Jack patted his young chestnut horse on the
neck as he snorted at the rushing river Alpin.
“Easy, now, Avery.” As his mother had
predicted, the lords of Sunderland had been kind. Old Lord Wallace at
Hemmington had even gifted Jack this mostly unbroken colt, a three-year-old
chestnut named Avery, meaning wise ruler in the old language. His sire had
been one of Sunderland’s fastest horses years ago and his dam was smart and
spirited. The colt jumped to the side again and rolled his eyes. He was itching
for a run. Jack checked him yet again. It would take this horse some time to
live up to his name. He squinted into the setting sun. At least they were
almost there.
As dusk fell, long turrets rose up to meet the
horizon. Guards led them through the outer gate and back toward Karfin, which sat
up high against the white mountain. The Alpin river circled in front of the
castle, wrapping around its front like a blue-green snake. Few villagers paid
attention as they wove through the dusty path. A woman swept the porch of a
shop while a blacksmith closed his door for the night. Cows mooed in the
distance as the farmers threw out the evening hay. It was all so ordinary. Yet
so foreign. Everything depended on this reception. They dismounted at the
lowered drawbridge. Servants came for their horses while others lit torches
outside two enormous doors at the top of a long set of stone steps.
Avigail strode with sure steps across the
wooden bridge. Jack stayed a half-stride behind her, his hand on his hilt.
“I am Queen Avigail of Oclen, and we’re here to
see the king,” Avigail announced as they paused before the two guards.
One guard glanced at Jack’s hand. “Very well,
but you’ll have to disarm before you go before His Majesty.”
Jack’s grip tightened. No. Blood ran
from his face.
The guard held out his hand for the sword.
Avigail nodded. “It’s all right, Son. We’re safe.”
Jack’s heart pounded as he clenched the
sword’s hilt. How quickly one of these guards could strike. In one swing they
could impale his mother, just like his father. His brothers. He stumbled back,
panting. Oh gods I’m going to faint. One of the Hemmington guards,
Reimar, rested a strong hand across his back. “Let the prince keep his sword.
He’s been to Hades and back. I’ll vouch for him.” His gaze met Avigail’s.
The Karfin guard’s eyes widened. He searched
behind them, presumably for the rest of their party.
“They’re not coming,” Jack said through his teeth, the guard’s hand steady on his back, kindness in his touch. Jack forced air into his lungs, drew his sword and handed it to Reimar. “It’s just us. We mean no harm.” The world stopped spinning.
Jack didn’t know what kind of ice ran through
his mother’s veins that she didn’t break down right there, but she looked as
though she could walk through fire. And maybe she would, he realized with a
jolt. For him, her only living son.
The guard lowered his head. “I meant no
disrespect, but I must follow orders.”
“Of course. Prince John understands.” His
mother’s voice rang out, like she was proud of him. Proud? He’d nearly
passed out.
Chains clanked behind them as men raised the
massive drawbridge for the night. Gears squealed and Jack felt like someone was
tightening a cord around his chest. Now they couldn’t escape if they needed to.
A long aisle stretched down to a raised dais
holding an empty chair. After a few minutes a man walked in, a dark cloak
flowing behind him. “Queen Avigail, what an unexpected surprise.”
He trotted down the stairs and kissed her
cheek. He offered his hand to Jack. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lord
Seamus, right-hand to the king.”
“And I’m Prince John.” His voice faltered. Was
he even a prince?
Seamus’s quick gaze shot to Avigail, who gave
him a frozen smile. “We need to speak to the king.”
“It’s urgent?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Seamus signaled to a servant to send word to
the king. He glanced at Reimar, then to Jack’s empty sheath. “Is that the
prince’s sword?” He winked at Jack. “Return it.”
He handed Jack his sword.
Jack twirled it once in his hand and slid it
into his sheath on his hip. At once his shoulders relaxed.
Seamus smiled. “I thought so. You can’t
separate a man from his sword.”
A side door creaked open and an older man
ambled in. He raised his eyebrows at Avigail and shuffled over. “My dear, so
nice to see you.” He kissed her cheek and glanced at Jack.
Avigail held out her hand, “my son.” Her lower
lip quivered.
Jack bowed.
King Vilipp frowned. “Come and sit.” They
walked toward a table with twelve chairs. “Are you hungry? I can send for
food.”
“No, thank you.”
Jack’s stomach dropped when he pulled out a
chair. This room reminded him of his father’s council room. The heavy wooden
furnishings, the fireplaces large enough to walk in, the tapestries and the oil
paintings of landscapes and ancestors riding great steeds. He bit the inside of
his cheek and glanced up to find Seamus watching him.
“Avigail, what can I do for you? You were
always kind to my Adelaide.”
“Yes, we were friends.” His mother inhaled and swallowed. Quick words fell from her lips as she explained the coup against her family. Seamus rose and retrieved a napkin when tears finally rolled down her cheeks as she described how quickly her other sons had been killed.
“It happened in a blink. If it hadn’t been for
John, I would have been killed as well.”
“Father said to protect Mother and run. So I
did.” But I wish I’d stayed and fought.
Seamus’s gaze fell steady on him as if he
could read his mind. “You did well, son.”
The king reached forward and touched her hand.
“I’m so sorry. The day Adelaide died, everything changed for me. I can’t
imagine what you’re going through. Anything you need, name it, and it’s yours.”
“I want their heads.” Jack blurted out.
“John.” She squeezed his hand. “Revenge never
brought anyone back.”
Jack snapped his hand back.
“I choose to believe there is still good in
this world.” His mother’s eyes filled with tears.
Vilipp glanced to his advisor.
Seamus leaned forward. “Are you asking us to
march to Oclen, young prince? We had a treaty with your father in case of
foreign invaders, but not this, I’m afraid.”
Jack leaned back in his seat. Yes? No? What
would his father have him say? He forced his dry tongue to work. “I am now the
rightful king of Oclen. If I had an army, I would avenge my family and take
back the kingdom.”
“No. Enough men have died. And I won’t have my
last son ride to war. He’s not of age to make that demand. We only ask for a
place to live in exile.” Avigail’s chin dropped, her strength spent. “Please.”
Her gaze rested with Vilipp.
Exile. Humiliation. Jack pressed his lips
together. They’d live here forever, and Lord Ingvar would get away with it. It
wasn’t right.
“And what of the treaty?” Jack asked, heat
climbing up his neck. “Will you uphold it with that traitor Ingvar?”
King Vilipp glanced at Seamus who shook his
head. “No. I’ll have word sent to Ingvar that our treaty is void.”
Avigail squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do. Live here freely, as
one of us.” Vilipp rose. “Seamus, see that rooms are prepared. It’s past time I
retire for the evening.”
Avigail and Jack stood and bowed.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Avigail whispered.
Jack’s heart sank. With those words, his
mother had allied with another land. They were never going back. He touched the
hilt of his sword.
Seamus walked them out and instructed servants
to prepare rooms, clothes and baths. He kissed Avigail’s hand. “Welcome to
Sunderland, truly.” He bowed his head to Jack. “And John, spar with me
tomorrow.” His dark eyes dropped to Jack’s hip. “That’s a nice sword. I’ll look
forward to seeing what you can do with it.”
Jack raised his chin. “You can call me Jack.”
Not prince. Not king. Just Jack.
“I’ll see you in the morning, then Jack.”
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