The Wizard's Heir (16 page)

“Fine.” Gamel held up his hands and moved to the side. “Let him pass.”

The other wizards looked confused and angry, but they moved as they were told.

Tybolt watched them warily, waiting to see any sign of spell work. He kept his sword at the ready. “I told you if I ever saw you again, I would take you to the Hold.”

“What makes you a Hunter?” Gamel asked.

“Where is my horse?”

“What makes you a Hunter?” Gamel repeated.

“Where is my horse?”

“What makes you a Hunter is your immunity to our magic.” Gamel held up his hand and whispered the words of a spell.

Tybolt’s sword jerked free of his hand and dropped. Before he could grab it, he felt himself being lifted in the air and slammed into the trunk of a tree. He crashed to the ground. The impact jarred so badly his teeth hummed.

“Although I could make you come with us,” Gamel said, “I would prefer you came on your own.”

Tybolt struggled to his feet as sick nausea wiggled up his throat. How had they managed to find a spell that broke through his natural Hunter defenses? “How…?”

“I’ll explain everything, but I need you to trust me.”

Tybolt glowered at the four wizards. He grabbed his sword and the wizards tensed, their hands rising as one. “I can’t go with you, not without finding Auriella—”

“You’ll be of little help to Auriella if you burst into flames again before you reach the castle.”

“Why fire? What did you do to me?”

“Come with me and I’ll tell you,” Gamel said. His posture was sure and straight, with no sign of budging.

Tybolt had no idea what had just happened, but he felt heat simmering within, and he couldn’t risk the flames again. The logic warred against his emotions.

No battle was ever won on emotions—he’d learned that long ago. He ground his teeth and sheathed his sword. “Fine, I’ll come with you, but I don’t trust you.”

“Fair enough.”

The five of them walked deeper into the thieves’ forest. Tybolt sized up the four wizards. None of them looked familiar, but they all walked with the same air of the upper class wizards he’d encountered before. If he had to guess, these were some of the more powerful wizards. Not that their powers mattered to a Hunter.

Or did they
? He’d just been thrown into a tree. His back and tailbone still ached in testament.

Carac stopped at a large pine. He picked up a rock from the base and rapped on the trunk. Three fast knocks, followed by two slow and four fast. A moment later a rope ladder rolled down, appearing from thin air. It slapped against the trunk, and Carac grabbed it and started to climb. The ladder went about two-thirds the way up the tree and then vanished, as if it were hanging in thin air.

“After you.” Gamel motioned.

Tybolt grabbed the first rung and climbed. At the point where the rope disappeared he paused, and then reached up. His arm vanished, and he grabbed the next rung. He pulled up and then stopped again as an entire tree top village appeared. Bridges hung from tree to tree. Homes were built in crooks of branches, some on top of the other.

“Climb!” a voice demanded from below.

Tybolt continued up, pulling himself through a hole beneath a platform. Carac was waiting for him, and the rest of the wizards were soon behind.

“How did you hide this?” Tybolt finally asked, still scanning the rooftop village.

“We learned that although Hunters were immune to direct magic, visual deceptions were quite effective,” Carac said.

“Come,” Gamel said. “I’ll explain everything.”

Terric hauled Auriella down a set of stairs she hadn’t known existed. His grip sent five points of pressure into her arm. Her stomach rolled and bile seeped into her mouth. She hated him more than she’d thought possible.

He jerked her forward and she stumbled. He tightened his grip even further to keep her from toppling down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, she recoiled. “What is this place?” It smelled of dank air and rotting straw, with another odor she couldn’t identify.

“The king’s private dungeon.” He threw her into an open cell. She fell against the wall, her cheek scraping against the roughly hewn stone wall. The door slammed behind her, clanging with an ominous ring that vibrated through her bones.

“All his brides have visited this cell,” Terric said. He leaned against the door, arm over his head. In the dark, his deep-set eyes looked like empty pits. He pointed towards a stool in the corner of her cell, barely illuminated by the torch that burned on the wall next to the stairs. “That bread is all you’ll get until the wedding. I suggest you ration it.”

Auriella looked over at the half loaf that was already starting to mold. “The wedding isn’t for seven days.”

“The king wishes his brides to be
very
compliant.”

Auriella threw herself at the bars, wrapping her hands around his and forcing herself not to recoil. “Please, Terric. Let me out of here.”

“You should have taken my offer earlier. You can rot.” He turned for the stairs.

“Where’s my father?”

He reached into his cloak and tossed something through the bars of her cell. It hit the floor with a soft thud.

Auriella stared at the shape on the ground with apprehension. She crouched and picked up something cold and firm. Unsure what it was, she held it up to the streams of light coming through the bars.

She screamed and threw the severed finger out of her cell. Terric’s laugh bounced off the walls, covering her gasps as she shoved herself backwards.

“When I said I
almost
had to take his finger, that wasn’t entirely honest.”

The sound of Terric’s footsteps grew fainter as he climbed the stairs. Auriella cursed the tears dripping down her cheeks, and she swiped them angrily away. She’d actually believed the fantasy Tybolt had painted for her. She was a fool.

Gamel’s treetop home was larger than Tybolt had expected, and the room was littered with chairs. A desk sat in the middle of the room, the bed and washbasin shoved haphazardly to the side. This was clearly used more for meetings than for sleeping. Tybolt picked one of the chairs and dropped into it.

