The Castrofax (Book 1)

by Jenna Van Vleet

  Nolen stopped lacing up his trousers. “Kindle? Have you found her?”

  “Nay, but I know someone who can. Do y’ know Councilwoman Selene, ac Queen Challis?” Nolen nodded and finished lacing up. “They were fond friends once—before the Selene woman met an unfortunate end—ac would y’ believe she quod Queen Challis knows where your sister is? She claims the Queen ac your mother were once quite close, ac your mother let slip where little Kindle is, ac she told me why the girl was sent away.”

  “Did Selene know Kindle’s location?”

  “Nay, she only told me the Queen of Cinibar quod she knew the location.” He rocked back on the heels of his boots that gave him an extra inch and a half of height. He was a tall man back in the older Ages, but this Age seemed to have sprouted much taller people. “Seems this Councilwoman had quite a lot t’ say. They always do before y’ kill them, thinking their information will save their lives. She quod some very interesting things about the Silex as well.”

  “I have not forgotten about it,” the Prince said and took a seat to pull on a pair of tall boots. “My books have no information on it.”

  “Your sister knows where it is,” Ryker said suddenly.

  Nolen stared at him stupidly, “You jest.”

  “I never jest. Did y’ ever ask your mother why little Kindle was spirited away?”

  “She would not say.”

  Ryker nodded. “Selene told me your mother quod Kindle came across the information at Castle Jaden. The question was, did she come across it accidental like, or did she purposely seek it out? The Head Mage found out ac had her sent away t’ protect her. Speak with Queen Challis, ac y’ get t’ the girl. Y’ find her, and y’ find mine Silex.”

  Nolen sat there with one boot laced up, calculating behind his thick eyelashes. “I will see it done as soon as I break the Class Ten.”

  Ryker’s eyes went to the pile of bloody clothing. “Oh, y’ are trying t’ break him physically? That will never work. We don’t break physically.”

  “After about day three I suspected such,” Nolen grimaced and finished lacing the other boot. “How do I break him?”

  “Mentally. Take everything he loves ac kill it, ruin it; give him nothing t’ live for! He will break.”

  Nolen huffed and stood. “I thought I already did that.”

  “Nay, all men love things. What is something he has mentioned that y’ think he cannot live without?”

  “I think he is still chaste.”

  “There y’ are. Take that from him. He likely has a family as well. Kill them. Burn his home. Cut his hair. Dress him in rags. Whatever most humiliates him. He will break if y’ deprive him of enough hope ac love.”

  Nolen smiled as he thought and met Ryker’s eyes with devious intent. “Let us visit Arconia. I have an idea.”

  Ryker raised a brow. He had been to Arconia when it was first becoming a kingdom but not since. “Why?”

  Nolen looked at him strangely. “Arconian women are famed for being the most beautiful anywhere.”

  Ryker nodded. It was time to show the Princeling his power. “Put on something princely. We are going t’ Arconia.”

  Robyn leaned on the stone railing of the back patio, looking over the sweeping hills of trees painted in greens with splashes of orange that welcomed autumn. The spiced wine warmed her hands in its stone goblet, wafting its autumnal scents over her face. She watched General Calsifer spar not far off. The clack-clack of wooden swords filled the large back yard where a young horse trainer lunged a sleek mare, and a circle of women spun yarn.

  Calsifer was surprisingly good with children, and after the first day, she found him loosen a little as he sensed safety in the manor. She had even spotted him sitting in a sunny corner with a young child, reading her a book on something doleful, but the girl was fast asleep listening to his deep cadence. By the next day he was sword fighting with eight year old boys, teaching them while he let them beat him.

  “If you lunge forward, be assured of your balance. I can tell you’re off and push you over—as such,” Calsifer said moving his wooden blade aside, pushing the boy. A small audience of children with their own sticks gathered to watch. “Better. Better.”

