The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1) (2 page)

Not to mention the obvious tattoo on his forehead. Marking him forever as Hakon, prince of the Alem and the heir to Atmen, the city of breath.

No, keeping his identity a secret would have been worthless. Hakon would have found out he was different sooner or later.

A bird sounded in the forest—a loud cry, followed by the steady echo of a drum. It was distant, but Hakon had learned to recognize the sounds of the forest. It was the call of his tribe. There were dozens of tribes scattered about in the forest. They had been warring with each other for the past few centuries, too busy trying to survive in the death trap of the mountains than to concern themselves with the real enemy. But things were changing. Hakon didn’t want to think how a great deal of those changes had to do with him.

The call came again. Skeet would be leading the latest raid on an Alem village. They would all be waiting for him.

He closed his eyes, focusing on meditation. Clearing all the images of far off places he only dreamed of. With his eyes closed, he adjusted his skins, making sure no portion of his body was exposed, except, of course, his left hand and his feet. He had taken off his cloak to feel the wind—so rarely did he feel the wind. His skin seemed to breathe it in whenever he could feel it. But now he placed the cloak and hood back on his head. He put his dagger in his gloved right hand, and, by tradition, though it was useless to him, a rock in his ungloved left hand.

He breathed in and out, clearing his mind.

His eyes snapped open, and he fixated on a tree ahead of him. A sturdy branch with clear footing. He saw it, let it overtake his mind, and then, by some strange power he barely understood, he was at the tree. He was barely winded, as if he had been standing on the branch all along. He quickly grabbed the trunk of the tree so he didn’t lose his footing and looked back. The pillar of rock rose high into the sky, far in the distance behind him.

Hakon turned toward Kaldin and jumped. He landed gracefully on the dense forest floor. He faced west, toward home, and ran.

***

Hakon focused on a rivet before him. He repainted what he saw as a picture in his mind, and then he was there. Focal point after focal point, Hakon moved through the forest, leaping over rocks and roots as he went. He could only move stone throws at a time, since the density of the forest was so thick. It took a window between trees for him to get a good sighting. He was careful to avoid the poisonous trees—poplars with their thick sap that seeped out and could cause a man to go into shocks. His feet were careful to stay on branch roots, for the snapping grass could bloody a foot badly. The forest did its best to drive out anything foreign, and that included anything human. That was one reason why the Alem drove the Terra into it over a hundred years ago—they thought it would destroy them.

But instead, it made them stronger
, Hakon thought. He took his sights on another tree and zipped to it, careful to avoid the dark bush at its roots. A dark bush could paralyze a man for days—long enough for a wild beast to devour him alive. Hakon spotted another tree and zipped to it before his feet even touched the earth. Hakon didn’t have to touch the earth like his Terra brothers. While the Terra drew their power to port from the earth, Hakon’s energy source was all around him, in the air.
The advantage of being an air zipper, freak that I am,
Hakon thought. Up ahead, he could hear the Kaldin River. He was almost home.

As Hakon came around the tree, he felt a sudden grip on his thigh. He spun around and saw a full–grown belly tiger clinging to his leg. Fortunately, his skins and furs were thick enough to defend against a swipe of its sharp claws.

The tiger took another swipe, this time aiming for his head. Hakon ducked, raising his dagger up and aiming for the exposed underbelly of the tiger. He could feel claws rip through the back of his cloak. He thrust the dagger into the wildcat’s soft belly.

The tiger howled but didn’t let go. Jaws closed around his left arm, and a searing pain shot through Hakon. He jabbed again, digging the dagger, blade and hilt, deep into the belly. Hot blood and muscle swallowed his hand.

He tried twisting out from under the tiger and ripping his arm and neck free. But before he could break free, Hakon was under water.

The tiger was a portling, an animal that could zip or vanish.
And a clever one
, Hakon thought. He couldn’t assess whether the tiger was a zipper or vanisher. Either way, the beast had ported the both of them to the river, destroying Hakon’s ability to see clearly. Since Hakon couldn’t see, he couldn’t zip. The tiger had the advantage. Hakon had little time to admire the tiger’s intelligence. Jaws were closing around the hood at his neck, and sharp claws ripped through his pants to tear at the soft flesh below.

