The Child Prince (The Artifactor) (55 page)

“That’s why I’ve come to you. What would you have me do? Do you want me to fight to regain the throne, to usurp the Council’s power and end their reign over Windamere? Or do you prefer to leave things as they are? I leave the choice entirely in your hands. If you wish for me to fight, then I will. I will employ every ounce of strength, every resource that I’ve gained, every tactic that I’ve learned, until I either win or die trying.

“But if you do not care who rules over you, if you wish to simply turn a blind eye to the Council’s actions, then I will not rail at you. I will simply walk away from this country and leave you in the Council’s hands. I have left you alone for ten long years, and while I have many excuses for this, it does not justify my lack of power. I realize that you have very little reason to trust me. But I hope you also realize that I will do everything in my power to earn your trust, if you give me but the chance to do so.

“It is up to you. Do you wish for me to fight?”

For a long, nerve-wracking moment, no one said anything. No one dared to even breathe. Bellomi held still and met their eyes unflinchingly. He needed to know, one way or another, what they wanted. He just hoped they gave him the answer he wanted to hear.

Finally, a man in the front of the crowd stirred. He took a half-step forward, catching Bellomi’s attention with a timidly raised hand. “Prince Bellomi, are you so sure that you can win?”

Bellomi locked eyes with him and gave him a firm nod. “I am. I have full confidence that with your support, if we all do everything that we can, and nothing is neglected, that we shall prove to be the victors. You must understand, I don’t need for you to fight. I have done everything I can, in fact, to ensure that this will not come down to a battle where brothers, husbands, and sons are lost in a bloody tangle for power. It is
my
duty,
my
obligation to fight for
you
. The Dragonmanovich family of old were designated as rulers of this country because we proved to the people of that time that we would do anything necessary in order to protect every soul who lived within these borders. Their blood runs within my veins and I will not forsake the obligations I was born to…unless you ask it of me. I ask you again—will you have me fight? Fight for this country, fight for you, fight for the future generations of Windamere? It all hinges upon your word. Simply ask it of me, and I will do what you wish.”

From somewhere in the back of the crowd, a bodiless voice called out, “Your Highness, before I answer your question, I must know. What will you need from us? You said this won’t be a battle, but you’ve come to us for a reason. What do you need?”

A very good question. Bellomi didn’t quite know where to focus his eyes as he responded, so tried to make it a more general look toward the back. “All I need from you is your unwavering support and witness. I need for you to believe in me, as I believe in you. If you will do that, just that, then this silent war will be won without a single sword needing to leave its sheath. What say you, people of Windamere? Do I fight or flee?”

The crowd seemed stunned, not knowing what to think. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable degree, then stretched some more, before Master Tomms cleared his throat and asked at a thundering level, “Your Highness, Your Majesty, I must ask—why didn’t His Majesty stop the Council before it got to this point?”

Aren took a step forward, coming to stand at Bellomi’s side on the platform before he answered, “I, too, was cursed. In fact, I was cursed before Bellomi was.”

That
sent the crowd into an uproar, all of them calling out questions or comments at once, in an almost visible roar of disbelief.

Aren, well used to dealing with crowds, raised a hand and motioned for them to calm before trying to speak again. “No one knew I was cursed, I know. But my curse was more subtle—it worked on me so that I couldn’t focus on anything outside of my laboratory. But the Council knew something about it, make no mistake—they locked me into that room like they locked Bellomi away. It wasn’t until my son came to get me that I was able to leave that place.”

Tomms slammed one fist into the other hand, cracking his knuckles in an ominous way. His face looked murderously enraged. “Cursed.
Both
of you cursed? For ten years!” He shook his head before turning to the people around him, voice almost thunderous. “I don’t know about you lot, but I’m not letting the Council stay in power! Not if they’d sink to locks and curses to get their way!”

From the opposite side of the crowd, a younger man pushed his way through, calling as he came forward, “Your Highness! I can’t speak for everyone here, but I’m with Master Tomms. I’ll stand with you!”

His words triggered the crowd, and they surged and roared with approval, pressing forward so that they could each assure Bellomi and Aren personally of their support. Bellomi quickly became overwhelmed, almost swarmed with hands and faces from all sides. His eyes started to spin in his head and he had to brace himself under the force of their enthusiasm.

Fortunately, Axelrad came to his rescue quickly, putting himself as a barrier between the crowd. “Wait, wait!” he called in a booming voice. “Don’t flatten them!”

It took a few minutes, but then everyone seemed to realize they almost had run their king and prince over, and half-embarrassed, they retreated a few steps.

Bellomi tugged his coat back straight, flushed and nervous again for an entirely different reason. Aren, after a quick glance at his son’s face, stepped forward and smoothly took the lead. “Thank you, everyone. Truly. We are beyond grateful for your support. What we do here must be kept secret from the Council, but I encourage you to spread the word to your neighbors and friends that we will not be sitting idly by. We fully intend to take our country back.”

The young man from before called out, “Will that be soon, Your Majesty?”

“As soon as we can manage it,” Aren promised with a feral smile.

~ ~ ~

Sevana stood in the very back, behind the platform, and watched as the royals moved in and out of the crowd, shaking hands and talking to everyone. She caught glimpses of Bel’s face now and again and he looked…strained. But he’d handled this better than she’d thought he would. That had been some speech, too. Even if Hana had written it for him, he’d delivered it with heartfelt sincerity, and the people responded well because of it. (Although Aren almost choked several times because his son was giving the people the choice without trying to persuade them first.)

