Quest Maker (7 page)

“To honor her?” Caden said.

“To remember her,” Jane said. She was quiet for a moment. “Why are you out here?”

The rigging dagger felt heavy in his coat pocket. He looked down at the flowers in her hands. It seemed they were outside for similar reasons. “To remember my brother Chadwin.” He fidgeted. “I have to bury something for him.” He blurted out the next part. “The dagger that killed him.”

He hadn't intended to say that. Jane looked shocked. Caden felt shocked. He looked away.

After a moment, Jane said, “Where are you going to bury it?”

He looked back at her. “I'll call for Sir Horace. He and I will find a place.”

In Caden's royal opinion, this was one of the more awkward conversations he'd had. He kicked at the grass. The rigging dagger knocked against his side.

“I'll come with you,” Jane said.

Jane didn't know Chadwin. And while she and Caden were friends, she wasn't close to him like she was to Tito and Brynne. Caden blinked at her. “Why?”

“Because that's what my mom would have done.”

Sir Horace showed up soon after Caden whistled for him. His snow-white mane was tousled, and his white-gray coat had a few strands of brown horsehair mixed with it. Caden suspected young foals would be born in Asheville that were part Galvanian stallion and part common brown horse.

“You must stop romancing mares, Sir Horace,” Caden
said, but Sir Horace seemed unashamed. Jane reached out and Sir Horace nosed her fingers.

Soon after, he, Jane, and Sir Horace trotted up the dark mountainside.

He remembered the first time he'd ridden at night. He'd been ten. That night the stars had shone like white pixie flames. The air was so cold his hands ached in his leather gloves. His enchanted coat was snug and warm around his body; his sword was belted to his back. He couldn't see beyond his arm's reach. As they'd cantered up the long trail, Caden had felt Sir Horace twitch, tense with nerves.

Up ahead and out of sight, Caden's five oldest brothers led the way. The
clip-clop
of their mounts echoed in the night. Occasionally, his eldest brother, Valon, would shout an order, or second-born Maden would loose a laugh. He could hear the whisper-soft voices of third-born Lucian and fourth-born Martin, but he couldn't make out their words. Every few minutes, he'd hear fifth-born Landon sigh.

His other two brothers, Chadwin and Jasan—the sixth and seventh born—rode in the rear. They, too, were beyond his vision, but they were closer and their quiet words carried on the cold winds.

“We should ride with Caden.” That was Chadwin.

“I ride enough with Caden,” Jasan answered. “He's safe between us and the others.”

“It's a dark night.” Chadwin's voice dropped lower.
“And he's new to the Galvanian saddle.”

At that, Caden bristled. While he was new to the Galvanian saddle, he wasn't new to riding. And he and Sir Horace had practiced without stop for days on end. He was a competent rider.

“We trained all last week. He's good enough,” Jasan said. Caden sat a little straighter. It was rare that Jasan complimented Caden's abilities. Jasan continued. “And he and that horse are of one mind. He talked Father into knighting him.”

Chadwin laughed. “I should ask Father to knight my Starlight,” he said, and Caden had the impression of him scratching his mare's silvery mane. “She's a true lady.”

“You find our half brother amusing,” Jasan said. Caden knew Jasan was irritated. That was when he brought up that Caden only shared one parent, that only their father was the same.

“He is amusing,” Chadwin said. “And he tries, Jasan. You know what he's like.”

“Yes, I do. I'm the one ordered to train with him day and night.” There was a pause. Jasan made little attempt to keep his words whispered. “He's like his mother.”

Caden froze and Sir Horace jerked beneath him, seeming to read Caden's surprise. No one ever mentioned his mother—not his father or brothers, not the elite guard, not the cooks or the maids or the butlers. Caden slowed Sir Horace so he could better hear.

Jasan, though, said nothing more. After a moment, Chadwin spoke. “Don't say that in front of Father.” They rode in silence after that.

Now, this Ashevillian night was quiet, too. Near the peak of the mountain, there was a granite and mica outcropping. Even in the cloudy night, the rocks shimmered. By the base of the outcropping, there was a small fir tree.

“My mom would've liked it here,” Jane said.

“As would've Chadwin.”

Caden buried the dagger near the tree beneath loose rocks. Then he took the torn Winterbird emblem he'd found in the dead woods and placed it on top. Sir Horace nuzzled Caden's neck.

Jane placed her mother's flowers beside the emblem. She stepped back and looked at Caden. Her voice was soft, but her eyes flashed. “We can't let the villains keep hurting people.”

Caden squared his shoulders. “As future Elite Paladins, we won't.”

