A Cursed Son (Remnants of the Fallen Kingdom Book 1), page 3
I want to double check if he means it, if I’m really expelled, but it sounds humiliating. Odd how I can still fear humiliation when I’m at such a low point.
His expression then changes to a placid calm. “Someone’s coming. Get yourself together.”
I breathe in and think about my kindred soul again. That’s the only thing that can bring me some calm amidst this turmoil.
He opens the door and Andrezza walks in. She’s so very beautiful, with brown skin, deep brown eyes, and long black hair peppered with a few strands of gray. I trust her, and her presence puts me at ease. I’ve often wondered if I should tell her everything, tell her what I am, and yet Master Otavio always said that she’d have me killed if she knew it. Indeed, in her classes, I got to hear her opinion about darksouls, and that should terrify me. It’s confusing.
“There you are!” There’s relief in her voice. “I thought all the substitutes were sick. You know well about Lord Stratson’s state and his family, don’t you, Astra?”
“Yes.” My voice is still shaky.
She nods. “Get ready, then, as you’ll need to go to his wedding reception, and the carriage leaves in forty minutes.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Master Otavio says. “We don’t know what they ate, and she might get just as sick as the others.”
Andrezza glances at me, then looks at him. “We’ll have to risk it. You know how much our king hates failure.”
Otavio lifts his shoulder in the tensest shrug I’ve ever seen. “Well then, let’s hope she doesn’t vomit on the way.”
“I’ll make sure she has an extra dress and a bucket in the carriage.” She turns to me. “Go to your room. The attendants will get you ready.”
Really? I’m not expelled? Or is Master Otavio going to wait until I’m back? My stomach then growls and I have to say something about it. “I didn’t have breakfast.”
Andrezza gestures at me to keep going. “I’ll ask them to send something light for you in your room.”
I bow and prepare to leave. When I reach the door, I hear Otavio’s voice.
“Astra.”
I turn.
There.
It’s coming.
His face is calm, but I can see the contained rage beneath it. “Just because you were spared of whatever caused their nausea now, it doesn’t mean you will be spared again. Be very, very mindful of what you eat.”
I know what his words mean, and yet I need to give a reply. “We don’t choose what we eat, master.”
Andrezza shakes her head. “He’s saying nonsense, little Astra.” I never know if that’s endearing or demeaning. “We still don’t know what happened, and it’s probably not their fault. Now go!”
I don’t wait even a second.
When I reach the hallway to my bedroom, it strikes me: I did it!
I secured my place on the trip. And if Otavio’s behavior in front of Andrezza is any indication, he’s not going to have me expelled or punished. At least not publicly punished.
Evil deeds sometimes pay off.
Ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum. My heart is the loudest sound I hear.
Sometimes we practice jumping from a platform, considering one day we might need to escape through a window or balcony. I love jumping. The moment I’m in the air, with nothing beneath me, is exhilarating but also scary, since I can’t guarantee I will land properly and distribute the force of the land into a perfect roll.
It’s how I feel now, except that descending the tower’s spiral stairs takes much longer than a second—and my anticipation mounts with each step. So many interminable stone steps.
Two guards escort me, and a servant follows with my bag and a bucket. We’re always watched, always escorted when stepping away from our tower. I’m wearing a thin, dark blue linen dress with short sleeves. It’s a cool, practical dress, perfect for travel, but it’s still adorned with expensive rose-shaped embroidery.
The carriage is a simple black thing by the side entrance, lacking the opulence expected from Krastel’s royalty, but the idea is to be discreet when traveling. Sure, in theory the substitutes’ lives are expendable, but it’s going to be too obvious if they put us in a pompous carriage, with a sign on top of it saying attack me.
Then again, there are no attacks and no dangers. Krastel isn’t at war with anyone. I don’t know why Master Otavio is so worried.
Right. He’s not worried, he just thinks I’m incompetent. How easily my mind plays tricks on me, constructing a fictional version of events and trying to convince me that people care more about me than they actually do. Sometimes I’m an idiot.
Is that what I’m doing with Quin? Well, at least I’ll find out. He’s not here yet, so I enter the carriage and wait.
And that’s why my heart is making such a ruckus in my chest. It’s the anticipation, fear, and also the judgemental part of me still shaking her head in disbelief. She’s going to ruin her neck like that.
Of course I feel bad for what I’ve done, for making my sisters sick, but I don’t believe for a moment that I could have gotten Master Otavio killed. It was all lies. Nobody knows what kind of poison was used because the healers aren’t familiar with calapher. At least that’s what Otavio told me, and he wouldn’t be lying when teaching me about poisons.
See, I might have to assassinate or incapacitate someone one day, probably my husband, if I marry in place of Princess Driziely, and I can’t leave a trace or raise any suspicion. My master would never claim that a poison is rare if it isn’t. At the same time, I doubt he has never taught my sisters about calapher, considering they might be the ones who’ll need to assassinate or incapacitate someone one day.
It’s odd. While the idea of killing a person is revolting, I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to be useful to my kingdom, to prove my worth. Sometimes, I even hope that an act of bravery might change the way they see me, that I might be accepted despite being a darksoul. I know it’s nonsense, but I still yearn for the chance to prove my value.
