Page 15

fifteen

Benjin

Benjin hurried down the hall toward the Grand Magus’ lab, eager to get to work. His sleep the previous night had been restless, filled with imagined riots in the streets and half-glimpsed images of Prince Haldric.

Sometimes, the prince would be dead, lying in a pool of blood with his throat slit in some back alley or strung up by an angry mob and ripped apart. Other times, the prince lay sprawled in bed, a half-smile on his lips, his green eyes soft and welcoming as a mossy glen. He’d beckon Benjin closer, his lips parting, and…

Benjin shook his head to banish the thoughts. Both sets of dreams were equally disturbing. Better to occupy his mind with alchemical mixtures and ingredient prep.

Alchemy had proven a fickle art. Recipes took the place of sigils much the same way hand gestures and words did in standard casting. Haldric claimed it all came down to different means of capturing the same fundamental order underlying reality. To Benjin, it just seemed like esoteric nonsense.

Entering the Grand Magus’ tower, he was surprised to find his master in a rush. Dexil had swept aside his usual alchemical instruments to make room for some of the lesser used, more advanced equipment he kept on his shelves.

Benjin surveyed the unfamiliar apparatus. “What’s all this about?”

Dexil gave him a distracted smile. “Why, it’s for your trip, my boy! Prince Haldric is departing this afternoon for Khordan, and I’ve arranged for you to accompany him.”

A jolt of shock zipped down his spine, leaving an unsettling tingling in its wake he wasn’t entirely sure he liked. “What? Why?”

“The prince is heading to the city of Luxem to court Lady Katalin of House Galax.”

Benjin froze in mid-step. The words hit him like a blow to the gut, though he couldn’t say why they upset him so much.

Can’t…or won’t?

Shoving his confused jumble of emotions aside, he said, “I meant, why do you need me to accompany him?” His stomach fluttered. “Did Haldric request my presence?”

“Not as such, no. I requested your presence on the trip, and King Roland agreed. The roads are more dangerous than ever, and it never hurts to have an extra mage along on such a journey. Besides, it will be a good opportunity for you to continue your training together.”

“But—”

“Not to mention,” Dexil interrupted, gesturing to the workstation in front of him, “I am in the middle of preparing some notes and research I’d like you to deliver to a fellow mage there: an old friend by the name of Percival.”

Benjin felt a wriggle of suspicion. Though the delivery offered a plausible enough excuse, he hadn’t missed the casual way Dexil tossed in additional training with the prince.

“You’ve been pushing for me to spend more time with Prince Haldric ever since you brought me on as your apprentice. Why? And don’t tell me it’s solely for the benefit of my training—I could practice my runes just fine from a book.”

For the first time since Benjin had entered, Dexil paused in his preparations and glanced up, his expression carefully guarded.

“Most perceptive, Benjin. I’ll admit, I hoped you might keep an eye on the young prince in my stead.”

That answer didn’t sit right with Benjin. He could tell there was more the Grand Magus wasn’t saying, and he thought back to Dexil’s vague words right before the Summit.

“But…aren’t you the king’s adviser? What could I possibly tell you that you don’t already know?”

Dexil’s violet gaze flashed. “As I told you before, King Roland and I don’t see eye to eye as much as we used to. Besides, it never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes and ears around the palace.”

Benjin knew he should let it go. Any further questions risked angering the man responsible for his livelihood here. One word from Dexil, and he’d be dismissed and back on the streets struggling to make ends meet for him and his mother. Still, his stubborn curiosity got the better of him.

“But why? Why do you care about gathering information? What’s going on?”

For a moment, the Grand Magus’ expression hardened. Benjin shrank back at the cold fury burning in his gaze. Though Dexil didn’t have runeflame summoned, Benjin swore he felt the faint crackle of latent magic upon the air.

Then, the Grand Magus seemed to deflate, his fury fading as he grew quiet. “Sometimes, life forces us to confront difficult situations with no right answers. When that happens, all you can do is watch, listen…and follow your heart.”

Benjin’s skin prickled when Dexil met and held his gaze before turning back to the table before him. “Now, leave me to my preparations and go see to your own packing. Be ready to depart by noon, or the carriage may leave without you.”

Not wanting to risk the Grand Magus’ wrath any more than he already had, Benjin sketched a hasty bow and retreated, shutting the door behind him.

