Shadowspire (Wytch Kings, Book 3)

by Jaye McKenna

  Ambris surprised him by pulling a thick, padded pallet from one of the shelves and spreading it on the floor for him. “Here you are. This will be more comfortable than the floor.”

  “What about you and Kian?”

  “We’ve got another, and it’ll just about fit two, if we get cozy.” Ambris gave him a wink and dimmed the mythe-light he’d left floating above the table for their game, then went outside to sit on the step beside Kian.

  Jaire lay on his back and kicked the covers off. It was warm inside the shelter, though he’d probably want the covers by morning. Nights in the Iceshards tended to be cold, even in high summer.

  It wasn’t long before Vayne drifted in through the wall of the shelter. Ambris’s mythe-light was just bright enough that Jaire was able to make out his wispy form as Vayne settled himself on the floor and stretched out next to Jaire.

  “I suppose we can talk, as long as you remember to whisper,” he said.

  Jaire smiled. “You’ll have to whisper, too, or I might forget.”

  It was too dark to see Vayne’s expression, but from the snort that accompanied it, Jaire guessed the ghost-prince was rolling his eyes. “You’ll be staying here until your Master Ilya brings word?” Vayne asked.

  “Or Garrik, if they need me back for anything.”

  “And no one else in the village knows where you are?”

  “I don’t think so. I suppose Kian might have told his Da, but he wouldn’t say anything.”

  “What of the rest of the villagers? Are they likely to say anything about Kian and Ambris living there?”

  “I… don’t know,” Jaire said. “I’ve honestly never thought about it.”

  “You ought to be thinking about it,” Vayne said. “And you ought to be wondering why the Wytch Council would send someone as highly ranked as the dean of Rakken Academy to test the children. It’s not a difficult task… why not send one of the younger instructors?”

  “I was so worried about him threatening Ilya that I didn’t think about what else he might want. Garrik says he’s a spy for the Council. I assumed that meant he’d be sitting in Court and reporting back, but…”

  “I very much doubt they’d send the dean of Rakken Academy if that was all they wanted,” Vayne said darkly. “He’s looking for something. Or someone.”

  “Well, he’s not going to find them here. From what they told me earlier, Ilya’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep this place hidden. As long as nobody makes noise in the mythe, we should be all right.”

  “Jaire? Who are you talking to?”

  Vayne’s eyes widened, and Jaire froze at the sound of Kian’s voice coming from behind him.

  “Um. I was just…” Jaire rolled over, but not before he caught sight of Vayne drifting away through the shelter wall as he turned.

  Kian was staring down at him, expression unreadable in the shadows cast by the mythe-light behind him. The healer sank down on the floor facing Jaire. “Is something bothering you?”

  Jaire sat up slowly, but didn’t meet Kian’s eyes. “What did Garrik say in his letter?”

  “Only that he’s worried,” Kian said. “He says you’ve been under a great deal of strain since the Midsummer Faire.”

  “Anyone would be feeling a bit strained if they’d had a betrothal sprung upon them.” Jaire adopted an air of wounded dignity. “Honestly, Garrik worries about me far too much. I’m not nearly as delicate as he thinks I am.”

  “Garrik cares a great deal about you, and wants you to be happy.”

  Jaire scowled. “Even if it costs him the Wytch Council’s good will and his alliance with Irilan.”

  “He’s never been entirely rational when it comes to you.” He heard the smile in Kian’s voice, though the shadows made it hard to see.

  “He needs to learn to be,” Jaire said. “An alliance marriage is hardly the end of the world.”

  “Jaire…” Kian hesitated for a long moment, then said, all in a rush, “Garrik said he’s heard you talking to yourself more than once, and so has Ilya. And just now, I did, too. Only it didn’t sound like you were talking to yourself, exactly.”

  Jaire pressed his lips together and reminded himself that in the dim light, Kian couldn’t see his expression any more clearly than he could see Kian’s.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Kian asked.

  “I’d like to think so, but whatever I tell you, you’re going to tell Garrik, aren’t you?”

