by Jaye McKenna
“Good morning, Your Highness.” Kian started to get up, but Mikhyal waved him back down.
“Don’t stand on ceremony, Kian. I’m sorry to have woken you. I suppose it’s too early to see my father?”
“Ambris is just hunting down any last remnants of the poison staining your father’s mythe-shadow.” Kian yawned and stretched. “I expect he’ll be finished soon. I don’t suppose you could stay for a bit? I need to talk to Mistress Polina about preparing some medicine for your father, but I’m loathe to leave Ambris alone. He’s at the end of his strength, and he might well fall on his nose the moment he’s finished.”
“Of course I’ll stay. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him until you get back. Is there anything I ought to do for him?”
“Just make sure he waits for me before he tries to stagger back to our suite,” Kian replied, getting slowly to his feet. “I’ll try to be back before he’s finished.” He nodded good morning to the guardsmen stationed just inside the door as he left.
Mikhyal settled himself in one of the armchairs to wait. There was no sound from his father’s room, and he could only hope that might be a good sign.
Not long after Kian left, a knock sounded on the door of the suite. Mikhyal went to open it and was surprised to find Wytch King Edrun and Prince Bradin standing out in the hall. They didn’t look nearly as alike as Mikhyal and Drannik did; while Edrun had the black hair and eyes so common to the royal bloodlines, Prince Bradin was a blue-eyed blond.
“Good morning, Mikhyal,” Edrun said gravely. “We heard what happened. Frightful business, truly frightful. How fares your father? And is there anything we can do?”
“One of the healers is still with him at the moment,” Mikhyal said, “though I believe we should have word soon. Won’t you come in? I’d be glad of the company. I can ring for breakfast, if you’ve not yet eaten.”
“That’s very gracious of you,” Edrun said. He and Bradin settled themselves in the sitting room while Mikhyal pulled on the red cord by the door.
A servant was there before Mikhyal had a chance to sit down. Mikhyal asked for breakfast to be brought for himself and his guests, and once the servant had gone, took a seat opposite the Wytch King of Miraen.
“Has the culprit been caught?” Bradin asked.
“Alas, no.” Mikhyal didn’t elaborate; Tristin wouldn’t want the attention, he was certain.
“Do you think the intent was to actually kill your father, or only frighten him?” Edrun asked.
“The blade was poisoned,” Mikhyal said, “so I imagine whoever was behind it intended to prevent him from signing the treaty.”
Edrun and Bradin exchanged a nervous look.
“Have you any idea who could have done it?” Bradin asked.
Mikhyal shrugged. “I suppose anyone who is sympathetic to the Wytch Council’s goals could be suspect. If our own Wytch Master Anxin has somehow learned of what we do here, he could very well be responsible, though I’ve yet to see any evidence to suggest that.”
“Ai, Miraen’s Wytch Master Rotham would not be beyond suspicion, either,” Edrun said. “He was hand-picked by my sister, Taretha, as her replacement when she became Council Speaker. Now that Cenyth leads the Council, how soon do you suppose she will replace Altan’s Master Ilya and Irilan’s Master Ythlin?”
“Garrik says he’s been told to expect the announcement this fall, when the Wytch Kings are called to Askarra for the Fall Council,” Mikhyal said with a thin smile. “Imagine their dismay when the northern kingdoms decline the invitation and announce their independence.”
“There will be war,” Edrun said. “The Council will not let the kingdoms of the north go free without a fight.”
“No, it will not. Access to the mines alone is—” Mikhyal stopped at the sound of the door to his father’s bed chamber opening. He turned in time to see Ambris slip out and close it quietly behind him.
“Prince Mikhyal, I’m glad you’re here,” Ambris said. “Your father is responding well to—” He stopped dead, all color draining from his face, golden eyes going wide as they fixed on Edrun.
“Ambris?” Edrun slowly rose.
Bradin stood and reached out to steady his father, who swayed on his feet. “Is it truly you, Ambris?” Bradin didn’t look at all sure.