Walking back to his quarters, however, he couldn’t help but mull over the Grand Magus’ words. What sort of ‘difficult situations’ had Dexil been hinting at? Was he worried about what would happen once the king passed? And why did he care so much about Benjin personally making this delivery?

Benjin’s thoughts turned to the trip, and he muffled an internal groan. Such musings could wait. First, he had to figure out how in the name of the Goddess he was going to survive spending so much time alone on the road with the prince…

Benjin arrived in the courtyard right as the sun crested the sky, his knapsack draped over one shoulder. The Grand Magus’ prepared parcel sat nestled safely within, ready to be delivered to this mage Percival in Luxem.

The courtyard was a flurry of activity. Servants loaded supplies into a wagon that rested behind a boxy carriage bearing the Demeroux crest. More servants and guards readied a dozen horses to travel. Seeing the escort eased a bit of Benjin’s tension. At least, he and Haldric wouldn’t be completely on their own.

Scanning the courtyard, he spotted the prince by the carriage. Duchess Janelle stood with him, speaking in a hushed voice. The Grand Magus’ edict to observe fresh in his mind, Benjin sidled closer to overhear, but it was impossible over the surrounding din, and he didn’t dare attempt some half-baked spell to listen in from afar.

Janelle fixed Haldric with a meaningful look, briefly gripping his shoulder before striding away. She ignored Benjin entirely as she passed by him. Benjin returned the favor. Haldric’s aunt hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to him this past month, and he had the distinct impression she didn’t much care for him. Noble snobbery, at its finest.

Striding swiftly across the courtyard, Benjin kept his gaze locked on Haldric. The prince appeared unsettled, his usual stoic fa?ade cracked beneath a heavy frown and a furrowed brow. He didn’t even notice Benjin’s approach.

“What did your aunt say to you?” Benjin asked once he was close enough, unable to contain his curiosity.

Haldric startled, seeming distracted. “What? Nothing.” He blinked, only then registering Benjin. “Hold on, what are you doing here? The Grand Magus already sent over our batch of emergency healing potions. Did he forget something?”

Benjin hefted his knapsack. “Only to inform you that I’ll be accompanying you. The Grand Magus’ orders.”

Haldric’s breath caught. For an instant, Benjin swore he saw something close to relief pass over the prince’s face. Whatever it was smoothed away to his usual mask as he turned toward the carriage.

“Well, come along, then. Daylight is wasting, and we have a long way to go if we’re going to make it to Luxem on schedule.”

Biting back a retort, Benjin followed the prince into the prepared carriage. As he stepped up into its interior, he marveled at its plush seat, fine woodwork, and draped curtains. It certainly beat riding in the back of a cart or trekking on foot, which were the only ways he’d ever traveled before this.

Despite its opulence, the carriage proved relatively cramped, with two narrow benches facing one another. Benjin took the bench on one side while Haldric took the other. Their knees brushed as they settled into place, and Benjin jerked his leg away, twisting to stare out their window while ignoring the flush on the back of his neck.

It didn’t take long for their escort to finish their final preparations for departure. A pair of servants sat up front to direct the horses drawing the carriage while a dozen royal guards on horseback flanked them.

Benjin’s eyes widened when he realized Marshal Fendrel himself led the contingent. The king must not want to take any chances after what had happened to Princess Melisie if he had the head of the royal guard on this detail.

Benjin stole a glance at Haldric and found him sitting in brooding silence, staring straight ahead unseeing. Had his thoughts also turned to his sister?

Goddess, how different Haldric’s life would have been had she lived. He might even now be on the island of Astralyn, studying at their esteemed Arcanum. Instead, he was about to marry a Khordanite princess and inherit Ilthabard’s throne.

It must be incredibly lonely.

They rode in silence for a time. The carriage shuddered on the rough dirt road as it wound its way down the hill. Their pace slowed once they reached the bottom and had to thread their way through the crowded streets of Revesole fanning out from the hill’s base.

Benjin watched uneasily out the small window as a crowd enveloped them. Even at a distance, he could feel their rage, catch snippets of their hurled insults. If not for their escort, the protesters might’ve stormed the carriage. Not that I’d really blame them. As it was, only the soldiers’ drawn blades kept them back.

