Chapter 23 Safety

They wanted us to be more dangerous for humans. Mistakes were made, especially at first. Some of the experiments on us turned out horrifically. – Prince Eater #34

When they reached The Exiled Soldier, Alec burst through the kitchen door, letting it bang behind him. In answer to the question on Kenzie’s shocked face, he said, “They were trying to sell him.”

Alec didn’t pause for her reply but took the stairs two at a time. Fia lingered in the kitchen to see if any food or snacks would be offered, but when Kenzie wrapped up a plate and started up after Alec, Fia contentedly followed along after her.

Pushing open the attic room door, Alec found Jon resting on the bed with his eyes closed and Erienne still knitting. She gasped when she saw the boy in Alec’s arms. Hearing her, Jon sat upright, and then cried out in alarm, “Seán! What happened?”

“Gunnar sold him,” Alec snarled. “Fia and I just happened along in time.”

“Are you okay?” Jon asked as he rose unsteadily, grabbed the phoenix cane, and hobbled over.

The boy met his brother’s eyes, wiped his nose with the sleeve of Alec’s borrowed shirt, and murmured, “You really are alive.”

“Here, put him on the bed. Let’s be sure he hasn’t been hurt,” Jon insisted. “Erienne, would you help please.”

“Of course,” she said, setting her knitting to one side.

They quickly got Seán under the covers and, even though he still wore Alec’s shirt, the boy anchored the blankets up around his neck before regarding Jon and Alec in relief. Jon rested one hand on Seán’s shoulder for a long moment, reluctant to let go. Finally, he moved to the upholstered chairs, where he sat heavily and began muttering incoherently.

Kenzie’s scratch on the door caught their attention and when she entered Fia trotted at her heels. She set the plate of food she’d hastily prepared on a small table and said, “The poor lad. I can’t believe the dregs of humanity in this city. I’ll bring up something for him to drink, and I’ll look through my boys’ outgrown clothes to see if there’s something that will fit him well enough. How old are you, Lad?”

“Eleven,” Seán answered softly. “Almost twelve. My tutor says that on Earth, I’d be thirteen by now.”

“Kenzie, this is Jon’s brother,” Alec explained as he rolled a slice of ham around a chunk of hard cheese. “His name is Seán.”

“Holdingfree,” Seán added, the sadness thick in his voice.

Alec reassured him with a smile and handed him the ham and cheese.

“Oh dear,” Kenzie said, the shock returning. She slid over to the bed and ruffled the boy’s hair between her fingers. “I’ll bring up clippers and trim up your hair so that the length matches and this missing patch isn’t so noticeable.” Her hand paused in the air and then dropped to the boy’s shoulder tenderly as if she was resisting the urge to give Seán a motherly hug. “Don’t you worry, Seán. Good people have found you. You’ll be safe here with us. I’ll send word to my niece that you’re here. They’ll come straight away.”

“Who’s your niece?” Alec inquired curiously as he prepared more cheese and ham slices for Seán.

“Annie, of course,” the tall, blond-haired woman replied. Her blue eyes smiled at him as she added, “Tom works with children like Seán. Orphaned. Abused. Trafficked.” With that she hurried from the room, shutting the door shut behind her firmly so that they were assured of privacy.

Alec turned back to Seán and cautioned, “Until we know more about what’s going on, I need you to stay inside our room here. I don’t want those two procurers to discover where you are and steal you again. They’ll do it, too, if they find you. They aren’t decent human beings.”

“It stinks in here,” Seán complained, scrunching his nose.

“That’s me,” Jon spoke up. “I have to smear stinky stuff on my face to help it heal. If I don’t, I may turn out so hideous that no one will ever love me. It’s in that red jar on the table next to you.”

“Oh,” Seán said as he wiggled around to inspect the red jar and the blue vial. He took the red jar from the table, twisted off the lid, peeked in, and then slammed the lid back on as he choked and coughed. Erienne took the jar from him, made sure the lid was on tightly, and returned it to the table. She refilled the small water glass Jon used and let the boy drink from it. When he calmed down, he took several deep breaths, and said, “I’m glad I don’t have to wear that stuff.”

The others burst into laughter, and Jon suggested, “Healer Callahan should be coming by tomorrow, so if you have questions about it I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer them. He’s a smart man who seems to enjoy sharing his knowledge.”

“Oh,” Seán said again, this time intrigued. “I like learning about how to heal things. I hope father will let me be a healer someday since I’ll never be king.” He settled back on the bed, breathing in and out as if appreciating the red-jar-free air and then added, “I’ll love you no matter what you look like, Jon. I’m happy you’re not dead.”

Erienne grinned at the two brothers while Alec covered his smirk with the back of his hand.

“Thank you,” Jon accepted good-naturedly. “I love you, too.”

Seán smiled as he settled back on the bed.

“Do you hurt anywhere, Seán?” Alec asked as he donned a shirt to replace the one he had given to Seán.

