Shadow Prince, page 4
part #2 of Demon Hunter Series
"So you're the oldest child?" And Melissa.
"Yes, I am the heir of the house."
"Bethanelle, you said? That's quite a name.” Elaine climbed to her feet. "It sounds familiar."
“Mother took it from a canon poem," said Bethanelle. "One of the epics rumored authored by Zidon."
"Zidon, the immortal?" said Melissa. "I’ve read about him."
"He was one of the warriors who rode north with Jadik," said Bethanelle. “So, he fought alongside the founder of the Empire, and lived for many years as Jadik’s right hand."
"And wrote poetry apparently?" said Melissa.
"Are you not familiar? Alliance is called the city of poets." Bethanelle smiled. “I’m surprised a wizard wouldn’t know.”
“I’ve not been a wizard long.” Melissa gazed into the courtyard’s gloom. “There’s still a lot I don’t know, even about the mortal world.”
"Alliance, city of poets and knights," said Elaine, "Known both for the arts of battle and writing."
"I never paid enough attention to verse," said Melissa. "I'm more apt in reading histories and guides, which is why I know Zidon’s name. Wasn’t he given the city after the conquest?"
"So legend says," said Bethanelle. "But he was more a monk than a prince. Perhaps that’s why he gave up his rule to the line of Davaltz.”
"He didn't stay to rule the city?" Melissa’s eyebrows rose. “I guess I need better histories to study.”
Bethanelle laughed. “If you want to go to a library in the city, I can take you there. We can find books on far more than history. My father will approve. He thinks I should spend more time in the city, rather than the ravine.”
“What do you do in the ravine?” asked Elaine, wrinkling her nose.
“I hunt,” said Bethanelle. “My house guards and I keep the well demons and their spawn from getting out of control.”
"That sounds dangerous," said Melissa.
“It is, but my family has tools to slay demon spawn.”
“I hope the city appreciates that, Bethanelle,” said Elaine.
"I overheard a conversation from the guards, which reminded me. The prince's funeral is tomorrow night. Perhaps a better day to go to the library will come soon after. I nearly forgot the funeral," said Bethanelle. "I must be one of the few noblewomen in the city who did not know Prince Saviron well."
"They say he was murdered," said Melissa. "That's the rumor on the road."
"Indeed.” Bethanelle bowed her head. “The prince was killed at his party over the summer while he sat alone at the high table. Somehow, no one saw his attacker until it was over."
"His attacker?" asked Melissa.
"A shadow," said Bethanelle. "Whatever the attacker was, he must've been magical in nature. That's probably why Heron wants mages to join his mission. Whoever seeks the thrones must deal with shadows. The killer threatened the next prince and any who would hold the throne.”
Melissa’s eyes narrowed. "I dared hope to have a quiet position. After all, I have my own reasons to be in Alliance."
"What are those reasons?" asked Bethanelle.
"My own," said Melissa. “Some secrets must be kept close.”
"Very well," said Bethanelle. "I couldn't help but notice your name is Dorian, and there is a merchant company by that name in the city, the largest traders on the river Duenn, in fact.”
“That’s true.” Melissa shrugged. “I could have relatives everywhere, perhaps?”
Elaine glanced at Melissa, then smiled. “It’s possible.”
"I'm going to Prince Saviron’s funeral tomorrow night," said Bethanelle. "It would be impossible for me not to represent my household there. Still, I may attend another event while I’m in the city.” She brandished a letter.
"What is that message?” asked Elaine.
"Nansoela Paroth is having one of her parties the very night the prince's funeral," said Bethanelle. "I suppose when you're the most renowned poet in a city of poets, you have real nerve."
"Lady Paroth," said Melissa, "doesn't seem broken up about the prince's death. So much so, she’s invited fellow nobles to a party on the night of his funeral."
“Could it be she means to celebrate the prince’s life, rather than his passing?" Elaine clasped her hands and turned to Bethanelle.
"Prince Saviron loved poetry, from what I understand," said Bethanelle. "But, I do have one other question for you, my ladies, before you retire."
