Armannii wasn’t Diomedes’s only friend who had magic in their veins. And after staring at his magic-hating ancestors, Diomedes decided to make a stop to visit some friends before he figured out where the elf had run off to the day before.
The following morning, Diomedes sat at his desk and switched between staring at the horizon out his window and reading the book about dragons opened in front of him. Armannii had given it to him for his twenty-eighth birthday the previous month, and Diomedes had spent half an hour every morning reading it since then. He was almost done.
It’d taken several years for Diomedes to find out about his father’s secret store of magic books, and not long after that, the young prince had learned that his mother had left on a dragon. Since then, he had read every book he could find on the beasts, storing excessive information about something that many authors doubted still existed.
But he had seen one, had felt the wind from its thirty-foot wingspan slap him in the face, had smelled the rancid odor of burnt flesh. They still existed, or they had twenty-four years ago at least.
Diomedes closed the book, having read well past his allotted half an hour. Since his day with Armannii had been cut short, he had made the decision the night before to sneak out for the second day in a row. But he wanted to get an early enough start that nobody would see him this time.
The sun had barely started peeking over the horizon, leaving the sky a light pink as Diomedes slipped out of his room. The guards had passed by a minute earlier, and Diomedes chose a route he knew would be clear of servants and guards.
His footsteps sounded louder than normal, and he scrunched up his nose with each step, only letting out his breath when he reached the portrait hall. The ceilings were higher in this corridor, and on both walls were rows of intricately painted portraits of Diomedes’s royal ancestors.
While he tried to avoid the portrait hall most of the time—it frustrated him to no end that they had replaced the portrait of him with his mother and father with one of his father, stepmother, Ellayne, and him—it was still the easiest way to avoid people.
Diomedes didn’t pay much attention to the portraits until he got to one of his grandfather, King Valryn. He paused in front of the portrait, staring up at a man he’d never met but had heard all about from his tutors. King Valryn’s hair was darker than King Butch’s, but they shared the same angular chin and crooked nose—although Diomedes doubted that was as much inherited as it was from a combat injury. His grandfather sat on an elegant chair with gold details, and King Butch’s mother, Queen Adina, stood behind him with a soft smile on her lips. Diomedes had never met his grandmother since she had died a few weeks after giving birth to their only son.
Behind his grandparents was a map of Phildeterre, a well-placed detail for anyone who knew King Valryn. History books marked him as the king who had united the five kingdoms of Phildeterre—Hwangmee, Hwangdee, Byshan, Haysinlin, and Cyanthia—into one country under the rule of the monarch in Cyanthia: King Valryn.
Diomedes continued down the hallway, glaring at the next portrait. King Kylian, his great-grandfather, stared down at him from where he sat on his throne. His hair was lighter and beginning to gray in the portrait. He, too, carried the Maudit chin that his son, grandson, and great-grandson had. His eyes were cold, lacking the warmth that his wife’s held behind him. Queen Fraya rested a hand on the throne, her posture erect as she wrapped her other arm around a young girl in her teenage years. Two boys stood on either side of the throne, one taller than the other.
It had been the deaths of the eldest son, Ewan, and the oldest child, their daughter, Raylee, that had driven King Kylian to war, especially when their deaths drove his wife insane. But despite creating a war that had wrecked three generations, King Kylian was still looked upon as one of the best kings to ever rule. Diomedes sneered at his great-grandfather.
“You’re wrong,” Diomedes muttered to the portrait. “Magic isn’t evil. It isn’t corrupt. It’s incredible.” He glowered at the portrait, hating that because of his great grandfather, the war began and poisoned the minds of the people. It bothered him that they continued to think of Kylian as a wonderful king, especially since Diomedes could see him for what he was: a coward who was too blind to see the beauty of magic.
Clenching his hands into fists, Diomedes stood in front of Kylian’s portrait for another second before continuing on his way out of the castle.
Armannii wasn’t Diomedes’s only friend who had magic in their veins. And after staring at his magic-hating ancestors, Diomedes decided to make a stop to visit some friends before he figured out where the elf had run off to the day before.
The streets of Cyanthia, the largest city in Phildeterre, buzzed with life as Diomedes passed through. Shops created walls on both sides of the road, most formed from the dark wood of the Black Forest. Closer to the castle, the merchants were bolder, hollering at passersby to inspect their goods, promising they were the best in town.
People in cloaks nodded to Diomedes, and some bowed. Whether it was due to recognition or an understanding of his higher status, he was not sure. Either way, he dipped his head toward them, acknowledging their respect.