  “Would you care for a hot pie, Your Grace?” a woman called behind Robyn. She turned to look at Talon’s wife, a regal brunet named Ginjer. She was five months pregnant with their second child. The first child, a blond-headed toddler, sat in a corner shoving what looking like a bug into his mouth. Ginjer was a high born woman from the coast and came with a hefty dowry as well as a knack for running a manor and entertaining the elite. Robyn liked her immediately and the two already had long conversations about running a kingdom and handling the opposite sex.

  “Thank you, no,” Robyn nodded and went back to her wine. It had been three days since her arrival, and two since Talon set out to find her a suitable little army. These things took time, she knew, but she hated the idea that Gabriel could be hurting somewhere, and she was not there for him.

  Andolyn walked out onto the patio with a thick tome in her hands. She had been pouring through the thing for days, and one finger now marked a page. She looked far too triumphant for Robyn’s liking, and Ginjer tittered at the woman’s expression.

  “I found it,” Andolyn declared. “It says right here Class Ten Mages were renowned as being the best lovers because of their natural instinct and incredibly large—”

  Robyn’s eyes widened, and she slammed the book shut. “Andolyn, really.” She looked over at Ginjer who was grinning broadly. “Is this what you’ve been researching?”

  “Appetites,” Andolyn finished. “It’s important! Have you really never even kissed him?”

  “I kissed his forehead once, and his cheeks a few times.”

  “That does not count,” her cousin said with an exasperated tone. “If he is as pretty as you say, I’ll steal him.”

  “He’s handsome, not pretty.” Robyn tapped her finger on the rim of her goblet. “How long do you think it will take Talon to return?”

  “If he went as far south as Igron…. A week, maybe a little less. Men as good as you need don’t grow in the fields.”

  “I know, I know,” Robyn muttered. “I hope Gabriel does not think I have forgotten about him.”

  “If the last words off your tongue were your declaration of love for him, it is likely he’s not forgotten.” Andolyn went to pour herself a goblet of hot wine. “Your twentieth birth anniversary is not far off, is it?”

  Robyn grimaced. “You remember too well.”

  “How will you handle removing Queen Miranda?”

  “Seeing as I am the rightful heir, she has no choice but to step down. Should she refuse, I would have to rally all the houses loyal to my own and lay my claim against her. There would likely not be actual bloodshed but more a display of force. The nobles of the powerful houses would side with me, and Miranda would be deposed messily.”

  “What would your first decree be?” Andolyn asked.

  Robyn thought for a moment. “Anyone who can safely remove a Castrofax will be granted a Lordship and lands.”

  “Will you still try and suffocate him?” Ginjer asked gently, well informed of all plans and stories by now.

  Robyn nodded. “I will.”

  Ginjer’s pale brown eyes bored into her. “You know he may not be revived? Could you have that on your hands?”

  Robyn looked away and tapped her goblet again. “He’s always been so free,” she whispered finally. “I’ve never seen him look so trapped. He couldn’t live like that long.” Her memory went back to the day she entered his room to find his wrist slit. As oppressive as his power was, he learned to deal with it and welcome it as part of him. Now that it was gone, it may not be as welcome a blessing like it was when he was nineteen.

  Gabriel did not leave his bed for days, exhausted and sore to the bone. While the Mages could heal most things, aches were not one of them. A few soaks in a warm bath helped, but only for a while. Sleep was th
e only way to avoid the pain, and Prince Balien made sure he was well stocked in sleeping draughts.

  Aisling visited during his meals, but she and the Battle Mages had fixed everything that could be mended. The only things they could not mend were his memories. The nightmares came after the first few nights.

  The cold Castrofax pressed against the back of his neck and his right wrist as he moved the left, trying to keep it from touching his skin. He theorized that if each piece made no contact with him, it may allow him to touch his Elements without consequences. So far he had no luck. He perched on the edge of his bed, staring at the etchings in the copper metal that looked like writing, or something his mind could not consider. Whatever they were pushed passed his vision and ended in fuzzy lines. He suspected they were patterns of some sort etched into the metal. He thought he recognized the lock-pattern that would keep a door closed, but it was connected to another he did not know, possibly the anchor-pattern.