“Goddess’ mercy, what are they shouting?”

Benjin jumped, glancing over to find Haldric right by his shoulder, peering past him out the window. He shrugged. “I can’t make the words out. Probably the usual fare though: death to the king , curse the nobility , and all that.

Haldric frowned. “I understand that they’re suffering and wish we could do more. But such violence won’t solve anything.”

The prince flinched when a rotten plum smashed against the side of the carriage, spraying dark purple juices across the wood.

Benjin searched for the source of the hurled fruit and spied a teenage boy standing in the mouth of a nearby alley. He couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than Benjin himself, but when their eyes met, the utter loathing in his hate-filled face made Benjin recoil as if struck.

“That poor boy looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week,” Haldric said softly, following Benjin’s gaze.

The emaciated lad watched them a moment longer, still as a statue, before turning and vanishing into the crowd.

Benjin settled back into the carriage’s plush seat, a sudden weariness threatening to suffocate him. “He probably hasn’t. Many of the people out there are in the same boat. Goddess’ mercy, my mother and I might’ve been right there with them if not for Dexil’s charity.”

“It wasn’t charity.” Haldric gave Benjin a meaningful glance. “You earned your apprenticeship, fair and square.”

Recalling his disastrous interview with Dexil, Benjin wasn’t so sure. Just what had the Grand Magus seen in him?

Haldric sank into his own seat away from the window with a frustrated sigh, reaching up to adjust the silver circlet upon his brow. “There must be something more I can do to help those people. No one deserves to be treated like that. Perhaps if we talked to them, explained what we’re doing to secure more food from the other provinces—”

“These people are starving , Haldric. Empty words won’t fill their bellies.”

“I understand how they feel,” Haldric said. “But—”

Benjin spun toward him, a quiet fury gripping him. “No. You don’t. You’ll never know what it’s like for the rest of us, scraping and struggling just to get by.”

Haldric flinched. “It’s not my fault I was born a noble! I didn’t ask for any of this. You think I want to be the royal heir?”

Surprise stilled Benjin’s tongue, cooling some of his ire. “You don’t want to be king?”

Haldric gave a humorless snort. “Goddess no! I told you, I wanted to be a mage, or maybe a scholar. It was my sister who was supposed to rule.” He turned away, staring out the window on the opposite end of the carriage. “Now, Melisie is gone, and Ilthabard’s stuck with me. You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll just end up letting everyone down.”

Benjin had caught glimpses before of the man beneath Haldric’s constant armor, but this was the first time Benjin had ever seen him discard it so utterly. Without thinking, he slid closer to the prince, resting his hand on his forearm.

“Forgive me—I let my own frustration get the better of me. What I said isn’t fair. You have the makings of a great king…assuming you ever get your head out of your backside.”

Haldric chuckled, shifting on the bench. Benjin expected him to pull away, but if anything, he seemed to lean into Benjin’s touch. His green eyes were soft and imploring, his voice full of desperate yearning. “Do you really think so?”

Benjin swallowed, his stomach buzzing with some emotion he couldn’t name. “I do.”

The day passed quickly after that. At Haldric’s suggestion, they spent the rest of the afternoon practicing their runes. The carriage trundled along, leaving Revesole behind and heading out into the sloping countryside. They passed through one packed town after another, trails of smoke billowing in rising plumes from the many manufactories that dotted the region.

The central province of Hasenbill had long been known for its industry, making use of the stone and ore transported south from Nillis’ mines at the base of the Korvanthan Mountains. This close to the capital, even the smallest village had a handful of local blacksmiths and stonemasons competing to outproduce one another.

Dim twilight blanketed the countryside when Marshal Fendrel finally called a halt. The marshal had insisted they set up camp rather than risk unwanted attention at an inn. He and the other royal guards soon had the tents assembled, a campfire blazing, and a pot of stew boiling with practiced ease.

“What, no lavish feast for the prince?” Benjin joked as he took a seat by the fire near Haldric. He dipped a spoon into his bowl of stew, then blew on it when it proved too hot to eat.

Haldric raised an eyebrow at Benjin while he stirred his own bowl of stew. “Sorry to disappoint, but even we royals must make some sacrifices when on the road.” He grimaced, his spoon stilling. “Besides, I’d wager this is a feast compared to what those people we passed in Revesole are eating tonight.”

