The Child Prince (The Artifactor) (23 page)

“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Morgan advised, drumming his fingers against the table. “Sev, your clocks still in place in the palace?”

“Of course.”

“Then sneak in, and see if he’ll sign,” Morgan suggested. “If he signs, hunky-dory. If not, we’ll think of another solution.”

“Like taking out the Council?” Sevana offered, showing interest for the first time in this conversation.

Morgan didn’t even blink at her bloodthirstiness. “We might need to do that anyway. They’re not going to hand over all of their power and position just because Bel asks nicely.”

Sevana actually
giggled
, like a young school girl. “I have the
perfect
curses to use.”

His imagination played out possible scenarios of turning a gleeful Sevana loose on the palace. Bellomi shuddered in growing terror. “Just don’t put any holes in the walls,” he pleaded with her. “I want my palace
intact
when I take it back.”

“Pah!” she swatted this concern away with a lack of concern that scared him down to his toes. “Walls are easy to fix. What are you worried about?”

Bellomi swore to himself right then and there that he would find a solution to this problem that did
not
involve Sevana and a wand. “Alright, so sneak in and get the king’s signature. After that, the gold problem will be solved. As king, I can take as much gold from the royal treasury as I need.”

Sevana clapped her hands together and swung a leg over the chair’s back, lightly gaining her feet. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go, Bel.”

“Wait,
now
?” Bellomi protested, scrambling to his feet. “Shouldn’t we wait until dark?”

“Why?” Sevana responded, already half out the door. “I didn’t wait until dark to go get you, did I?”

…A point he had not considered until she’d brought it up.

“Besides,” her voice echoed from the hallway. “No one’s around during the day in that wing of the palace. We won’t encounter a soul.”

Bellomi pointed a finger to where the Artifactor had disappeared and asked Morgan, “How does she know that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Morgan assured him seriously. “Really. Don’t ask. You’ll sleep better at night not knowing.”

~ ~ ~

“This is depressing,” Bellomi muttered to himself. He turned this way and that—which was slightly disorienting considering that his feet were currently on the ceiling instead of the floor—and looked in every direction but Sevana had been correct earlier. No one could be seen in this wing of the palace at all. Well, the southern wing had always been the quarters for the royal family, so it shouldn’t be a high traffic area to begin with, but…but
someone
should be in attendance! The king was in his laboratory, after all, so someone should be nearby. Right?

They’d still taken precautions, of course. Sevana had him wear her sneaking boots, the ones that allowed him to walk on any surface—including ceilings. He found walking around up here to be strangely interesting. Aside from the very thick layer of dust in the crevices of the molding, that is. But he’d never gotten a very close look at the murals painted on the ceiling until now. He found a lot of simple mistakes in the artwork. Whoever had painted these had banked on the fact that no one would be able to get a close look.

He couldn’t look anywhere but directly ahead for long, either. Seeing the floor below him gave him a strange sense of vertigo, as if he were in the act of falling but not quite. Keeping his eyes on the ceiling or the walls kept him oriented enough to find his father’s laboratory. Strange, even after a decade, he remembered the way perfectly.

They rounded a corner and came to the right hallway. As with every other section of this wing, it echoed with vacancy. There were only two doors here—the one on the right side led to the king’s bedchamber. The one on the left to his laboratory.

Bellomi slowed as he saw something strange on the door. Well, not that a lock on a door could be described as strange, per se, but…a lock
that
big? A grown man’s hand couldn’t fit around it. “Sevana, that lock….”

“It looks very similar to the one that was on your door.” She stopped in front of the door and hunkered down so that she could look at it squarely. “In fact, I would swear it was made by the same locksmith.”

Icy tendrils started up his spine, heralding a sick sense of foreboding. “My father started acting preoccupied about three months before I was cursed,” he said around a dry throat. “That’s why I didn’t think his behavior particularly strange later on, when he started to ignore the outside world completely. But if that lock is on his door….”