"Speak, then," said Melissa. "We'll see if we have answers."
"I overheard my father speak of Lord Hadrian earlier when discussing things with Lord Olfrus. It seems the immortal flies this direction. I'd heard he lived near the town of Fulster, some miles south of Alliance, but he hasn't been there since I was an infant."
"Who can say?" Elaine unfolded her hands and set them on her knees. "Lord Hadrian is a mystery to us, no matter how many times we speak with him."
Melissa nodded. "Elaine tells the truth. I’m afraid if we encounter him, he may not be pleased to see either of us."
"Then perhaps you should stay far from him," said Bethanelle. "The immortal is legendary. The last of only two remaining in the world."
"What is an immortal?" said Melissa. "Who dies?"
"I don't know.” Bethanelle gave a nervous laugh.
"A mortal, who's been prolonged?" said Melissa with a smirk.
"Please don't laugh," said Elaine.
“It seems apt.” Melissa shrugged. “Apologies, Elaine.”
"You’ll pardon the joke, I hope, Elaine. Now, I’ll have our servants show you to your quarters," said Bethanelle. "They won't be anything luxurious fancy, as Lord Olfrus has quite the number of other retainers. He and his sister are the only ones receiving private chambers tonight. Still, we’ll find ways to provision you better than on the road."
"Thank you," Elaine said with a nod.
Melissa got to her feet, turned, and faced Bethanelle. “Thanks indeed.”
Bethanelle waved two young women, both dressed in the solemn clothes of gentle servants. Their long black skirts flattened against their legs in a stiff westward wind. "See the guests to their lodgings,” said Bethanelle. "Please inform me when they’re ready in the morning."
Melissa arched an eyebrow. "You're keeping eyes on us?"
"Mages are quite dangerous," said Bethanelle. "I should know, as I have a bit of talent myself."
"I don’t like it, but I understand," Melissa said.
Bethanelle folded her hands. “I meant to ask if both of you would honor me by accompanying me to Nansoela's party tomorrow evening? I only wanted to ensure you did not find yourselves otherwise occupied first."
Melissa shrugged. “Fine by me. Elaine?"
"I'd like to go meet a famous poet," said Elaine. “We can act as bodyguards if nothing else."
"Practice and train," said Melissa. "But we'll see if Heron needs us elsewhere."
Bethanelle smiled. "Of course. You must serve him first."
As long as he pays, Melissa thought. She and Elaine went to their lodgings in an empty stall in the stables. Bethanelle was right. It was more comfortable than the road.
THE ESSENCES WITHIN the training room produced a haunting tune. Resonances in the mingled songs of sprites and banes told Vual his foes were preparing to attack. They stood around him, a circle of five major servants, each trained in hedge magic. Every man bristled with additional battle-ready essences. Despite himself, Vual’s eye twitched with nervous tension.
Mortality felt closer since his best friends’ deaths. Both Adias and Saviron had failed to survive a summer party. Vual faced five highly-trained warrior mages. The fact this was a sparring match did not diminish one clear truth. These servants intended to beat him to the point of death if he couldn’t defeat them.
Vual flexed his hands, sensing essences in his fingertips. The banes flowing through his heart made their song known in a deep, discordant ripple, the kind of song that menaced Vual when he heard it from another mage. The men around him hesitated.
Sprites extended from his body, forming a kind of halo of glowing particles around him. His banes began to build in volume. Their combined songs, rough and crunching, enveloped him.
The five warriors broke their hesitation and surged toward him.
Each of them formed their essences into a magical attack. One used a blade made of sprites, another hurled elongated essence whips at Vual, trying to grab his arms. The others were less immediate threats, weaving a single slower spell together.
Vual possessed superior skills to each of them. Yet, without the power of a fully-controlled sacra form, he remained careful. His opponents could still best him. He took as deep a breath as he could while avoiding each foes’ attacks.
Calm notes echoed in Vual’s heart song, as in the eye of a whirling storm.
