The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1) (6 page)

They had arrived at the great city built underneath the mountain.

Tip turned to Skeet and Hakon. Soberly, he said, “Come, boys. Let’s find your mother’s name.”

“I’ll come as well,” Gage said.

Skeet followed his father, looking around at the different tribes as they walked. He remembered the city inside The Drums being large when he was a child, but he was surprised to see it was still so massive. He let his awe distract him from the thought of seeing his mother’s name carved deep into stone, still unavenged.

They turned from the main cavern down a dark passageway. Tip held up his torch to see in the darkness. This hallway was carved with strange figures and in a language Skeet didn’t understand.

“Hakon,” Skeet whispered to his brother. “Do you understand these?”

Hakon was watching them closely as they walked. “It’s a story, I think.”

“It’s a legend,” Guardian said behind them. “More true than any story.”

“What legend?” Skeet asked. “Do we know it?”

“We’re almost there,” Tip interrupted. He stood to the side and let them pass him into another cave. At first, it appeared smaller than the cavern. There was a fire burning in the center, sending a small glow onto the wall nearest them. Skeet looked up and realized it only appeared small because there was so little light, and it was dwarfed by the darkness above them. There wasn’t sufficient light to see the ceiling.

Tip led them along the length of the wall, gently brushing his hand against the bumps and ridges of carved names. Names were carved along every inch, some deeper than others. They seemed to walk forever, deeper into the dark and farther and farther from the fire at the entrance.

Finally they were there. Skeet knelt down, glancing along the wall for his mother’s name.

“There,” Hakon said behind him, pointing his finger at the wall. Skeet let his hand reach out and touch the name. His father did as well. Gage and Hakon stood apart, watching.

Skeet wondered, as he often did, who had been the man to kill his mother? It was a raid during the Second Vengeance from the Alem. It had been an officer of the Alem army. They had known that much. The officer had done far worse things to his mother before he killed her. A boiling rage swelled up inside Skeet, and his urge to hurt something or someone became too hot to bear. Skeet looked up at his father, almost to ask his permission, but Tip was looking at Gage.

“Don’t worry, Son,” Tip said, eyes on Gage. “We’ll avenge her.”

But how?
Skeet thought bitterly.
When we are here to beg for peace?

***

The beating in Hakon’s head got louder and louder as he sat inside in the caverns of The Drums. While the rest of his tribe had prepared a camp inside the city, Hakon could only muster enough focus to clean the weapons. The beating wasn’t so strong in this open cavern. It had been loudest inside the cave where his mother’s name was carved.

Not your real mother
, Hakon reminded himself. As much as he tried to steel himself, he couldn’t help but feel an intense amount of grief over her name. She had been the only mother he had known, and she had treated him like a son. His memories of her were faint, but the image of her smile and goodness still burned in his mind.

“Prince!”

Hakon turned toward the voice. No one from his tribe would dare to call him that. Knowing this, the other warriors from his tribe immediately circled around him. Skeet quickly went to his side.

“There will be some intending to kill you, I’m sure,” Skeet said with a grin. His grief had melted away as quickly as the dawn dispels the darkness in the morning.

Hakon looked through the crowd of gathered tribes to see who had called him. Three individuals were advancing toward them, all wearing thick black bear coats—a woman warrior probably a few years his senior, a male warrior his age, and a boy not much older then Isis.

Skeet leaned in and whispered to Hakon. “It’s the Three Winds. Windfather’s tribe.” Hakon then noticed the similarities between the three—they were siblings. “Jocki, Bavol, and Tadi.”

“Prince!” the woman, Jocki, called again. “You soil this place with your breath! No one but Terra may enter The Drums.” She held up her claws as part evidence and threat. Her brother, Bavol, spit in Hakon’s direction.

“I am one of you,” Hakon said.

The three of them laughed. The youngest boy, Tadi, who looked no older than twelve years, shoved aside a warrior to get to Hakon. Hakon’s companions drew daggers.

“What color are your eyes?” Tadi asked, getting as close to Hakon as his tribesmen would allow. Hakon put his hand on his dagger, and the others waited. It wasn’t right to make the first strike unless you were dueling. Tadi looked in Hakon’s eyes. “Gray, like ash. Nothing living in those eyes. You are not one of us,
Alem
, no matter what the cursed tribe of Kaldin decided.”