Diomedes ignored the merchants, having had his fill of haggling the day before. He walked all the way to the edge of the main street and turned into an alley he had found accidentally a few years back when trying to hide from the royal guards who patrolled the streets. The door at the back was marked Closed, but he pulled on it, releasing a squeak from the old hinges and entered.
Something attacked his legs as soon as he stepped through. It attached itself to him, and Diomedes gripped the doorframe to support himself.
“Prince Dio!” called a little voice from beneath him.
Diomedes laughed and smiled down at the young boy clinging to his legs. He had known the little boy, Theo, since he’d been born. His parents and Diomedes had become fast friends, especially when Diomedes realized that Theo’s father, Forrest, had descended from the dryads. He had denied his connection to magic for a year until Diomedes helped keep their store running when the country went through a drought and he almost lost the fruit and vegetable shop. Diomedes had paid their rent for several months until they could get back on their feet.
“Hi, Theo.” Diomedes crouched down so the boy could give him a proper hug. “You nearly knocked me over.” Diomedes ruffled the child’s frizzy black hair. “Where’s everyone?” He glanced around the dark shop, which was lit with a few candles. The little window at the front of the shop was basically pointless, what with the lack of light that reached the innermost part of the alley.
“Maisy is taking a nap, and Mother is in the back with her.”
“And your father?” Diomedes stood up, tilting his head to get a better look around a shelf full of fresh produce. The room held the faint aroma of mildew, a scent that seemed to be common in the shops farther away from the castle.
Theo’s head drooped, and he fiddled with the hem of his tunic, stroking the frayed ends with his chubby fingers. “They came and took him yesterday.”
Diomedes’s blood ran cold, and he tensed up. “Who took him?”
“The guards. They came in and chained his hands. Mother tried to stop them, but one of them hit her. They took him away and—”
“That’s enough, Theo,” said his mother, Camile. She appeared from behind a curtain at the back of the store, brushing her hands off on her apron. She was close to Diomedes’s age, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. However, the lines on her face and the sag in her shoulders left her looking ten years older. Her auburn hair was tied back with a rag, but a few strands fell down across her face, framing the purple coloring around her right eye. “Your Highness.” She bowed her head, curtsying. “I didn’t think my message got to you.” Camile glanced at Theo, then told him to go to the back. The little boy shook his head. She crossed the room and placed a hand on Theo’s shoulder, pulling him away from Diomedes.
“But, Mother—”
“Hush, Theo. Now go.” She sent him away, waiting until the curtain to the back room stopped moving.
Diomedes clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “What happened? What message?”
Camile remained quiet, her thumb rubbing over her threadbare apron in a compulsive way. After another moment of silence, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Forrest was trying to get medicine for Maisy. She’s had an awful cough for two weeks, but it took a turn for the worse a few days ago. Her skin is pale like a ghost, and she’s not eating anything. Forrest tried healing runes, but they didn’t work, so we took her to the healer. He said there wasn’t anything he could do. The medicine was too expensive for us. Your Highness, Forrest was trying to save her.” Camile squeezed her hands into fists and then relaxed them as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “The healer said she wouldn’t make it much longer without medicine. H-he told us to bring her home and make her comfortable. I-I don’t know what came over my husband.”
“And the message?”
“I thought you might be able to help, so I went to the castle, and they said they’d pass on the message.”
“Who?” Diomedes asked, his voice lower than before, almost a growl.
“I don’t know. A guard.” Camile shook her head, cringing. She raised a calloused hand to her purple cheek.
“What kind of medicine does Maisy need?” Diomedes asked. His mind was racing. The criminal the council had been discussing in the meeting the morning before was Forrest. Camile’s husband. Theo and Maisy’s father. A friend and one of the kindest merchants Diomedes had ever come across.
“It’s a medicine made from kessew root and honey flower. I can’t remember what he called it. But Forrest knew, and he was determined to get it. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Your Highness. My husband is gone, my daughter is sick, and—”
“I’ll find the medicine for you, Camile.” Though his jaw remained clenched, the reason for it switched from outrage to determination.
“Thank you. Thank—”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Diomedes’s gaze flicked to the back room. “How long do I have?” His muscles tightened even further when Camile’s strong façade broke, and she began shaking with a pinched look on her face.
“I don’t know. I don’t—” Her voice was starting to get hysterical, and Diomedes stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Camile, look at me. I will get this medicine, and I’ll find out what’s going on with Forrest. But you need to be strong for Theo and Maisy.”