  “Only if I think you’re in danger.” Kian turned a little, angling himself so Jaire could see his face. “Right now, what I think is that you’re unhappy about the betrothal, but you dare not say anything to Garrik about it.”

  “That’s… yes,” Jaire said in a small voice, shoulders slumping in relief. He should have known Kian would see right through him; Kian had always been good at seeing the hidden truth of things. “He’d call it off if he knew how unhappy I was, and I can’t let him do that. Nor can I talk to him about it.”

  “You can talk to me,” Kian said gently. “If you need to. If you want to.”

  Jaire debated briefly, but in the end, he found he couldn’t tell Kian about Vayne. He was too afraid of what might happen if word got out that Prince Jaire was seeing things. “It’s… it’s mostly just Garrik,” he said finally. “He still sees me as the baby brother he promised Mother he’d protect. He can’t get it through his head that I’m not that child anymore.”

  “Do you want me to have a word with him?”

  “I don’t think it will help. I need to prove myself to him, but I’ve no idea how I might do that.”

  Kian put a big hand on Jaire’s shoulder, and squeezed gently. “Try to get some sleep, Jaire. Things might look a bit brighter in the morning.”

  “Yes. I’m sure they will,” Jaire said dutifully. He lay down and closed his eyes, but he didn’t fall asleep. His mind was too busy going over the problem of proving to Garrik that he no longer needed his brother’s protection.

  Chapter Five

  “Where did you go?” Jaire demanded as he set the bucket down at the edge of the pool.

  It was early morning, and though Vayne couldn’t feel it, a soft breeze lifted a few strands of the prince’s pale hair, which hung halfway down his bare back like a cascade of shimmering silk. Jaire wore only a pair of breeches, and the dark green gem around his neck contrasted sharply with the fair skin of the prince’s smooth, hairless chest. Vayne found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the distracting vision.

  “I looked for you all day yesterday,” Jaire continued. “I even went to bed early last night and waited for you, but you didn’t come.”

  “I wanted to. But after I heard Kian talking to you the other night, I didn’t want to make things worse. Kian was worried enough as it was.”

  “I can manage Kian,” Jaire told him.

  “Can you? What if he talks to your brother?”

  “I can manage Garrik, as well.”

  “Not if he decides the betrothal is upsetting you.” Vayne reached out unconsciously before he remembered that he couldn’t touch Jaire, couldn’t take his hand. Jaire reached out too, but his hand passed right through Vayne’s, and he jerked it back quickly as if he’d been burned.

  “Sorry,” Vayne said softly. It had been years since he’d forgotten his limitations like that. “I knew you were waiting for me, and I did want to talk to you, very much. But it’s no good if talking to me causes problems for you and your kingdom. And it sounds as if there’s a lot at stake at the moment. As soon as we’re back at the castle and you’re certain you’re alone, then we can talk all you want.”

  Jaire regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Promise?”

  “I promise,” Vayne said solemnly.

  “All right, then.” Jaire let out a heavy sigh as he bent to scoop up a bucketful of water from the pool. “It’s just… I feel like I can tell you anything. You’re the only one who won’t go running to Garrik the minute you think I’m upset. And… and besides that, I can’t
even imagine how lonely you’ve been all these years. It makes me sad to think of you having to wait.”

  “It would make me more sad to think that talking to me had made trouble for you,” Vayne countered.

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ll… I’ll see you back at the castle, then.” Jaire’s shoulders slumped a little as he turned to carry the bucket back to the shelter.

  Vayne turned away, not wanting to watch him go, but at a sharp cry and a splash, he spun around to see Jaire on the ground, clutching his leg, the bucket lying on its side next to a puddle of water.

  “Are you all right?” Vayne asked. “Did you fall?”

  “Something bit me,” Jaire said. “It felt like a hot needle stabbing my leg.” He pulled up the cuff of his breeches to reveal a pair of puncture wounds, bright red against the pale, smooth skin of his calf.

  “That looks like a snake bite,” Vayne said, heart beginning to pound. “Did you get a look at the snake?”

  “No, I was too busy thinking about you to watch where I was going. I stepped on something and nearly tripped. The moment I lifted my foot, it bit me.”

