County Wycliffe
Q picked at his pastry, half-listening to his family’s whispers around the table. He hadn’t been paying attention, but something in their tone shifted, catching his interest.
Mages are getting sick? But can’t the healers use their gifts to cure them?
He shifted in his chair, leaning closer to hear their discussion. “It’s something new. The healers have never seen it before. It starts like a common cold, and for those without the Gift, that’s all it is. They recover in a few days. But those of us with magic, it’s different. The latest findings are that if you don’t improve within the first month, you may never recover.”
Popping a piece of his pastry into his mouth, Q couldn’t help thinking, I’m glad Grandfather Henry isn’t a mage if that’s spreading where he is.
Q’s grandfather noticed his eavesdropping and scowled at him, waving his hand to halt the conversation. “If we wanted you to hear this boy, we’d have talked louder.”
Q ducked his head and asked, “Then can I please be excused? I’m done eating.” At his father’s nod, Q darted away from the table. Instead of running upstairs, he hid on the other side of the doorway and hoped they would speak louder if they thought he was gone.
“That child is too curious for his own good,” commented Julian.
“I’m sure you were the same, dear. My daughter certainly was,” Nadine Wycliffe said with a knowing smile.
Q’s mother, Katherine or Kat, scoffed at her mother, “I was the picture of perfection, mother. Surely you remember—or is your memory starting to slip?”
Q grinned to himself, but he was glad to hear his grandfather return them to the previous topic.
“As I was saying, some mages are catching the sickness, and it’s draining their magic—at least, that’s how they describe it. Each day, they grow weaker until their gift runs dry. The physical symptoms worsen. The cough fills their lungs with fluid and pus. Eventually, it drowns them. Over a hundred have already died,” said Ed gravely.
100 mages! Q wasn’t sure how many mages there were in Rivenna, but he knew they were rare.
He overheard his mother say, “Julian, we may want to stay with my parents for the next few months. I know you have business in the capital, but it doesn’t feel safe to travel.”
“I wanted to take Q to see my father, but with him being called into the field, that’s out of the question. We will stay here, where I know you’ll be safe, my dear.” Julian replied.
Q had heard enough and quietly slipped away. I was looking forward to that trip… but maybe I can get grandfather or grandmother to use their Gift for me!
Q raced up the stairs to change into his outdoor clothes. There was no way they were going to use magic inside the house.
*****
CRASH!
The heavy wooden door flew open, slamming into the shelving with a bang. Quick footsteps followed as Duke Alistair Wyndham, Minister of the Interior, sat in a high leather-backed chair, staring at the fireplace’s low burning coals.
A man who wouldn’t be in the Duke’s home unless disaster had struck, knelt at his side.
“We have been discovered, your Grace.”
“How did it happen and how much was exposed?” Asked the Duke in an even tone.
The man hesitated. “We do not know for certain, your Grace. One of our men disappeared three nights ago. With his type, it isn’t uncommon, so it was only brought to our attention yesterday. Today, we learned two more have gone missing—associates of the first. We believe the Crown has caught a thread and they are pulling to see what it unravels.”
Silence stretched between them—one seated, one kneeling, both contemplating how to survive their discovery.
“We need someone to point the investigation toward. The Lord Marshal is sitting upright on his high horse, sent to save the prince. I think it’s time he is humbled. Here is what I want you to do…” The Duke gave his instructions, detailing who to hire. The man bowed and retreated from the room.
Duke Alistair rose from his chair and made his way to his desk. Unstopping a bottle of ink, he sharpened his quill, pulled out a small red book hidden in the drawer, and flipped to the current code. After writing a short missive, he tugged the servant’s cord, instructing a runner to deliver it at first light. There was no reason to alarm anyone by sending a message in the dead of night.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
*****
County Wycliffe
Settlement near Count Wycliffe’s Estate
Q ran through the falling rain, laughing as he danced and spun in circles. It had taken him a week to convince his grandfather to call a rainstorm. In truth, it was a plea for water from a nearby settlement suffering an unexpected draught. Count Edmund had been ready to give in, and this gave him the perfect excuse.
That splash was HUGE! I wonder if grandfather can freeze the puddle. Q thought, laughing. Pure joy ringing in his voice.
“Come along before you get too muddy. I need to dry you off, or you’ll ruin the carriage—the Countess will never let me hear the end of it.” With a flick of his grandfather’s fingers and a quick manipulation of air and water, Q was dry. He knocked the dried mud from his boots and hurried to his grandfather’s side. They climbed into the carriage, the household guard forming up around them, and set off for the estate.
