The descending sun lacquered the Adal harbor in crimson and orange light. From his place at one of the high windows in his library, Prince Hayden watched ships sail slowly into the harbor, accompanied by playful dolphins that rode the slow-treading bow waves. Dwellings clung to the cliff walls on either side of the harbor, their walking paths snaking down the worn rock like ribbons in a woman’s hair. The white-washed walls of houses gleamed in the dying light, and lanterns flickered to life amidst the rise of shadows.
The young prince ignored the picturesque scene before him. He’d viewed it a thousand times, and its glory was lost on him. Instead, he looked beyond the harbor, to the vast sea that swelled with the rising tide and the coming of nightfall. There, past the horizon and out of his reach, were the shipping lanes that provided wealth and riches untold to the neighboring kingdom of Berberi. Hayden’s hands clenched into fists. Those shipping lanes rightfully belonged to the kingdom of Castagher, and if she had the martial power Berberi did, Hayden would wrest them from Berberi by force.
His hands relaxed. There were other ways to gain back what was lost, ways that didn’t require war and bloodshed. He had no wish to be the king his father had been, bankrupting his country to finance wars that only weakened Castagher in the end.
A polite knock at the door signaled his awaited visitor had arrived. “Enter,” he called.
Dradus, Castagher’s highest ranking mage and Hayden’s most trusted advisor, bowed briefly. His sly gaze lit on the prince before passing over the new texts he’d sent from the library of a mage condemned for heresy.
“I see you received my gifts, Sire.”
Hayden turned away from the window to face him. “I did. They are fine indeed. I’ve only had a chance to browse through one of them so far.” He waved his hand as if to brush off the topic. “That is unimportant. What have you discovered?”
Dradus rubbed his palms together. “It is as the servant said. Old Varn’s mistress didn’t disappear. She simply moved to the Borders. Folks from three of the nearby towns said a red-haired witch named Niamh traded with them at market day. The older ones remember her carrying a baby, always swaddled, that she let no one touch or see.”
“Varn’s daughter.”
“I’m almost sure of it.”
Hayden scowled. “You need to be absolutely certain, Dradus. I want the girl found and brought back here. If she’s Varn’s offspring, then I will have rightful access to those shipping lanes.”
Dradus hesitated in delivering his next bit of news. “My scouts think they’ve found the home where the witch lives. A hovel away from the main road and even the cattle path. The villagers say two women live there, but both are old.”
“Sounds like the wrong hovel then.”
The mage shook his head. “Not necessarily. Niamh possessed strong magic and could manipulate illusion. She might have magicked the girl to look like a crone. It’s said one of them always wore gloves and refused to touch anything offered to her in the market.”
Hayden closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was more conjecture in Dradus’s story than real information, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances and lose a scent. For almost thirty years, Niamh had managed to avoid capture by both Dradus and his father. That she hadn’t already slipped through his fingers surprised him. “Any of your scouts mages like you?”
“Only one and no match for a witch of Niamh’s skill.” Dradus executed a small bow. “With your permission, I can ride there with a small troop and bring the girl back to you if she proves to be Varn’s.”
Hayden arched a skeptical eyebrow. “It takes a troop of soldiers and a mage-adept to bring in an old woman and a girl?”
Dradus’s features smoothed into an expressionless mask. “Think of it more as a powerful witch and her trained apprentice, Sire.”
The mage had a point. “Fine. Take as many soldiers as you deem necessary. I want her captured and brought to me.”
“Sire, rumor has it she may be cursed or diseased.”
Hayden shrugged. “I don’t care if she’s half eaten with leprosy. I need only prove she’s Varn’s daughter and my betrothed and those shipping lanes are mine.”
Dradus bowed low and backed out of the room, leaving Hayden alone with his thoughts once more. A dying nursemaid who had sought to unburden her soul in hopes of redemption had been an unexpected boon for him. Varn’s daughter and his dead aunt’s child. He wondered briefly whom she might resemble then shrugged the thought away. It mattered little. She was a child of Berberi and Castagher, and the means by which Hayden intended to extract just due from his neighbor.