The Child Prince (The Artifactor)

by Honor Raconteur

  “I’ve only been training for a few months,” Bellomi answered honestly. “I don’t think I should carry anything but training swords for the next two years at least.”

  “Good point. In that case, you’ve got your choice between three different sets.” Sarsen went to the wall and started pulling them off before handing them over to Bellomi. “Now, these should have a certain weight to them. Not too light, not too heavy, but a comfortable heft in your hands.”

  Could the man be any more vague? Still, Bellomi thought he understood what Sarsen was trying to say. He reached out and took the first set from Sarsen’s hands. These were of a different style than the curved swords on his back. They were perfectly straight, the length of a short sword, with a short hilt to match. Unlike the sensible black and steel color of his own swords, these were more elaborately worked in greens and muted gold.

  But he knew almost instantly that they were wrong. For one thing, it took considerable concentration and strength on his part just to hold them. Fighting with them would be more hindrance than help. So despite the fact that he liked the look of them, he shook his head and handed them back. “Too heavy.”

  Sarsen gave him a nod, taking the swords, and sheathing them before putting them back on the sword rack. For a moment, did a flash of approval pass over the man’s face? Had those swords been a test?

  “Then try these.” Sarsen handed another set over.

  Still a little suspicious, Bellomi accepted them, gripping them easily in his hands. This pair slightly curved at the base of the blade, but the hilt and the majority of the blade remained straight, broadening toward the hilt in a dark shade of steel grey. Aside from the inscription on the blade itself and an elaborate engraving in the guard, it had no decoration whatsoever. Leather cord wrapped around the hilt aided gripping. But more importantly than its look, felt good. Frowning thoughtfully, Bellomi took several steps backwards before trying a guard stance with them. Yes. It felt right. In a blur of motion, he swung through several stances, letting the swords move around his head and waist before stopping abruptly, both of them out and ready to slash at an enemy.

  Laughing, Bellomi gave the swords another swing in his hands and admitted, “These feel good.”

  “They’re a mite long yet, but if you’re really going to grow a few more inches, then they’ll fit you soon enough.” Sarsen’s eyes crinkled up in a muted smile. “You did good to pick these. They’re some of my best work.”

  Bellomi relaxed from the stance to give him an openly suspicious stare. “So those swords before were a test.”

  Sarsen just smiled, not saying a confirmation or denial, and turned to retrieve the sheaths. “Now, if you’re sure, I’ll let you have those. We’ll give your old pair back to Sev.”

  Only fair, as Bel never deserved to have them in the first place. But that begged the question. “Sarsen, you know I can’t pay you for these.”

  Pointing a finger at himself, and with a mischievous quirk to his mouth, he said, “If I get an eternal Artifactor’s license too, we’ll call it even.”

  He almost choked. “What is it with Artifactors and paperwork? Surely it isn’t that much hassle to renew your license!”

  “Are you kidding?” Sarsen slumped in on himself. “The amount of political maneuvering and bribes it takes to get the license again is depressing, really. Not to mention hard on the purse.”

  Bribes? Surely the man was joking…no, judging by that look on his face, he wasn’t. Bellomi made a mental note to himself to check up on that later.

  From the hallway, Sevana paused long enough in the doorway to warn, “Don’t chop up the furniture!” before she walked past.

  Bellomi shot her a glare, even though she had already disappeared out of sight.

  “Ignore her,” Sarsen advised. “I can fix the furniture.”

  Seriously? In that case…Bellomi hefted the swords and looked at the rocking chair nearby. “Then, you don’t mind if I….”

  “Hmm? No, go ahead. See how sharp they are.”

  Not quite able to suppress an evil smile, Bellomi stepped closer to the chair and let the swords in his hands fly. They sliced easily through the wood, barely jarring his hands. Whistling low, he stepped back. “Wow, they are sharp.”

  Sarsen beamed. “Aren’t they?”