He jumped to one side, avoiding flailing essence whips that cracked against the floor. A blade from the second warrior slashed past him, tearing through the air with a wail. The other three mages came from his opposite side as a group, sprites and banes combined to hurl burning magic. The net of heated essence cut off Vual’s movement on one side and scorched at his extended fingertips.
He leapt over the net, boosting his jump with sprites matching the muscles in his legs. He landed behind the three men carrying the net and dropped them, each with blows from his fist. The three fell, writhing in pain. Vual pivoted to face the two remaining assailants. The one with the essence sword advanced, slicing in a rhythmic pattern with his blade.
Vual retreated bit by bit as he drew an essence sword of his own between them. He parried his foe’s sword once, twice, three times, and then grabbed the man by the wrist. He spun and tugged the swordsman off-balance. Vual smashed the man into the oncoming whip-wielder. The two men went down, and their magic evaporated, sprites returning to their unconscious bodies.
He grinned, then looked down at his hand, smarting with pain where he’d thought he avoided the blade altogether. His fingers weren’t burnt from the net’s heat, but a trickle of blood ran along his palm, it’s source a small cut near his wrist.
Not fast enough.
“Stop,” said a man’s voice.
Vual turned to see Uncle Terek standing beside Vual’s mother, who waited with her usual stern demeanor.
Filavaye Kuldettan nodded to her brother. “Explain to my son his error.”
Terek stepped forward, motioning for the servant mages sparring with Vual to stand down as they recovered. “Well done, for the most part, nephew,” he said. “You suffered a cut.” He motioned to Vual’s hand.
“I noticed,” said Vual. “It hurts a little.”
“As it should,” said Terek. “After all, a single cut from the right weapon could kill you.”
“Are you trying to chastise me?” asked Vual. “Or are you aiming to congratulate?”
“A little of both.” Terek smiled. “You've come far. I expect you'll have your sacra form mastered soon.”
Vual shrugged. “That doesn't matter anymore.”
It's too late, he thought.
“Why doesn't mastering the most salient feature of a full wizard matter now?” said Terek. “You’ve worked for it your whole life, boy.”
“True. I've struggled to become a wizard my entire life,” said Vual. “I may be young, but I’ve done much to reach my place. Now, a different challenge rests uneasy on my mind. Isn't that right, mother?” He turned to Filavaye.
Filavaye nodded. Terek turned toward her, eyebrows raising with an unasked question.
“Correct, my son,” she said. “The city is in chaos. Vual should be our representative to ascend the throne to replace Prince Saviron.”
“It won’t be easy to attain the princely seat.” Vual frowned. “Even for our family. We carry an immortal's blood in our veins. Guessing by the rumors of his recent travels, I wonder why he flies for Alliance.”
Filavaye frowned, her teeth bared in a grimace. “Deckard Hadrian is not our enemy, son. He's an honored ancestor, and I expect he will be the least of our worries once we engage in the succession conflict. Everyone must be prepared to do their part.”
“If I fail to lead our way, would you have Ruar try for the throne? Even with his other dalliances?”
“Your younger brother is not fit for the throne,” said Filavaye. “He is less able as a mage and less powerful as a warrior.”
“I only fear that if I go forth to claim the throne, someone else will attempt to pull our power from under our feet.”
“Who in the city can best you, my son?” Filavaye gave a derisive snort and shake of her head. “Are you really doubtful, Vual?”
“I have my worries,” he said, slowly diminishing the blade he’d formed of his essences until it disappeared completely. “Saviron and Adias, my friends both, should be the ones to hold power to choose a successor, but they're gone.” Vual gritted his teeth, hands shaking as he lowered them to his sides. “The dowager regent holds the seat for now.”
Ever since they’d been young, Vual, Saviron, and Adias had been inseparable. The three were once the strongest allies of their cohort in the city, and best friends to each other.
“Saviron left no instruction as to who would succeed him beyond his steward, Lord Halth,” said Filavaye. “As a friend to them both, you are the clearest to succeed. Ruar didn't know them the way you did. Even the dowager regent will see that.”
