Mercy's Prince (12 page)

Valerian
stepped onto the overturned bucket, and Conrad boosted him the rest of the way
to Theo’s tall back. The scar tissue pulled with discomfort, but thankfully the
knife pains had dulled.

“How
does that feel, Your Highness?”

“It
feels good, Conrad.” Valerian nodded at the young man. “Very good, in fact.”

The
groom pulled his forelock in salute and backed away so Valerian could guide
Theo from the stall. Kieran was waiting astride his bay.

“Are
you ready for an adventure, Your Highness?”

“As
ready as I’ll ever be.” Valerian shifted a little in the saddle.

They
rode from the Keep, through the town, and then followed the northern road
skirting the lake. Townspeople and farmers on the road saluted them as they
passed.

Valerian
breathed deeply of the crisp autumn air. The sky was a brilliant blue, and many
of the trees had turned fiery red, orange, or yellow. He relished the outdoors
after so many weeks in the infirmary. Theo’s gait was steady, and although
Valerian hunched in the saddle, clutching his belly to ease the jolts, it was a
pleasure to ride again.

After
an hour or so, Kieran turned his bay off the road, and Theo followed. The horse
had to change his gait as they climbed in altitude, and once Valerian hissed
through his teeth as his scar pulled sharply. By the time they reached a
protected glen on a broad hilltop, Valerian was panting.

“Here
we are, Sire.” Kieran slid down from his horse. “You’ll not find a more bonny
place in all the north.”

Valerian
tried to take a deep breath, but he could not straighten himself in the saddle.
He feared that if he tried to dismount by himself he would fall and split open
his scar.

“Kieran,”
he managed to say.

“Right
here, me prince.” Kieran helped him get off the horse and braced him when he
nearly fell.

“Why
am I so tired?” All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for a week.

“Just
lean on me and I’ll show you a place to rest.”

Valerian
gratefully submitted to Kieran while he led him to a nearby grove of trees. He
heard the burbling of a mountain stream and the cry of a hawk overhead. Within
the dappled shade lay a moss-covered fallen tree. Kieran helped him sit there.

“Catch
your breath, Sire, and I’ll take care of the horses.”

Valerian
sat as still as he could, closed his eyes, and listened to the water while he
tried to breathe deeply. In and out. In and out. In time his belly muscles
relaxed and the pain subsided.

“Don’t
move, Val.” Kieran’s voice was an urgent whisper that made Valerian’s gut tighten
in alarm.

Kieran
slowly approached him, and Valerian searched the area frantically, expecting to
see a river dragon, or worse. Kieran lightly brushed his shoulder, and a hairy
spider the size of his hand scurried away.

Valerian
exhaled in relief.

“Is
that all?”

“Most
folks dinna like the beasties.” Kieran shrugged.

“I
was expecting a river dragon, at least.” Valerian turned to Kieran. “Do you
realize I’ve never actually seen one?”

Kieran
squatted down, toying with a stick.

“Well,
then, we should remedy that.”

A
barrier had grown between them, and Valerian thought he knew what it was. “Do
you realize you called me ‘Val’ just now?”

Kieran
fell to his knees and bowed his head.

“Forgive
me, Your Highness. I had no right to take such liberties. I’m not even sure why
that jumped out o’ me mouth.”

“There
is nothing to forgive.” When Kieran lifted his head, Valerian smiled at him.
“Only two others have called me ‘Val’: my grandfather, and Sir Rudyard, who was
my mentor.” He sighed. “I have not had many friends in my life. It’s lonely
being a prince. There’s always an unspoken barrier between a royal and everyone
else.”

“I
count it a great honor to be your squire, Your Highness. I hope I may also
become your friend.” Kieran stared boldly at Valerian, inviting him to
See
his sincerity.

Would
Valerian ever deserve such loyalty? He had to clear his throat before speaking.

“It
is I who am honored to have you for a squire,” he said quietly.

“Well
then, my bonny prince,” said Kieran with a grin. “Let me show ye how a true
friend helps ready you for your first command.”

            *         

For
the next two weeks, Kieran was relentless in his exercise program. They ran up
and down the hills, swam in a cold deep pool, and rode their horses twice a
day. Kieran found sticks about the length of the swords, and using the scroll
Valerian found in the library, they learned basic sword positions. At first
they moved slowly, learning how to attack and defend, thrust and parry, until
the movements became second nature. Each of them sported bruises, but they
slept well each night under the stars wrapped in their furs. Kieran taught
Valerian the names of several constellations, and Valerian began to see the
Archer, the Herdsman, and the Dragon as friendly lights in the velvet black sky.

Kieran
had brought some provisions, but they ate mainly from the land. There were fish
in the stream, small game in the woods, and late berries ripe for the picking.
Valerian’s strength gradually returned, though his healing muscles still
protested with stabbing pains. There was even quiet time to reflect on his
grief for Waryn and deal with the loss.

By
the time they cleaned up their campsite and packed the horses for their return
to the Keep, Valerian believed himself ready to meet the challenge of his first
command. He and Kieran had even discussed which ten men of the Keep he should
choose to take with them.

“If
the king allows, we should give a demonstration of our sword moves,” Kieran
said as he boosted Valerian to Theo’s saddle.

Surely
not a public demonstration? Sir Caelis would have something to say about that.
But Valerian pushed the knight’s potential objections aside. It was time to
stop letting Caelis intimidate him.

***

Caelis
sent his fourth bolt into the bull’s eye of the target in the archery yard.
Even shooting three times the distance of a regular bow, he could hit the bull’s
eye nearly every time. He gripped the new crossbow and turned to his new men,
grinning.

“Well
done, Sir Caelis,” said Thrane, who had made himself Caelis’ shadow of late.