The boy shook his head, and then changed his mind and said, “Where they held me. My arms. One of them was going to slap me but the really fat one wouldn’t let him. He said not to mark up the merchandise. Why did he say that, Jon?”

“They, well, they wanted you to look pretty because they wanted to sell you.”

“I don’t understand. I’m too skinny to do much work if someone bought me to dig or carry things or something.”

“Remember the problems we had with the old potter back at the castle?”

“The one father sentenced to life in prison?” the boy asked. His face brightened with understanding and then fell unhappily. “Oh. They wanted to sell me to someone like the old potter. Oh. I’m glad you found me in time, Alec.”

“I am, too,” Alec agreed kindly. “That’s why I asked you not to leave the room when you’re alone. Make sure I’m here to go with you, or use the night chamber pot. Jon can’t protect you right now. He wants to, with all his heart, but he’s too hurt right now, so you’ll have to wait for me to be around. I’m sorry. But I don’t want those men to get you again.”

“I don’t want that either,” Seán agreed.

Thumping at the door got their attention, and when Alec answered, Craig and Rory stood outside with another cot, blankets, wall hooks, rings, and chains. As Alec stepped aside so they could pass by, he searched the room wondering where another cot would fit.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“There’s room for it,” Craig said laughing at the look on Alec’s face. He set the cot down and walked over to Seán. “I heard what happened to you, Son. You need to be careful. Don’t wander around outside by yourself. Not until we’re sure those unclaimeds are gone. If Alec isn’t around and you need to answer to nature, come get me first. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, sir,” Seán answered with embarrassment. “Um, thank you, sir.”

Craig and Rory busied themselves with installing Seán’s cot over Alec’s in the style of ships’ bunks. They tested it by having Rory jump in and out of it half a dozen times.

“That will work,” Craig announced confidently. “Do you gentlemen have any weapons the lad can carry on him? A stout knife maybe?”

“Um, no,” Alec replied mentally sorting through their possessions. “Wait, he could wear mine.”

“Let me check Kenzie’s storage room,” Craig said. “There’s always things like that left behind by our guests. She saves everything. I think it’s because she lost so much, but I admit it’s a trait I envy.”

Craig reached down and patted Seán’s arm in the same manner that Kenzie had. As he and Rory walked out, Kenzie entered with several articles of clothing and a pitcher of lemonade. Alec took the pitcher from her hands and set it on the table.

“These look like they will fit you all right,” she said to Seán as she piled clothes on the bed. From the large pocket of her apron, she retrieved three more glasses which she handed to Alec for him to set out.

“Thank you, Aunt Mackenzie,” Jon said, his smile genuine. “I assume that you are our father’s sister who disappeared.”

“You and Seán look so much like your father when he was young,” she said nostalgically. “I’ll tell you the entire story someday.” With that, she winked and withdrew.

Halfway down the stairs, Kenzie stopped, clutched the railing, and dipped her head toward her right shoulder.

“Mama?” Rory and Callen called up to her.

When she didn’t reply, Craig shooed both of his sons away, saying, “Rory, see if anyone’s in the pub, and if they are, get them ale or whatever they’re looking to drink. Callen, you need to check the kitchen over to be sure that everything is ready for the morning. I don’t want your mother to be doing something at the last minute.”

“But Rory always helps clean the kitchen,” Callen protested.

“I’ll do all your kitchen chores tomorrow,” 20-year-old Rory offered as his eyes met Craig’s, and the innkeeper nodded slightly in appreciation. Rory met his brother’s eyes and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Come on.”

Craig hesitated, sighed, and mounted the steps to look for his wife. He was certain that he knew why she had stopped and wasn’t surprised to find her in tears. He paused beside her and studied his wife. When she shifted her shoulders to admit his presence, he embraced her without speaking.

YEAR 354 - COURTYARD OF THE CASTLE IN HILLTOWN

Ciaran, a member of the Kings Guards pressed Princess Mackenzie against the wall and gently kept one hand covering her mouth as he whispered, “When we run, run as hard as you can. Don’t waste time screaming or looking back. My friend Craig is outside the main gate. He’ll get us to safety.”

Even under duress, his clear blue eyes and black hair mesmerized her. Princess Mackenzie blinked her eyes in alarm but held her silence while he peered around the edge of the wall to survey the Courtyard.

“They’re already out there,” Ciaran continued. “They haven’t spotted us yet, but I can see them. Someone must have found out about us and told them. Figgict. Okay. Run toward the small gate that leads to the practice yard outside the bailey. It’s closer.”

Mackenzie moved her lips to ask, “Craig?”

“No,” Ciaran shook his head. “He isn’t at that gate. He won’t meet us there. But we can’t make it to the main gate. We’ll have to fend for ourselves. Are you ready?” She nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Count of three. One. Two—”

She charged into the Courtyard toward the main gate. Within seconds he’d caught up with her, taken her hand, and together they ran faster. Crossbow bolts riddled the Courtyard around them. One grazed the back of her shoulder. She stumbled but Ciaran kept her on her feet, and they ran until his weight crumpled into her. Instinctively she turned toward him. Half a dozen crossbow bolts had plunged through the back of his head and out his face, punching out both his eyes and mangling his cheeks. Blood gushed from his mutilated face. Another half a dozen bolts jutted through his back and out his chest. The tall guardsman collapsed across her, pinning her to the ground.