  From the direction of the front door, a very familiar voice drifted. Bellomi stopped in mid-motion and cocked his head, listening hard. “Hana’s here.”

  “Hana?” Sarsen repeated. “Ah, wait, the librarian’s daughter.”

  “She’s actually a librarian herself,” Bellomi corrected absently, sheathing both swords. Now why would Hana be here? He could count on one hand the number of her visits up here. After all, Big lay well out of her way. No one in the village came up here unless they needed to see Sevana. Normally he met her down in the village for their dates.

  “Trouble?” Sarsen guessed from the expression on Bel’s face.

  “Maybe,” he admitted, already turning for the door. “Hana doesn’t come up here without a very good reason.”

  “Probably should check, then. But give those ol’ swords over and take the new ones.” Sarsen caught him by one shoulder and started wrangling off the swords on his back.

  Bel shrugged out of the cross-shoulder belts and handed them over before slipping on the new ones. Then he had to delay another moment to tighten the belts, as they were slipping off him of him otherwise.

  “Alright, good,” Sarsen approved. “Go. I’ll return these to Sev.”

  With a nod of thanks, Bellomi turned for the door and headed for the front at a half-jog. “Big, is there trouble?”

  No, the mountain sighed in denial.

  A little reassured, he still didn’t slacken his pace until he rounded the last corner and came into view of the door. Hana and Sevana had their heads together, conferring over a thick report. Bellomi, from this sideways angle, could just make out enough of the heading that he could see what it was. A list of national treasures? What would Sevana need that for—oh. Right. To pay the dragon with.

  “—oh and Morgan told me to tell you that he’s getting more information before heading back,” Hana was saying. “He said he’s curious about something.”

  “Then I’ll expect him sometime next week.” Sevana shook her head as she took the book and tucked it under one arm. “His curiosity trips always take several days, for some reason. Did you happen to see my other guest in town?”

  “I did.” Hana paused as she caught sight of Bellomi but she didn’t pause to say hello. “He and an older gentleman stopped by the library for a map or something.”

  “Then they’ll likely be here soon.” Nodding in satisfaction, Sevana turned for her workroom. “I’ll settle up my tab next time in town.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I’m going to borrow Bellomi for a while,” Hana casually requested.

  Sevana looked up with an absentminded expression, her mind clearly already on her work. “Hmm? Oh, go ahead.”

  Bellomi watched Hana out of the corner of his eye, and for the first time since he’d met her, he felt a little nervous. That smile on her face camouflaged something else, some other emotion that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She had an ulterior motive for dragging him out of Sevana’s hearing. He just didn’t know what.

  Hana’s smile widened. “Thank you.” She grasped his hand with an iron grip and towed him out of the mountain, leaving absolutely no room for escape.

  Whatever she had on her mind had to be important to make her act this way, right? And she’d helped him a great deal in the past. He owed it to her to at least listen. So he didn’t fight her and followed quietly out.

  Hana didn’t slow down her pace once they were outside, but led him down the winding stone path for several feet before abruptly diving off into the woods, obviously looking for a very secluded place.

  He cleared his throat and offered, “There’s a small clearing up ahead and a little to the left.”

  She darte
d a look over her shoulder at him, expression unreadable, but veered left as he had suggested. They passed further into the cool shade of the forest for several moments without a word passing between them. When they reached the clearing, Hana led him to the center, where the sun shone in a mellow way, before she finally let go of his hand. She seemed to take a deep breath before saying, “I have something to talk to you about.”

  “I gathered that,” Bellomi responded, tone a little wry.

  “I have something I want confirmed.” She turned around to meet his eyes, face abnormally neutral. “Prince Bellomi Christoff Vogel braun Dragonmanovich.”

  For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He just stared at her with wide eyes, blood rushing to his head. How…? When…? Strangely enough, the first thing to tumble from his mouth was, “So someone still remembers my name.”

  She gave him a perplexed smile. “So you really are.”

