Chapter 13: Haminest Ov Casad

The servant made a face of someone utterly offended. “You mind your manners if you wish to keep your tongue.”

“I don’t want to see him either,” Mageia said.

“You have no choice.” Dargany brought his sword closer to her chin. She had nowhere to go but inside.

She held open her bounded hands and stepped towards the servant with caution.

“Fine. But I swear if he tries anything stupid, I will hurt him,” she promised.

“Be my guest,” Dargany said, either in annoyance or in dark humor.

“Come on now,” the servant barked, backing away to further open the door.

Mageia’s heart climbed up her throat as she slipped inside. She kept her distance from the servant.

Dargany lowered his sword. “Remember what I said, Rasheem.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man said and closed the door in the soldier’s face. He muttered under his breath as he relocked the door with a key. Instead of keeping it inside, he pulled it out and tucked it into his vest pocket.

Mageia pretended she hadn’t seen him do it and took in the prince’s quarters. The smell of spices, stale eggs, and parchment greeted her as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit sitting area. Other than a long coat on a sofa and a pair of boots on the patterned rug, the quarters felt clean and homely. The smaller windows sat opened, bringing in the warm breeze, and a calm flame lit the fireplace.

A large dining table, cluttered with items, separated the sitting area from a mini kitchen at the back. And to the left, a thick curtain hung from the ceiling, partially revealing a bedroom with a litter of clothing on a king-sized bed. Mageia stepped further into the sitting area to peek inside an open door of a fancy washroom, which sat beside a staircase leading up to a balcony overlooking the sitting room.

Mageia looked around in astonishment at how unroyal the chambers felt. She expected the chambers of a prince to have a fancier, more lively appeal.

“This is the Strange Prince’s chambers?” she said, unimpressed.

The servant, with an apparent title she did not care about, gave an irritated huff.

“You will address His Highness appropriately, young lady,” he said before sharply limping away towards the kitchen, leaving her gut melting with unease.

Prince Grisonce Arlon was not the most spoken of prince in the kingdom. The son of the late queen, he was rumored to have an incurable defect that tainted the king’s bloodline, yet the Priesthood granted him clearance. Some rumors mentioned how his special hobbies involved odd experimentations, and the Strange were known to be his test subjects.

Mageia’s chest was near to exploding.

The manservant fumbled around in the kitchen with his back to her, unaware that his full attention should be on the so-called thief-slash-witch standing in the room. With great ease, she finally freed herself with her stolen pin and quietly sat the shackles on the sofa. Within seconds she stood at the door, trying to unlock it with the pin. After a minute of failing, the manservant cleared his throat.

She spun to face him. He stood with one hand already held out. “Hand it over.”

She shifted her feet, pouting in defeat, and dropped the stylish red pin into his palm. He frowned at it and shook his head.

“Now, where did you get such a fancy pin?”

“I picked it off the commander.”

“Eron?” he asked with some surprise in his tone. She nodded. He sighed and clasped his hands. “How do I call you?”

“Um … Mageia.”

“Mageia. Are you hungry?”

She stared at him and couldn’t believe he asked her that. She fell in tune with her grumbling stomach, but decided to ignore it. She lasted this long being hungry. She knew she could go a bit longer. “I don’t want your food. I don’t want to be here. The Strange Prince is—”

“Prince Grisonce, young lady.”

“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her freed hand. “On the streets, he is known to be someone best to avoid, like his brother.”

“Stepbrother.” A voice rang out from the far back of the kitchen.

They both turned their attention to the young prince, who entered the quarters in silence. He wore plain attire, far from anything noble and years apart from royal. His head of curls sat like a bird’s nest on his head, flopping this way and that as he relieved himself of the bundle in his arms to the messy dining table. He reclaimed his clipboard, thick with parchment, stuck an inked quill behind his ear, and scurried towards them.

“I like the distinction,” the Strange Prince said as if his tongue was too big for his mouth.

