The Castrofax (28 page)

“I have not forgotten about it,” the Prince
said and took a seat to pull on a pair of tall boots. “My books
have no information on it.”

“Your sister knows where it is,” Ryker said
suddenly.

Nolen stared at him stupidly, “You jest.”

“I never jest. Did y’ ever ask your mother
why
little Kindle was spirited away?”

“She would not say.”

Ryker nodded. “Selene told me your mother
quod Kindle came across the information at Castle Jaden. The
question was, did she come across it accidental like, or did she
purposely seek it out? The Head Mage found out ac had her sent away
t’ protect her. Speak with Queen Challis, ac y’ get t’ the girl. Y’
find her, and y’ find mine Silex.”

Nolen sat there with one boot laced up,
calculating behind his thick eyelashes. “I will see it done as soon
as I break the Class Ten.”

Ryker’s eyes went to the pile of bloody
clothing. “Oh, y’ are trying t’ break him physically? That will
never work. We don’t break physically.”

“After about day three I suspected such,”
Nolen grimaced and finished lacing the other boot. “How do I break
him?”

“Mentally. Take everything he loves ac kill
it, ruin it; give him nothing t’ live for! He will break.”

Nolen huffed and stood. “I thought I already
did that.”

“Nay, all men love things. What is something
he has mentioned that y’ think he cannot live without?”

“I think he is still chaste.”

“There y’ are. Take that from him. He likely
has a family as well. Kill them. Burn his home. Cut his hair. Dress
him in rags. Whatever most humiliates him. He will break if y’
deprive him of enough hope ac love.”

Nolen smiled as he thought and met Ryker’s
eyes with devious intent. “Let us visit Arconia. I have an
idea.”

Ryker raised a brow. He had been to Arconia
when it was first becoming a kingdom but not since. “Why?”

Nolen looked at him strangely. “Arconian
women are famed for being the most beautiful anywhere.”

Ryker nodded. It was time to show the
Princeling his power. “Put on something princely. We are going t’
Arconia.”

Robyn leaned on the stone railing of the back
patio, looking over the sweeping hills of trees painted in greens
with splashes of orange that welcomed autumn. The spiced wine
warmed her hands in its stone goblet, wafting its autumnal scents
over her face. She watched General Calsifer spar not far off. The
clack-clack
of wooden swords filled the large back yard
where a young horse trainer lunged a sleek mare, and a circle of
women spun yarn.

Calsifer was surprisingly good with children,
and after the first day, she found him loosen a little as he sensed
safety in the manor. She had even spotted him sitting in a sunny
corner with a young child, reading her a book on something doleful,
but the girl was fast asleep listening to his deep cadence. By the
next day he was sword fighting with eight year old boys, teaching
them while he let them beat him.

“If you lunge forward, be assured of your
balance. I can tell you’re off and push you over—as such,” Calsifer
said moving his wooden blade aside, pushing the boy. A small
audience of children with their own sticks gathered to watch.
“Better. Better.”

“Would you care for a hot pie, Your Grace?” a
woman called behind Robyn. She turned to look at Talon’s wife, a
regal brunet named Ginjer. She was five months pregnant with their
second child. The first child, a blond-headed toddler, sat in a
corner shoving what looking like a bug into his mouth. Ginjer was a
high born woman from the coast and came with a hefty dowry as well
as a knack for running a manor and entertaining the elite. Robyn
liked her immediately and the two already had long conversations
about running a kingdom and handling the opposite sex.

“Thank you, no,” Robyn nodded and went back
to her wine. It had been three days since her arrival, and two
since Talon set out to find her a suitable little army. These
things took time, she knew, but she hated the idea that Gabriel
could be hurting somewhere, and she was not there for him.

Andolyn walked out onto the patio with a
thick tome in her hands. She had been pouring through the thing for
days, and one finger now marked a page. She looked far too
triumphant for Robyn’s liking, and Ginjer tittered at the woman’s
expression.

“I found it,” Andolyn declared. “It says
right here Class Ten Mages were renowned as being the best lovers
because of their natural instinct and incredibly large—”

Robyn’s eyes widened, and she slammed the
book shut. “Andolyn,
really
.” She looked over at Ginjer who
was grinning broadly. “Is
this
what you’ve been
researching?”