Even
though Thrane was tall and broad-shouldered with a scar on his face from an old
knife wound, he had a knack for blending in with a crowd and making himself
unremarkable. He was a fair archer, but his passion for the cause of southern
independence made up for any lack in fighting skills. In the course of a few
weeks, Thrane had helped Caelis shape the men into a formidable unit of
crossbow archers.

Unfortunately,
the Horde had not attacked again so Caelis could put the crossbow to the test.
Caelis chafed at the delay, but when he’d again asked the king if he could take
his men and scout the border, he was dismissed. The king wanted to wait until
Valerian was able to do it.

After
spending weeks in the infirmary, the prince and his squire were now out
somewhere, training. If Caelis knew where they’d gone, he would be tempted to
follow them. Then he might be tempted to arrange an accident. No, it was best
he remained here in the Keep where all the lords and ladies admired his uncanny
ability with the crossbow, even if King Orland didn’t.

Remembering
his crowd of admirers, Caelis turned and gave them a courtly bow and a dazzling
smile. Then, he handed his crossbow to Drew, directed the men to gather the
bolts, and strode back to the Keep, alone.

            *         

That
night sleep would not come. Caelis’ discontent coiled within him, like a
serpent ready to strike. He sat up on his narrow bed and raked his hair with
his fingers. Beyond the door Drew and the page slept on their cots in the
sitting room.

Caelis
swung his legs over the edge of the bed. This bedchamber wasn’t much more than
an alcove with a door, but Waryn chose this room for him after they were
knighted because it was situated beneath the crown prince’s suite and connected
to it by a secret stairwell. Waryn supposed it was originally built into the
Keep as an escape route for the royal family, but during the years of their
friendship it had been a fast way to contact one another.

Whether
or not he should have, Waryn had shown Caelis all the secret passages in the
royal tower. While the new occupant of Waryn’s suites was away from the Keep,
Caelis had an urge to revisit the room one more time, since Valerian was not
likely to invite him.

As
quietly as he could, Caelis pushed the bed away from the back wall. Then he
fumbled for the latch and slowly pressed it. The door opened into the dark
stairwell. Caelis thought about bringing a torch, but decided against it. He
did pull on his breeches, belt, and boots and place a knife in the sheath on
his belt. One could never be too careful.

He
entered the stairwell and pushed the door closed. Treading slowly in the
absolute darkness, Caelis steadied himself against the curved outer wall. When
he reached the landing above, he groped again for a latch and pulled open the
door. Waryn’s bed, of course, was not pushed far from the wall, so Caelis had
to sidle between the headboard and the wall to work his way around. Finally, he
stood in the middle of the familiar room.

After
the blackness of the stairwell, the moonlight streaming through the window made
everything recognizable. Nothing had been moved. Except for the deathly quiet,
Caelis could imagine Waryn striding through the door from the sitting room with
a wide smile and a warm welcome. A stab of grief startled Caelis, and he
gasped.

He
walked toward the window seat and paused at the large table, where he and Waryn
had shared many meals. Now it contained a stack of parchments, a pot of ink,
and quill pens. Of course. The monk lived here now. Caelis lifted his hand to
sweep all of it from the table. But he couldn’t do that; Waryn’s page was
surely asleep in the other room and would hear the noise. He did lift the top
sheet, which lay crookedly, and turned it over. To his surprise, there was
writing there.

Caelis
took the parchment to the window and held it under the bright moonlight. When
he read the words penned by Valerian, his eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t
think the whelp had the nerve to order anyone’s execution. Of course, he
obviously didn’t because the king had ordered the Brethren imprisoned instead.
Then why didn’t he destroy this document? Caelis grunted. Valerian had probably
not been back to this room since his injury weeks ago. He might have already
forgotten about it. Caelis gazed out the window.

“Sir
Caelis?”

He
whirled at the sound of the page’s voice. The boy stood in the doorway,
illuminated from behind by the light from the fireplace.

“Yes,
Gannon?” Caelis kept his voice calm.

“You
should not be here, sir. These are Prince Valerian’s rooms now.”

Caelis
narrowed his eyes. He’d had enough from cheeky pages of late.

“I
know that.” He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I just wanted to
visit this room one more time before the prince returns.” Caelis feigned a
catch in his voice in order to touch the page’s sympathy. “I grieve for Prince
Waryn.”

Gannon
balled his fists on his narrow hips.

“Then
what are you doing with the prince’s things?” The page pointed at the parchment
in Caelis’ hand. When Caelis didn’t answer right away, Gannon stepped forward
and lifted his chin. “I will have to tell the king about this.”

Caelis
first set down the parchment with a trembling hand. Then he glowered at the
arrogant page. “How dare you?” He lunged forward and boxed the boy’s ears. “You
are but a page!”

He
didn’t have the chance to finish his tirade, for Gannon’s eyes rolled back in
his head, and he went limp, collapsing to the floor. Frowning, Caelis went down
on one knee and put his hand on the boy’s chest. The small heart beat its last
under Caelis’ palm, and he gasped. He had only intended to discipline the boy,
but who would believe him when it became known he’d let himself into the rooms
of the crown prince without permission?

His
own heart pounding, Caelis lifted the small body. Should he hide it? No, that
would only raise more questions. He glanced around the room. The garderobe.
Servants had fallen down the shafts before and drowned in the middens below.
This was only a page, after all.

Caelis
dropped the body head first, and seconds later heard a faint plop. No one could
connect the boy’s death to him. He wiped his hands on his tunic and strode back
to the table. After all this trouble, he might as well take the parchment. It
might later prove useful.

He
left the door to the sitting room open, to make it more plausible the boy fell
into the bedchamber’s garderobe while using the necessary. Then he slipped into
the secret entrance, closing the door behind him.