“Everything went okay, Gris?” the manservant asked.

“Yes, but your team w-will be assembling soon f-for your meeting,” he said. “B-best get down there.”

The servant’s mouth opened and closed a few times, feet shifting, and wide eyes glancing at her. The prince looked at her as if just noticing she was there and smirked. “We will be fine, Rasheem.”

“She just unshackled herself and tried to escape. She stole something from the commander, which I think you should return by other means before he notices.”

He handed him the red pin that received a frown of confusion.

“And Dargany said the Commander had her, so he’ll be back within an hour to retrieve her. No later.”

Mageia studied the prince and supposed heir to the throne. Tall and slim, with light honey eyes upon smooth dark amber skin that screamed for masculine hair. The boy did not look threatening, but one would never know. She searched the parts of his neck she could see and saw no Crescent Mark.

“Rasheem, we will be fine. Right, Lady Mageia?”

“She didn’t even bow. Bow in respect, young lady,” Rasheem said with the voice of someone who loved criticizing people.

She gave a quick curtsey, which made the prince chuckle. “Again, we w-will be fine. Now go on. We have a ceremony to p-prepare for.”

“One hour, no longer. The girl cannot be trusted.”

“Um … I’m standing right here, Rasheem.” She smirked, trying out the man’s name.

The man’s lips twitched before handing over the key to the door. Prince Grisonce stashed it in his left pocket, and Mageia mentally shook her head at his stupidity.

“If you need anything, just ring your emergency bell.”

“I know, Rasheem. Now go. I order you to go.” He dismissed.

Rasheem’s head raised with a hint of arrogance. He gave her one last eyeful, then left the way the prince entered. She took a few steps backwards to get a better look and saw a door slip closed behind the wall and a short stairway.

That’s when she felt the Strange Prince’s eyes on her. Her shoulders and arm muscles tensed, prepared for some unseen attack. But the prince just stood still, eyes glued on her face, especially her eyes, something she had grown used to as of late.

“I do not want to be one of your test subjects,” she said shortly. “I am not afraid to harm you if necessary.”

She didn’t expect the laugh that followed. It was like a calm tidal wave. She frowned, feeling warm goosebumps along her arms. He shook his head, causing his nest of hair to bounce. “You need not fret, Lady Mageia.”

“I’m no lady,” she snorted.

His smile drowned in so much kindness that Mageia bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling back. “And I’m no prince, apparently. Just call me Gris.”

She shook her head, not out of disrespect, but of the intimacy of the permission. Before she could respond, he gestured for her to follow him.

“Come. We have much to diss-cuss in such little time.”

“About?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You. You are par-par- huh special,” he said, unable to get the word out.

“Special? I don’t understand.”

“You will not if you continue standing there.” He was already halfway up the stairs.

She hesitated, glancing at the double doors, then the back door. There was something interesting about the young man that made her follow. Why would a prince be interested in someone like her?

At the top of the stairway, Prince Grisonce did a quick blessing to a shrine of Holy Rasaal and disappeared around the banister. She stepped onto the second level and gasped. There were so many books, scrolls, experimental items, tables, armchairs, and stuff she didn’t know the name of to fill two houses. Walking further into the prince’s study, she noticed a thick curtain along the back wall where four tables sat with straps attached to them. Fisican and coroner utensils sat neatly in one area, and her gut churned.

“You keep your test subjects strapped down?”

Prince Grisonce shuffled through some things, mind occupied, but not enough to ignore her.

“The majority of my test s-subjects have already gone to the Death Hall before arriving here,” he said.

“Majority …”

He chuckled and approached her with a swiftness that forced her to back away. She glanced at the stairway, and the boy held up his hands.