“Appetites,” Andolyn finished. “It’s
important
! Have you really never even kissed him?”

“I kissed his forehead once, and his cheeks a
few times.”

“That
does not
count,” her cousin said
with an exasperated tone. “If he is as pretty as you say,
I’ll
steal him.”

“He’s handsome, not pretty.” Robyn tapped her
finger on the rim of her goblet. “How long do you think it will
take Talon to return?”

“If he went as far south as Igron…. A week,
maybe a little less. Men as good as you need don’t grow in the
fields.”

“I know, I know,” Robyn muttered. “I hope
Gabriel does not think I have forgotten about him.”

“If the last words off your tongue were your
declaration of love for him, it is likely he’s not forgotten.”
Andolyn went to pour herself a goblet of hot wine. “Your twentieth
birth anniversary is not far off, is it?”

Robyn grimaced. “You remember too well.”

“How will you handle removing Queen
Miranda?”

“Seeing as I am the rightful heir, she has no
choice but to step down. Should she refuse, I would have to rally
all the houses loyal to my own and lay my claim against her. There
would likely not be actual bloodshed but more a display of force.
The nobles of the powerful houses would side with me, and Miranda
would be deposed messily.”

“What would your first decree be?” Andolyn
asked.

Robyn thought for a moment. “Anyone who can
safely remove a Castrofax will be granted a Lordship and
lands.”

“Will you still try and suffocate him?”
Ginjer asked gently, well informed of all plans and stories by
now.

Robyn nodded. “I will.”

Ginjer’s pale brown eyes bored into her. “You
know he may not be revived? Could you have that on your hands?”

Robyn looked away and tapped her goblet
again. “He’s always been so free,” she whispered finally. “I’ve
never seen him look so trapped. He couldn’t live like that long.”
Her memory went back to the day she entered his room to find his
wrist slit. As oppressive as his power was, he learned to deal with
it and welcome it as part of him. Now that it was gone, it may not
be as welcome a blessing like it was when he was nineteen.

Gabriel did not leave his bed for days,
exhausted and sore to the bone. While the Mages could heal most
things, aches were not one of them. A few soaks in a warm bath
helped, but only for a while. Sleep was the only way to avoid the
pain, and Prince Balien made sure he was well stocked in sleeping
draughts.

Aisling visited during his meals, but she and
the Battle Mages had fixed everything that could be mended. The
only things they could not mend were his memories. The nightmares
came after the first few nights.

The cold Castrofax pressed against the back
of his neck and his right wrist as he moved the left, trying to
keep it from touching his skin. He theorized that if each piece
made no contact with him, it may allow him to touch his Elements
without consequences. So far he had no luck. He perched on the edge
of his bed, staring at the etchings in the copper metal that looked
like writing, or something his mind could not consider. Whatever
they were pushed passed his vision and ended in fuzzy lines. He
suspected they were patterns of some sort etched into the metal. He
thought he recognized the lock-pattern that would keep a door
closed, but it was connected to another he did not know, possibly
the anchor-pattern.

Despite his situation, he did not break. He
heard Aisling whisper to Balien that he was still in a state of
denial and staying there would keep him going longer. He lingered,
telling himself Robyn would have an answer, or the Head Mage would
come to his rescue. Part of him knew there was no hope, but he
refused to let that fact take root. He tried not to think of the
freedom he lost, or the crushing absence of his Elements, or of the
girl who whispered her love to him. He touched the golden band with
his thumb and smiled. He hoped he would have the chance to tell her
the same.

His wet hair from a morning soak dripped into
his shirt, and he gave his head a quick shake. A knock sounded on
the door. He had grown fearful of a knock, but Nolen had not
bothered him in days. In fact, Aisling heard rumors the Prince was
nowhere to be found. He called for entrance.

Aisling walked in with a smooth look—a look
he was beginning to recognize as a mask.

“Your presence is requested in the throne
room,” she said simply.

“Why?” he asked, standing.
‘Is Miranda
going to try sending me back to the dungeons?’
She could not
with a pardon from the Head Mage.