 Tomms came up to stand at her side, not saying anything for several seconds, just watching the crowd as she did. “He’s not used to crowds like this, is he? Boy looks downright nervous.”

“He’s been locked in a room for ten years, and then confined to a mountain after that,” she snorted. “Of course he isn’t used to crowds. He didn’t pass out like I thought he would, though.”

Chuckling, Tomms asked dryly, “You’re disappointed about that, aren’t you?”

“Sure am,” she grumped. “I came for a show, and instead it went boringly well.”

Giving her a ‘gentle’ thump on the back, Tomms consoled, “But he
did
do well, which is the better outcome.”

“Hmph.” She watched for a few more seconds before a thought occurred to her. “Hammer, I want you to do me a favor.”

“Oh?”

“We don’t know who was behind casting the curse,” she admitted frankly. “We’ve all assumed that someone on the Council did it, but we’re not sure. Sarsen and I are working on the problem, but we need more information. Spread the word, will you? Tell people that we’re looking for any suspicious behavior or odd events from ten years ago.”

“Ten years is a mighty long time, Sev.”

“I know it.” She grimaced and shrugged. “It’s a long shot. But Sarsen and I have done everything we can, and the list of suspects is still a mite too long. Maybe someone will remember something.”

“No hurt trying,” the shipwright agreed although his tone said he didn’t think anything would come from it. “But even if you don’t figure it out, you can protect them from getting cursed again, eh?”

“Why does everyone think that?” she asked rhetorically, face lifted to the heavens, demanding an answer. But of course, no heavenly voice responded. Giving up, she fixed a sardonic look on Tomms. “No, Hammer, Artifactor prodigies such as myself are still fallible. I can’t devise the perfect protection that will safeguard them from every possible danger. Would that I could, but can’t. So if you want to protect those two and put them back on the throne, help me find the culprit.”

Tomms gave a low groan, brows drawn together in a troubled expression. “It’s risky for them to make a move, then, if they don’t know who all their enemies are.”

Sevana didn’t bother to respond to such an obvious statement, just shrugged. Both men knew the risks and had forged ahead anyway. If they wanted to risk their necks, she couldn’t stop them.

That wouldn’t stop her from telling them that they were idiots, though.

Axelrad turned and caught her eye, still hovering near the prince’s elbow, and gave her a signal. Time to leave, eh? Well, they’d been here for a solid hour, so they probably should go back before trouble descended. “Hammer, we need to go. You know where to reach me if you find out anything.”

“Sure thing.” The big man nodded to her. “And tell the prince, we’ll spread word of what he said here tonight.”

She gave him an acknowledging wave of the hand as she moved forward, collecting the chatting royalty and ushering them home for the night.

~ ~ ~

That meeting set a precedent, and as the days continued, more meetings across the country were held. Aren did one more joint meeting with his son, but Bel handled the crowd better the second time, not looking nearly as overwhelmed and nervous. After that, they split the meetings between the two of them and went in opposite directions. As they’d planned earlier, Sevana and Sarsen went with Bel, while Axelrad and Pierpoint accompanied Aren. The meetings weren’t universally well accepted, as some went better than others, but the overall note remained positive. Bel had called it correctly: no one liked the Council’s overbearing management or restrictive rulings and they wanted their king back on the throne.

For once, they had no meetings scheduled tonight. Bellomi felt restless, itching for something to do, but didn’t have anything on hand to occupy him. He finally decided to check up on Goethals and Clasessens.  They were swiftly reaching a point where having an ally on the Council would be extremely beneficial. He’d like to be able to settle it firmly in his own mind just how much he could trust those two men before his father took the next step.

With the ease of practice, he dodged the guards, moving lithely through the palace’s shadowy halls, dropped down lightly into the outer garden with its handy side gate, and slipped out into the city. The only businesses that still had their doors open at this time of the night were taverns, inns and entertainment halls. Despite the late hour, he still found a few people to talk to, and exchanged tidbits of news.

He heard nothing but confirmations for what he already suspected.

Goethals and Clasessens had done what they could to keep Windamere from sliding into a dark abyss these past ten years. Both men supported several charities they kept up, they funded several projects to improve the country’s conditions from their own pocket, and they regularly sent out their own men in search of both missing members of the royal family. They even sent their own thief-takers out to try and keep the city guard more honest. At least, Clasessens did.

Bellomi still blamed them for not acting more boldly and sending real help to either he or his father, but he knew why they hadn’t. Doing anything openly like that would have cost them their positions and quite possibly their lives. The other members of the Council would not have taken such a betrayal lightly.

He could castrate them for their cowardice, but he could understand it. In truth, he had no room to cast stones either. Had he not obediently sat in a locked room for ten years, also waiting on someone else to fix the problem?

As the clock tower tolled out the hour throughout the city, he stopped talking to people and instead retreated back towards the palace, with every intention of going home. Halfway there, a black carriage rumbled past him on the road with a crest on the side of it that he recognized instantly.

Goethals.

Some instinct sent him into the nearest alleyway and up onto the roof. He wanted to confirm what he’d heard with his own eyes. He wanted to see that Goethals truly hadn’t taken advantage of these ten kingless years as all the rest had. He ran along the sloped and tarred rooftops, running as fast as he dared, switching from roof to roof in leaps, always staying just within sight of the carriage to avoid suspicion.

In that fashion, he trailed along behind the carriage, following him into the nicer downtown area of the city, where all the noblemen had a townhouse. Goethals, from all appearances, seemed to be heading directly for his own home.

He moved ahead to a neighboring house, finding a nice corner in the roofline to conceal himself in, watching as the carriage approached the iron gates that led into the back of the house.