Approaching the house, Q noticed an unfamiliar carriage parked at their gate. Passing through the an area that should have been guarded, Q couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling he felt starting in his belly.
Yelling echoed through the open doorway. Stopping just before they reached the front steps, Ed gripped Q’s shoulder and said, “Son, go straight to your room once inside. Do you understand?” He could feel the tension in his grandfather’s grip and could only nod his head. Peering at the men around them, he could almost feel their uncertainty as they followed his grandfather into the house.
Entering the reception area, Q saw that it was filled with uniformed men. Arranged in a semi-circle around three figures facing his parents and grandmother, flanked by their household guard.
“Go, son, upstairs,” grandfather whispered, pushing Q towards the stairs. Turning, he addressed the room, “What is the meaning of this? Who dares invade a Count’s home?” His voice cutting through the noise and silencing the room. The guards he’d had with him fanning out to block the room’s exits.
Q sprinted up the stairs but halted at the top, lying on his stomach. He peered through the railings at the scene below.
Who are these people, and what do they want? Thought Q, biting his lip and white knuckling the railing balusters.
The three men, and Q could clearly see they were all men from his current vantage, turned to face his grandfather. Ed did not recognize their faces, but the brooch pinned to the center man’s chest was unmistakable. The Office of Inquisition. He’d never dealt with their agents personally but from what he’d heard, they rarely brought good news.
The man must have seen the recognition on Ed’s face because his tone held satisfaction when he spoke. “Good, this should go easier now. By order of His Royal Majesty, King Frederick. We are here to arrest Earl Julian Ashford for the crime of high treason against his Majesty.”
Stunned silence followed the announcement, broken only by Q’s muffled gasp from the landing above. Treason! Father? That’s impossible. Why would they even think that? Thoughts raced through his mind, chaotic and jumbled as he tried to make sense of the situation.
All eyes shifted to the accused, but the confusion on his face was clear.
“Treason against the crown? Are you mad?” Julian’s shock loosening his tongue.
The man ignored the outburst, instead he waved his hand for his men to continue with the arrest.
“There has been a mistake. I have no reason to commit treason!” argued Julian, stepping back as Kat clutched his arm.
Q took a death grip on the railings, his knuckles white, and his arms shaking. No! they can’t take him.
“That is not for me to decide, my lord. My orders are to place you under arrest and search your home for additional evidence of treason. As a member of the Peerage, you are entitled to a public hearing, where all evidence will be presented and you may argue your case before the king.” The agent explained.
“You are going to have to go with them, Julian. He is from the Office of Inquisition, and they have the authority to arrest nobles. Their warrants come directly from the King.” said Ed. Addressing the agent, he asked, “Do you have a copy of the writ?”
“Of course,” reaching under his cloak, the man produced a folded wax-sealed packet. He passed it to the man beside him, who handed it to Ed. Examining the seal—indeed the King’s mark—He broke it and read aloud.
The Office of Inquisition has been dispatched with this writ for the arrest of Earl Julian Ashford on accusation of the crime of high-treason against the crown. A plot to murder the royal family has been discovered with sufficient evidence presented to his Royal Majesty to authorize the following:
The arrest of Earl Julian Ashford, the search of his lands, and the seizure of any evidence offering proof of either innocence or guilt.
By His Majesty’s Command, King Frederick the Grand
At the bottom, the writ bore the royal family’s wax signet, confirming its authenticity.
“It’s signed by the King, Julian. You must go with them to the capital. We will get to the bottom of this farce. I will write to your father immediately and ride the winds myself if I must.”
Julian’s face, flushed with anger moments before, took on a grey pallor. He turned and kissed his wife. Leaning close, he whispered into her ear, “My love, don’t follow me to the capital. Stay here with our son. Promise me.”
She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. He kissed her hands one last time before turning to the assembled men.
Q leapt to his feet and sprinted down the stairs. His father strode across the room, making it halfway before Q crashed into him with a full body hug. “NO! You can’t take him. He did nothing wrong!”
Julian lifted his son and held him tightly for a moment before passing him to his grandfather. Ed stepped forward with arms outstretched. He leaned down, kissed Q’s head, and whispered, “Take care of your mother until I get back. Can you do that for me?”
Tears wet Q’s eyes as he nodded jerkily, fighting to hold them back.
Julian straightened and continued across the hall, the inspector’s men forming up around him.
Q’s last sight of his father was of him walking out the front doors, head held high.