She nodded, wiping the tears that had come to her eyes. “I know. I know. Thank you.”
Diomedes was halfway to the door when he heard Theo’s voice coming from behind him.
“You’re leaving already?” the young boy asked, gripping his mother’s hand as he came out of the back room.
“I’ll be back,” Diomedes said, pausing to kneel when the boy came up and hugged him. “Be a good boy for your mother.”
With that, he rose to his feet and closed the door behind him, a new sense of urgency in his step. The nearest healer was only a few shops away. Diomedes reached for his pocket, reassuring himself that the coin purse was still there as he opened the door and stepped in to the sound of chiming bells.
“Hello,” said an old man with circular glasses that made his eyes smaller than normal. “How can I help you?”
“I need cough medicine. The kind with—” Diomedes drew a blank when he tried to remember the ingredients Camile had mentioned. “Well, I think it has a root of some sort, and maybe a flower.” He scratched his temple, rolling his eyes internally at his inability to remember the details.
“I have a few different types of cough medicine. How serious is your cough?”
Diomedes raised an eyebrow. “It’s not for me. It’s for my friend’s child. And it’s bad.”
“Well, I have two types, but one of them is more costly.”
“I’ll take it.” Diomedes took the coin purse out of his pocket, letting it clink as he tossed it onto the counter.
The healer opened the pouch. His tiny eyes squinted up at Diomedes after he had moved some of the coins around. “I’m afraid this isn’t enough.”
“How much more do you need?” Diomedes’s mind was already returning to the castle. He was forming a plan to borrow some money from the royal vault.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be more than triple this.”
It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. “Are you serious?”
The old man nodded. “The root used in the medicine is rare and hard to come by, unfortunately.”
Diomedes bit his tongue as he considered his options. “Fine,” he growled, swiping the coin purse out of the healer’s hands. “I’ll be back with more.”
He let the door slam on the way out. Sneaking out of the castle was one thing, but getting into the place where his father kept the money would prove to be an even greater task—one he would need help with. Luckily, he doubted Armannii had anything better to do.
“And here I thought I was the one who liked to take risks. Guess I’m rubbing off on you, huh?” Armannii jabbed Diomedes in the ribs as they walked back from the pub, where Diomedes had found him swindling unsuspecting patrons out of their week’s wages. “I mean, you stepped out in front of the entire street to help that merchant.”
Diomedes hadn’t yet told Armannii why he’d pulled him away from the arm wrestling match he’d been winning.
“I could do something about it, so I did. But that’s—”
“I mean, you probably saved that guy’s life if he really was selling rune-inscribed objects. Although, I doubt he’ll stop. He’ll probably just go off to some other town and—”
“We need to get back to the castle,” Diomedes said before his friend trailed off.
“Because?” Armannii asked, pausing midstep. “Didn’t you just get out of there?”
“Forrest was arrested yesterday. I just went to check on Camile and the children. They need help.”
The elf paused, crossing his arms across his chest. “You mean help getting Forrest out of a cell? Because I’m all for prison breaks, but that doesn’t seem like the wisest idea to me. You don’t need to get into more trouble with your father than you already have in the last few months.”
The disappointment in his father’s eyes during the meeting the previous day came flickering back to Diomedes’s mind, but he shook his head to make it go away.
“Not a jailbreak. More like a robbery.”
Armannii scoffed. “You can’t be serious, Didi. That’s . . . that’s unlike you.”
Diomedes explained his reasoning: their friend’s arrest, Maisy’s sickness, and the overpriced medicine.
“So why not just do what Forrest did, but better? We should steal the medicine.”
Shaking his head, Diomedes frowned. “I thought about that, but they might blame Camile for it. The councilmen already want to have Camile and the children executed with Forrest because of his magic. We don’t want to give them another reason for it.”
“Wait.” Armannii held up a hand. “Your father is going to have Forrest executed?” His voice dropped low, and there was a growl to it.
“Yes,” Diomedes said, his volume matching his friend’s. “At least I assume that’s the decision they made after my father threw me out. And I didn’t go to the meeting today.”
“They’re going to kill Forrest because he has some distant relative who married one of the dryads and he can use rune magic?”
“We can’t let Maisy die too,” Diomedes said, avoiding Armannii’s question, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he couldn’t stand it. “I want to pay for the medicine. Well . . .” He paused, and a sneer crossed his lips. “Actually, I want my father to pay for the medicine.”
“Well, what’s your plan, Didi?”