“I was not told, but I have been summoned as
well.” She strode across the room to his wardrobe and flung the
doors open, selecting a blue coat that fit him just below the hips,
marked with black triangular patterns to accentuate his shoulders.
It had a high collar, and he knew she chose it to hide the
Castrofax. She looked fetching in a pale pink gown slashed with
dark purple panels. She was always modest, wearing corsets that
covered her bosom and shoulders. “This vest as well,” she stated
and pulled out a simple black vest to match his black trousers.

“I’ve never been dressed before,” he mused as
he shrugged the vest on, doing up the ebony buttons.

“Get used to it. All men of your standing
need a clothier.”

“Do you have one as well?”

“I have two,” she replied and helped his coat
on. As he buttoned it, she ran a hand through his hair and parted
it to the right where it usually resided. “You have your father’s
hair.”

That alarmed him. “Lady Aisling, what were
you doing running your fingers through my father’s hair?”

She smirked. “It looks the same. When he was
younger, he wore it longer like this. He was a looker, you know, as
are you.”

He gave her a smile, but he didn’t mean it.
He felt anything but attractive with his power so diminished. Power
was attractive, captivity was not.

“You are a lovely lady yourself. How is it
you never came to marry?”

She straightened his coat at the shoulders.
“The Lamay line has a long heritage of great Mages, and my parents
would not allow any of lower Class to court me. Father is very
disapproving of most
everything
these days.”

“And your mother?” He extended his elbow, and
she took it.

“She is much the same.” She chuckled as they
started walking. “The truth is when love came calling, I was
Advisor to Rincarel and had just attained a Council Seat. There
wasn’t any time for anything else.”

“Yet you have lived a life more fulfilled
than so many who have more than you.”

He felt her fingers tighten a little over his
coat. “And I have done so many terrible things.”

They conversed as they made their way to the
throne room, speaking of court life and rumors. Word was Nolen had
fathered his fourth bastard and did all he could to ignore it.
Aisling saw the woman and her daughter taken care of. Word of
sudden deaths springing up in the closest city had people talking.
Fires burning through Cinibar and Aidenmar threatened to destroy
crops and villages. Aisling suspected everything was related but
had no way to prove it, and birds from Castle Jaden brought no
explanations.

A small council room sat behind the throne
room, connected by two arching doorways. One door stood ajar, and
in the slit of vision, Nolen stood with his side to them. Gabriel
felt his chest tighten at the sight of the man, remembering the
endless horrors in the cold darkness. He had not realized he
stopped his stride until Aisling jerked him. He steeled his resolve
as he walked closer to Nolen, feeling his brow tighten. He would
not let the Prince have anything more from him.

Nolen looked up when they moved in his
peripheral vision and straightened. He looked…content. That worried
Gabriel. The Prince unfolded his hands, and Gabriel was relieved to
see there were no leashes or whips.

“I have brought some friends of mine to meet
you,” he said to Gabriel. Gabriel seized the Prince’s gaze and did
not back down while green eyes bored into him. “I expect you to be
on your best behavior.” He turned to Aisling. “My mother awaits
you. You would be wise to follow her silence.”

“Silence rarely solves problems,” she
retorted.

Nolen met Gabriel’s eyes again. “Yes, I would
say silence does quite a deal of damage for some. This may be
another time you wish to keep
your
mouth silent as well.” He
opened the door and strode in with them close behind.

As per custom, Aisling stood to the right of
the Eagle Throne where Miranda already sat in a green gown, and
Nolen stood to the left with Gabriel on his left. As Gabriel passed
behind the throne, he peered around it to see these ‘friends’ of
Nolen’s. He expected more marauders or perhaps torturers, but he
was surprised to see women. As he took his place beside Nolen, he
surveyed the ladies.

They were all of exquisite beauty, not a
common face or figure among them. Most were tall with long hair
pulled up in fancy braids, light brown and red with a few blondes
intermixed. They were slender, statuesque, of certain noble
bearing, and all young. They were garbed in the trademark satins of
Arconia, wearing tight-fitting dresses that were unlike the bulky
cottons and wools of Anatoly gowns.