The Child Prince (The Artifactor) (54 page)

Against his skin she asked softly, “Is that really what’s scaring you?”

“Right now, yes. Because if I fail in that, then everything else will fail. My ability to persuade them is the linchpin to this whole elaborate plan.” Just saying that put a lump in his throat. He lifted the cup to his mouth, hoping that a long draw of hot cider would dissolve the lump. The rich taste of apple and spices filled his mouth in a pleasant rush but the lump didn’t disappear.

Hana hugged him a little harder to her. “Have you planned out what you want to say?”

“I would have, if I had the foggiest notion of what I
should
say.”

“I think you would feel better if you at least had a speech prepared.” She leaned back enough to give him a quick grin. “So let’s start there. I’ll help you.”

“Bless you.” He leaned down far enough to give her a kiss on the forehead. Hana’s smile grew at the gesture, eyes softening. That particular expression made his blood quicken and for a moment, he forgot his nervousness. “Hana, sweetling, please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently, honestly not understanding what he meant.

“Like
that
,” he reiterated, unable to explain it properly. “Because if you do, I’m just going to kiss you until you’re senseless, which doesn’t really help solve any problems.”

She pondered that for a full second before offering with mock-naivety, “Wouldn’t it work as stress relief?”

He groaned. “You are
not
helping.”

Stealing his mug, she took a long sip before asking, “I’m supposed to be helpful?”

Taking the mug back, he snipped, “Didn’t you just say you would help me?”

“That’s just for the speech. It’s a limited offer.” Her eyes sparkled with unvoiced laughter.

“Oh-hooo, is that right?” Why did bantering with her always put him in a better mood? Shaking his head, he asked more seriously, “So, where do we start in our speech preparations?”

“With the truth.”

~ ~ ~

No one wanted to draw attention to their location, so the first town they would go to would be Vigil, a city on the sheer opposite end of Windamere. They only managed to cross that sort of distance because of Sevana’s clocks (she had one in the Mayor’s office). They met in front of the clocks at five sharp. This first trip, Aren had decided to go with Bellomi, as he recognized that his son needed support for his first real experience of public speaking before being thrown into the metaphorical deep end on his own.

Neither man wore anything that shouted
royalty!
This had been carefully calculated, in case things turned for the worst and they were forced to flee. Bellomi wore clothes that made him look like a well to do huntsman—dark trousers tucked into knee high boots, plain white shirt with a well-tailored leather jacket over it, swords at his back as always. His father looked more like a businessman in a dark grey suit, trousers tucked into half-boots, his greying hair combed carefully back to give him a clean-cut appearance.

Axelrad and Sevana stood off to one side, both of them dressed in the plain clothes they always favored, although for once Sevana wore a long divided skirt instead of trousers. Then again, they were headed for Windamere’s borders, and the bordering towns had been strongly influenced by Kindin’s culture over the years. Women simply didn’t wear pants in Kindin culture. She was considered a loose and immoral woman if she did. Sevana apparently realized that in this case, she actually had to take some care with her appearance, and so dressed accordingly. Bellomi blew out an inner sigh of relief. Whether she had realized this herself, or someone had talked her into it, he didn’t know but he blessed the fact that he wouldn’t be forced to say anything.

Sevana gave him a look over as he stepped into the clock room, the grandfather clock behind her already ticking with mechanical precision. “You don’t look very nervous,” she observed aloud.

“Hana helped me prepare for this. I’ll be fine,” he responded, forcing a confident smile. Internally, he had butterflies in his stomach engaged in a bout of fisticuffs.
Nervous
didn’t begin to cover it.

“Pity,” she observed with an evil grin. “I was looking forward to teasing you.”

Axelrad and Aren both gave her a weary look. They didn’t say anything, but they’d learned the hard way over the past weeks of living here that no one could change Sevana. She would do and say as she pleased, and no one could convince her to do otherwise.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

“Of course.” She turned on her heel, boots scrapping a bit on the stone floor, and opened the clock’s face. “Axelrad, if you would.”

The guard captain had actually taken a step forward before she could even say a word, fully intending on going first and making sure the way was clear. He bent and twisted as he went through, disappearing into the other side. A taut second passed before his voice rumbled, “It’s clear.”