As murderous thoughts of glory cross my mind, the door of the carriage opens and I remind myself to act natural. Act natural, act natural, and yet, my stomach flutters at the anticipation of spending so much time with Quin.
I turn—and realize it’s not him.
My stomach lurches, even my heart slows down under the weight of such enormous disappointment. I can’t believe it.
Prince Ziven sits there, his light brown hair somewhat messy but still beautiful, giving me a smile that’s a hundred times warmer than Quin’s, giving me the look that I’ve always dreamed someone would give me. His hazel eyes are full of adoration, joy, intimacy.
Of course, none of that is for me. His expression sours in less than a second, and he turns and stares at the window.
Surprising. Was he… He and Sayanne… Could it be? Really?
I remember then how he bumped into our table yesterday, how much he’s been having lunch with the Elite Guard lately, and it makes sense. Even then, I’m surprised that Sayanne would manage to seduce him. Or maybe it’s something mutual, something real.
I feel that I have to explain what’s going on. “Sayanne’s indisposed.”
He turns and looks at me like I’m an insect. “Did I ask? I don’t care.”
Rude, rude, rude. I wish I could get near his table and poison his food, add something for diarrhea. Maybe there’s a way.
“Great, then.” I smile and turn to the window. There’s nothing to see, just the side wall of the castle, and yet it’s more interesting than the interior of the carriage with that grumpy prince.
Still, his words make me feel small and insignificant and worthless. Why would an opinion from a drunk, useless prince bother me? It shouldn’t.
I’m quite impressed with Sayanne, though.
I recall her a few years ago, her eyes shining with an odd fervor, her arms grabbing the Book of Seduction. We were so young. And yet, I’ll never forget what she said. “This is the key. For everything.”
I can still see the determined glint in her eyes, her certainty.
Was it the secrets in the book that got Prince Ziven interested in her? I’ll have to read it again, if that’s the case. Perhaps her feelings for him are genuine, but she definitely must have applied what she learned. Stupid me, ignored all that, and now I have to cling to the faint hope that a friendly smile means more than it seems.
But the worst is that my carefully, masterfully enacted plan flopped. All my effort—for nothing.
“Why are you here?” I ask. I don’t bother being polite because he doesn’t deserve it.
He leans back in his seat, all relaxed and aloof, not once turning in my direction. “Why do you care?”
“It should be someone standing in for Prince Aramel.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” He points at his chest. “Here as myself.”
He’s not drunk and doesn’t smell of alcohol. Well, it’s early, and perhaps he had no plans to drink on this trip. What were he and Sayanne up to? The worst is that I can’t ask him.
I snort. “I’m sure Lord Stratson will be delighted to see you.”
Ziven turns to me, a cutting smile on his face. “Yes, he’ll be so happy. He’ll say, oh, they sent the useless bum. But at least I’m the real thing. Of course, there’s always a chance our carriage gets attacked, in which case our king will be the one who’ll be more than delighted.”
He might have a point—a dreadful point—but I can’t change any of that, so I try to focus on our assignment. “Did you bring the wedding gift?”
He blinks. “Gift? What gift? Oh, the stupid drunk doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Is that what you think?”
I just stare at him, and then he pulls something from his coat pocket. It’s a golden chalice decorated with a large, clear stone.
“Here, a special magical gift!” He holds the chalice with one hand and waves another over it, making a dramatic voice. “It can tell you if there’s poison in your drink!”
The carriage moves, and there goes my hope that someone would get this wacko out of here and call Quin.
Ziven laughs. “The perfect gift for when you want to kill someone, since beacon stones don’t work.”
True. They’re supposed to change color and turn red to indicate danger, but the few remaining beacon stones are clear and never do anything. I think they need to be activated, like the opus stones, but the knowledge on how to do that has been lost. And yet…
“They’re still rare relics,” I say.
He stares at the chalice. “Useless, rare relics. A symbol of something that’s gone. Of course, a dandy gift to please a small lord.”
Small, but somewhat important. “Stratson’s state is near our northern borders. That’s a key area.”
Ziven puts the chalice back in his pocket and waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Please spare me your useless knowledge.”
“At least I have some knowledge, Your Highness. Do you also tell Sayanne that?”
His face is placid as he blinks. “I have no idea who that is.”
Interestingly, he truly sounds like he doesn’t know her. Still, he doesn’t convince me. He could have taken some personality classes. Would he, though? Who would teach him that?
I can lie well, but I practiced that a lot.
The day I first heard Otavio explaining that humans, like fae, can’t lie, is a day I’ll never forget, as it changed my perception of people.
While fae can’t lie with words, humans can’t lie with their tone of voice, expression, gestures. We tend to give ourselves away. This is why fae excel at tricking people. They can twist words to make you think you hear something that’s not there. Since they speak confidently even when misleading, human ears and eyes, trained to notice tone and gestures more than words, get tricked easily.
Now us, we can say anything we want, but our face, voice, and movements betray us. We’re at a bigger disadvantage than the fae, unless we train to lie and not show. For the substitutes like me, who might one day have to pretend to be someone else, it’s an imperative skill, drilled through hours and hours of practice.