Mikhyal frowned. Ambris was that Ambris? He’d thought the young prince of Miraen had died tragically a few years ago, and so, apparently, did Ambris’s family. He glanced toward the guardsmen, but they wore the same blank expressions Rhiva’s King’s Guard did when they guarded the family closely. Taking in everything, but sworn never to breathe a word of what they saw and heard.
Ambris swallowed, eyes darting from Edrun to Bradin and back.
“They… they told me you were dead.” Edrun took a step forward. “Blackfrost burned…”
“It did,” Ambris murmured, pressing himself against the door. “I burned it.” Mikhyal couldn’t tell if he was using the door for support or trying to merge with it. A bit of both, if the stricken expression on his face was anything to go by.
“But… but… why did no one tell me?”
“Because I asked them not to.” Ambris’s voice was barely a whisper.
“But…” Edrun brought a shaking hand to his brow and sank down slowly in his chair.
Still on his feet, Bradin demanded, “Why would you do that? Father was beside himself with grief!”
“Beside himself?” Ambris recovered enough to give his brother an incredulous look. “Really? When he couldn’t even be bothered to answer my letters?”
“What letters?” Edrun whispered, dark eyes shimmering in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
“The letters I gave Taretha to carry back to you every time she came to give me lessons. The letters in which I begged you to come and see me so I could tell you how sorry I was about… about Mama. The letters in which I begged for some sign that you might one day find it in your heart to forgive me. But there was nothing. Never a word from you.”
Edrun shook his head. “Ambris… I never received any letters. I asked Taretha to let me come and see you. She told me… she said the mere mention of me visiting sent you into fits. She told us your guilt had driven you mad.”
Ambris closed his eyes, swaying against the door. Mikhyal rose and went to him, putting an arm around him. The healer was trembling. How much of it was shock, and how much exhaustion from the complex healing he’d just performed?
“What do you want to do?” Mikhyal said in a voice pitched for Ambris’s ears alone. “I can ask them to leave, or I can ask one of the guardsmen to escort you to your own suite, but either way, I think you had better sit down before you fall down.”
“I… yes. I had better sit.” Ambris clung to Mikhyal’s arm, leaning heavily against him.
Edrun shot a worried look at Mikhyal. “Is he all right?”
Mikhyal bit back a sharp retort, and said only, “He’s been with my father all night, and I gather it was a rather difficult healing. He’s exhausted himself, and seeing you has clearly been a shock.” He helped Ambris into an armchair. When he started to pull away, Ambris held his arm even more tightly, so Mikhyal remained, standing by the healer’s side.
Tears slipped down Ambris’s face. “She lied to us both.”
“I don’t understand,” Edrun said. “She was teaching you. What could she possibly have to gain by keeping us apart?”
“My power,” Ambris said, a bitter edge to his voice. “She stole my power under the guise of teaching me. She had her guard captain beat me until I was injured enough to force the shift. Then she would hold me there in agony, half-shifted and unhealed, so she could siphon off the power I should have used to finish the shift. She told you I was incapable of learning, but truly, the only thing stopping me was her wish to use me as a power source. Master Ilya taught me in a single afternoon the patterns she withheld from me for five long years. Five years, Father. And I’d be there still, if it wasn’t for Kian.�
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A choking sound escaped from the Wytch King’s throat, and a moment later, Edrun was on his feet. Bradin offered his arm, but Edrun pushed it away. “Ambris, I had no idea.” Edrun closed the gap between them and dropped to his knees in front of his son. “If I’d known… I never would have… I’m so sorry.” The king’s voice broke on the words.
Ambris stared at his father, disbelief written all over his delicate features. “I thought… I thought you hated me. The fire… Mama… my fault.”
“Not your fault,” Edrun whispered. “It was an accident. A terrible, horrible accident. I never blamed you, Ambris. But in my grief, I never made that clear to you.” He lifted his eyes to meet his son’s. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Ambris’s shoulders shook. He let out a broken sob before sliding out of the chair to join his father on the floor. Edrun wrapped his arms around his son, and Ambris melted into his father’s embrace, his arms creeping around the Wytch King and holding on tightly.
