Back to the Source - Part III

This is the third part of a longer story. If you would like to see what has already happened here is part one:

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and part two:

https://shopping-feedback.today/fiction/back-to-the-source-part-ii%3C/em%3E%3C/a%3E%3Cem class="css-ak7tmt-Italic">

*

Nobody paid them any heed, the guests still transfixed by the dance. Walking one step behind his father, the prince wondered what King Avel had in mind for him this time.

‘How did you find the feast? Was everything to your liking?', the King asked.

Darien was sure he was blushing this time.

‘Perfect as always, my lord.’

‘Really? I think the servants were rather slow tonight.’ The King turned into a wider corridor to his right. ‘Maybe there were just too few of them?’

Darien wished he could see his father’s face right now. It sounded almost as if Zaric’s absence had been noticed. No, impossible. He was becoming too paranoid. It must have been a casual remark, even if hardly anything his father ever said was.

They reached the King’s private chambers and entered his study. As usual, the room was full of books, maps and smelled of foreign cigars. King Avel sat behind his intricate wooden desk and gestured for Darien to have a seat in one of the armchairs usually reserved for royal advisors.

‘There are some plans I have to tell you about,’ the King got straight to the point. ‘You’ve undoubtedly noticed our guests from Perrea…’

A loud knock on the door interrupted him. King Avel smiled.

‘Ah, the entertainment comes first. Enter!’

Three guardsmen came in carrying a big bundle. They threw their burden on the floor and Darien froze.

It was Zaric, dishevelled and with a bruise on his temple. He seemed unconscious. One of the guards bent down, took him by the arms and shook energetically, so that the boy’s head jerked back and forth, then slapped him on the face. Zaric mumbled something and opened his eyes.

The King watched dispassionately. Once he could see that the boy was becoming aware of his surroundings, he spoke:

‘You’ve been mocking my authority for long enough. Both of you.’ He cast a sideways glance towards the prince. ‘What have you been thinking? That you will get away with it because of your birth?’

One of the guards kicked Zaric.

‘Stand up when your King is talking!’

The boy groaned, but struggled to his feet. The King observed his efforts with the eyes of a vulture.

‘Zaric, commonly called the Misbegotten...’ The King almost spat out the last word. ‘An insubordinate servant who has acted against my official orders. A lowly servant who has helped a criminal escape my justice. You could be killed for treason… but I’m a benign ruler. You are now officially cast out from the Raqdalijal fortress and each of my cities in this realm. You have time until next sunset to leave the kingdom. After that, my citizens will be instructed to kill you on sight.’

King Avel gestured towards the guards. One of them grabbed the still dazed boy by the arm and led him outside. The other two positioned themselves on both sides of the door.

‘As for you, son…’ The monarch glared at Darien, all pretence of politeness gone from his face. ‘You have just been betrothed to Princess Beriel of Perrea and are going for a voyage to visit your beloved. You will spend the winter with her court in Krrck, on the Island of Winds. The ship sails the day after tomorrow. Until that time, you will remain in your chambers.’

Darien’s head was spinning.

‘But, father…’

‘Silence!’

The King stood up. His movement disturbed the flames in the wall lamps. For a moment, his shadow sped across the ceiling like a hungry hawk.

‘You will succeed me, prince. But it has not happened yet. As long as I’m alive, you will do as I say. And, let me assure you, I intend to remain alive for many years.’ The King leaned towards Darien and lowered his voice. ‘You will return to your rooms and get ready for the journey. Now.’

The guards escorted the prince to his bedroom. He heard them settle on the other side of the door as soon as the key clicked in the lock. His father was making sure that the prince could not go anywhere without his permission.

Darien paced the room like a caged animal. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and flung it at the opposite wall. Then he groaned, threw himself into an armchair, and buried his face in his hands. An offended croak and a flutter made him look up though.

A big raven perched on the bed. It hopped to Darien’s knee and looked at him intently with one eye, then with the other.

‘Grog! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to startle you.’ The prince gently stroked the feathers on the bird’s chest. ‘I’m in big trouble. You have no idea, friend.’

‘Frrriend!’ the raven croaked hoarsely.

Prince Darien sighed. His thoughts were spinning out of control. At this very moment, Zaric was probably preparing for his long journey to the border while he was stuck here, once again reduced to being his father’s puppet. If only there was a way to reach out, reassure his friend somehow… But what could he do?

The boy moved the raven gently from his knee to the bedcovers and took a few steps towards his desk positioned in front of the only window in the room. The night sky twinkled outside, oblivious to human drama.

Darien sat down, grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a quill. He scribbled furiously for a moment, then dried the ink, folded the paper into a tiny bundle and turned back towards the black bird.

‘Come on, friend, you must help me now,’ he whispered softly, attaching a small pouch to the raven’s leg. ‘You know what to do, you’ve done it before.’

Grog watched the boy’s hands with disinterest, clearly used to this sort of treatment. Darien looked him in the eyes.

‘Find Zaric! Zaric! You remember Zaric, don’t you?’

‘Frrriend!,’ Grog agreed.

‘Exactly! Go to Zaric. Be careful!’

Darien carried the bird to the window on his forearm. Grog looked at him, looked outside and, in one swooping motion, took off into the night.

A sudden swishing sound cut through the silence. The bird dropped from the sky, his body pierced with an arrow.

Darien jumped on the desk, and stuck his head out of the window. He looked down. He could see no trace of Grog. He turned left and met the eyes of a guardsman perched on a narrow ledge. The guardsman was holding a bow.

Darien returned to his room. He was angry before. What he felt now was beyond words. Grog was with him all his life. The bird used to be his mother’s favourite pet, and became Darien’s when she died only six months after his birth. He had no way of remembering his mother, so cherished everything that could make him feel closer to her. Her clothes, her perfumes, stories about her. Her raven. Besides, Grog wasn’t just a pet, he was a friend.

Anger, grief and fear coalesced into an ice-cold fury. Moving stiffly like a crude automaton, Darien sat down on his bed again, closed his eyes and began the breathing exercises he was taught as part of the preparation for battle. Gradually, his thoughts became crystal clear, his hands steady. Emotions ebbed away like unnecessary debris, leaving his mind empty and without mercy. He would not be his father’s puppet anymore.

He needed a plan.

*

Curious enough to go to part 4? Here is it:

https://shopping-feedback.today/fiction/back-to-the-source-part-iv%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="1x3zcuc-StoryContent">.css-1x3zcuc-StoryContent{pointer-events:none;}