The Disinherited Prince

by Guy Antibes

  Pol enjoyed learning from Siggon. Paki wasn’t as serious as Pol, and that made their learning more fun. Siggon had them trim a stick and split a larger branch. Soon they had their strings wrapped around a central stick, with a rounded end on the top and a sharper end on the bottom.

  Pol began to move the bow back and forth as fast as he could, rubbing the stick on the split branch below, but Paki’s strength put Pol’s efforts to shame when the other boy had the sharp end smoking before Pol. Eventually they both generated enough heat to make the tiny coals that they transferred to the shaved kindling and the fires were started.

  “Can you remember how to do that?”

  Paki turned up a side of his mouth and confidently nodded. “It’s easy.”

  Pol had to agree. “If the forest is wet, isn’t this is much harder?”

  Siggon nodded. “That’s no different from using a tinderbox. If you can’t get dry shavings, you won’t have a fire.”

  After Pol untied the cord around his bow, he gave it back to Siggon. “And if I don’t have a cord?”

  Paki’s father looked at his son. “Do you know?”

  A frown appeared in Paki’s face.

  “Twisted bark?” Pol said.

  “That’s the idea. That will work. Braided stalks can work if they aren’t too dry. You can rip the cloth from your shirt and twist that as well.”

  “I’ve got the concept, so the real limitation is dry tinder,” Pol said.

  “Indeed it is.” Siggon got up and fetched a bucket of water to douse the small fires.

  Pol gave a nod of his head to Siggon and said, “Now I get to be tested on religion.”

  He jumped up and headed for the classroom.

  As usual, Mistress Farthia had arrived before him and had her nose buried in a sheaf of papers.

  “What are you reading?”

  Farthia smiled at Pol, but she looked distracted. “Reports on the Emperor’s Procession. My father sent these along, so King Colvin might know what to expect.”

  “Why are you reading them, then?” Pol said.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Only of reading the reports. What do they say? Any secrets?”

  That made his tutor laugh. “Most of it is about the magician testing.”

  Pol didn’t like the testing coming to North Salvan. “What happens to those poor souls who are identified with magical talent?”

  “Most are sent to monasteries unless they are closer to the imperial capital.”

  “Does Emperor Hazett own the magicians?”

  Farthia laughed. “Are you afraid of becoming a slave?”

  “Me?”

  “You. I imagine you haven’t changed your mind about protecting your mother in the past few days?”

  Pol knew the answer to that. “No.”

  “Then you can refuse.”

  “I can just like that?”

  Farthia nodded. “A prince has a certain amount of privilege. If you are in line to a kingdom or a dukedom, you can certainly refuse.” She shrugged. “Actually, anyone can refuse, but why would they turn down a chance to learn a very useful and lucrative trade? Most people in the world don’t live like magicians do.”

  “I know that,” Pol said.

  “You do, don’t you?” Farthia squinted her eyes a bit and smiled, making her eyes crinkle.

  Pol asked one more question. “Will I have to be tested at all?”

  Farthia nodded. “It’s best to do it. Landon and Grostin certainly will since they weren’t old enough when magicians came through Borstall a decade or so ago. You are not quite old enough, but most fourteen-year-olds are included in the testing anyway.”

  “I gathered that from Malden.”

  “And you will be identified.”

  The thought frightened Pol. He worried about having a talent that Landon and Grostin did not. His siblings were angry with him enough for just being a bit smarter than they were. “Maybe I’ll be sick.”

  “No you won’t. Be brave, like I know you can be. It’s not the end of your life.”

  Pol looked at the books and the map table, anything but in Mistress Farthia’s eyes. “It could be.”

  ~

  Malden repeated Farthia’s words nearly verbatim as they discussed the testing.

  “I know you are worried about your mother and yourself, but if that is the case, perhaps King Colvin will let your mother travel with you to the monastery.”

  “To stay?”

  The magician shook his head. “No, but while on the trip, things might settle down in Borstall somewhat. If you are gone, no one will be thinking of you.”

  “Grostin will,” Pol said. “I’m a threat no matter where I am.” He leaned over and buried his head in his arms.

  “Are you serious about that, My Prince?”

  Pol jerked his head up and down. “I am.”

  “You could always abdicate your line to the throne.”

  “Give up my right to rule Listya and North Salvan?”

  Malden paused for a minute. “If you aren’t a threat to the succession, then why would they want to attack you?”

  “I’d no longer be a prince.”

  You would be, but you’d never rise above prince. You’d still live in the castle, but you wouldn’t be in line, that’s all. There have been others, although they generally got disinherited due to poor behavior or poor health. Disinherited is more serious than abdication,” Malden said.

  “That’s me. Poor health.”

  Malden shook his head. “I’m talking more about mental health.”

  “I’m not crazy, am I?”

  “Some might think you would be if you gave up succession rights,” Malden said.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “I’m not seriously suggesting that you do that. Your entire life would change.”