“No, we won't.” Then she peered at him. “And make sure you don't lose your paper clips. I feel like you need to have them.”

Truth be told, Caden didn't need the paper clips. That wasn't the point, however. He pulled them from his pocket and showed her. “They are with me always, enchantress.”

Jane smiled.

Around them, the night was giving way to morning. Caden helped Jane atop Sir Horace, climbed up behind her, and they galloped back to Rosa's as fast as the spring winds would carry them.

T
he next morning, there were two notes in Caden's locker. He put the pink one in the neat stack of other pink ones. The other was written on thin paper that looked like a store receipt. The words were written in Royal Razzon; the letters were small, closely spaced, and looked rushed—Jasan's writing. Maybe Jasan hadn't found Caden, but he'd found his locker. Caden's rush of euphoria turned to confusion when he read Jasan's words:

Stay away from me. Find your way home at once. Take the sorceress with you.

He'd not signed the note with his title or the seal of Razzon. Not that it mattered, as Caden couldn't comply with Jasan's wishes anyway. One, Caden had to warn him
of Rath Dunn. Two, they'd yet to find a path back to Razzon, and Brynne said it would take four years before the sun, moon, and magic aligned in a way that might allow normal magical transport back. Three, Caden had a quest to complete. In six more days, their fates would be decided.

He folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket with his magic paper clips. He would find Jasan and explain that he couldn't simply go home. Caden took the side hall toward the gymnasium. It had been the classroom of the previous, eaten physical education teacher. Jasan could very well be there now.

By the doors, a group of seven students peeked inside. They looked perplexed, and their faces were various shades of red. Derek was among them and looked annoyed with the others' reactions. From within the gymnasium, Caden heard a thunk. Then silence followed by another thunk.

Caden tapped one of the students—a girl with dark braids and golden skin—on the shoulder. She was an eighth grader. Her name was Kali.

“Who's inside?” Caden said.

Kali turned. “Oh, hi, Caden.” She looked at her feet, and her cheeks grew redder. “We were just checking out the new gym teacher.”

The tanned blond girl in front of them—Caden didn't know her name—giggled. Caden peeked over her to see who was inside. His knees went weak. “He's my brother,” he said.

“Oh,” Kali said.

The blond girl squinted up at him. “Really?”

Derek scoffed. “Sure, Fartenbush.”

“His name is Jasan,” Caden said. “And he'll expect your respect.” He pushed past them and into the gym. Sun from the skylights left bright stripes on the wooden-planked floor. A back door was open to a supply room. Jasan stood near the far wall beside a pile of basketballs. He wore a dark blue sweatshirt and slate-colored slacks.

It was strange to see Jasan without the royal Winterbird embroidered somewhere on his clothes, to see him in Asheville surrounded by Ashevillian things. To see him holding the confusingly named basketball and not his sword.

But it was good to see him. Caden felt his eyes itch as emotion threatened to overcome him. Jasan picked up a basketball. As it slammed into the far wall, it flattened with the force of his throw, then slumped to the floor. Balls were no match for any Razzonian prince.

Caden felt seven pairs of eyes on his back. He glanced back at the other students. Kali, Derek, and the others needn't watch them. He shut the door, then turned to Jasan. “I need to talk to you,” he said in the elegant tongue of Royal Razzon.

Jasan didn't turn around. “I told you to leave,” he said. “Evil is here. That office assistant, the witch in the cafeteria . . .” He stopped and clenched his jaw.

At least Jasan knew of the villains around them. He'd not mentioned Rath Dunn, though, and it was Rath Dunn Jasan needed to know about most. Caden considered how to tell him. Best he choose his words with care.

Jasan turned. With measured control, he said, “Go away. This is no place for children.”

Caden disagreed. One, as of the blustery Ashevillian month of March, Caden was thirteen turns. He was no child. And two—“It's a school,” Caden said.

“It's a prison.”

The second morning bell—the bell that meant Caden was once again late for his class—rang. Although technically he was with a teacher. He simply needed a note. “There are things you don't know.”

Jasan grabbed another basketball. “I know you need to go home. And I know I can't help you with that.” When Jasan was the maddest, when he could barely contain his temper, he kept his voice low. This was how he spoke now. “Our people think you dead. As Brynne's people think her dead.” His voice was a growl. “You need to show them it isn't so. Make that sorceress cast a spell and go back. Then go straight to Father. Trust no one. Only him.” Jasan's eyes narrowed. “He needs to know not all is as he believes. You're proof of that. Understand?”