  Vayne’s stomach clenched. Knowing he could do nothing to help was the worst feeling in the world. If Jaire panicked, his heart would only beat faster and send the venom coursing through his body more quickly.

  “You’d better get inside,” Vayne said, managing to keep his voice steady. “Kian and Ambris will know what to do.”

  Jaire stared up at him with shimmering eyes and swallowed hard. “It hurts.”

  “Ai, it will. Go on. Get up. Some of the snakes in these forests are very poisonous. You need to tell Kian. I’ll have a look around and see if I can find it. It might help to know what it was.”

  Jaire nodded, and Vayne could only watch helplessly as he got painfully to his feet and limped off toward the shelter. He drifted behind the prince long enough to make sure he’d got the healer’s attention before heading back toward the pool to see if he could find the culprit.

  Of course, finding the snake was impossible. By their own admission, Kian and Ambris rarely used this place. The path from the shelter to the pool was badly overgrown, and though Vayne drifted through the underbrush, peering about, he saw no sign of a snake, or even a hole where one might live.

  He made his way to the shelter and found Jaire already stretched out on his sleeping pallet. Kian was examining the bite while Ambris knelt by the hearth mixing herbs.

  “Good thing we already had some water heating for tea,” Kian said. “We’ll get a poultice on this quickly and draw out as much of the poison as we can. I don’t suppose you managed to get a look at the snake?”

  Jaire glanced over at Vayne, brow wrinkled in question, but Vayne shook his head. “No,” Jaire said. “I didn’t. I wasn’t really watching where I was going.”

  “How are you feeling?” Kian asked.

  “I’m all right. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore.”

  Kian looked grim, and he and Ambris exchanged a worried look. “Tell me if you start feeling funny, ai? Anything at all. If you feel sick or thirsty, or if your vision begins to blur. I need to know.”

  “You’ve already said that,” Jaire said with a scowl. “How long until we know if it was poisonous?”

  “Probably by this afternoon,” Kian said, “though it depends on what bit you. Some poisons take longer to work than others. I wish you’d gotten a look at it so we could be certain. I’d really like to do a healing and neutralize the venom… but I dare not. If Faah has reached Aeyr’s Grove, he’ll sense me for certain.”

  “Then we shall have to wait and see,” Ambris said quietly. He moved up next to Kian. “It may be just a common grass snake. Those aren’t poisonous, though the bites can turn septic rather easily. Turn on your side, Your Highness, and don’t move.”

  “Will it hurt?” Jaire asked, his voice wavering a bit.

  “Only for a moment,” Ambris said. “It’s hot — it has to be, to draw the poison out. Here, hold onto Kian’s hand. I’ll count to three and slap it on.”

  Jaire reached for Kian’s hand, but it was Vayne’s eyes he met while he clenched his teeth and tensed his shoulders.

  “One, two, three.”

  Jaire squeezed his eyes shut as Ambris held the poultice in place, but he didn’t make a sound.

  “You’re very brave,” Vayne murmured.

  Jaire snorted, but didn’t say anything.

  “We’ll just leave that on for a little while and let it work,” Ambris said. “Shall I make some blackseed tea, Kian?”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much,” Jaire said. “The poultice hurts more than the bite.”

  “Ai, and that’s what worries me,” Kian said, squeezing his hand. “If the bite’s gone numb, you got a big enough dose of venom to make you very sick, indeed. Go ahead and prepare some tea, Ambris. I’ve a feeling we might need it.”

  “I’m fine,” Jaire insisted.

  Half an hour later, he was throwing up violently, and by evening, he was thrashing and moaning as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Even when he was awake, he didn’t seem aware. He kept calling for Vayne, who didn’t have the heart to leave the stricken prince when he was so ill and vulnerable, especially as he felt partly responsible for Jaire’s condition.

  He knelt beside Jaire and wished he could do something more than just talk to him and sing ancient lullabies. He’d like to be able to hold Jaire’s hand, or perhaps stroke his brow, but he couldn’t even do that.

