“You’re lying,” Skye said when he found his voice. Though he might not have known why Cirrus had been gone so long, Skye did know that the man was not a traitor. Such a thing was inconceivable.
“We found on his person several letters bearing details of Skychild secrets,” the Seneschal said, a look of distaste upon his face. “There is no doubt in our minds as to what has happened.”
Skye glanced at his father. More and more lately, King Tempest had been allowing Hawkins to speak for him. Skye was unsure whether something had been distracting his father of late or whether something else was wrong, but he refused to sit idly by and watch the Seneschal ruin Cirrus’s life on a whim.
“Let me see the letters,” Skye said. “If you’re going to so brazenly accuse my personal guardsman of such a heinous crime, then show me the proof.”
Hawkins spread his hands out, a look of mock sympathy on his face. “I’m afraid the letters contain state secrets too sensitive for even Your Highness’s eyes.”
“I am your prince!” Skye shouted. “I am privy to all state secrets by virtue of my position. You must obey my orders.” But he knew things were slipping away from him, so he looked at King Tempest, who seemed to be in a daze. “Father, you must force him to show me those letters. I have to see them.”
King Tempest finally spoke, though it was somewhat stiffly. “The Seneschal . . . is correct in what he says. You may not see the letters. They aren’t . . . meant for your eyes.”
“How do I even know there are any letters?” Skye growled. “How do I know that you and your lackey aren’t making this up?”
“You will show respect to your sire,” Hawkins hissed.
“I demand to be shown those letters!”
“No,” King Tempest said. Though he still appeared to be slightly confused, his tone was firm. He did not seem to be finding his wits; rather, it was as though he was responding to what the Seneschal was saying.
“And why not?” Skye asked, throwing his hands up in the air. “He is my personal guard! I deserve to see your evidence!”
“He’s a prisoner of the state,” King Tempest said, his every word being drawn forth from his mouth with agonizing slowness, as if it took great effort to do so. “He is . . . out of your hands now.”
Skye looked from one man to the other, his rage building. He wanted to throttle the Seneschal, and his feelings toward his father were not that much better. “This is it, then? You lock him up and throw away the key?”
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” Hawkins said, “I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. Your Majesty, why don’t you tell the prince what is to happen?” He transferred his gaze to the king.
A flash of something that might have been sympathy passed over Tempest’s face, but then his expression became oddly blank. “Sentinel Cirrus is to be executed for treason.”
“What?” Skye exclaimed. “You can’t be serious! Cirrus would never have betrayed us. Father, you’ve known him for longer than I have! You know he’s not a spy. If you really did find something like that on him, someone must be framing him. That’s the only explanation.”
“I am afraid there is nothing you can do,” Hawkins told him in a falsely sympathetic tone. “The decision has been made. In less than a fortnight, he’ll be publicly executed and held up as an example of how we treat those who betray their people. Rather than burning his body and scattering his ashes into the wind, he shall be flung from the clouds and returned to the ground, to be feasted upon by the carrion eaters of that wretched underworld.”
Skye felt as if he had been punched in the gut. A death like that was more than simply ignoble—it was the height of dishonor. Cirrus’s family would be expected to refrain from grieving for their loss . . . no tears were to be cried for such a Skychild nonentity, no praises given to Celesta for a life well-lived, no place reserved in the halls of Celesta’s glory. Casting a Skychild out in such a manner was a way of wiping the memory of the Skychild’s existence from the sky realm.
“You can’t . . . you can’t do that,” the prince whispered.
“The king can do whatever he wants,” Hawkins said.
“You are not the king,” Skye snarled. He looked at his father, whose gaze seemed distant, and he felt a flare of impatience that nearly had him waving his hand in front of the king’s face. “Father, you can’t do this.”
King Tempest’s eyes moved to his son, focusing a little. “I can . . . and I will.”