  Pol nodded. “That’s what I’m trying to do…change my life, so I can save it.”

  ~~~

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~

  POL SUCCESSFULLY STAYED OUT OF EVERYONE’S WAY while he continued his restricted activities. Paki asked him to sneak into the fair again, but Pol had learned his lesson and scolded Paki that he should have, too.

  The Emperor was due the next afternoon when Pol walked into his classroom. Mistress Farthia had a pen in her hand, dipping it in an inkwell.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Copying down the events planned for the Emperor’s visit. I just got this, and my father would like his own copy. The king’s scriveners are making a more formal copy for Hazett III. I’ve noticed something a bit odd. Come look over my shoulder.”

  Pol examined the documents while Farthia turned the pages over.

  “It’s as if I don’t exist,” Pol said. “My siblings are included in official events, but not me. Is it because of my age?”

  Farthia snorted. “Hardly. I wonder who put this together. This is a deliberate affront.”

  Malden walked into the room with a sheaf of rolled up papers. “Did you see this, Farthia?”

  “I just did. Pol has just been expunged from the family.”

  “I’ll bet it’s one of your siblings, My Prince. I’ll find out who.” Malden left the room.

  “No matter what, we are your supporters, Malden and I.”

  Pol didn’t know what to say. His emotions roiled inside of him. He felt anger, isolation, but most of all he just hurt. Would he ever feel a moment’s peace in his life? Pol never saw himself as a threat to anybody, but this relentless ill will had just about made him give it all up.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Fight it. Your siblings have no right to treat you this way, and quite frankly, I think your father has been much too lenient about their relentless campaign against you,” Farthia said. “I am not a subject of King Colvin. I am an Imperial Citizen, so I can say these things and feel this way.”

  “But that doesn’t help me.”

  Fa
rthia put her arms around Pol and hugged him. He didn’t know how to react to such intimate contact and felt foolish standing there letting a fully-grown woman embrace him like that. Even Amonna never clutched at him, and he couldn’t remember his mother being so, so close. He could feel his cheeks redden.

  She let him go and stood apart with her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Pol, but I understand how you feel.”

  How could she? But then he really didn’t know her past at all.

  “I’ll just stay in my rooms. I think I might prefer that, anyway. I’m only fourteen.”

  “But you are still your father’s son and a Prince of North Salvan. It is proper protocol that you attend a certain number of events. Do you want to know which ones?”

  Pol nodded. He clutched his fists as anger replaced his shock. “Maybe if I show up for a few.”

  They spent the next hour going over the events. Farthia explained each one in detail and who should attend. Together they decided that Pol should go to three or four of the events, including the first night’s dinner with the Emperor.

  “I don’t care if you’re not on the list. No one can deny your participation, except for King Colvin.

  “But what if he is the one who struck my name?”

  Farthia gave Pol a look of reproof. “Does this seem like something your father would do?”

  Pol had to shake his head.

  “Let’s go through the list one more time,” Farthia said, when Malden poked his head through he doorway.

  “Honna. The Queen put the list together, and Honna offered to make a few rough copies and distribute them.”

  Farthia looked at the list. “This isn’t her handwriting.”

  “She probably just crossed out Pol’s name and gave it to a lower level scrivener. They wouldn’t question a princess, would they?”

  Farthia stood up and walked to the window. “This castle has become a snake pit,” she said. She turned to Pol. “One day, perhaps in idle conversation, your oldest sister and brothers got together and realized that you had made it through your illnesses and represented a true threat to their inheritance.” She shook her head in disgust. “I just can’t… no, I can believe it. I saw the same petty squabbles when I grew up in Yastan. It is a disease that too many nobles catch when they feel threatened.”

  ~

  Pol sought out his mother, with Farthia’s initial copy in hand. He found her in the Royal Gardens sitting with the Queen of South Salvan.

  He bowed as politely as he could. “I need to speak with you, Mother.” He dragged a foot through the gravel. “Alone, if we can.” He bowed quickly to Bythia’s mother.

  The woman laughed. “I have other things I can do. I will talk to you later, Molissa.” She didn’t look offended, and that made Pol sigh with relief.

  “What is so important?”

  “Look at this.” He gave his mother the list of events.

  “Oh,” she said after she looked at the first page, and her face turned red as she continued to turn the pages faster and faster. “That girl!”

  “Honna?”

  Her mother nodded her head. “She asked me so nicely to copy the events for the scriveners. Her behavior encouraged me to believe that perhaps once Landon left, we could get closer, but she acted a part, didn’t she?”

  “To my disadvantage.”

  The queen snorted. “To put it mildly, as you always do, Poldon. This list came from Mistress Farthia or Magician Malden?”

  “Mistress Farthia. She noticed the lack of my presence as she made a personal copy for her father.”

  “What am I ever going to do?” His mother put her hand to the side of her face. She was emotionally upset and generally that would make Pol try to make her feel better, but in this instance, he let her feelings go without any consolation, since he must have felt much the same way.

  “See this little dash next to the first night’s state dinner. We decided that I would intrude on three or four events that we both decided were appropriate for me to attend.”

  His mother went through the list and nodded her head. “You don’t mind losing the visibility?”

  “When have I ever been interested in that?”