“It’s a game changer, this lock.” Sevana stood again and met his eyes somberly. “It means we made an assumption we shouldn’t have. He might be just as much a prisoner as you were. Either that, or the Council is taking advantage of his preoccupation and the lock is there just in case he changes his ways.”

Bellomi truly hoped it was the former. “Only one way to find out.”

Taking a wand from her belt, she circled the lock and spoke a short command he couldn’t understand. The lock obediently popped open with a quiet click. Putting the wand away, she opened the door and confidently strode inside.

After taking a breath for courage, Bellomi followed her.

Sevana let out a low whistle as she turned her head this way and that, taking in the whole room. “Impressive. I wish I had a workroom like this.”

He hadn’t thought about it until she’d made the comment, but now that she had… “Actually, why
don’t
you have a workroom like this?”

“Too many fires and explosions,” she explained absently. “I have to re-build the room at least once a year.”

That certainly explained a lot. Bellomi looked around the room as well, taking it in for the first time in ten years. The place had definitely changed. It used to have just three long tables filled with gadgets and gizmos, a skylight in the ceiling providing light. Now, huge projects took up every inch of floor space, some stacked on top of the others to form little maze-like walls. Looking at them, he couldn’t fathom what they were meant to do. His father didn’t have any magical ability whatsoever so none of these could be magical constructs, but a person would think so based upon the designs.

Clearly, no maid had dared step foot in here long enough to clean the place. Thick amounts of dust coated every surface and the dust bunnies under the tables had grown to a size that they could almost rival a real rabbit. Five paces inside, and Bellomi had to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle a sneeze.

Sevana paused and glanced back over her shoulder long enough to warn, “Don’t sneeze in here. You’ll start an avalanche.”

“No kidding,” he responded, words muffled through the hand still over his mouth. “Do you see my father?”

“No, but you could hide a whole garrison in here without much trouble.” Sevana had to go sideways to get through one narrow passage, avoiding anything that might topple onto her head.

They wandered about, in and out between inventions and abandoned machines, for several minutes. Bellomi completely lost all sense of direction and prayed that Sevana could find the door again. He certainly wouldn’t be able to. But finally, they reached the center of the room and the only clear space still left.

There, the King of Windamere bent over the table intently, working on a metal plate in his hands.

A catch lodged in Bellomi’s throat as he saw his father for the first time in over a decade. He’d aged considerably in that time and not for the better. His unruly dark hair, once so like his son’s, had large streaks of grey in it now and it hung in a matted snarl down his back. He’d lost a great deal of weight as well, looking almost skeletal, no doubt because he had chosen for years to work rather than eat. His skin looked ghost-like because of the long absence of the sun. This from a man that used to enjoy taking his morning strolls in the gardens. Bellomi stopped dead in his tracks, stomach clenching and rolling, heartsick at the sight in front of him.

“He’s in bad shape,” Sevana said aloud, her tone clinically detached. “I’d say, he’s definitely a prisoner. What say you, Prince of Windamere?”

“We take him out of here,” Bellomi commanded hoarsely. “I’ll figure out a way to pay you for your help later.”

She gave him a nod of agreement and approval. “Done.” Pausing, she looked the king over before commenting, “Good thing we came to get him when we did. In another six months or a so, he’d be dead from starvation.”

Just the idea that he would have let his father die while obediently staying in his room made Bellomi want to find a corner and throw up. He gulped in air to prevent himself from doing just that. “Sevana. Tell me you can save him.”

“Of course,” she assured him casually, with a shrug of the shoulders. “But even you can do that. Just feed the man, for heaven’s sake.”

That he would do. He swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to feed his father until he’d regained his normal weight, even if he had to force-feed the man.

“Now, let’s get him—” Sevana paused with her mouth open, cutting herself off mid-sentence. She took a step closer, eyes narrowed as she scanned the king from head to toe and then back again.

He knew that look. Bellomi had seen it before when Sevana saw something that she didn’t expect to. “What?”

She turned on her heel and gave him that same intent scrutiny. “Pierpoint did the same magical protection on both of you.”

Not a question, but he nodded and answered. “Yes, of course he did. Why?”