“So this is where the wizards have been hiding.”

“Some of them, yes,” Gamel said.

“And the ones you tipped me off to, were those ones you didn’t like? Or did they say the wrong thing?” He leaned back and draped his arm over the chair next to him. “Do your friends here know you betrayed your own kind?”

Gamel turned to close the door as a wizard came running across the wooden bridge.

“Alistair, Alistair!”

Gamel’s head dropped in defeat. “Not now!” he shouted, slamming the door.

“Alistair?” Tybolt sat straight up. Gamel had a pained look but said nothing. He slowly walked to the chair behind his desk, his shoulders hunched.

Tybolt pointed to the door. “Alistair is here, isn’t he? You said you knew where he was.”

“Can we talk about this later?”

“What?” Tybolt sputtered. “No, we can’t talk about this later! Alistair is the key to all of this, he has to stop—”

“I’m Alistair.”

Tybolt scowled. “You can’t be Gamel and Hess
and
Alistair.”

“I can and I am, but that’s not important right now. The better question is—who are you?”

“I’ve always hated your word games, Gamel.”

“Call me Alistair.”

Tybolt gripped the sides of his head. “
Alistair
, then. I know who I am.”

“Do you? To know who you are, you must know where you came from. You know your mother, but you do not know your father. Therefore, you don’t know who you are at all.”

Tybolt didn’t like where this was going, not even a little. He’d always wanted answers, but not like this. He swallowed. “And you do?”

“How do you think I came upon you that night all those years ago? Your father sent me.” He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. “Tybolt, I’ve thought so many times about how I would tell you this, how I would get you to believe me. I’ve had years to plan, but there was never a good way. Now here we are, and I am still no more prepared than I was.” He took a deep breath. “Tybolt, you are a wizard. Son of Aja and heir to the throne.”

The seconds ticked by, and for the second time in his life, time slowed. He watched Alistair’s face, searching for anything that might betray the words he’d spoken, any ticks or tells. There was nothing but a marked family resemblance—in the eyes especially.

The eyes.

His heart stuttered painfully in his chest, and memories came rushing back. How could he not have seen it before? The only thing he’d not inherited from his mother was his eyes, neither the shape nor the color. But now, looking at Alistair he saw Aja’s eyes—his own eyes, staring at him. “No, it…it can’t be.” He cleared his throat and tried to mask his fear.

“Think back, Tybolt. Had you known, I’m sure you would’ve seen the truth of it written all over Aja’s face. He never was very good at hiding his feelings…and you have his eyes.”

Blue eyes, blue eyed-Hunter, blue eyes
.

“You’re insane,” Tybolt said. It sounded childish and petulant, but he wanted this man to be insane, needed him to be.

But there were times, so many times, when Aja would stare at him, only at him. Tilly had noticed, others had noticed. He’d been too angry to notice, or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to. “I am a
Hunter
,” he insisted.

“You have a short memory.”

Alistair reached out his hand. Tybolt felt magic wrap around his body, pushing him against the chair. He tried to get up but couldn’t. The wooden legs jerked, and then he was sliding across the floor, slamming into other chairs as he went. The pressure against him was so intense he could barely get a breath. The magic finally released, and Tybolt gulped in air.

“You’re no longer immune to wizard magic,” Alistair said. “That either means you have suddenly lost your ability as a Hunter, or you are, in fact, a wizard.

Alistair’s hand came out again. The spell he whispered was so quiet Tybolt barely heard it. His body jerked from the chair, and he landed on the floor like a doll. Then he was pulled by a force he couldn’t see and slammed against the other wall.

“Defend yourself.”

Tybolt grabbed the hilt of his sword.

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Not like that.”

Tybolt was pulled across the room again by an invisible hand. His head smashed into the leg of the table.

“Defend yourself.”

Tybolt reached out for something, anything, but his brute strength was useless now.

“Defend yourself.”

The process repeated itself, and each time he slammed into a wall or piece of furniture, more rage built up within him. “Enough!” he shouted. Tybolt felt a force ripple out from within him, and Alistair was pushed up into the air. He flipped once, his purple cloak splayed out like the wings of some grotesque bird, and landed flat on his back.

“There it is,” Alistair grunted from the ground. “Took a little longer than I thought, but we found it.”

Tybolt was shaking, and he looked down at his hands. “No, I didn’t…I couldn’t. I didn’t use a spell.”

“There has to be words to make your magic work, but if you possess enough power, a simple word will do. You appear to have the abilities I hoped you would. We weren’t sure, considering your Hunter blood.”

“This can’t be happening. I am a Hunter. I’ve always been a Hunter.”

“You are.” Alistair nodded. “You’re also a wizard.”

Tybolt’s denials dried up in his mouth, and he withered inside. “Tell me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” Tybolt stumbled to his chair, dreading what was coming.

“Very well.” Alistair leaned back and smoothed his cloak out, folding his hands in his lap. “The night of the Fracture, Aja insisted on visiting your mother. I told him it was madness. I’d told him that multiple times—it never did stop him. I was terrified he would be caught. Best-case scenario—he would be forced from the throne. At worst they would hang him for treason.

“As it was, Aja’s stance on Hunters had already softened considerably, and the royal council was becoming angry. He’d begun to rule in favor of the Hunters at many trials and was pushing for more Hunter rights in meetings. I warned him repeatedly that he was making enemies, both in the wizarding world and within the city.”