Hector wandered out the front door of the palace, his hand tucked into his tunic pocket. He knew he should not be playing with the ring hidden there. It was, after all, for Lynnette. If it was lost or damaged, Adina would never forgive him. Yet his thumb could not help but trace his family's crest engraved into the band. The spiked spine of the seahorse and the twirling ribbon banner offered a distraction for his weary mind. It was a gift for the new member of the family, a well-known tradition that the House of Seyward had performed for generations. One that his parents would have doubtless noticed, if everything had gone to plan. But now? Now he was left wandering aimlessly, biding his time until the party. The neighing of horses caught his attention. Six soldiers were mounting horses, the court wizard riding up to meet Hector. “A word, your highness?” the old man asked, his voice more frail than his body.
”Of course Magus Drefaris, what is it you require?” Hector replied, shooting the man one of his famous smiles.
”Please, just Ceneth, your highness. Such formal titles are ill-suited for one such as myself.”
”Of course, Ceneth.”
”If I may be so bold, might I ask a boon of you? Come with us. My guards would benefit from having one such as yourself on the journey, someone who is more learned about the world.”
Hector's smile faltered. Had the wizard taken leave of his senses? "My apologies Ceneth, but I cannot do that. As you have heard, my betrothed-to-be has taken ill. What kind of man would I be, to abandon my future queen when she needs me most?”
”Surely the healers can see to her,” Ceneth countered. “Silverton is but a day's ride from here. You would not be gone long. Plus, it would mean the world to a weary old mage, knowing he had such an accomplished swordsman at his side."
”Surely six of the King's best guards are more than enough for the dangers of the road,” Hector replied. “I am needed here, at the side of my bride.”
The wizard looked around, watching for prying eyes and listening ears. Then leaned in close, his voice low as a breeze as he whispered, “Sire, I worry. I sensed traces of dark magic on the messenger. Now, I know as well as any other how well-trained and able-bodied our guards are. But I also know how insufficient such things are against such properly foul magics. But you? You are a man with a prominent reputation and the trust of the peasantry. You are well-traveled, an accomplished swordsman, and a magic user yourself. For this end, I implore you: reconsider. Join me on this journey. Put the minds of eight fathers at ease.” The remnants of Hector's polite and charming facade fell, leaving only a face of worry and shock. "No, sire," Ceneth continued, answering the unspoken question threatening the prince's lips. "This is not the first maiden to disappear under such foreboding circumstances. With your help though, I hope she will be the last."
Hector searched the man's eyes. Ceneth Drefaris did not appear to be lying, as much as the prince wished he was. He was still hesitant to lend his support. Doing so would mean missing the party, something the two sisters would not easily forgive him for. But then a thought occurred to him: Lynnette. "Is my bride among their numbers?" Hector whispered.
Ceneth smiled. "Astute as ever, your Highness. No, she is not. But neither will you be able to see her. Please, come with me. Once outside the city gates, I will be free to speak upon such matters."
Hector contemplated his dilemma. Skipping the party would not be a good look for him. Lynnette was supposed to be his future bride, the love of his life and the light in his sky. Missing her birthday feast could put the betrothal in jeopardy. Still, it wasn't exactly like she was going to show up to the feast herself. He could use that, to help mitigate the damage. A plan began to form in his mind. “How far is Silverton?” Hector finally asked.
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“One day's ride, half that if you push the horses hard.”
“Ride off without me. I need to grab my things. I will catch up, and then we press the horses hard.” Hector turned and walked back into the castle.
It wasn’t a complete lie. He did need to grab his pack from the guest room. But that was not where he went, not first at least. He climbed the spiral stairs to the top of the tower, up to the dovecote. Caged birds lined the walls of the round room, pigeons and doves cooing softly. At the far side was a pigeon cubby, a wall of boxes used to house homing pigeons from different lands and countries. Hector scanned the boxes, searching. Each box had the country its bird would deliver to written below its opening. With Eladria's silver exports, almost every country would have given them a pigeon. Menoch should be no different. Even if the cult that had invaded Menoch for so many years was not to blame, the King there might know something of use. After all, who better to ask about dark magics than someone who had been dealing with such for the last 17 years? But the box was empty, the inside stained red and the name scratched out. Strange. Hector grabbed the bird for the Isles instead, scrawling a quick note to his father and sending it out the nearby window.
On his way to the stables Hector pulled a guard aside. "Tell my beloved that I am off to gather herbs," he instructed, "When I return I will give her her birthday present, along with a bouquet of echinacea." The guard nodded, leaving immediately in the direction of the dungeons. Curious. Another question for Ceneth, no doubt. Hector rode off to catch up with the wizard, running into him and his entourage at the city gates. True to his word, the mage answered him. Anything Hector asked, Ceneth answered, even when his guards raised their eyebrows.
~
By sunset, Hector and Ceneth were riding into Silverton. A single dirt road wound through the town, up to the silver mine from which it derived its name. The buildings consisted of single-room huts save for two: the tavern and the foreman's home. A large rug was laid out in front of the tavern, goods spread out to entice any passerby. A hooded man named Hunter lay across the tavern's porch railing, relaxing on his back as he whittled a block of wood. "May I interest you in some wares?" Hunter asked, his eyes glued to his work.
Ceneth removed his big floppy wizard's hat from his pocket and placed it upon his head. "I am Ceneth Drefaris, Court Wizard to his Majesty, King Frederick of House Provelle. This here is Prince Hector of House Seyward, from the Eastern Isles of Elchor. We came as soon as we could."
"Hey Parker!" the hooded man shouted. "King's men are here to see ya!"
Out of the tavern came a boy, fourteen years old, with mousy brown hair and dark circles under his eyes. He wore a dirty white apron around his waist, his sleeves rolled up to his elbow and a rag still in his hand.
"Pierce, where's ya da?" Hunter asked.
"He's...busy," Pierce muttered, unable to look him in the eye.
Hunter rolled his eyes. "Drunk, more like. Alright, be a good lad and watch the shop for me, will ya? Alfie will have my hide if he misses a sale 'cause of me."
"But Hunter, I can-"
"Ye will be helpin', Pierce. Ye'll be watchin' the shop until I get back, ye hear?"
Pierce scowled, then closed his eyes and sighed, resigned to his fate. "Alright, Hunter," Pierce whispered, "I'll watch it for ya."
"Aye, good lad!" Hunter grabbed Pierce's head and planted a kiss on the boy's forehead, then hopped to the ground. He let out a loud whistle as he mounted one of the horses in front of the tavern. "Parker's place is just over yonder," he told Ceneth, nudging his head up the dirt road running through town. "The tracks end in a weird spot though. I can guide you there when needed." An old hunting hound came barrelling over, long ears flopping in the wind. "Good boy, Christopher," Hunter cooed from atop his horse, throwing down a treat from his pocket. The dog caught it midair, its tail wagging with joy.
Hector looked back as they rode off. Pierce was sitting on the steps to the tavern, his elbows sat on his knees as he stared at the ground. Then he winced, clutching the side of his head. But the boy shook off whatever the pain was, staring at the ground once more.