“Relax, my lady. The last living person I had str-strapped down was for a bone fracture s-surgery. And that was years ago.” He narrowed his eyes, a bit confused. “What do people say about me? Y-you look afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m …” she shook her head. “They say you’ve gone insane like your mother.” The mention of the late queen brought a dark shadow across his face. He looked away and gave a long sigh that sent chills up her spine.

“Never mention her, please.”

That sat on her tongue, wishing to be said, but the darkness forming in his eyes made her bite her tongue.

“Do you understand?” he ordered, his average voice elevating.

“Sure, Your Highness,” she managed to say, eyes wide.

He tugged on his plain dingy vest, cleared his throat, and brushed past her to meddle with the items on the table. She spotted a gold seal opener at the end of the table, and her instinct forced her to snatch it and slip it into the pocket of her dress.

“Now, I know you’re wondering why you are here,” he said, finally turning his attention to her.

“You said I was special.”

“I did. Come here.”

She furrowed her brow and glanced at the stairway one last time before edging closer. She kept about an arm’s length away, but the boy shook his head. He grabbed a book and closed the distance. She tensed up, nose tickling by his scent of spices, seasonings, and parchment, as if he’d been lying in a pool of books in the kitchens.

“This book here is the Book of Legends.”

Mageia gave a sharp intake. “You mean the Sacred Book about the Ordained?”

His honey eyes, too light to be natural, widened in shock. “Yes. I heard the rebel group, the Blesseds, call it the Sacred Book.”

“They do,” she said.

“Yes, h-however, not everyone knows its true name, the Book of Legends.”

Mageia slipped her bottom lip in between her teeth, realizing her mistake. She took a step back and averted her eyes to the book, old enough to crumble if handled improperly. Her fingers itched to touch its thick old parchment with inked cursive of an ancient form of the Valeeran tongue.

“How do you know its tr-true name?”

She shrugged. “I must’ve heard it from somewhere,” she said quickly, then changed the subject. “Are you with them? The Blesseds?”

The prince stared at her for a moment, noticing what she had done. He gave a slight chuckle. “Well, I believe in the Ordained, but I don’t consider m-myself in alliance with the group.”

“Do you know the true name of the Ordained?” he asked.

“No,” she said firmly. She glanced at the prince, who studied her intently.

“I don’t believe you.”

She scoffed. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. What does this have to do with me?”

“Everything,” he replied with great weight.

Mageia frowned. A slither of sorrow warped through her soul as the true name of the Ordained popped into her head. It also dug up a long-lost memory she buried a long time ago. She was 6 years old, playing around in her stepfather’s study. He’d been gone for three weeks, living at the palace, and she missed him so much. Being in his study made her feel closer to him. She remembered noticing a big book on his desk, similar to the one on the prince’s table. Her little fingers struggled to open it, and when she did, she read the Valeeran words across the parchment.

Later that day, she asked her mother about it.

She asked.

She remembered her beautiful mother staring at her for a very long time, pondering how to respond. Yet, she waited patiently until the answer was given.

, her mother said.

Mageia tapped the table and saw this conversation going sideways, yet it sparked her curiosity.

“Humor me,” he said. “What is the true name? I promise you won’t get in tr-trouble, and I swear everything spoken here will s-stay between the two of us.”

Mageia sighed and felt stupid to trust this Strange Prince. “

. Fairests of Old.”

“You know Valeeran?”

“

. A little bit,” she said with a slight careless shrug.

“Who taught you? Did you attend a school bef-fore you became the notorious Purple Thief?” The humor and casualness of his voice somewhat put her nerves at ease.

“My parents, if you must know,” she said proudly.

“And I as-ssume they, too, told you about the Book of Legends?”

“Only what I needed to know.” She crossed her arms and wanted to vanish into thin air.

“So, what do you know? P-please tell me,” he beamed.

Mageia thought this was a waste of time, but she had nowhere else to be. Then an idea popped into her head. “Promise me something first, Your Highness.”

The Strange Prince’s eyebrows shot up with pure amusement, and he stood straighter. “Okay. I-it’d depend on the promise.”