A gasp came from the door, and Mikhyal looked up to see Kian standing there, staring at the two of them, dark eyes wide and scared. Ambris and Edrun broke apart, and Kian took a few hesitant steps forward, stopping as Edrun helped Ambris back to his chair.
Bradin approached Ambris and embraced him briefly. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“It is a good thing for Taretha that she’s already dead,” Edrun said in a hard voice. “Had I known what foul things she was doing to you, I’d have put a stop to it and avenged you immediately.”
“She… she died by my hand, Father,” Ambris said in a low, trembling voice. “I took back what she stole from me.”
“And for that, I am proud of you. And I will be proud to welcome you back home to Miraen, as well. Ferrin will be thrilled to see you alive.”
Ambris’s eyes darted across the room to Kian. “I… I’m afraid I won’t be going back to Miraen. My home — and my husband — are here in Altan.”
“Your husband?” Edrun’s eyes followed Ambris’s gaze, then snapped back to his son. “And you have been here all this time?”
“Ever since Blackfrost burned, yes,” Ambris said. “Garrik gave us sanctuary. And before you go breaking off your alliance and making declarations of war, I would have you know that he has been trying to convince me to come and see you ever since he arranged this meeting. It was my choice to stay away.”
“But… why?” The pain in the Wytch King’s eyes went straight to Mikhyal’s heart.
“I feared you had given Taretha permission to use me the way she did. I… thought you were complicit in the abuse I suffered at her hands.”
“Never.” Edrun looked shocked. “I swear it, Ambris. Had I but known…”
“And here I thought your family was dysfunctional.” Dirit’s voice drifted down from somewhere above him. Mikhyal glanced up to see the little dragon perched on a high shelf, watching the Wytch King and his son with rapt attention. Mikhyal shook his head slightly, but dared not speak.
“Surely you must realize,” Edrun said, “that if I had been complicit in Taretha’s plans, I would not be here to commit Miraen to the Northern Alliance.”
“So Garrik advised me when he came to see me the other day,” Ambris said. “He argued quite convincingly on your behalf. It was my choice to remain hidden. He did not agree, though he assured me that he would respect my wishes.”
“And he has,” Edrun said. “He’s not said a word.” He sighed heavily, then said, “But you have a husband. You must introduce us.”
A flash of panic crossed Ambris’s face, but he quickly controlled it. He got to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside Kian. “Father, this is Kian. He is the healer Taretha brought to Blackfrost after Cyrith’s death. He’s the only reason I’m alive.”
Kian dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he whispered.
“Rise, Kian, you must not kneel to me, regardless of your station. You saved my son and have kept him safe and happy these past few years. For that, I am in your debt.”
Kian rose and gave Ambris a worried look. “Ambris, you need to rest. Shall I escort you to our suite, or will your father do it?”
“I shall see to it,” Edrun said. “Come, Ambris, you can lean on me and tell me the way.”
Ambris shot a pleading glance at Kian, who said, “I’ll stay here and watch over Wytch King Drannik until Ilya returns. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Have no fear, Kian,” Edrun said. “I’ll see that he rests. It’s the least I can do. I have… much to make up to him.”
Prince Bradin followed them, a bemused look on his face. After the door had closed behind them, Kian cleared his throat and said, “You can go and see your father now, Your Highness. If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here until he wakes up. I believe we have dealt with the poison, but there are some things we cannot know for certain until he regains consciousness.”
“Of course,” Mikhyal said. “You are his healer. You must do as you think best.” He rose and crossed the room, but paused at his father’s door. “Are you all right, Kian? That meeting seemed to be a bit of a shock for all of you.”
“I… I’m sorry you had to witness it, Your Highness. It was not planned.”
“No, I rather gathered that. Will Ambris be all right, do you think?”
“Revealing his whereabouts to his father was not what Ambris desired, but… I think it is for the best.” Kian hesitated, then added, “Though he will not admit it, he has missed his father terribly.”
“As I would miss mine, were anything to happen to him,” Mikhyal said gravely. “Thank you, Kian, for saving his life. You and Ambris have the gratitude of myself and all of Rhiva.”