Ziven doesn’t give any indication that he’s lying when he says he doesn’t know who Sayanne is. Perhaps he has learned how to lie on his own. But why? That doesn’t sound like the action of a mindless drunk. Who could have guessed that there’s so much more behind that fascinating, pretty face?
Excited and exhilarated, I keep my eyes out the window, my ears alert, as we slowly leave the city by the castle, and then travel through farms and fields. And then more farms and fields. After some time, everything looks the same, and all I want is to puke the dry toast I ate. Good thing we have a bucket.
As to Ziven, no face is fascinating after three hours in an enclosed space, without even talking. I eye the bucket on the floor, wondering if carrying something like that is normal, since he never asked about it, or if it’s because he doesn’t want to talk to me.
A small retinue with four guards accompanies us, the sound of hooves clopping on the road making me drowsy.
Ziven is quiet and grumpy. Well, too bad. It’s his fault he took Quin’s place. Now we have to barely tolerate each other for hours and hours. My plan now seems so foolish, and the worst is that I betrayed Master Otavio’s trust for nothing.
Not nothing. For a nausea-inducing boring trip with a prickly prince.
Perhaps this is the punishment for my deeds. At least I learned that there’s something between Prince Ziven and Sayanne, not that the information serves me for anything.
If I had known it, I would never have gotten in the way. But then, he’s being such an idiot, perhaps it’s deserved. Destiny can be weird.
Ziven taps on the window, and a guard approaches.
The prince asks, “Where are we going?”
The guard is a young lad, no more than seventeen. “Lord Stratson’s estate, your highness.”
“I know that.” Ziven grunts. “Why aren’t we taking the shortcut?”
Shortcut. Does he mean… I look outside, and see a high mountain on our left. This is the road north, and that must be Mount Eye. The road surrounds it, unless…
The guard swallows. “My lord, our orders—”
Visibly irritated, Ziven huffs. “I’m not traveling for two extra hours. Let’s take the bridge. It’s an order.”
The carriage stops, and I hear murmurs of disagreement among the guards and the coachman. Prince Ziven outranks them all, but I don’t think any of them is too pleased at having to obey him.
The guards don’t return to talk to the prince, but I sense the carriage moving forward, then turning onto a smaller road.
Excitement bubbles up in my chest. We’re going to cross the River of Tears and enter the fae territory. Our side has a mountain by the river, so the road has to go around it, but the fae side is much quicker. Merchants have taken this shortcut for a long time now without any issue.
Since King Renel assumed the throne of the Crystal Court, the relationship between fae and humans has been friendly. True that he has never been to our castle or invited anyone from our kingdom to visit his court, but then, fae are so different from us. Plus, his castle is said to move from place to place, so it’s never in the same location. Personally, I’d love it if our castle could travel. Alas, it’s not the case.
In Renel’s case, people say that his magic can’t ground his castle, or else that he’s hiding from his evil brother, the disgraced Prince Marlak. It’s a horrific story.
From what I learned, the younger and now disgraced prince looks human despite being a full-blooded fae. An aberration, some claim. According to rumors, he possesses all four types of elemental magic, an incredibly unique gift. Too bad that his gift was squandered. Twelve years ago, Prince Marlak burned alive his mother, sister, and adoptive father, getting burned with his own magic in the process. He escaped, but not without emptying the Crystal Court of all its relics. Among them is the shadow ring, an artifact that can make him impervious to any magic attack.
I think I’d run away from him too.
But the disgraced prince hasn’t been seen in years. The path is safe, and the Crystal Court has never cared about us stepping into their territory to avoid detouring for hours.
I’m going to see the Fae Kingdom! This is so exciting.
That’s one upside of poisoning my sisters. The horrible thought makes me squirm with guilt. As if guilt or shame could change anything. Well, I’m here. My company is dreadful, but I’ll get to cross the River of Tears.
The carriage then slows down almost to a halt. I ignore all my training on how to act princessly and stand up, or at least as up as I can in this carriage, keeping myself steady with one hand on the ceiling and another on the seat. There’s a bridge up ahead of us, but it’s so… improvised. Decrepit. I’m guessing Krastel or the Crystal Court never officially built a bridge here, for some reason. What I see ahead of me are some long wood planks put together that fit only one carriage. There aren’t even any railings on the sides.
Either the planks squeak or I imagine that they do when the carriage goes over them. I look down and see the river, deep down within its shallow canyon. The height is not too much from here, but it’s enough to mark a chink on the soil, a true division between human and fae lands.
It might sound funny how I see myself as a human, but it’s how I was raised. Master Otavio always told me that darksouls are human, a bit different perhaps, but the same race. I know that I heard something different in our history classes, but it’s not like we have pointy ears. And we can lie. So that’s why I say us when meaning humans. I know it’s an us to which I don’t really belong, but I don’t think anyone sees themselves as the other. I can’t belong to something unfamiliar, and yet I feel that I belong to a group that would never accept me.
I know. Makes no sense. My solution to avoid thinking about it is to practice, study, memorize facts. Tons of facts. For instance, this river is some ten feet deep, even though it’s so narrow.