“Free me from the Dungeons and permit me to work here,” she said, though working in the palace would be terrible she may have some freedoms to wander.

“Hmm, I can promise to speak to my father about it,” he said with some confidence. “He’s allowed me, as Master of Slaves, to interfere in some Court s-sentences.”

Mageia studied the young man and noticed he had dimples that added to his cuteness. She ignored the heat in her cheeks and reminded herself that he was still a Royal. And Royals could not be entirely trusted.

“You will try your hardest?” she asked.

“I promise to the mind god of knowledge, Holy Rasaal, to inquire on behalf of your sentence,” he said, nice and slow to avoid a stutter.

Mageia nibbled the side of her cheek as she thought this through, then slightly nodded. “Fine. I know as much as any Ardanian knows. The Ordained were five human-like gods. Born on Valeera, they grew to become High Seers with magic to commune with the Diviine Six. It’s said that they kept the peace between the Serene and the Realm and declared fairness above all.”

“

,” he nodded, using the Valeeran word for yes. “Do you know their names?”

Mageia dug deep for the names, she did recall her mother mentioning before but couldn’t remember.

“My memory before nine years old isn’t as clear as I want it to be,” she said. “But it does return from time to time.”

“Okay,” the prince said, cocking his head to the side. A loose curl tumbled over his forehead.

She shrugged, not wishing to disclose how she didn’t die on her execution day when she was nine. Though the Strange Prince seemed kind, she still kept her guard up.

“Well, may I?” He gestured for permission to continue. Mageia shrugged again and nibbled on her bottom lip to calm the shiver of anxiety in her bones.

“As we know, the Old God Hamino – his name m-meaning Fair – he divided himself into th-three entities. The S-spirit of Magic, an anointed b-bloodline, and a person chosen to bear his power of magic in their flesh and blood called a Fairest to be b-born from that bloodline. There were eight Fairests in total, b-but the Book of Legends and Ardanians only speak of five. Gilondale Lariius and Alalia Komali, who married and later had B-Brendale Lariius. Then their descendants, Amar the Fierce and Thuriend Lariius, the greatest magician ever known.”

“Hmm,” Mageia said, beginning to feel her palms sweat. “So, who were the other three, and why weren’t they mentioned?”

“They weren’t mentioned b-because Thuriend Lariius’ twin, Thuriel, was so evil it affected the way history was recorded and how people behaved. Many Royals decided they d-didn’t need Fairests anymore and thought they were a curse rather than a blessing. The remaining three weren’t b-born into royalty, but rather received their crowns through conquering and trials of des-spair. Aurio Lariius, Alsindad Lariius, and Tiivon Lariius—”

“The Vanished King?”

“Yes. The Vanished King of the 800th Era. He, too, was a Fairest,” the prince said. “They all had to fight adversaries to reunite the Realm, b-but did earn their spots with the Ordained.”

“The Blesseds do not speak of them,” Mageia said, confused.

“No one in Ardania does,” the prince replied. “No one here knows of this.”

“Your father executes anyone who even mentions the Ordained.”

“That’s proof as to how hard it was for the last three Fairests to reclaim the High Throne.”

Mageia sighed and rubbed her sweaty palms along the sides of her arms. She wanted to back away from the Strange Prince as an eerie feeling unraveled in her soul. It brought forth a blurry memory of the next part of her conversation with her mother when she was six years old.

“Um … Your Highness?”

“Gris. Call me Gris, please,” he said with a kindness she did not wish to accept.

“Gris,” she forced herself to say. “What does this have to do with me? Did you really break me from the commander to give me a history lesson?”

The Strange Prince gave a nervous chuckle, and for the first time since meeting him, his amber-colored cheeks began to turn a faded shade of red.

“W-well. I-I think … I-I believe,” he said, full lips pursing as he fought for his voice, “-y-you are a Fairest.”