Taking a breath, Bellomi stepped into the narrow confines of the clock and stepped through. Sevana had apparently not used this clock in some time, as it smelled musty from disuse. He almost held his breath until he could maneuver through to the other side.

The Mayor’s office, at this time of the evening (it was six o’clock here), did not have a soul in it. The lamps had been turned down, doors and windows closed for the day, and the only sound came from the clock ticking behind him. He stepped to the side, giving everyone else room to come through, and glanced about in idle curiosity. It looked almost as he had imagined it—large desk dominating the front of the room, four arm chairs arranged in front of it facing each other, expensive paintings on the wall. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

In quick succession, Aren and Sevana both came through, the Artifactor firmly closing the grandfather’s face behind her. Without a word exchanged, Axelrad led the way out of the office and everyone followed along behind him. They went down a very short, dark hallway to a side door that Axelrad had to unlock in order to open. The door dumped into a narrow street that fortunately didn’t smell of sewer. Once again, Sevana closed the door behind her, carefully keeping it from locking as well. They did, after all, have to return here in order to make it back to Big.

The sun hadn’t truly set yet, leaving some daylight to see by. Axelrad waved them to once again follow, which they did through a succession of very narrow streets. Bellomi tried to make sense of the path, as he didn’t want to rely on Axelrad to get back, but it proved challenging.

It soon became clear that the meeting place lay out of the town’s center, as Axelrad led them away from the downtown section and into an area of warehouses. It seemed a strange place to meet, but the more that Bellomi thought of it, the more it made sense. If one wanted to be secretive but have a great deal of space for people, a warehouse suited the needs perfectly.

Once again, they used a side entrance to enter a very large, brick warehouse. Bellomi took an automatic deep breath as they entered, marking the scent of the place in his head. It smelled of…wood. Two steps inside, he saw why. This was a shipwright’s workplace. A half-constructed ship with its hull still partially gaping took up most of the center space, with wood and tools stacked in piles around it. It smelled oddly good, fresh, although dusty enough to set his nose to twitching.

A place at the far right of the building had obviously been set up for him, as a simple wooden block sat on the cold stone floor, meant for someone to stand upon and speak from. He assumed they’d arrived early, but as he walked, he counted a good fifty heads already milling about, waiting. It made the butterflies in his stomach evaporate and his stomach tied itself into a snarly knot instead. For some reason, too, he had a hard time swallowing.

“
Now
you look nervous,” Sevana chuckled at his side.

He took in a deep breath and reminded himself, again, that he couldn’t strangle her. “Instead of snickering, how about some good advice?”

Strangely enough, she obliged. “Speak slow and loud.”

Aren, just ahead of him, turned to say over his shoulder, “And if someone asks you a question, respond directly to them. Don’t try to answer to the whole crowd. Maintain eye contact with individual people as much as you can, but don’t focus on just one person.”

Good advice. Hopefully he’d remember to heed all of it.

A man he didn’t recognize spotted them and weaved his way through the crowd, hailing Axelrad in a voice suited to bellowing. “Axe!”

The guard captain waved a hand in acknowledgement, slowing their pace so they could converse away from the crowd. “This is Rev Tomms, Master Shipwright,” he introduced.

Bellomi swallowed hard, took a step forward, and extended a hand to the man. “Master Tomms, I’m Bellomi Dragonmanovich. I want to thank you for giving us a chance to speak here. I recognize the risk you’re taking doing so.”

Tomms didn’t quite know how to respond at first. He blinked in dumbfounded surprise at Bellomi—surprised to see the Child Prince grown, perhaps?—and then again at the outstretched hand. After a stunned moment, he reached out and took the offered hand in a strong grip. Bellomi could feel the calluses, strength, and roughness of a hand that had known decades of hard work. He could see it reflected in the strong, stout build of the man and the lines in his weathered skin. Tomms gave every impression of being a strong, confident man. Tomms gave him a slow smile, tightening his grip for a moment.

“Your Highness, I’m glad to see you. Truly. Axe told me your curse was broken, but I’d not thought to see a day I’d see you grown!”