“You would be better off if you ceased your objections, Your Highness,” the Seneschal said with a sly look. “If you don’t, you’ll find yourself regretting it later.”
“What, are you a prophet now?” Skye jeered. “Trying to predict the future that even Celesta can’t, are we, Hawkins?”
The Seneschal’s mask slipped, and some of his affront shone through at the suggestion that he could be anything like a despised prophet. “I’m merely saying that this display is unseemly. Your father has decreed that Sentinel Cirrus is a traitor and will be punished for his actions. That should be enough for you.”
Skye shook his head in disbelief and looked to King Tempest. “I never realized you had become such a monster, Father.”
He turned on his heel and left the royal suite in a sea of frustration and despair. He felt murderous. Justice was not being served. Cirrus had not done anything wrong. If there was anything Skye was sure of, it was that.
He could not understand what had come over his father. King Tempest had seemed like an automaton, as if he did not truly understand what was going on. Any man with half a brain could see that Cirrus was innocent. No spy would return half-beaten to the ones whose secrets he was giving away. And furthermore, Skye could not think of any secrets which the Groundbreathers could use against the Skychildren; the Groundbreathers could not exactly launch an attack in the sky, even if they did discover some state secret. It was illogical.
Sighing, Skye hurried through the palace corridors toward the prisoner containment area. If he could speak with Cirrus, then he might be able to obtain answers. He had wanted the man to get some rest, but considering recent developments, even the smallest piece of information could be the key to figuring out how to save Cirrus from a traitor’s death. If Cirrus had been attacked by garms, then there was no way he would have been consorting with Groundbreathers. It did not make sense.
Within a few moments, Skye had made his way to the holding cells in the depths of the palace. That area was dark and dreary and damp, with narrow corridors and rough rock walls. The Skychildren naturally shunned such places due to an affinity toward open spaces and the freedom to move, and Skye in particular found such enclosed places a trial. He had never known these cells to be in much use, as traitors were almost unknown and Skychild criminals were certainly not kept in the home of the royal family. The location was, of course, now guarded, as there was indeed a prisoner within.
Feeling his foul mood growing at the thought, Skye used those fiery emotions to conquer his feelings of unease. He marched up to the two Sentinels on duty and said, “I will see the prisoner. Open the door.”
The female guard glanced at her male partner before saying, “I’m sorry, my prince, but we can’t allow that.”
Skye stiffened. “As you said, I am your prince, and I will be obeyed. Open this door immediately.”
“Our orders come from the king himself,” the male guard replied, his tone apologetic. “We aren’t supposed to allow anyone to speak with the prisoner other than those who are to interrogate him.”
Skye’s eyes narrowed. “Did the orders come from my father or from the Seneschal?”
The two Sentinels exchanged another look filled with unease. Skye knew that he had correctly guessed who was orchestrating this farce.
“Cirrus is being accused of something he hasn’t done. I mean to get to the bottom of whatever is going on, and I need to speak to him in order to do so. Please let me in.”
When that failed to
move the two guards, Skye tried once again. “You both must know Cirrus. He’s been a member of the Cloud Sentinel for some time, after all. Surely you can’t believe that he’s guilty of doing what they’re accusing him of.”
The Sentinels were now truly uncomfortable, but the woman endeavored to respond. “We don’t know what to believe, Your Highness. Cirrus has never shown any indication that he would betray us, and his devotion to you is known. But we do have our orders. I’m sorry, but we can’t let you enter.”
Though incensed, Skye understood what she meant . . . and realized that he was putting both guards in an awkward position by asking them to disobey orders.
“I understand,” Skye said, gritting his teeth. “I’ll speak with my father and gain entrance through him.”
“If you can gain that permission, we’ll gladly let you see Cirrus, Your Highness.”
Skye nodded, sensing the sincerity behind the statement, and then he turned and departed, mulling over the guards’ words in his mind.
