Magebane (29 page)

Vinthor gave him an irritated look, then nodded to Karl. “Eat, if you're hungry.”

The expected after-show reception having failed to materialize, Karl
was
hungry, but the pain in his feet made it impossible to eat. “No, thanks,” he said, voice strained. “But I will take that wine.” He grabbed the goblet and took a large mouthful, prepared for something pretty vile, but pleasantly surprised to find it quite good. Not that he cared—it was the alcohol he wanted, hoping it might dull his increasing agony.

“The Healer will be here shortly,” Vinthor said. “Perhaps then.” He nodded toward the back room. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable lying down while you wait. And as I find I have lost my appetite,” he gave a significant look to the oblivious Jopps, who was chewing with his mouth open, “I will see if I can contact the Patron. And then, Prince Karl, Heir Apparent to the Keys and the Kingdom of Evrenfels, we will see what is to be done with you.”

He got up and disappeared back into the kitchen. Jopps kept eating, but his eyes followed Karl as he got to his feet, drained the rest of his wine in one long draft, and then limped, gasping with each step, into the next room. There he lay down, gaining some slight measure of relief when he lifted his feet from the floor. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he waited for the Healer . . . and his fate.

Lord Falk's feeling of contentment did not survive breakfast. He was just spreading butter on a second piece of toast in the private dining area of his suite, enjoying the play of the sunshine on the lake outside, when he heard voices in the outer room and knew someone had come to call on him. He ignored them, and went on buttering his toast. There was always some new demand on his time, but toast only stayed hot for a minute.

He was halfway through the slice when Brich appeared. Falk swallowed, set the remaining portion of toast down on his plate (recently denuded of a healthy helping of ham and eggs), and said, “From your expression, Brich, you have something to tell me you suspect I will not enjoy hearing.”

“You're quite correct, my lord,” Brich said grimly. “My lord—” and the fact he used the honorific twice in such quick succession was more testimony, if any were needed, to just
how
grim he felt, “Prince Karl is missing.”

Falk sat very still for a long moment, then said just two words, though each carried enough savagery to make even Brich pale a little. “When? How?”

“Sometime in the night, my lord,” Brich said. “His absence was discovered when his manservant went in this morning with breakfast. His bed had not been slept in. As to the how . . .” Brich licked his lips. “His window was open, my lord. It appears he simply climbed down the wall of the palace to the ground.”

“And Teran, his bodyguard? The other guards I left posted outside in the hallway?” Falk said softly. “They heard nothing?”

“No, my lord, but the thickness of the . . .” Brich's voice trailed off, as though he thought perhaps it wasn't wise to make excuses, even if they weren't for himself.

“I shouldn't be surprised,” Falk said, almost to himself. “He grew up in the Palace. As Brenna has recently reminded me, children have a way of finding secret ways of getting to places they aren't supposed to be.” He took a deep breath. “Well, no doubt he is hiding somewhere on the grounds, enjoying the frantic search for his Royal Presence. The Heir may look a grown man on the outside, Brich, but he is still enough of a boy to enjoy such childish pranks.” He got to his feet. “Let us indulge him. Turn out the guard. Search everywhere. He must be inside the Lesser Barrier, after all.” He paused. “And send Teran to me,” he added softly.

“He's already waiting in a cell,” Brich said.

Falk nodded once, and went to find him.

Teran sat on the cell's bed, hands folded in his lap, head down. He looked up as Falk came in, then jumped to his feet. “Lord Falk, I—”

“Teran,” said Falk coldly. “How is it that the man to whom I have entrusted not only the Prince's safety but also the task of keeping me informed as to his whereabouts and actions has once again failed at both duties?”

“My lord,” Teran said again. “He ordered me from his room. He was angry that I had not told him about the impending arrest of Verdsmitt.”

“It's as well you did not,” Falk said. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, my lord,” Teran said. “As I said, he was angry. He pointed out that he was both the Prince and my friend. I told him that you were my supreme commander and I had to follow your orders unless he had specifically countermanded them . . . which he had not.”

“And he said nothing that indicated he intended to sneak out of the palace, Teran?” Falk said.

“No, my lord,” Teran said. “The last I saw of him he was pouring a drink. He seemed ready to settle in for the evening.”

“And you heard nothing?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

Falk gave Teran a hard look. “It seems to me,” he said softly, “that you have now failed your duty twice.”

Teran paled. “My lord—”

“The terms of your service,” Falk said, “have always been that you
serve
me well, and your mother and sister
remain
well. If you do not serve me well . . .” He let his voice fall to a silky whisper. “Would you say you have served me well in these past few days, Teran?”

“My lord, I beg of you—”

“Your begging does not interest me.” Falk stood up. “Fail me again, and your mother and sister will find their lives suddenly very difficult. As will you . . . though in your case, it will be both difficult and short.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Join the search for the Prince. But I may wish to speak to you again later.”

Teran nodded and fled, and Falk dismissed him from his mind.

