.”

Furn’s laugh was a little forced. “I wouldn’t worry just yet, Your Highness.”

When Furn fell silent, Amell pushed the matter from his mind. He had plenty else to think about. They reached the city in good time, having stopped for a simple lunch on the road. After they’d handed off their horses to grooms at the castle’s entrance, Amell paused, looking up at the building. Perhaps it would be as well to go straight to the guild. If he went into the castle first, there was no telling how long his mother might keep him there.

Before commencing the short walk, he sent Furn off, sternly ordering him to go home and rest. For all his protestation, the guard looked happy to do so, and soon Amell found himself once again traversing the cobblestones on the short walk to the guild.

He pushed his way through the door, emerging into the lobby with his habitual abruptness.

“Your Highness.” It was a different clerk on duty today, but he looked just as astonished as the previous one had to see the prince.

“Good afternoon,” said Amell. “Is Bartholomew here?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” said the clerk, standing. “I can fetch him.”

“Can you take me to him instead?” Amell asked.

After only a moment’s hesitation, the clerk gestured for Amell to precede him into a corridor. “I believe he’s in his study, Your Highness. It’s the fourth door on the left.”

“Thank you,” said Amell, striding down the hallway. At a sharp rap on the door in question, he was rewarded by the sound of a familiar, slightly quavering voice.

“Enter.”

When Amell poked his head in, Bartholomew struggled up from his chair. “Prince Amell! You’ve sought me out again. I’m honored.”

“Don’t stand,” Amell said hastily, coming fully into the room. “Do I interrupt?”

“Not at all.” Bartholomew waved Amell into a chair, only sinking back into his own once the prince was seated. “Is all well?”

“With the prison, you mean?” Amell asked. He ran a hand through his travel-tossed hair, glancing around the neat study. It couldn’t look more different from the chaotic room at the castle where he was supposed to undertake his more mundane duties. “As well as it can be with twenty inmates still on the loose.”

“That’s fewer than last I heard,” Bartholomew said encouragingly.

Amell’s nod was a little absent. “Bartholomew, I have some questions for you about magic.”

“Is this about the possibility of a conspiracy?” Bartholomew asked, dropping his voice. “Because I’ve conducted some discreet inquiries since our last conversation. If any of the guild’s governing members have had involvement in these magical attacks, I would own myself utterly astonished.”

“No, it’s not about that,” Amell said, “although that’s heartening to hear.” He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to find a way around the silencing charm. “Do you remember who we spoke about last time?”

Bartholomew frowned in an effort of memory. “Cyfrin, you mean?”

“That’s right,” said Amell. He tried to say more, but no matter how he phrased it in his mind, the words wouldn’t come. He gave a grunt of frustration.

“Are you all right, Prince Amell?”

Amell closed his eyes, blocking the sight of the older man’s concerned face. “I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

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