The boy smiled and stepped back.

“Are you asking for a duel?” Skeet asked, a wicked smile on his face. His dagger was drawn, his fists turning red. The Three Winds looked eager to fight, and all the warriors around Hakon tensed up.

Hakon had to stop this. The tribes had hardly just arrived. He stepped back and away from all the warriors. “I will sleep outside. We are not here to fight one another. We are here to fight the real enemy.” He directed his last words to Skeet, willing him to lower his dagger.

Bavol laughed. “By the enemy, you mean your father?”

Hakon gritted his teeth. He picked up his skins for bedding and turned, walking toward the upward passageways that led to caves outside along the sides of the mountain. The sound of laughter echoed behind him. Skeet followed him, grabbing his shoulder.

“You coward.” Skeet didn’t hide his disgust. “They insulted our tribe.”

“Don’t call me a coward, Skeet.”

“Well, you’re running away, aren’t you?”

Hakon turned to Skeet. “I can’t be seen as hotheaded. They must trust me. All of them.” Hakon pushed past Skeet. Gage was up ahead, watching them. “Besides,” Hakon added, “The Drums feel like they’re beating inside my head. It will do me good to sleep outside.”

Skeet stood dumbfounded behind him as Hakon left. Hakon didn’t look back to see if the Three Winds were still provoking a fight with his other tribesmen. If they did, he wouldn’t be a part of it. Gage approached him on the higher walkway.

“You will be ready to fight when the time comes, Hakon?”

Hakon nodded.

After a series of tunnels and passageways, Hakon finally made it outside. Only when he had set up a makeshift camp in a tree amid a small cave of rocks, did he let the rage and hurt swell up inside him.

The enemy, your father?

The words beat into his mind, in pace with the rhythm from the mountains, lulling him to finally fall asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kara eyed the feast spread across the long table of the banquet hall. Roast pig, potatoes, shallots, crested pies and tarts, jugs of wine and beer. The crowning feature was a heap of fresh deer and dog that sat amid the meat. Apples and the fruits of the season lay around it, garnishing the table. Kara grabbed an apple and slipped it into the coats of her dress. She knew she would eat whatever she wanted until she was full, but it was an old habit of hers: snitching from the kitchen on her way out into the woods. Fortunately, Queen Sabola was at her left and didn’t notice. The large banquet table was set up with strips of gold– and silver–colored cloth.
Father’s showing off
, she thought. And why shouldn’t he? As much as her father always seemed to be ailing in his grief, he was still the fierce warrior and powerful king of Atmen.

A tyrant
, Kara thought. She didn’t like to think of her father that way. He was generous and kind toward her, but she had seen him out on the plains, had seen the way he treated a runaway Terra slave. There was hatred in him that burned like a hot fire spitting out coals and sparks, indifferent to who was in the way.

Her father was at the head of the long feast table. He was dressed in the tradition of an air zipper, wearing a cape over his bare chest and trousers with slits covering his legs. Her father’s sword was at his waist. He was a fit man, never careless to grow portly in his aging. The tattoo on his forehead burned in crimson and gold, intricate in its design to look like a small crown. Since he was king over all of Atmen and the surrounding lands, his was the most intricate and detailed tattoo in the entire room. It looked like a crown of flowers, jewels, and weaved designs. It reminded Kara of the design she had seen on the man in the tapestries in the keepers’ temple.

There was no hiding for him or her. He was marked as king, and she was marked as his princess.

Her father stood beside King Darr, the newly arrived king from the coast. He looked younger than her father but more portly. The fat on his face made him appear childish, almost infant–like. He was at least a foot shorter than King Arden, who was unusually tall for an Alem man.
Another sign he is the Master’s chosen
, Kara thought. King Darr wore purple—deep purple. It was the color of royalty in the Air Kingdoms across the seas. Unlike her father, the portly king’s chest was covered with robes, which she was grateful for. Kara had no desire to see what his bare chest might look like.

