Page 32 of The Wand of Lore

The boy left, too disappointed in Vaylor to stay and learn more of his destiny: to fade away in the annals of history as pointlessly as he had arrived.

At long last, the door opened, and an old man entered. It was his father, King Eger the Cruel, whom he hadn’t seen in over five years. Instinctually, Vaylor sank to a knee and bowed his head.

“My King,” he murmured.

“Rise, son. You have made a bloody mess of things, haven’t you?”

Vaylor rose and looked his father in the eyes. He was much smaller than Vaylor remembered, except for his belly, which protruded firmly above his belt. The king’s eyes were heavily lined and narrow, his skin dull, and his hair patchy and gray. Vaylor was unaccustomed to his presence; even as a child he had not spent more than a few minutes at a time withering under his gaze before Greyson would usher him away, or Steffan would get impatient with him and start throwing stones or pushing him.

“You have been tried and convicted in absentia for multiple crimes: consorting with a witch, murdering my emissary, and violating the terms of your banishment. All I wanted to do was bestow your title and land upon you, and welcome you home as my son, the prince. Instead, it was Steffan who brought me my witch while you walked empty-handed into my city, defying my clear directives. You make it so hard for me to love you,” he said with a sigh.

Vaylor crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to make himself small, as if he were nine years old again, hiding in plain sight from his father’s rage. No, he thought, that was just an instinct. He wasn’t a small man. At six feet, not literally or figuratively. He willed himself to stretch into his body, puff out his broad shoulders, and fill himself in front of his king father.

“We both know that whatever trial you held was a sham. As for Gwenneth, what you do to witches around here is wrong, and I am proud not to participate. Kill me if you must; just don’t pretend that it’s because of me and not your own derangement.”

King Eger smiled. “I could have your head just for saying that.”

“You could have my head for whatever reason or no reason. Take it and be done with it.”

“Now, son, you make me out to be so cruel. This bickering is not why I have come here, to this dank room.” He wrinkled his nose and grimaced.

“Then tell me and be done with it.”

“You are my beloved wife’s baby child. The last thing she looked at or loved or thought about was you.”

Vaylor jolted as warmth spread through his body; he hadn’t known that his mother had lived long enough to hold him or love him. “What of it?”

“She would hate to see how we have fallen out with each other.”

Vaylor snorted. “Wehave fallen out? You turned me away the day I was born. I was never in to start with.”

The king shrugged. “As you say. But I never wanted this. I wanted to love you as a child, and I want to love you now as a man. The lands of Innsbrook are growing increasingly dangerous. There are whispers of rebellion throughout the land. Your castle remains empty, and without the protection, the people are restless. Go home. Reclaim your title, and keep the peace in one of the most strategically important parts of my realm.”

Vaylor stared at him, then shook his head.

“What’s the catch? And what about the curse?” he asked, raising his pant leg so his father could glimpse the mottled skin. The curse was now covering much of his stomach and all of his legs, but he exposed only his shins.

The king pulled back, startled at the sight of Vaylor’s curse. “When did you go and get yourself cursed? Was it that wretched witch you were cavorting with throughout the countryside?”

Vaylor wound his arm back, fully intending to slug the king in the face. Enough of this! A hand came from behind him and clamped down on his wrist. The king nodded, and it was freeagain.Stupid, he thought. Of course there were guards in the room. Anyway, Vaylor was as surprised as he was angry at his father’s reaction. “You mean to say you didn’t know about this curse? I had assumed it was you.”

“Curse my own son as he is out on a mission at the behest of the king? A mission that could impact the security of Innsbrook? I should say not.”

Vaylor ran his hand through his hair, thinking. All this time he had been sure that his father had originated the curse in a final attempt to end his life. If he hadn’t done it, who could it have been?

“Well, of course I would rather claim my inheritance than lose my head, but what of the curse? I will die if it is not healed. The witch and I . . .” He paused, considering how much to say. She had already been captured, so none of his words would make an iota of difference to her future. “We were to find her mother’s wand. She is the daughter of the witch Sarri, and she believes the wand to be extra powerful. Without it, the curse will overtake me and I will die.”

“Foolish boy. My head witch keeps the wand at her side, and she is very faithful to me. Even if you hadn’t been stupid enough to get yourself and your witch captured by Steffan, you would never have found the wand. You see, you don’t need your wench for a cure, you need me. We are powerful, son, and the people expect us to use that power on their behalf. They need a prince in Innsbrook who will keep them safe from the violence of a rebellion, and they need him with good, strong legs. You have served me well over the years, and it’s time you took your place as my younger son, and the second in line to the throne.”

At this, Vaylor was speechless. After a lifetime of cruelty and negligence, he could not believe his father meant what he was saying. He wondered if his time alone in the room hadaddled his mind more than he had expected, and this man was not real, but another phantom, meaningless to all but him.

Nevertheless, his heart beat faster at his father’s proposition. The very idea of acceptance, a reversal of his banishment, a place at his father’s court . . . It was more than he could dream.

“Why?” he said finally, not trusting himself to say more.

“Don’t worry, son. I don’t regret your ill-treatment during your formative years. You were motherless, and so was Steffan, thanks to you. I had to ensure your discipline, and Greyson was the right one to do it. In the end, I don’t begrudge you for killing him; I’m only surprised you tolerated his impertinence for so long. But I have a growing need for surrogates who can act with my authority for the good of the crown. And in your mother’s absence, I have a dearth of heirs. Your brother is more than capable of the job when the time comes, but I am becoming increasingly uneasy having no backup as I get older and he takes on new risks before he has sired an heir himself. They are telling me I must take a bride, but I’m in no rush to replace your mother, and for now, sons are a precious commodity I cannot afford to throw away.”

“And the witch? What will become of her?”

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