Page 45 of My Princeling Brat (Tales from the Tarot #2)
Lord Vasil
The entrance to the abandoned mines was suspiciously unguarded, a sinister invitation to enter, despite all of the faded signs that read, No Trespassing and Keep Out. The makeshift wooden door had even been propped open, which only heightened my trepidation.
“Is there usually no one guarding the door?” I asked Galen.
“No, m’lord. There are usually lookouts and sentries posted everywhere,” he replied. I surveyed the surrounding trees and rock formations, enlisting my vampyric faculties but hearing only birdsong and the whispering of grasses.
“So, it’s a trap,” I concluded while the queen huffed in displeasure.
“Half of you scout ahead,” she instructed her soldiers, who numbered about two dozen in total, including her palanquin attendants.
“Do all of the Keepers reside in these caves?” I asked Galen.
“Yes, m’lord. It’s mandatory for fellowship and worship to live in a communal space.”
“Don’t they have jobs and families?”
“The Keepers work in the mines and trade with colonies in the borderlands. Master Keeper demands you abandon your non-Keeper relations and donate your wealth to the order. And if you stray from the light, you are punished.”
A true cult then, and a leader who sought to isolate his followers and enrich himself through their labor, complete with rules and punishments. A leader who demanded grave sacrifices from his disciples in order to achieve purity and perfection. This was sounding more and more familiar to me.
“The gas levels in these mines are unsafe. It’s why they were shut down in the first place,” I informed Galen. Perhaps that factor was helping to sustain their delusions?
“Master Keeper says the air here is more pure than the air we share with the mixed breeds.”
At my side, the queen scoffed and said with a sneer. “Young man, you’re fae, do you believe that drivel?”
Galen shrugged. “If I don’t at least pretend to believe it, I’ll be punished.”
I suspected one of those punishments had been the butchering of his wings.
I was gaining a clearer picture of what this young man’s life had entailed, along with that of the other Keepers.
They were victims too, of a depraved and deluded man’s quest for power.
I’d have to remember that when all of this was over.
If I survived.
“All clear, Your Majesty,” one of the fae soldiers reported.
The queen looked to me for guidance.
“Onward then,” I said somberly.
Upon entering the mines, I was immediately struck by a sense of wrongness.
It hung in the air like a poisonous gas, and I suspected wards had been magicked to keep strangers away.
Dimly lit by the fires of our eternal flame, the mine looked all but abandoned still, which meant the actual production must occur elsewhere.
As we ventured farther into the cavernous tunnel, I sensed many sets of eyes upon us.
The Keepers were hidden from view but watching our progress all the while. Was this Master Keeper’s intention?
“Will they ambush us?” I asked Galen, for the lad seemed to know a lot about their customs.
“No, m’lord. Master Keeper has prophesied this.”
“Prophesized what exactly?” I asked, even more alarmed.
“Your reunion.”
“I thought he wanted me dead,” I said drolly.
Galen shook his head and avoided my gaze.
“That arrow was supposed to be for the prince, m’lord.
To weaken you. Only I couldn’t do it. He was my hero from the daily scrolls, you see?
Causing an uproar with the commoner, gallivanting around with his guard, and dodging the queen’s men. No offense, Your Majesty.”
I smirked at the lad’s larger-than-life interpretation of Cedrych. The queen huffed but I noticed the slight curve of her mouth that spoke to a secret admiration of her second-born son’s willful nature.
“So you thought to kill me instead?” I asked Galen regarding his last-minute change of plans.
“A quick death is merciful,” he responded, which made me wonder what else he knew of the Keepers’ plans for me.
“But wouldn’t that go against the prophecy?” I asked.
“I did not expect a long life,” he said morosely.
That made me pause. Even knowing his disobedience might cost him his life, Galen had made the decision to spare the prince, who was innocent.
How sad the boy’s life must have been thus far.
And the fact that it had happened in my own realm, under my watch, made me responsible.
“What else has Master Keeper prophesied?” I asked.
“A duel to show once and for all that Master Keeper is the strongest elemental sorcerer in all the isles, pure of blood and spirit, and befitting to rule the elvish realm with tradition, excellence, and piety.”