No, Caden didn't understand. Also, what Jasan wanted wasn't possible. He and Brynne couldn't return. They'd yet to find a way back that didn't involve waiting several
years. They continued to search, but Caden was beginning to doubt their efforts. He held his chin high. “We can't get back. We're stranded.”

Jasan dropped the basketball and stalked toward him. “Explain.”

Finally, something Caden could do. He told Jasan of the magic that had trapped him and Brynne, and of Ms. Primrose.

“So neither of you can return home?”

“You should be more concerned with the Elderdragon in the office.”

“Elderdragons are myths.”

He was wrong. They weren't myths. They were old ladies. “Why do you think the evil teachers behave? We're all subject to her whims.”

“So I'm a trinket collected by an Elderdragon.” He looked unconvinced. “This is what you think?”

This was what Caden knew, but Jasan didn't seem ready for certainty. “I believe so.”

Jasan grimaced and gazed up at the sun-filled skylights. “I admit, this isn't the torture I was expecting.” Although from his tone, he still found it torture. “I expected something more than a sentence of babysitting.”

Caden was very late for literacy class now. The rigging dagger remained fresh in his mind. Was it a coincidence that Caden had found the weapon that had killed one brother just after another was stranded in the Land of Shadow?

This isn't the torture I was expecting.

Heroes aren't sent here, dear.

Caden looked sharply at his brother.

“How did you get here?”

Jasan's face flushed red. “Don't ask when you know the answer.”

Did Caden know the answer? Jasan was in Asheville, the land of the banished, stripped of sword and royal emblem. He'd arrived around the time Caden and Brynne had witnessed the banishment spell. Like the villains, it seemed he now belonged to Ms. Primrose. And the rigging dagger had been buried. Under the magnolia that reminded Caden of snow. Perhaps with reverence? Maybe how Jasan got to Asheville wasn't the question that had been bothering Caden. Maybe the how wasn't what had kept him from sleep and turned his stomach sour. He shifted on his feet and asked what he really wanted to know.

“Why were you banished?”

With a voice that wounded like a blade, Jasan said, “For killing Chadwin.”

In the expanse of the gym, the silence sat between them like a barbed wall. Jasan watched. His whole body looked loose, like he was waiting for a punch, like he was waiting to be condemned.

Caden's first instinct was to ask if it was true, but that question would surely upset Jasan. Truthfully, asking it would upset Caden. He needed to concentrate. If he were
to learn how to use the deeper aspect of his gift of speech, the part that allowed him to charm, he had to think about the words he said, and why he said them. He had to focus.

Emotion was the key to talking with Jasan, but which emotion? Not anger, certainly. Jasan had enough of that. Compassion? “You'd never hurt Chadwin.”

Jasan picked up another basketball. “Father disagrees with you. And Chadwin's not the only one he thinks I'd hurt.” He turned and slammed the basketball into the wall.
Thunk
. It slumped to the floor in a hissing, deflated heap. “You've been missing for months.”

Did their father think Jasan had done something to Caden? That made no sense. Caden frowned and felt his brows draw close. “Father sent me away. He knows that. Why would he think—”

“You didn't come back.” Jasan clenched and unclenched his fists as if wanting to hit a memory. “And there was proof,” he said, his voice low. “Bloody clothes and ashes. Your favorite sword was broken. They found it in my room.”

“No,” Caden said. “My sword is here, in Asheville. The police have it. It fell to this land with Brynne and me.”

“Then a copy,” Jasan said, and for a moment, he seemed to look sad, “and a good one.”

Proof or not, how could their father believe Jasan would hurt Chadwin? Hurt Caden? Jasan was an Elite Paladin. He was noble and brave. “Why would they think that you'd hurt me?”

“They all know I don't like you.” His words echoed against the bleachers. Anyone in fifty strides or a nearby classroom would have heard.

Caden felt the color drain from his face.

It wasn't the first time Jasan had said something like that. When they were younger, when Jasan was about Caden's age, he'd even said it in front of the castle staff. Caden's own anger began to build, but he fought it down. People usually grew to like Caden, and Jasan did like him, even if he didn't realize it.

Besides, it annoyed Jasan more when Caden didn't get upset. He squared his shoulders. “I know you didn't kill Chadwin or me.” He glanced down at himself. “Especially me. I'm obviously not dead.”

“But Chadwin is dead,” Jasan said.

It was said like a challenge. It was said in anger. Caden wasn't sure why Jasan would say something like that, but Caden needed to reply thoughtfully.

That was when three things happened all at once.

One, Caden felt his phone buzz with a new call.

Two, the emergency lights started flashing.

Three, a loud scream echoed from the front of the school.