  Odd, how it didn’t even occur to him to bluff his way out of this. But he knew that he could trust Hana with this secret. “Yes, I really am,” he confirmed quietly. “How did you know?”

  “Little things. The vague description you gave me of your curse and your age, some of the stories that you told me during our dates, what you told me of your background, the history that you were looking up, the research you were doing, all of it added up to an overall picture that I couldn’t ignore. I kept thinking, surely not. But then I’d think about how Sevana suddenly showed up with you in tow and how secretive she was about where you came from and I’d become suspicious all over again.” She put both arms around herself, hugging herself hard, eyes on the ground. “I really hoped I was wrong, in a way.”

  “Because I’ll eventually go back to a palace and not be around anymore?” he guessed, fervently hoping that was the reason.

  “And that,” she agreed softly. “But it scares me that you’ll go back to a dangerous place that almost killed you the first time.”

  “I’ll be much harder to attack this time, I promise you.” He’d been working day and night to create countermeasures to make sure of that. “They won’t get a second chance.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, as if agreeing with him, but she didn’t look up.

  His heart squeezed at seeing her look so perfectly miserable. On instinct, he folded his arms around her and put his head next to hers. He almost matched her in height, now, so he could whisper directly into her ear, “I will be alright, Hana. I swear to you I will be. And you’ll see me again after I reclaim my birthright. After being locked up in the Palace for ten years, do you really think I’ll spend the next fifty in it? I will come and go as I please, and they won’t be able to stop me.”

  She put both arms around his waist and held him hard enough to leave bruises. “You don’t know what will happen when you get there. You’re the future king. You won’t be able to move freely after you’ve returned.”

  He snorted, almost amused at the idea. “I was taught hunting and skulking skills by a mountain lion. You think palace guards are going to present a challenge?”

  Hana gave a watery chuckle. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  Retreating a few inches, he put his forehead against hers, meeting her eyes directly. “You are…” his mouth went dry and he needed to wet his lips before he could rasp out, “…very important. I won’t lose you. I won’t let people’s preconceptions of how a prince should behave put a wall between us. I swear upon my name as Dragonmanovich that your fears will never be realized.”

  “If you break that promise, I’ll have Sevana put another curse on you,” Hana threatened.

  He studied her for a moment, trying to discern just how serious she was. It looked…very serious. “Sevana would probably do it, too,” he concluded with a slow smile.

  “You know she would.” Hana’s eyes fluttered shut as she whispered, “You’re important to me, too.”

  Bellomi kissed her forehead gently and then hugged her hard, reassuring her, reassuring them both.

  Before Bel and Hana made it back inside, the king and his retired guard captain arrived. Aren, having no survival instincts whatsoever, barged right into her workroom without a single knock, issuing demands as he came in. “Sevana, this is Captain Axelrad. I want you to restore him to whatever age he wishes immediately.”

  Sevana drew her wand in a lightning fast motion, pointing it at the king, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Let’s be clear on this, Aren. You live here on my sufferance and if you keep barging into my workroom like this, that won’t last for much longer. Your son is a perfectly pleasant houseguest. You, however, are trying my patience.” Not that she had much of that to begin with.

  Aren eyed the wand hovering not a foot away from him and gulped nervously. Splaying his hands in surrender, he said carefully, “I will take note of that.”

  That was probably the best apology a king could manage. With a huff, she slipped the wand back into her belt holster. “Now, where is this infamous guard captain?”

  “Here,” an ancient voice creaked out from behind the king. Aren moved to the side, allowing the man through. Even though he moved in slow, unsteady movements, he carried himself like a military officer. His blue eyes were razor sharp with intelligence, what remained of his white hair neatly combed back, skin still bronzed by long hours in the sun. He carried himself with such dignity that he made the simple shirt, trousers, and jacket almost seem like a sharp uniform.

  Sevana hummed to herself in approval. She adored working with the professionally competent. This man radiated it. “Captain Axelrad, I bid you welcome.”