  Despite his situation, he did not break. He heard Aisling whisper to Balien that he was still in a state of denial and staying there would keep him going longer. He lingered, telling himself Robyn would have an answer, or the Head Mage would come to his rescue. Part of him knew there was no hope, but he refused to let that fact take root. He tried not to think of the freedom he lost, or the crushing absence of his Elements, or of the girl who whispered her love to him. He touched the golden band with his thumb and smiled. He hoped he would have the chance to tell her the same.

  His wet hair from a morning soak dripped into his shirt, and he gave his head a quick shake. A knock sounded on the door. He had grown fearful of a knock, but Nolen had not bothered him in days. In fact, Aisling heard rumors the Prince was nowhere to be found. He called for entrance.

  Aisling walked in with a smooth look—a look he was beginning to recognize as a mask.

  “Your presence is requested in the throne room,” she said simply.

  “Why?” he asked, standing. ‘Is Miranda going to try sending me back to the dungeons?’ She could not with a pardon from the Head Mage.

  “I was not told, but I have been summoned as well.” She strode across the room to his wardrobe and flung the doors open, selecting a blue coat that fit him just below the hips, marked with black triangular patterns to accentuate his shoulders. It had a high collar, and he knew she chose it to hide the Castrofax. She looked fetching in a pale pink gown slashed with dark purple panels. She was always modest, wearing corsets that covered her bosom and shoulders. “This vest as well,” she stated and pulled out a simple black vest to match his black trousers.

  “I’ve never been dressed before,” he mused as he shrugged the vest on, doing up the ebony buttons.

  “Get used to it. All men of your standing need a clothier.”

  “Do you have one as well?”

  “I have two,” she replied and helped his coat on. As he buttoned it, she ran a hand through his hair and parted it to the right where it usually resided. “You have your father’s hair.”

  That alarmed him. “Lady Aisling, what were you doing running your fingers through my father’s hair?”

  She smirked. “It looks the same. When he was younger, he wore it longer like this. He was a looker, you know, as are you.”

  He gave her a smile, but he didn’t mean it. He felt anything but attractive with his power so diminished. Power was attractive, captivity was not.

  “You are a lovely lady yourself. How is it you never came to marry?”

  She straightened his coat at the shoulders. “The Lamay line has a long heritage of great Mages, and my parents would not allow any of lower Class to court me. Father is very disapproving of most everything these days.”

  “And your mother?” He extended his elbow, and she took it.

  “She is much the same.” She chuckled as they started walking. “The truth is when love came calling, I was Advisor to Rincarel and had just attained a Council Seat. There wasn’t any time for anything else.”

  “Yet you have lived a life more fulfilled than so many who have more than you.”

  He felt her fingers tighten a little over his coat. “And I have done so many terrible things.”

  They conversed as they made their way to the throne room, speaking of court life and rumors. Word was Nolen had fathered his fourth bastard and did all he could to ignore it. Aisling saw the woman and her daughter taken care of. Word of sudden deaths springing up in the closest city had people talking. Fires burning through Cinibar and Aidenmar threatened to destroy crops and villages. Aisling suspected everything was related but had no way to prove it, and birds from Castle Jaden brought no explanations.

  A small council room sat behind the throne room, connected by two arching doorways. One door stood ajar, and in the slit of vision, Nolen stood with his side to them. Gabriel felt his chest tighten at the sight of the man, remembering the endless horrors in the cold darkness. He had not realized he stopped his stride until Aisling jerked him. He steeled his resolve as he walked closer to Nolen, feeling his brow tighten. He would not let the Prince have anything more from him.

  Nolen looked up when they moved in his peripheral vision and straightened. He looked…content. That worried Gabriel. The Prince unfolded his hands, and Gabriel was relieved to see there were no leashes or whips.

  “I have brought some friends of mine to meet you,” he said to Gabriel. Gabriel seized the Prince’s gaze and did not back down while green eyes bored into him. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.” He turned to Aisling. “My mother awaits you. You would be wise to follow her silence.”

  “Silence rarely solves problems,” she retorted.