“True.” Benjin stared down at the floating hunks of beef and potatoes in his bowl, his appetite fading. He knew firsthand what it was like to suffer the hollow pangs of hunger and wonder when your next meal would come. He’d do whatever it took to avoid returning to that sorry state.

As if reading Benjin’s troubled thoughts, Haldric ventured, “How about some more practice to pass the time? We could work on the gestures for conjuring and controlling light.”

Benjin groaned and made a show of massaging his wrist. “If I have to write anything else today, my fingers will fall right off.” His gaze trailed to the scabbard Haldric wore. “What’s it like being a spellblade?”

Haldric grinned. “You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of lessons.” When Benjin didn’t bother to deny it, Haldric shook his head. “All right, fine. I suppose it never hurts to expand your knowledge of runeflame. What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” A flush of excitement washed away Benjin’s earlier melancholy. There were few things in Allaria he loved as much as learning about magic. “How does it work? What sort of spells can you cast? Why did you pick it up?”

Haldric’s fingers trailed to his scabbard. “It seemed a natural fit for a king of Ilthabard looking to project an image of strength. A lot of it comes down to translating the traditional runes and gestures into swordplay. Rather than channeling a spell through your fingers, you release the runeflame via a precise strike.”

“That’s it?” Benjin felt certain he had to be missing something.

Sure enough, Haldric chuckled. The sound sent a ripple of warmth through Benjin’s core. “Since when is anything involving runeflame ever that simple? Just like Dexil’s alchemy relies on specific combinations of ingredients prepared certain ways to bolster the magic, spellblades rely on enchantments. Here, watch.”

Haldric set aside his bowl and stood, drawing his sword. Turning it onto its side, he drew a finger awash of runeflame along the flat of the blade, carefully sketching a series of sigils onto the gleaming surface. They sank into the metal, infusing it with an azure glow.

“What did that do?” Benjin asked.

“I primed the blade to make it a better conduit for my magic. In particular, I attuned it to lightning. See?”

Haldric took a few practice swings to warm up before flaring his runeflame and performing a flourishing thrust with his sword. A surge of electricity erupted from the sword’s tip. Benjin let out an appreciative whistle at the display, but Haldric wasn’t done yet. Spinning, the prince performed a sweeping slice that sent a short line of lightning crackling outward to scour the dirt in front of him.

Benjin leaped to his feet and cheered. “By the Goddess, that was magnificent!”

Haldric resheathed his sword and sat back down, an adorable blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m still far from an expert. I’ve read accounts of spellblades capable of effortlessly fusing their magic with their combat technique, channeling runeflame through their sword like it was an extension of their body. But that requires mastering both runeflame and your weapon to an extent I can only dream of. The best I can right now is apply basic elemental Evocations to my blade and a Protection ward to my armor.”

“Well, it seemed pretty Void-cursed impressive to me,” Benjin said. “I can barely manage basic Evocations and Conjurations, let alone the other disciplines.”

Haldric frowned. “You held your own during our contest.”

Benjin picked at his stew. “You went easy on me.”

“Oh, come on!” The force of Haldric’s reply caught Benjin by surprise. “Your Evocation gave me a run for my gallants, and your Conjuration beat me fair and square. And that Compulsion of yours was plenty strong.”

Benjin snorted, fixing Haldric with a lopsided smirk he knew would drive the prince insane. “Only because you’re particularly weak-willed.”

“Such impudence!” Haldric gasped, clutching at his breast in exaggerated horror. “How dare you speak to your crown prince in such an uncouth manner!”

Barely holding back laughter, Benjin gave a mock bow. “Apologies. I meant to say, ‘Only because you’re particularly weak-willed, Your Highness.’”

Haldric sniffed, his lips twitching. “Better. Now eat your stew before it gets cold. Your future king demands it.”

“At once, Your Supreme and Most Benevolent Eminence.”

Conversation flowed easily after that, and they spent another hour chatting about nothing in particular before retiring to their separate tents to rest. As Benjin settled down in his sleeping roll with a full belly and equally full spirits, he found himself smiling into the darkness, a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest.

Perhaps this trip away from the palace wouldn’t be so bad after all.