  “My thanks, Artifactor.” He shuffled forward another step, the cane in his hand taking most of his weight. “On behalf of this whole country I thank you for your aid.”

  A weighty greeting, and Axelrad’s sincerity showed in his eyes and could be heard in the timber of his voice. It almost embarrassed Sevana. She cleared her throat to cover it up. “Thank me when we succeed. Now, I am told that you wish to take a de-aging potion to regain your former strength and spryness.”

  Axelrad let out a rusty chuckle. “I won’t be much use, otherwise.”

  Very, very true. She turned and reached on the shelf behind her for one of the prepared potion bottles. Dangling it in the air, she informed him factually, “Each bottle is capable of reducing your age by ten years. How many bottles do you wish to take?” Since the man looked to be a hundred and thirty, she couldn’t begin to guess his real age.

  “Two will suffice, I think.”

  Ohh? How interesting. Most men in his position would take advantage and down three or four, regaining their prime. It spoke well of him that he would only take what he needed. “Then we’ll start with two.” She handed that bottle off to him before reaching for another and handing it over.

  He unstopped the cork top and gave it a suspicious sniff. “It doesn’t smell vile.”

  “None of my potions do. It’s a sign of a poor potion maker if it tastes bitter or foul.”

  Axelrad gave it one last inspection, downed the bottle in one go, then he smacked his lips slightly, ruminating for a moment. Aren watched him with avid curiosity. “Tastes like cinnamon and sugar.”

  “Both bottles,” Sev reminded him, wanting to see if he really could get by with just two. If not, she didn’t want to have to get up later and fetch another bottle.

  Shrugging slightly, Axelrad uncorked the other bottle and tossed it down as well. Before he could finish the motion, some of his hair had grown back on the top of his head. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth eased into fainter lines. The sagging skin around his knuckles and at the edges of his jaw tightened into firmer flesh. He slowly straightened up, the cane in his hand becoming nothing more than an accessory with every passing moment.

  “You look like you did when you were fifty,” Aren breathed in astonishment, looking Axelrad from head to toe and back again. “Remarkable.”

  “I should be somewhere around fifty-six,” Axelrad responded, voice deeper and stro
nger than before. “If the Artifactor’s math is right.”

  “It is,” Sevana assured him, looking him over from a different angle. “Are you sure that’s enough? The next few weeks will be very physically taxing.”

  Axelrad snorted. “Not a man in the palace could keep up with me at fifty-five. Or at sixty-five, when I retired. I’ll be fine.”

  It was his neck, not hers. Shrugging, she let it go. “Then let’s go into the main room and wait for Bel and Hana.” She waved them out, shutting her workroom door firmly behind her as they filed the short distance to the other room. Sevana barely took a full step inside the main room when the front door opened. Oh? Were they back already? She turned to look.

  Bel and Hana stepped inside, Big closing the door behind them. But more interesting than their arrival was their linked hands. That hadn’t happened before. So, the prince had finally made a move, eh? He’d probably been waiting for the right moment (that moment being when he finally looked old enough to be courting her). But still, a prince and a librarian? Aren would have a conniption. Sevana smiled at the thought. “Bel.”

  “Sevana,” he greeted, not showing a trace of shyness at being caught holding hands. “Are my father and Axelrad here yet?”

  “They are. Join us.”

  He simply nodded and followed her into the room, Hana at his heels. She took note of Aren’s reaction as they entered, finding their own seats. He’d taken her favorite chair near the fire, so had a clear view of his son’s linked hand with Hana. Aren’s brows furrowed, mouth opening to protest, but something made him snap it closed again. Sev glanced back at Bel and found him staring his father down, an open challenge on his face. Oh-hoooo. There was definitely some history there that she was missing.

  She eased into the chair next to Sarsen, leaving the long couch for the two lovebirds. Even though she still had an empty chair in this room, Axelrad chose to stand next to the fireplace. Perhaps a leftover habit of never sitting in front of his king? Well, it hardly mattered to her. Clearing her throat, she called their attention to her.