  Nolen met Gabriel’s eyes again. “Yes, I would say silence does quite a deal of damage for some. This may be another time you wish to keep your mouth silent as well.” He opened the door and strode in with them close behind.

  As per custom, Aisling stood to the right of the Eagle Throne where Miranda already sat in a green gown, and Nolen stood to the left with Gabriel on his left. As Gabriel passed behind the throne, he peered around it to see these ‘friends’ of Nolen’s. He expected more marauders or perhaps torturers, but he was surprised to see women. As he took his place beside Nolen, he surveyed the ladies.

  They were all of exquisite beauty, not a common face or figure among them. Most were tall with long hair pulled up in fancy braids, light brown and red with a few blondes intermixed. They were slender, statuesque, of certain noble bearing, and all young. They were garbed in the trademark satins of Arconia, wearing tight-fitting dresses that were unlike the bulky cottons and wools of Anatoly gowns.

  One woman in the front of the group stood out as the leader. She was old enough to be their mother, but she was still beautiful with few wrinkles around her eyes and little gray hair in her auburn locks. She was garbed in a sturdy dress of pale gray with accents of cream, and wore a stiff lace circle around the back of her head to give her a haloed look. A mountain of emeralds hung around her neck and wrists, and even more dripped from her ears. She and the Queen were speaking quietly as they entered.

  “That is the Breaker of Stars,” a woman close enough to him whispered in Arconian and tittered.

  Arconia was a Kingdom far off to the east across the ocean. It was a mass of islands with one main land, four sisters, and hundred smaller islands. The land bore rich soil excellent for farming and cattle rearing. Some of the finest wool and red wine came from the Hundred Isles. The lands were also riddled with gem mines from ancient volcanoes, making it a rich kingdom ruled under King Victor. It was a solid two, possibly three-week journey, but the women did not look tired.

  Gabriel chewed the inside of his lip as he tried to figure out their purpose.

  “Queen Cathlyn, it is my honor to welcome you to our City,” Miranda announced, and Gabriel stopped chewing and looked again at the woman. ‘Why is she here?’ He did not hazard a glance at Nolen, feeling the faint energy the man gave off knowing he was pleased. Gabriel swallowed and clasped h
is hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting.

  The Arconian Queen gave a bow that her ladies mimicked. Gabriel looked them over again and saw matching cloak pins of burnished metal and fat gems in the middle. As he looked closer he saw rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, and a gray stone he did not recognize. The breath slipped from him suddenly as he realized the women were Mages. Unlike Anatolian Mages who wore black Mage cloaks to signify their status, Arconians wore cloak pins and brooches. Most wore copper pins signifying a Class Five, but there were several with the black tungsten of a Class Six. ‘This will not end well.’

  “My son tells me you are here on his bidding,” Miranda stated with little emotion, and Gabriel knew she was uncertain. ‘Since when did a Prince do something without his Queen’s permission or knowledge?’ “Please enlighten the court.”

  “Your welcome is most appreciated,” Queen Cathlyn replied with a nod of her head and a lilt to her accent. Arconian was a beautifully flowing language structured the same as Gabriel’s mother tongue, and as expected of well-educated youth, he had studied it in depth with Robyn’s tutors. “Your son is an admirable young man, and we have enjoyed his time in our court.”

  Miranda and Aisling looked at Nolen for an answer, but the Prince gave none.

  Queen Cathlyn continued. “Your son has struck a bargain with us to fiscally support your kingdom and strengthen our alliance. He told us much about this Class Ten you have in your possession, and we look forward to working with him.”

  Miranda gave a fleeting smile. “And what is this bargain?”

  “A hundred soldiers, a ship of the finest red Dastanian wine, and a chest of uncut jewels for every child the Class Ten fathers.”

  Cold crept up Gabriel’s neck. He did not know if he should continue looking at the foreign Queen, or turn his icy eyes on Nolen. He felt eyes on him and knew his next words could damn him deeper. In the span of a heartbeat, Gabriel’s hands fell from behind his back, and his right snapped up pointing at Queen Cathlyn.