Hakon screamed, taking in a mouthful of blood and water. Hakon tried to lift up his rock hand to bash the tiger—it was a land instinct, useless under water. He struggled to pull the dagger upward as the tiger yanked harder at his neck. Fortunately, the water prevented the tiger from snapping Hakon’s neck.

The current swept them down, spinning them constantly through the water. Hakon kicked his legs free of the tiger’s claws, ripping out chunks of his legs. He bit back the pain and swam, trying to push the dagger up against the weight of the tiger.

The water helped make him lightweight. He pulled with his dagger, and pushed with his legs. Finally, the dagger found the heart, and the tiger’s jaw went limp.

Hakon kicked until he reached the surface. Once he spotted land, he zipped himself and the tiger to the shore. He dropped the lifeless and majestic beast at his feet. He spared two breaths to look at his wounds. They were deep but not critical. He didn’t have time to linger. The blood would attract other predators. He could already hear vultures circling above. They must be zippers if they got here that fast. It wouldn’t be long before they came down. He looked at the sun and where he was at the river, judging how far away he was from home.

A low howl echoed in the distance. Wolves hunting before sunrise.

Hakon sighed and looked down at the tiger, wondering if it was worth it to lug him all the way back.
I’ll have missed Skeet’s raid by now
, he thought. He could leave the carcass for the wolves, but any meat and new fur were good for the tribe. He hoisted the tiger over his left shoulder, keeping his dagger hand free.

You made us like this, people of Atmen
, Hakon thought.
Beasts hunted by beasts.

CHAPTER TWO

The City of Atmen

Princess Kara sat in front of her mirror, focusing on the tattoo of a single jewel that appeared to hang from the crown of her forehead. It was still fresh. It had only been days since she became the public princess of the Air Kingdom—the day of her betrothal. That’s when the jewel of betrothal and marriage had been added to the weaving silver and red tattoo that she had had since birth. She sighed. She hated the fresh tattoo—not just because it looked like a glowing pimple (although that was irritating) but because of the permanency of it. She was no longer a secret, she could never deny who she was, and she was now… that horrid word… engaged.

She knew it wasn’t personal. None of it was. Her father, King Arden, was making an alliance with another father, another king, somewhere bird zips away from here. She had known this would always happen. The news didn’t come as a shock, but the ending had. With her reveal had come a type of death. No longer did she play some lesser courtier in the palace or dress in commoners’ clothing. No longer did her father come and teach her secretly how to fight. No more would she be the secret princess, left to her own devices.

Stop these thoughts
, she scolded herself. The past was past. And Master knew that this kingdom needed to stop focusing on the past.

So Kara ignored the gem and turned to her handmaid, Sarita. Sarita had bright blue eyes—characteristic of her kind, the Su, the water people. Her hands were also webbed near the knuckles, and Kara imagined her toes were the same. Sarita had been Kara’s nurse before she was her handmaiden. Though Sarita was at least ten years older than Kara, she was in some ways the closest thing she had to a friend. Almost. She had always maintained her role as servant, no matter how little Kara acted like a princess.

“Why don’t the Su tattoo their ranks, Sarita?”

“We don’t have ranks like the Alem, Your Highness,” Sarita said, grabbing a comb to brush Kara’s hair.

“But some Su have servants.” Kara grabbed the brush and began combing her own hair. “How can you tell each other apart?”

Sarita smiled and grabbed a ribbon and some hair clasps. “Most of us
are
servants, princess. We know our place without a tattoo to tell us.”

“But surely some of you are higher than others. Even as servants of the Alem.” Kara relented and let Sarita tie the ribbon in her hair. “For example, a handmaid of a princess is probably higher esteemed then say… a handmaid for a duchess?”

Sarita shook her head. “We don’t think that way. All of us are simply content to serve the Alem in any capacity.” She finished with Kara’s hair and attached a small lacing of pearls atop her head, like a crown that mirrored the tattoo on her forehead. “Shall I fetch your dress for the banquet?”

Kara frowned. The Su were a curious race. “Yes.”