“I knew them a way no one else did,” said Vual. “Nobody else, not even that wench from House Maltos who married Adias. And forget the princess from Ettayeed, who married Prince Saviron.”
Filavaye folded her perfectly manicured fingers. “Don't speak that way with anyone else,” she said. “You must show respect to both those widows, my son. After all, our family has appearances to keep up.”
“I'll call Catricha Maltos whatever I damn well please,” growled Vual. “Mother. I lost both my best friends in one night. I will not tolerate that half-noble woman acting as though she is mourning. We all know how she felt about Adias and how he rejected her. Their marriage was of convenience, but I can scarcely imagine why they were promised to each other for so long.”
“The former Lord Halth and his father wanted the two families to become one,” said Filavaye. “Adias’ line was dwindling, but things failed completely because of the two of them. The old Lord Halth would be turning in his grave if he saw how they treated their marriage.”
“Filavaye,” said Terek. “Perhaps not now.”
Filavaye waved her brother away. “Vual must listen.” She turned to him and his glare. “Your friends were far from perfect.”
Vual bowed his head, trying to hide his seething anger. “Don’t speak ill of them.”
“Don't command me in my house,” said Filavaye. “After all, you're not Lord Kuldettan yet.”
“By your design,” said Vual, “I will never be Lord Kuldettan, but I may yet become Prince of Alliance.”
“Fairly spoken, my son,” said Filavaye. “If you are chosen as prince, you will no longer be an official family member. You will start your own household, and I expect you will not spend the time deriding those you can use as stepping-stones and bearers of children when the time comes.”
“I never hated Maltos the way Adias did,” said Vual. “And I never chased women like him, either.”
“Vual,” said Filavaye, “you must reach acceptance. I don't dare hope that will happen immediately, but you must understand that lesson, just as you must master your sacra form. You must learn to forgive insults. Mere words must become as nothing to you.”
“Impossible,” said Vual. He reached inward, brushing against his angry banes as their song began to build within his heart.
Terek backed away, his hands folded. Filavaye glanced at her brother. “Don't be a coward, brother. Straighten your back.”
Vual’s uncle bowed to Filavaye, then straightened himself like a sturdy tree.
“Good,” said Filavaye. “be an example to my son and the entire family.”
“Thank you, sister,” said Terek. “Filavaye, please, don't be so harsh on the boy. Vual has trained hard, even since Lord Halth’s funeral. It is my opinion he doesn't need further pressure at the moment.”
“I can bear the weight.” Vual turned to Terek. “Thank you, uncle.”
“Of course.” Terek did not smile but gave a nod of satisfaction, the sort Vual recalled from his younger days.
Filavaye drummed her fingers on her elbows. “See that you do, my son.”
Mother married late and lost her husband in the wars with the Kism. Vual was the eldest of her three children. He held the position of immediate successor to the family seat while Ruar trained equally as a poet, mage, and warrior, and remained more an artist than anything else. He certainly fell far from the heroic leader Vual trained to become. Their younger sister, Palladia, remained Filavaye's favorite. Only twelve summers old, she was the source of mother's rare joy.
Vual met Filavaye’s gaze. “I will do what I can, mother. I will achieve the goal you’ve set for me, and I will do it my way. I will become the Prince of Alliance if that's what you want. I will even replace my dead friends if that is what you demand. I will do whatever it takes to topple the other houses if you desire it, mother.”
Filavaye raised an eyebrow, face serene except for a small twitch of her lips. Vual suspected he may have touched a nerve. Filavaye might be the most controlling head of any of the four houses, but she was also human. No doubt, she considered her goals as higher than Vual’s. He’d spent his whole life learning how to handle a taskmaster far stricter than his uncle.
“Mother,” said Vual, “May I leave for the moment?”
“You may go,” said Filavaye. “Don't tell anyone I'm considering you as successor to the prince.”
“Of course not,” said Vual.
Not yet, he added mentally.
He strolled through the halls of the Kuldettan mansion, making his way toward his chambers.
He encountered Ruar. His brother sat on a stool in an alcove under a window, sketching on a piece of parchment with a pen.