  “I want you to meet the Emperor.”

  Pol agreed with his mother. “I will and, I’ll be tested for magic.”

  “The Emperor doesn’t do that himself, you know.”

  “But I’ll pass the test. Malden thinks I’ll rate high in potential.”

  The queen looked shocked. “You? How did this happen?”

  Pol shrugged. “Malden had a feeling that I might. He tested me a few times, and I passed. You know when I defeated Grostin the first time? I had to use magic to keep him from killing me.”

  “Kill?”

  Pol nodded. “I’m pretty sure he poisoned me in the hunting preserve. That’s when all this started, and I think Grostin had someone hire the thugs that attacked us. He had to have had help in making that fake practice sword.”

  The queen waved her hand. “Spare me the details. I told your father I didn’t want to know, and I don’t.” She took Pol’s face in her hands. “If you have magic and are an heir to the throne, Emperor Hazett will be thrilled.”

  That wasn’t what Pol wanted to hear. “And that means we are both in even more danger if that happens.”

  The Queen paused for a moment, still holding onto Pol’s face. “I know, but I want what is best for you, my only child. Can you keep your magic a secret?”

  Pol could feel fear begin to grip him tighter than his mother gripped his cheeks. “Malden doesn’t think so because Landon and Grostin will be tested as well. He knows they don’t have a bit of talent.”

  She took her hands away from his face and held them together in her lap. “We will survive whatever happens, together. I promise I won’t tell Colvin. I’m not sure how he will react. He thinks you are too frail to rule or do much of anything, although I think that attitude has been softened by the pluck that you demonstrated when you fended off Grostin’s attacks.” She looked at the sundial on the castle wall. “It is time for me to leave you. I will tell Colvin about the slights, so feel comfortable about showing up for the events marked in your program.”

  Pol felt much relieved as he bowed and watched the Queen walk out of the garden. He wished that his life had been different, but he wouldn’t trade the queen for anyone else as a mother.

  He walked back to his classroom. Farthia had gone, so he read more in the religious text. He had gone through about half of the big book. He had read about rulers being advised by the clergy, and sometimes that helped and sometimes it didn’t. Then an idea came to Pol about advisors.

  Malden walked in. “Farthia isn’t here?”

  Pol shook his head. “Can we talk for a bit?”

  After shutting the door, Malden took a chair across from Pol at the big map table.

  “First of all, Farthia and I decided that I should attend some of the events. I talked to my mother and she agrees, since she originally came up with a program that actually included me.”

  “She or one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

  That didn’t matter to Pol. “When I gave her the papers, she became angry at Honna and agreed that I should attend a few of the events.”

  “Is this what you wanted to say?” Malden said.

  “Only part. I told Mother that I would pass the magician’s test.”

  Malden pursed his lips. “I would hope that the king discusses handing Listya over to Landon before the Emperor finds out.”

  “Mother agreed to keep it a secret.”

  “It won’t be a secret for long, anyway. The Emperor’s reaction will be less predictable, but at your age, I think his enthusiasm will be muted a bit.”

  Pol bit his lip and hesitated to say what he had been thinking. “What if the Emperor knows ahead of time and agrees not to say much about it?”

  “And how…” Malden’s face broke out into a smile. “Ranno, of course.”

&nbs
p; “Who, or what is Ranno?”

  “Farthia’s father. He has a unique relationship with the Emperor,” Malden said. “I’ll find Farthia and have her send a message to him. If she can’t find anyone, I’ll ride out and intercept the Emperor’s train myself.” He ran out of the classroom, leaving Pol stunned by the turn of events.

  ~

  Pol stood with his family in front of the castle steps. The Emperor was a few minutes away. His retinue had already stopped close to the tourney grounds to set up a camp for the many officials and servants who supported the Emperor during his Procession. Hazett III would stay in the castle with some of his staff.

  Amonna smiled at Pol, but her smile didn’t go very deep. Was she in on his being snubbed? He looked over at the royal family of South Salvan standing on the other side of the steps. Bythia looked at Landon and then at Amonna. Her eyes never drifted towards Pol. Her ignoring him was too obvious for him.

  Honna had done a good job of setting everyone against him. His father didn’t seem affected, but King Astor seemed less friendly than before. Pol wondered if that was his imagination. He didn’t know. The entire welcoming business made him nervous. Farthia had said her father got her message about him, but they hadn’t heard if the Emperor agreed to minimize the attention to his talent.

  Pol’s hands were damp with sweat. He looked down through the gate. Crowds lined the street, and a set of banners had just turned the corner far away. The last vestiges of the setting sun put a golden hue on the scene. He could hear the buzz of the crowd turn into cheering. The Emperor had arrived in Borstall.

  The banners seemed to barely move closer to the castle. Pol wiped his hand on the back of his legs. His stomach began to flip as he could now see the Emperor waving to the crowds. He looked down the line at his father and mother. They held hands, and that always surprised Pol.

  Pol blinked. His nerves now made him breathe more heavily, and he could hear his heartbeat, as he usually did when he was fatigued or very nervous. Pol knew he feared meeting the Emperor. He had to stay strong for just a few more minutes. He looked at the gate again, and Emperor Hazett III entered the courtyard where Pol had played since he could walk. The man rode a gigantic white horse, decorated with golden hoofs. The white leather saddle was chased with gold and silver.