“Because that’s not the only magical influence your father is under.” She turned back and looked at the king again, a hand rising as if tracing something that Bellomi couldn’t see. “Oh my. There’s another spell on him, and it’s an old one.”

Bellomi went very, very still as he words sank in. “A curse?”

“Could be,” she acknowledged slowly. “I won’t know until I can study him properly. But it’s feeding off him like a parasite would. In fact…I think I know what it’s meant to do.” She gave a thoughtful look around the room. “Bellomi. I have a bad feeling that if we take your father out of this room, away from his work, that he will go mad. I think this spell is somehow forcing him to work and if he’s taken away from it, he will drive himself insane trying to fulfill the spell’s demands.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, hard, forcing himself to calm down and think about this logically. “I see the problem,” he said hoarsely. “But at the same time, we can’t leave him here. It’s a deathtrap. You said it yourself, if he stays here longer, he’ll die.”

Sevana rubbed at her chin with idle fingers. “True enough. And I need him handy to study so that I can break that spell. I can’t really do anything here without my tools. Hmmm. Let’s try this. I’ll shrink the table and the project that he’s currently working on and take it along with us. I can do a quick scan of the room and create an illusion of it later. If we give him a semblance of his laboratory, I think the spell will be satisfied and he won’t have any negative reactions.”

That sounded like a plausible solution. Better than leaving him here, certainly. Bellomi nodded in support of this. “Good. Let’s do it that way. What can I do to help?”

Sevana reached for a wand at her belt and handed it toward him. “I’ll activate the spell on this and have it record the room’s makeup. I need you to
slowly
turn so that the wand can record every inch of this place. While you work on that, I’ll work on the table.”

He accepted the wand readily and felt a jolt of surprise when he realized that the wood felt warm to him. Strange, he always associated magic with a feeling of coolness. The wand looked oversized in his hand, being a good foot long and with a carved handle in the shape of it. A little nervous about keeping it steady, he wrapped both hands around the hilt and very, very slowly turned to make sure that wand read every inch of the room clearly.

With his ears, he tracked Sevana’s movements. She first hit the king with some sort of spell that made the man sleep right there on his feet. Probably a good idea, considering what she said earlier about the spell forcing him to work. Then things started clattering and clinking as she shrunk them.

By the time he had made a full revolution, Sevana had put the whole table and all of its contents into a sack that she then slung onto her back. She’d also put an extra pair of sneaking boots on the king’s feet.

“You had another pair of sneaking boots?”

“Just in case.” Sevana shrugged. “Call it a hunch that things weren’t as they appeared to be.”

Thank heavens she had thought to prepare ahead. He didn’t know how they’d have managed to get the king out of here otherwise. Bellomi handed the wand over, which she accepted even as she instructed, “He’s under the Sleep Walker’s spell. Just take his hand and he’ll follow you like a faithful dog.”

Easy enough. Sidling up to his father, he grabbed the man’s bony hand, squeezing harder than he needed to. His skin felt like ice. More than worried, Bellomi wanted to just take off in a run straight back to Big. But that wouldn’t be feasible, especially in this crowded room that could topple in on them with just a wrong breath. He took in a slow breath and let it out, forcing himself to be patient. Then he tugged his father into motion, follow Sevana outside.

They retraced their path exactly, and once again didn’t encounter anyone on their way back to the clock. Bellomi had been embarrassed before about his palace’s lack of security—a point that he would take up with the captain of the guards at his
first
opportunity—but right now he blessed this silence. Prince or not, if he tried to take his father unwillingly from the Palace, he would be in serious trouble.

It took a little maneuvering for Bellomi to turn the king sideways enough to fit through the narrow confines of the clock. The man was too tall to fit easily and kept banging his head against the pendulum inside. But with him pushing and Sevana tugging, they got him through.

As Sevana focused on shutting off her clock, Bellomi dragged his father straight to the kitchen and sat him at the table. The king dozed upright in the chair as his son hastily put together a sandwich. Not sure if this would work or not, Bellomi nevertheless put the sandwich against his father’s mouth and commanded sternly, “Eat.”