It sounded like the delusions of a madman, though I could have predicted the same outcome: one final showdown for all to see, a way for him to demonstrate his superior skill and strength.
An ego-driven narcissist whose sorcery was a spectacle to garner power and glory, rather than a quiet, well-honed discipline.
“I hope we won’t be here long,” the queen said. “I don’t care for underground places. Not enough room for flight.” Her soldiers looked skittish as well. How much of their battle strategy depended on the use of their wings to evade their opponents?
“This way,” Galen said, pointing out an old set of railway tracks where there were a few wooden carts covered in cobwebs, the spokes of the metal wheels rusted from disuse.
The air grew danker and sweeter, as if something foreign were being pumped into the mine shaft.
Was Master Keeper drugging his own people in an attempt to keep them compliant?
Clearly he had an affinity for poison. Dread warred with my desire to reveal this miscreant once and for all, to confirm my suspicions as to who the culprit was behind the mask, but I must be smart if I hoped to outmaneuver him.
We followed Galen through a series of winding passageways, using the railway tracks as our guide. The regular sound of a hammer became audible and I shot Galen a curious look.
“The bladesmith,” he said. “Elvish steel to guide our hands, piety and virtue to guide our hearts. Also part of the prophecy.”
I grunted. Prophecies were easy to make when you were the one orchestrating another's demise.
The hammering grew louder until at last we were at the entrance to a large, open cavern.
I sensed Prince Cedrych was close, but there was another energy I recognized.
His presence echoed with familiarity, and yet it had twisted and warped since I last saw him, like an untreated wound left to fester.
And then my eye caught on my beloved prince. Cedrych was pacing the length of his cell, much as he paced my bedchamber and study. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice our entourage approaching. He looked a little disheveled and a lot furious, but he didn’t appear to be injured, thank the Goddess.
“My son,” the queen whispered and I laid one hand on her arm. We’d surely lost the element of surprise, but I didn’t wish for our presence to be announced just yet.
I was inspecting every dark corner for the Master Keeper’s presence when a robed figure finally emerged from the shadows.
Cloaked in elvish blue–adding further insult–and wearing the gold mask of an Awelon Falcon, his presence struck me with the strength of that hammer.
Even masked, I knew him. Had toiled under him, had admired and wanted to be him, had regarded him with fear and respect in equal measure.
And now I stood before my former mentor, the man who I thought had perished along with my parents, the devil behind my many years of anguish.
“Bethel Kane,” I said, compelled to confirm this betrayal with my own eyes.
“Master Kane,” the man corrected and slowly removed his mask. “Hello, Mercier, it’s been a long time.”
“Such simple methods show a lack of talent and imagination.”
Those were Bethel Kane’s first words to me so many years ago, after I’d given a demonstration of my burgeoning skill as a metal sorcerer.
I’d been nine years old at the time, and the already renowned elemental sorcerer had swiftly and effectively put me in my place while setting the tone for what was to be a five-years long tutelage.
He’d called me a nitwit and an imbecile, and never seemed to really enjoy his role as my mentor.
Only when he was flush with power and giving a demonstration did his countenance come alive.
A decade my senior, Bethel Kane had seemed impossibly tall in my youth but now stood at about my height.
He was lean and sinewy, his skin as pale as parchment paper and striated with scars from practicing with his own blades.
His face was sharp-boned, eyes a ghostly silver and rimmed with coal-dark lashes.
His hair, once raven-dark, was now threaded with gray and hung in oily strands, matted with dirt from the mines and streaked with dust and ash.
There had been a cold beauty about him in our youth, but much of that had been lost to whatever madness had overtaken him.
He had not aged in our years apart as much as he had corroded.
All around us figures garbed in dull gray robes emerged from the gloom, their garments tattered and thread-bare.
Their faces, those who I could see, spoke to a similar starvation that had plagued Galen.
These people had been physically weakened, their spirits broken, and their minds filled with this heretic’s lies.
I sensed their discontent and sorrow along with their hatred, which Kane had sharpened like a spear and was now aimed in my direction.