It was clear that Hawkins was the problem. Skye had not trusted the man since the very beginning of their acquaintance, and nothing had ever induced him to change his opinion. The Seneschal’s superior attitude often led him to behave more formally than was the typical Skychild wont, and even his clothing reflected his suspicious reserve. Whereas most Skychildren wore tight and brightly colored clothing to aid with wind resistance while flying, Hawkins favored black and gray robes, as if he were trying to hide his true self. Everything about him put Skye on his guard, and the changes in King Tempest only heightened Skye’s suspicion.
Whatever ailed King Tempest was causing him to act unlike anything Skye had ever seen from him before, even keeping in mind the man’s typical unpleasant and intractable behavior. Though the king had always been apt to wear ornately decorated tunics and trousers, he had begun adding capes to his daily wardrobe, as if determined to flaunt his position. It seemed as though the more Hawkins tried to fade into the background, the more Tempest attempted to assert his authority. It might not have been a problem were it not for the fact that Tempest’s and Hawkins’s authority were beginning to mean practically the same thing.
Though Skye did not know the precise reason for such changes, it was clear that for an appeal to the king to be successful, it would need to be made when Hawkins was not nearby. It was possible that Skye could talk some sense into his father if he only had the chance.
He was ruminating over such matters on his way back to his quarters when a voice startled him from his reverie.
“Hello, Skye.”
He stopped and blinked, seeing the smiling visage of his stepmother standing in front of him. Even after having been awoken by the commotion caused by Cirrus’s return, her physical appeal was unmistakable. Unfortunately, her lack of intelligence and childishness tended to be off-putting to someone who preferred a woman of more substance.
He greeted her perfunctorily and then attempted to move past her.
“I heard about what happened to Cirrus,” she said in her high-pitched voice, arresting his footsteps and causing him to look at her. “It’s such a shame. He’s a very handsome man.”
Trust Mista to only see the physical in any situation, Skye thought with a mental snort. Still, her words gave him an idea. Surely there would be a time where she would be alone with Tempest, and if Skye handled this properly, perhaps he would be afforded an opportunity to speak to his father in private.
“It’s not only a shame,” Skye replied, making certain to infuse his voice with enough sadness that even Mista could pick up on it, “but it’s also a tragedy. Cirrus is innocent.”
Queen Mista cocked her head. “But my uncle and your father say they have proof that he did something wrong.”
“Proof they won’t allow me to see,” Skye groused. “I’m positive that Cirrus hasn’t betrayed us. I know Cirrus, and he’s as loyal to us—to me!—as anyone. Besides, you wouldn’t go to betray someone and then return injured like he’s done. Furthermore, how would the Groundbreathers even use any information against us? Have they suddenly learned how to fly?”
“Oh, I don’t think I could ever understand the thoughts of those stuck on the ground.”
“No, but they’re still mortals, even if their powers are different from ours.”
Mista made a noncommittal noise before she began to walk away. “Good luck with your quest to clear his name,” she called back over a shoulder.
“Mista, wait!” Skye called, barely able to refrain from cursing out loud. He had always refused to call Mista “Mother,” and while he did not believe she minded, it did displease his father. He would do so now, however, if he thought it would help him.
When his stepmother stopped and turned to look at him, Skye continued: “I wanted to ask you something. Could you speak with my father and tell him I wish to talk to him alone?”
“Oh, I could never do that!” Mista exclaimed, sounding horrified at the thought. “It would ang . . . That is to say, I’m sure . . . Skye, the king doesn’t like to discuss such subjects with me.”
“He used to discuss everything with my mother,” Skye snapped, though he regretted the outburst instantly.
A flinty look came over Mista’s face, and Skye had to admit that giving her a reminder of the distant nature of her relationship with his father was not the best way to endear himself to her. “I’m sorry, Skye,” she said. “I can’t help you. You should talk to your father yourself.”
With that, the woman turned and strode away.
