Two pairs of rough hands seized him by the shoulders, and he immediately grasped the dagger, but a third pair grabbed it and took it from him as easily as if he had been an infant.
“Unhand me!”
He was pulled out of the chair and onto his feet. His hands were tied behind him, and a rough cloth was forced between his teeth and tied around his head.
“Hold him, but do not damage him,” the Seeker said, his brow furrowed in something akin to disappointment. “He must remain unharmed until one of the Children arrives to claim him.”
The Prince tried to question the Seeker once more, but all that came out was a muffled shout around the choking gag.
“Hush, hush, I will let you know your fate as it is clear now that you will be unable to escape. When news reached the Empress that you had survived the Death Watch not once but twice, she sent word to the Seekers that you were to be apprehended and held until one of the Children themselves could come and claim you.”
The Prince’s knees went weak, and only the men gripping him kept him standing.
It was true. All of it was true.
“You seem surprised,” the Seeker said, examining him as if he were nothing more than an interesting insect specimen squirming under his gaze. The Prince twisted his head violently, and to his surprise the gag slipped. He spat out the cloth and pinned the Seeker with his gaze.
“You are sworn to obey me, I am a Child of the Empress! I am the Prince of Ravens, the Lord of the Seventh Principality, and I DEMAND YOUR RESPECT!”
He was vaguely surprised by his own outburst, which had been so violent that his throat felt raw. He didn’t know what was happening. This couldn’t be. Not here. No, this couldn’t happen here, this was a safe place, safe because he was the Prince of Ravens. He was!
“I must send a letter to my Mother, Seeker,” he babbled on, hardly conscious of what he was saying now, slowly losing all sense of dignity and pride, his voice turning from command to desperate plea. “I am to receive my Inheritance. There has been a misunderstanding. One of my brothers or sisters, the other Children, they have misinformed you, they were told to do so by my Mother! You cannot hold me, Seeker—I must be free to claim what is rightfully mine. It is what my Mother expects of me!”
The Seeker watched him with an impassive face and a terrifying look of pity. The Prince, unable to do anything else, found himself wrestling against the grip of the guards, but their hands were strong, and he was weak from the journey through the mountains.
“Could it be,” the Seeker said, “that you thought this was all a test?”
The Prince let out a low moan, and then nodded, unable to speak. Yes, yes, a test! That was it. He had figured it out, now they would see, they would understand that he was worthy after all, that he was destined to be a true son of the Empress, one that She could be proud of, one that She would love as much as She loved Her other Children.
But the Seeker was shaking his head, and the look of pity was turning to something else… changing… to laughter.
“Oh! Oh, hah hah ha… oh, no I’m sorry I shouldn’t laugh so, but really, Empress forefend, that is quite an interesting deduction to make from two attempted murders. Oh my, hah hah, yes. And all this time they’ve been looking for you in the north, thinking you would attempt to seek help from those you knew in Lucien. But no! You came south in an attempt to find a Seeker… and in doing so delivered yourself up for slaughter.”
“BE SILENT!”
Rage ignited his blood, and suddenly the strong guards could barely contain him. He’d become an animal in a trap, and in his despair, in his descent into madness, he was granted the strength of desperation.
“You will release me NOW!” he roared, spittle flying from his mouth and his eyes rolling madly in his head.
“Calm him!” the Seeker said, a tinge of apprehension coloring his voice.
Two more guards came forward and grabbed him, and soon the Prince found himself pinned to the floor, unable to move a single limb no matter how hard he tried. He was powerless, and when he realized it, the rage disappeared, and his mind went blank.
Time seemed to slow. No thoughts went through his mind, nothing but vague sensations. Impressions of the room: the high ceiling, held with wooden beams; the smell of incense beneath the garlic and onions smell of the guards holding him; the color of the Seeker’s white robes and the brightness of the swirling religious markings.
“Take him away,” the Seeker said. “Hold him and chain him. Let no one near him bearing any kind of weapon, let no one enter his cell, and feed him only as much as will keep him alive. We must not lose him, and we must not let him use his power. He, while an Exiled Prince, is still a Prince, and one of the Seven Godheads, until such time as the Empress removes his Blessing. He may appear powerless… but he is not. Take every precaution, lest ye wish to test the strength of our Empress’s blood.”
He made a motion over the Prince’s shoulder, and a bag was thrust over the Prince’s head. Something hard and solid struck him, and he knew no more.
Chapter Eleven: The Crucible
The Prince of Ravens, the nameless Prince, the Exiled Prince, the only Prince of the Realm ever cast down in the history of the Empire, woke in darkness, with no identity, no hope, and nothing to hold him together. He had been the Seventh Son of the Empress. Then he had been a kidnapped Prince, a wronged Prince hunted by his traitorous brothers and sisters but still true to his purpose.
Now he was nothing.
He sat silently where he had woken, propped against a stone wall, not seeing the cell in which he had been caged, not feeling the cold metal cuffs connected to large metal chains that held him by the wrists. He did not feel the day-old burn from the Exile girl’s dagger in the palm of his hand, nor the swelling of his still-healing ankle, aggravated by his race through Banelyn. Even the Raven Talisman was silent and cool on his shoulders and back, though there was more than enough life around him to encourage it to wake.
He simply floated, in an unfeeling void, detached from the world.