“You unclaimeds!” Prince Harrison’s bellow filled the Courtyard. “You’re a disgrace to the Crown. You’re a disgrace to all of us!”

The slamming of the hard heels on the 19-year-old prince’s boots echoed across the Courtyard as he ran to where Princess Mackenzie lay trapped under the body of the man she loved. Behind him ran a muscular youth, Gil Braeford, who stood at least a full head and shoulders taller than Prince Harrison with twice the prince’s girth.

Gil raced straight to Kenzie while Prince Harrison stretched out his arms, danced a lively jig that blocked the view of his sister, and taunted, “Shoot me, you unclaimeds. You murdered an unarmed man and attacked a princess. Why not go for me? Shoot me! Ha! Killing the Last Prince! Now that’s something to brag about!”

Behind the jeering youth, Gil Braeford instructed the princess, “I’ll move him so you can pull yourself out.” Kenzie didn’t respond. Gil looked up to get assistance from Prince Harrison and found Novitiate Ava O’Connor at his side.

Ava peered into Gil’s dark blue eyes and said as she grasped Kenzie’s arm, “Go ahead. I’ll pull her out.”

The nimble prince smiled at Ava, tossed his long hair with a flip of his forehead, curled his arms in, snapped them back out, and shouted at the Royal Archers, “Go ahead. Shoot the Last Prince. You’d better kill me now. Once I know your names, you’ll all be executed.” He paused his heckling to pirouette three times in one direction, and then skip back, all designed to distract the Royal Archers from the others. “Well? I thought you were brave. I’m right here. Shoot me.”

A crossbow bolt wedged into the ground only a few centimeters from Prince Harrison’s right foot. Instead of stepping away from it, he leaned forward and exaggerated his inspection of the bolt, and then jeered, “Oh-ho-ho. Someone isn’t a very good shot. And not very clever.”

Before the insult was finished, the Royal Archer who had shot the bolt fell from the Courtyard wall, a sword lodged in his back.

“Stand down,” Gráinne Most Revered called out as she, Mentoring Priest Nell, and the Royal Scribe emerged from the perimeter. Turning to the Scribe she directed, “Prepare the revised Writ immediately and send it out.” Once the Scribe hurried off, Gráinne shouted across the Courtyard, “You’ve won today, Last Prince, but not forever.”

“Yes, forever,” said King Tiernan from the Courtyard wall. “Execute her. Her petty refusal of their love risked the life of my only surviving son.”

Nell glanced at King Tiernan, seized the Most Revered’s arm to snatch off her bracelets, then ran toward a doorway behind them. As she reached the exit, crossbow bolts swarmed from every direction, slaying Gráinne Most Revered.

Prince Harrison looked toward his bent, horn-damaged father. He took Kenzie from Gil’s arms, and instructed, “Both of you, run to him and kneel to show your allegiance and loyalty. Quickly. Tell him that I ordered you to do this and you couldn’t refuse to obey the Last Prince. Go. Go. Go.”

Without waiting to see whether they followed his advice, Prince Harrison raced toward the main gate. In his arms, his sister lay awake but unmoving, stunned from the shock of seeing Ciaran die. No one in the crowd outside the gate came forward to assist Prince Harrison. Instead, the crowd pushed each other backward as if being too near would put them in jeopardy. He looked around urgently searching for an open path, an outlet, any place that could offer his sister safety.

“Prince Harrison!” a voice he didn’t know called out. A dark young man about the age of Ciaran rode forward on an old chestnut mare that had seen several better days. “Over here.”

“That’s Craig,” the princess murmured.

The young man reached out his arms to take Princess Mackenzie onto the horse, so Prince Harrison ran to him, hoisted Kenzie higher, and helped slide her in front of the rider. Harrison held Kenzie’s hand for a moment before releasing it reluctantly. He ripped an insignia brooch from his silk clothing, and gave it to Craig, saying, “She’s with child. Protect them with your life.”

“With my life,” Craig Docherty responded, and then pressed the old chestnut mare into a gallop.

Prince Harrison watched them disappear into the streets of Hilltown, eyed the gawking crowd fiercely, and exclaimed, “I ask for your silence. If you know his name or where he lives, please forget both. Please, for the sake of the man my sister loved.”

“That’s so romantic,” a woman somewhere in the crowd responded, and the crowd moved farther backward and began to quietly disperse.

Spinning on his heels, the prince straightened his clothing, smoothed back his hair, and marched formally through the castle gate, across the Courtyard, and up to his father. He dropped to one knee to show his fealty and his father responded, “I hope she is able to live a long, happy life.” Holding up his hand to keep Prince Harrison from speaking, King Tiernan added, “It’s a figgict good thing for you that you’re the Last Prince.”

©2022 Vera S. Scott