Sarita bowed and exited into the adjacent bedroom. The bow irritated Kara. So did the pearls. Sarita had always treated her like a princess, but her servant’s actions felt even more formal now. Kara found herself wishing that her parents had made sure to keep up the pomp even while she was hidden. Then again, she wished she had never had to be a secret in the first place. She wished… well, she wished what everyone wished: that her brother hadn’t been kidnapped and killed by the Terra.

The entire story never made sense to her. That’s what it was to her—a story. Every child in Atmen and the surrounding villages was taught the same stories. Her father’s grandfather had driven the Terra far into the east, deep into the Desolate Forest, where there was no chance of survival. Then, a hundred years later, they reappeared… not to assassinate the king but to steal his only child. It seemed so cruel and twisted. What did it gain the Terra but years of war and slavery? Instinctively, she remembered a lesson drilled into her by the keepers.
There is little sense in the Terra’s mind. They are animals and are driven by instinct, not reason.

Kara pushed these dark thoughts out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about the Terra. She didn’t want to think about her ghost brother. No matter how she wished it, he wasn’t there. And that meant the kingdom’s fate rested solely on Kara’s shoulders.

Kara sighed. She was always pushing unwanted thoughts out of her mind.

“Here you are, Highness.” Kara turned around to see Sarita carrying a cream gown lined with silver. “It will bring out your eyes,” Sarita said politely. She helped Kara step out of her layman clothes and into the dress. Before Sarita put the dress over her head, Kara made sure to slip a dagger into a small hidden pocket in her petticoat. “Is that really necessary?” Sarita asked.

“A habit. My father’s lessons burn deep,” Kara said, making sure she could still access the knife through a small seam at her waist. “After all, we are at war.”

“I think you’re confused about who your enemies are. Prince Sesto wishes to marry you, not kill you,” Sarita scolded. She tied up Kara’s dress and reached for her cape.

“How do you know? He hasn’t met me yet.” Kara eyed Sarita’s reflection in the mirror and caught her stifling a laugh. It cheered Kara up.

Sarita guided Kara to the door. “Careful not to trip,” she said, handing Kara her cape. Kara sighed and tried to pretend she felt comfortable in the stuffy gown. Her forehead itched from the fresh tattoo.

“I miss trousers,” she mumbled and stepped into the hallway. “And cuff sleeves.” Kara looked up and down the royal hallways. The main citadel was still so unfamiliar to her with its portraits and finery. She was used to taking the secret passageways the servants used. “And I miss the servants’ hallways,” she added. Sarita shushed her. Kara looked down the hallway, this time for Azure. A tall, slim guard with pale blue eyes the color of the sky was already walking toward her.

“Your Highness.”

“Azure Neel.” She couldn’t help but smile at the Su boy. Azure was one of the youngest guards but still a few years her senior. The Neel family had long served the king, ever since the Ally Days, when the Su people aligned with the Alem against the Terra. Because of their loyalty, all the Su had been honored with the reward of becoming servants to the Alem. The Neel family, the most loyal among the Su, had been entrusted for generations as guards and servants throughout the palace.

Kara couldn’t help but like Azure. He was her friend in the days of her secrecy. Although her mother had tried to keep up pretenses, the king had still insisted that Kara practice her sparring, and he only trusted the water guards to keep it secret, since they had no connection to Alem royalty. Although those in the palace had known of her existence, and rumors always circulated, only few knew she could fight. Azure had been one. In fact, he had always seemed to seek out an opportunity to duel with her.

Azure did not smile back at Kara’s greeting but turned formally away from her, assuming the stance of an escort. She had always thought of Azure as a dear friend. She frowned—maybe she had imagined their friendship. A frightening thought entered her mind: perhaps she didn’t really know him? She laughed at herself for such ridiculous thoughts. He was just performing his place, and she should perform hers.

She sighed audibly and walked down the great halls, accompanied on either side by her Su companions. It was always cold in the hallways—even in the summer. Since it was still winter in Atmen, the citadel, which was built into the Glacier Mountains, was frigidly cold. She hoped winter would pass soon and the seasons would change. She had heard that the snow had turned to rain in the Great Plains already, and in the villages below the crest. She hoped this meant spring would be coming to Atmen soon.