Skye shook his head in frustration. Of all the times for his stepmother to decide she would not actually oblige someone, it had to be now. Scowling at the bad timing, Skye made his way toward his rooms to think once more.
* * *
Over the next few days, Skye made several attempts to approach his father when Hawkins was not present. The problem, of course, was that Hawkins was always present.
At every meal and every turn—even at times which should have required the presence of no outside parties—the Seneschal was there. If the satisfied expression plastered on his face was anything to go by, Hawkins knew what Skye was up to . . . and he took great pleasure in foiling Skye’s every move.
It was during this time that Skye discovered he was not the only one concerned with the situation in the palace. After having been frustrated by an attempt to talk to his father alone at dinner, Skye went up to the battlements of the palace to think. The night was clear and warm, and the sky was a magnificent canopy of stars twinkling overhead; going outside should have been an enjoyable experience.
But Skye saw none of this, so wrapped up was he in his fear for his friend. He had to devise a plan soon, or the Seneschal would follow through with his heinous plan.
“My prince,” a voice startled Skye from his thoughts.
Looking up, Skye saw Bluster approaching. The man had been Tempest’s friend since they were boys, and as a result, Skye had known him for a long time. Bluster was a lord, his land encompassing one of the larger sky settlements which was usually in close proximity to the king’s seat. Furthermore, he was the kind of man one could not easily forget, as he stood taller than any other Skychild Skye had ever seen and was somewhat heavyset despite his great height. But he was a generally bluff and friendly sort of man, and he did not use his great size to intimidate as one might have expected him to.
“Bluster,” Skye said in kind. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I came to speak with your father.”
“When do you see him?” Skye asked eagerly, hopeful that he might be able to gain entry alongside his father’s longtime friend.
“Actually, I was hoping you could assist with that,” was the reply. Bluster’s brow was furrowed. “All my attempts to see Tempest without that blasted Seneschal in attendance have been denied.”
Frowning, Skye asked, “He won’t see you alone either?” If Bluster could not see the king privately, then something
was definitely wrong. Bluster had one advantage that Skye had never possessed: a good relationship with Tempest.
“In that case, I’m not sure I can help you,” Skye said. “I haven’t been any more successful in getting an audience alone with my father than you have. I’m about ready to feed the Seneschal to the thunderbirds.”
Bluster peered at him. “What’s going on, Skye? Your father seems like he’s a different person. When I tried to speak to him, he was distant and almost . . . well, befuddled. I’ve never known him to be like that.”
Chewing at his lip, Skye considered what Bluster had said before responding slowly, “I’ve noticed the same thing. I’ve never had a good relationship with my father—as I’m sure you’re aware—but lately things have deteriorated even further.”
“It all seems to point back to the Seneschal,” Bluster said in a low voice.
Skye’s thoughts paralleled those of his father’s friend. There was something unnatural occurring.
“I’ll keep trying to see the king,” Bluster said, interrupting Skye’s thoughts. “We had best watch him. There’s no telling what the Seneschal might be trying to do.”
Thanking him, Skye watched as he walked away. The subject was distasteful, but Bluster’s comments had brought Skye’s thoughts into focus. He now understood that he might have to do something about the Seneschal . . . something of a permanent nature. And though Skye did not want to be forced to contemplate any drastic action, Hawkins was gaining too much power.
And since Tempest would undoubtedly support Hawkins regardless of the circumstances, making the Seneschal nigh unassailable to a more diplomatic attack, other measures could become necessary. It was not what Skye would have wanted, but he had been given little choice in the matter.
However, there was something else to tend to first. He needed to see Cirrus.
* * *
By the third evening after Cirrus’s arrest, Skye was desperate to see his father alone. That evening, he came up with what he thought was the perfect plan. It seemed foolproof . . . yet it turned out he was a fool for thinking he could blind the Seneschal’s eyes with feathers so easily.
On Wings of Air (Earth and Sky Book 1) Page 5