The day wore on. The searches turned up nothing. At noon, Falk, to general though muted outrage, ordered the Royal guard to search all personal quarters. By three o'clock, there could be little doubt: Prince Karl was no longer inside the Lesser Barrier.

Two boats had been found on the far side of the lake, one of the Palace pleasure boats and an ordinary rowboat no one could remember seeing before—but that meant little, since there were numerous boats tied up here and there around the lake, and if anybody was missing one, he was unlikely to claim it when it might implicate him in the disappearance of the Prince. Both boats were unmoored, and it could have simply been the breeze that pushed them so close together along that weedy bank . . . but the breeze had not churned the mud, flattened the weeds, and pushed through the thicker growth above the shore to the very edge of the Lesser Barrier.

It had snowed heavily again during the night, obliterating any tracks there might have been on the other side of the Barrier, but the signs seemed unequivocal. Prince Karl had passed through the Lesser Barrier, perhaps following someone else.

Which was utterly and completely impossible.

Or so Tagaza has always said
, Falk thought. His calm response to the original news of Karl's disappearance had long since vanished in rage burning hot enough to scour the streets of New Cabora with fire, had he unleashed it magically. But he could not turn that rage on the Commoners . . . not yet, at any rate. When he was King . . .

. . . except he might never be King if Karl had stupidly allowed the Common Cause to finish the job of assassination it had botched so spectacularly just days before. If Tagaza were not to be trusted, the magical search for the next Heir that the MageLords would insist upon would point straight to Brenna, and that would raise questions even Falk could not dance around.
I'd have to kill her
, he thought.
Quietly and quickly
. The Heirship would pass to someone else. Tagaza's search would point to someone else. No one would ever know she was Heir, and Karl was not . . .

. . . and twenty years of careful planning would collapse into chaos. Who knew if he could come out the other side of that chaos with even his life, much less the Kingship?

And if he did not become King, then the Hidden Kingdom would remain hidden for another two hundred years: forever, from his point of view.

All of which drove him to Tagaza's office, two carefully selected guards in tow.

Time to answer a few questions, old
friend.

TAGAZA HADN'T SPOKEN TO FALK since the Minister for Public Safety had returned from his manor, though he'd been expecting to be summoned at any time.

He'd been even more shocked by the subject matter of Davydd Verdsmitt's play than most. Magic running out, the Barrier crashing down . . . it was
exactly
what would happen if the Barriers were not brought down and were instead allowed to exhaust the magic lode. It was to prevent that happening that he had joined forces with Falk. But how had Verdsmitt, a Commoner, come up with the idea?

And then he'd been shocked all over again when Falk and the guards so suddenly arrested Verdsmitt.
What's Falk playing at?
he wondered as he stood in the theater, watching the playwright taken away, the actors arrested, the Prince hurried out by Teran.
He can't
really
believe Verdsmitt had anything to do with the attack on the Prince, can he?

But of course he could. And if he did, then Tagaza could only assume that the reason was something he had been told by their mutual acquaintance and coconspirator: Mother Northwind.

After the arrest, he returned to his quarters and waited, certain Falk would come to explain his actions. But he didn't. Tagaza went to bed, had his usual breakfast of eggon-toast in front of his open window, enjoying the breeze blowing in from across the lake, then went out and through the bustling corridors of the Palace to his office, located in the same wing as Falk's but on the top floor rather than in the basement. He passed through the rather ordinary oak door into the outer office, decorated in dark blue panels separated by marble pilasters. His secretary, Sintha—perhaps not as efficient as Falk's Brich, but being half Brich's age, female, slim, and with long black hair she liked to wear loose, considerably easier on the eyes—sat behind the marble-topped oak desk. She got to her feet as he entered.

“First Mage,” she said breathlessly. “Have you heard the news?”

Tagaza's heart sank. In his experience, nothing good ever followed that particular phrase. “About Verdsmitt's arrest? Of course, I was there—”

“No, First Mage.” Sintha shook her head. “Apparently, sometime in the night, Prince Karl disappeared from his locked room.”

That bit of information did more than just make Tagaza's heart sink; it damn near stopped it cold. “What?”

“None of the guards heard a thing,” Sintha said. “But when the servants went in to dress him and bring him his breakfast . . . he wasn't there. His bed hadn't even been slept in.”

Tagaza thought for an instant he might be sick. Cold sweat broke out all over his body. Without the Prince, the plan he and Falk and Mother Northwind had been working toward for two decades was about to unravel . . . and it might unravel him along with it.

Brenna
, he thought.
She'll have to go. They'll call on me to search out the new Heir . . . it can't be her.
He was sure Falk would want him to lie about who the next Heir was, if he had to do that spell; but the magic wouldn't let him lie. He'd have no choice but to reveal the true Heir.
Falk will have to dispose of her . . .

That thought made him feel even sicker. He had met Brenna every year since she was ten, which had been the first time Falk had brought her to the Palace. She had been a brown-haired, brown-eyed, grave, curious, and very intelligent child, whom he had led by the hand around the Palace, showing her all its wonders, once even carried her to bed when she'd fallen asleep after a concert.