Kara looked around the dining hall, hoping to see Prince Sesto before he saw her. There were a number of servants all surrounding different stations of royalty, but she didn’t see any young men who resembled the coastal king. She did see Azure standing guard along the far wall, his hand resting on the dagger at his side. She noticed he also wore the strange pouch that all water people carried on their hips. She couldn’t help but notice how regal he looked… like a prince.

She wanted to talk to him, to make sure that things hadn’t changed. But of course they had changed. And why should she think of herself when her country could soon be at war? A spark of fear jolted through her.

“You betray your nervousness, Kara,” The queen said at her side. “Prince Sesto can’t be as bad as that.”

“I was thinking of the war.”

The queen nodded, an expression of sadness across her face, but it was subtle and only Kara noticed. She was about to say something when a flurry of activity at the other end of the banquet hall stole her gaze.

It appeared that Prince Sesto wanted to make a grand entrance. He entered, followed by an irregular amount of servants and attendants. He wore purple too, more faded than his father’s robes, like it hadn’t been properly re–dyed or kept up. His entrance was the only exciting thing about him. The first thing Kara noted was the mute expression on his face, an expression of complete apathy. Or idiocy.

“Remember, Kara, practice your silence,” her mother murmured as she moved forward to greet King Darr’s wife.

Kara plucked another apple from the table and slipped it into her other pocket, catching the eye of Azure, who looked at her, amused. He had been the one to teach her such tricks. She didn’t return Azure’s amusement. She decided to take up her mother’s challenge.

I will be silent. Silent as death
.

She walked toward the prince and the other gathered royalty. She curtsied, smiled, and said nothing. King Arden waited, expecting Kara to say something, but when he got a nod from Sabola, he smiled and turned to Prince Sesto, introducing Kara formally.
I’m being such a good girl
, Kara thought as she smiled demurely at the young man. The prince smiled in return and said nothing. Not even a “hello.” Kara was struck with the sudden urge to coax him. She bit her tongue.

The prince looked older, at least twenty years old. Four or more years older than her! In her mind, she gawked but tried to keep a stoic face. She had to remind herself that it wasn’t really out of the ordinary. She had seen daughters of royalty get married to men twice their age.
So glad King Darr isn’t a widower
, she thought, hoping her disgust hadn’t reached her face. She tried to imagine a face that was befitting a princess. She tried for a slight and mysterious smile at the corners of her lips, while her eyes remained cold and unyielding.

In order to keep her tongue quiet, she decided to observe her surroundings. King Darr had brought with him at least ten hand servants, mostly Su. They all had blue eyes. Other members of their court, all fancily dressed, were gray–eyed, along with a few of his guards, who had bare chests, like warriors. For the first time, Kara noticed that the prince did not have a bare chest, and she wondered if he had the power to zip. She remembered hearing that he was six of nine boys. It wasn’t likely. If they were royalty, the chances were higher, but a family was still incredibly lucky to even have one member who had the power. Kara wondered if her lost brother would have had it. He was only a few months old when he was taken. The power isn’t revealed in a child till they are at least five or six years old, sometimes as late as ten.

The prince’s men and women, interestingly enough, were all Su, even his armed guards. He had more servants than his father, King Darr.

Other royalty settled at their seats along the long banquet tables—men on one side, women on the other. Farther down the table, Kara recognized men from the king’s war council. Various generals, captains, and minor royalty wandered to their seats, accompanied by their stately wives, sitting in the order of rank prescribed by the tattoos on their foreheads. Several Keepers of the Present helped people to their seats, making sure to mark who was in attendance and where they sat.

Everyone in the room from Atmen was related to her. They were all descendents of the first settlers, who had crossed to this area hundreds of years ago. All bore titles that gave them power across the various parts of the lands. Some were generals, others landowners or slave masters. Kara couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between those from Atmen and those from the coast. Most of the men from Atmen had their chests exposed, looking fit and prepared for battle at a moment’s notice. The women were dressed in beautiful and simple gowns of solid colors, nothing like the frills of rainbows King Darr’s people wore. Her people were regal in their stoicism. Kara felt a swell of pride for her city and her nation. They looked strong, educated, and proud.