  “Sing me another song, Vayne,” Jaire murmured. His lucid periods were growing fewer and further between, and Kian and Ambris both looked tense and worried.

  “There’s only me and Ambris here, Jaire,” Kian said quietly, and smoothed Jaire’s sweat-soaked hair.

  “No, Vayne is right here, next to me. He’s been with me all day. Can’t you see him, Kian?”

  “He’s not getting any better,” Ambris said from the hearth. “One of us is going to have to do a healing.”

  “Ai, and it had best be me,” Kian said. “Faah already knows of me, and I’d rather give myself away than you.”

  “Faah thinks you’re dead,” Ambris pointed out.

  “Yes, well, he thinks you’re dead, too. And if one of us doesn’t heal Jaire, he’s going to be dead before long. Look, if Faah finds me, Garrik will only be in trouble with the Council. If he finds you, he’ll be in trouble with Miraen, as well.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Ambris said with a sniff. “I’m sure my father was more relieved than anything to learn I’d perished in the fire when Blackfrost burned.”

  “Even so,” Kian said, “I will do the healing.”

  “Vayne?” Jaire called, staring right through him. “Are you here? I can’t see you… it’s all blurry…”

  “You’d better get on with it, then,” Ambris said. “It’s after midnight… with any luck, that Wytch Master has already bedded down and won’t take any notice. I’ll get something to eat ready for when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you,” Kian said. He knelt beside Jaire and placed one hand on the prince’s brow and the other on his chest and closed his eyes.

  Once the healer set to work, it wasn’t long before Jaire stopped thrashing and moaning, and sank into a peaceful sleep.

  * * *

  Morning sunlight streamed in through the open door of the shelter. Jaire blinked and stretched as he tried to shake off a dark dream in which he’d been very ill. He dimly remembered an argument, conducted in fierce undertones. Very little of it had made sense, and the only thing of any certainty was that it had been about him.

  A noise at the door had him turning his head in time to see Ambris enter the shelter with a bucket of water.

  “Awake, then, are you? How do you feel?” Ambris set the bucket down next to the hearth and knelt beside Jaire, pressing a cool hand to Jaire’s brow.

  “I’m fine… I think. What happened?”

  “You were bitten by a snake. I’m still not sure wh
at kind, but it made you very ill. You were hallucinating badly. Kept calling for someone named Vayne. Do you remember?”

  Jaire remembered the hot, stabbing pain in his leg, and the sudden illness that had followed, but he was certain he’d never have called for Vayne. He sat up and pushed the covers back, glancing about furtively for the ghost-prince before examining his leg. There was no sign of Vayne, nor was there any sign of a bite on his smooth, white skin, though he distinctly remembered seeing the two puncture wounds where the fangs had sunk into his flesh. He frowned and raised his eyes to meet Ambris’s.

  “Kian healed you,” Ambris said wearily. “Late last night.”

  “But… but what about the Wytch Master?” If Kian had given himself away, he’d given Ambris away, too.

  “If he hadn’t, you’d have died, Jaire. That’s why he’s gone. He left the moment he was finished healing you.”

  “And you let him go?” Jaire had to struggle not to let his thoughts race away with him. Kian would have had no choice about leaving if he’d wanted to keep Ambris safe. “Alone in the dark? You know how tired he gets after a healing.”

  “I didn’t want him to go at all,” Ambris said. “We argued about it, but he insisted. He said he felt something cold and slimy inspecting him while he was healing you. He was certain the Wytch Master had sensed him, and he decided it would be safer to leave. I stayed here to watch over you.”

  “I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me not paying any mind to where I was going—”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Jaire. And even if you’d been well, he wouldn’t have allowed me to come with him. He said he wouldn’t be the reason I got caught. He’s… I’m afraid he’s taken Ilya’s stories of his own abuse at the hands of the Wytch Council to heart. He says he’ll die before he lets the Council have me.” Ambris wrung his hands and turned his face away, but not before Jaire saw the tears shimmering in his eyes.

  Jaire shoved the covers back all the way. “I’ll go after him,” he said in a firm voice that surprised even him in its conviction.