Bellomi shrugged ruefully, smiling at the man’s honesty. “At times, I didn’t think I would ever get a chance to grow either. Fortunately, this country has an Artifactor who doesn’t care about the rules. Master Tomms, may I introduce my father, Aren Dragonmanovich,” Aren followed his son’s example and shook Tomm’s hand with a firm grip, which awed the man all over again, “and Artifactor Sevana Warran.”

“Her, I know.” Tomms slapped Sevana on the shoulder in a friendly way, the way a doting uncle would greet his niece. “Hey, girl.”

“Hey, Hammer,” Sevana greeted laconically. “I should have known we’d be meeting with you. You’re the rebel, after all.”

Bellomi shouldn’t have been surprised that these two knew each other—Sevana seemed to have friends all over—but he couldn’t help being so. “Ah, how do you two know each other?”

“She makes unbreakable tools,” Tomms responded easily. “Only Artifactor I know that makes ‘em right. I tried others—they held up for a while, but when the magic wore off, they’d snap. But Sev’s don’t.” Daring a little humor, he lowered his voice to a confidential tone and admitted, “Sometimes when we’re a bit bored, we try to break ‘em on purpose.”

Bellomi rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. “And, ah, have you? Managed to break one, I mean.”

“Not so far.” Tomms gave him a grin that revealed a missing tooth.

“If you ever
do
manage it, you’ll give me nothing but grief for years.” Sevana rolled her eyes, as if put upon, but she had a smile tugging at her mouth too. “Alright, Hammer, are we ready to start?”

“I’d think so,” Tomms replied. “Highness, you just step onto that platform I built and speak loud. Some of us don’t hear so good in our old age.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bellomi promised. “But if I’m not loud enough, raise a hand at me, alright?”

Tomms gave him a reassuring nod, as if sensing his nervousness. “Sure thing.”

Taking a deep breath (which didn’t settle his nerves any), he walked with a firm stride for the platform. As he approached, people saw him and murmured to each other, melting to either side to give him room. He nodded and smiled at them as he could, trying to establish that connection with the crowd that his father had coached him on before.

All too soon, he reached the platform. It didn’t have any real size to it, just enough for a man to stand on, and perhaps move a pace in either direction. Everyone else chose to stand behind him, off the platform, which gave him emotional support but also the full attention of the crowd.

He breathed in deep one last time and cast a prayer to the heavens for courage. Then he raised his voice to a level that would carry. “Master Tomms said that everyone is here and we’re ready to start.”

The words had an almost magic effect. Everyone stopped their conversations and moved closer to the platform, looking up at him with intent concentration. He met their eyes as he could, moving over the crowd, trying to see who he spoke to. Bellomi had quite the diversity with businessmen, craftsmen, young families and older people all mixed in.

Alright. Here went nothing. “I am Bellomi Christoff Vogel braun Dragonmanovich, the heir to the throne of Windamere.” He had to pause as people gasped, astonished and exclaiming in wordless surprise. At his appearance? Axelrad had surely said something about that…and his identity. Or maybe not? Whatever the cause, he allowed them a few seconds before continuing, “But no one knows me by my name. To you, to all of you, I have simply been ‘The Child Prince’ or the ‘Cursed Prince’ for the past decade. Some of you have never known a time when I was anything but that cursed prince. I’m sure many of you lost all hope that I would ever be anything else.

“For ten long years, this country has suffered because of a council of greedy, ambitious men. I could not help you. I could do nothing to stop them. I couldn’t even protect myself. Like you, I had lost all hope that I would ever be anything more than an eternal child, locked in a room until either loneliness or madness consumed me.

“But hope was handed back to me. An Artifactor came to my rescue, taking me away from the palace room where I had been imprisoned, giving me new hope that I could escape the curse that I had lived with for the past ten years. With that person’s capable help, I grew, and not just physically. I gained the skills, the knowledge, the experience I needed to become your prince once again.”

He paused here, looking over the crowd. They listened with spell-bound silence, eyes glued to him. He glanced to where Tomms stood, and the man gave him a nod, encouraging him to go on. Swallowing hard, he did so. “I am no longer the Child Prince you once called me. But that does not mean I have automatically regained my birthright. It does not mean that Windamere is automatically saved. I wish it did. But the Council has wrested all control, all power, away from my family in these past ten years. We do not have the ability to simply resume the throne.