Chapter Seven
Tristin closed his book at the sound of a knock on his bed chamber door. “Come in!” A visitor might be a pleasant diversion, especially if it was someone he enjoyed talking to.
One day in bed was quite enough, and the prospect of another had left Tristin bored and irritable. He’d much rather be in the gardens with Master Ludin, but Ilya was concerned about the strain of mythe-shock on his still-weakened constitution. He’d ordered Tristin to bed for another day, much to Tristin’s consternation.
The door opened to reveal a serving girl with fiery red hair carrying a tray. She was followed by Prince Mikhyal.
“Thank you, Leyka. Just set it down on the table, there,” Mikhyal directed the girl.
“Will there be anything else, Your Highness?”
“No, I’ll see to Tristin, thank you.”
The girl bobbed in a low curtsy and left the two of them alone. Tristin peered about. “Where’s your little entourage? Still guarding your father, is he?”
“Ai, and you should have heard the grumbling when I asked. Of course, Garrik’s assigned guards to the suite, but since we have no idea who was behind the attack or how they got in, I thought it a sensible precaution.” Mikhyal brought the tray to Tristin and set it on his lap. “And speaking of precautions, Master Ilya said you must eat all of this.”
Tristin glared at the steaming soup. “Of course he did.” The scowl only lasted until his first taste of the savory mixture of leeks, potatoes, and sharp, tangy cheese. Along with a chunk of fresh bread, it made the perfect lunch. Garrik had certainly been right about his kitchen staff. Tristin couldn’t remember ever eating so well, not even when he’d lived with his mother at Falkrag.
Mikhyal settled himself in the armchair at Tristin’s bedside. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” Tristin said between mouthfuls. “What about your father? Is he recovering?”
“Ai, well enough to be giving the healers a hard time of it.”
“Oh, good. I feared he might have taken a turn for the worse. Kian was here earlier to check on me, but he only stayed a few minutes, and he seemed very distracted.”
“That’s nothing to do with my father.” Mikhyal paused for a moment as if debating with himself. “I suppose it’s no secret. Ambr
is met his father yesterday morning. I… got the impression he would have preferred not to.”
“Oh.” Tristin lowered his spoon. “Oh, dear. How did that happen?”
“Bad timing. Edrun and Bradin came to our suite to inquire after my father just as Ambris was leaving. It was quite a shock to all three of them.”
“I can imagine,” Tristin said. “Ambris was adamant about not letting his father know he was alive.”
“You knew?”
“He spoke of it while I was at Dragonwatch. Kian was trying to convince him to come down to the castle and meet with his father, and Ambris wasn’t having any of it. How… how did it go?”
“It was rather moving, actually,” Mikhyal said. “I was nearly in tears, myself. It turns out the Wytch Master who was supposed to be teaching Ambris lied to both Ambris and Edrun to keep them apart.”
“Oh…” Tristin let out his breath on a long sigh. “That’s a relief.” He flushed and brought a hand to his mouth as he realized how that sounded. “Oh! No, I don’t mean… not a relief that they were lied to and manipulated, but that Ambris’s father didn’t know what was going on. Ambris feared Edrun might have been complicit in his abuse.” Tristin stared down at his lunch, wishing he had better control over his mouth.
Mikhyal didn’t seem at all bothered, though. “Edrun seemed genuinely shocked to learn that not only was Ambris alive, but Edrun’s own sister had been using him for her own gain. To be honest, I thought Edrun a bit naive. Rhiva’s Court is a nest of snakes, and I can’t imagine Miraen’s being any better.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is,” Tristin murmured. He knew nothing of either kingdom’s politics, but Garrik’s scathing comments about Altan’s Court suggested that nest of snakes might actually be a compliment. “What of the treaty? Ambris feared if Edrun learned that Garrik had been sheltering him, it would put the alliance at risk.”
“No danger of that,” Mikhyal said. “The Northern Alliance was signed into existence this morning, over breakfast served in my father’s bed chamber. He insisted they do it as soon as possible. I think the attack shook him. He hasn’t said much about it, but I know he’s been brooding about what will happen to Rhiva if my brother takes the throne. With the alliance in place, he can name the heir he chooses without Council interference.”