“So, then what is this great quest?” Lorcan asked once the laughter had died down.
“Something far more illustrious than slaying dragons.”
“Is that a yes to the princess rescue or…” Vreis asked, hope in his mis-matched eyes.
“Poor Vreis,” Lorcan said. “He loses to me so often that not a single female in all of Tairngire will join him in his bed.”
Another round of guffaws filled the air. In the years since he had arrived in Tairngire, he often found himself just like this. Surrounded by Vreis and Thane and laughter and swords. They were an odd team. A revelrous prince, a former street urchin, and a shadow fae in hiding. A spy.
No matter how comfortable Lorcan got, he could not forget why he was here. His father would not stop reminding him. When a full moons night arrived, so would a letter. Without fail. Sometimes, it was from Segonax. Other times, from Nollaig. They always warned him to stay true and filled him in on updates from court. Even Teutas had penned a few over the years. But not once had his father sent him a letter himself.
“No princess rescue, I’m afraid. At least not this time.” The prince turned his gaze toward Lorcan, suddenly serious. “I thought I would pick up where I left off, all those years ago when we first met. I never had the chance to visit your village. Since I was down a few guards, I had to turn back. I say it’s time I try again, don’t you think?”
Lorcan’s heart pounded as the blood rushed into his ears. Thane loved to talk about that day, but Lorcan would rather he never mention it again. It made him feel like snakes were slithering inside of his skin.
But what was more, Lorcan had never wanted Thane to reach his village that day. Every single fae inside those walls knew the truth about him. They’d witnessed the arrival of the shadow fae when they had come to claim him for their king. They’d heard them call him Bolg Rothach’s son. After, he’d asked them to remain silent. That did not mean they would.
Thane continued. “They once suffered a great loss, one they’ve struggled to recover from. I’ve since learned that our court did not provide help during their time of need. I would remedy that.”
Lorcan strode to the railing. “You wish to help them? What would you do for them?”
“I have a trunk overflowing with airgead ready to pack onto a cart we’ll take with us. That as well as a few valuable pieces of weaponry should get them started on rebuilding Comharra to what it once was.” Thane’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “I also thought we’d take some food for a feast while we’re there. They’ll be able to buy anything they want with the airgead, but you know how much I love a good feast.”
“Let’s do it,” Lorcan said in a rush of words before the mark could convince him otherwise. It was likely folly, tempting fate this way. But he could ride ahead to meet his old friends first and remind them of his request. They’d known him all his life. Surely they would not spill his secret if he asked.
“Good.” Thane clapped Lorcan on the back. “Now, you two get back to training while I make the arrangements. Vreis sorely needs it if he’s ever going to impress a lass.”
Lorcan grinned even as unease slithered through his bones. The mark was silent, but that didn’t mean it would remain so.
* * *
Afortnight later, the three of them readied themselves in the inner castle courtyard, surrounded by half a dozen more warriors. Thane never liked to travel without at least six guards to keep him company, usually no more than that. But they were carrying a city’s worth of airgead across the battle-stricken lands. Recently, thieves and brigands had multiplied, striking the few travellers that still roamed down the Crown’s Road.
The High King stood watching, a frown tugging at his wrinkled face. He looked ten years older than the last time Lorcan had seen him, even though it had scarcely been a month. The Fall had finally taken its toll on him, it seemed, and whispers spread throughout the realm of his impending death.
He’s still very much alive though, Lorcan thought bitterly. To the detriment of every low fae inside of the Air Court. He cared little for the commoners. All he seemed to care about was sitting on that throne.
“Thane, we need you here. We’re in the middle of a damn war,” the High King snapped, his chin wobbling with ferocity.
The prince sat high atop his gleaming black steed, staring down his nose at his father. “The war can wait.”
“I will not have it,” Sloane Selkirk replied. “And all that airgead. Do you know how much it costs to fund a hundred years’ war?”
“I know far too well, Father,” Thane said crisply. “I’ve been managing the finances for the past five years.”
“Then you know we cannot afford to send all this airgead to a tiny, godforsaken village full of what? Twelve fae?”
“Thirteen,” Lorcan said quietly. When the old king snapped his head his way, Lorcan gave him a tight smile. “There was a new birth last year. A girl. Her name is Elen.”
“Thirteen,” Sloane said, sliding his gaze back to his son. “You want to throw all this airgead away to thirteen miserable fae in the western armpit of these great lands?”
“They’re starving, Father,” Thane replied. “They’ve never been able to recover from an attack that happened years ago. We should have helped them then, but we didn’t. So, I’m helping them now.”
“Let them starve.” Sloane moved toward the cart that held the trunk of coin. Thane quickly shifted his horse to block his father’s path. With narrowed eyes, the High King glared up at him. “How dare you disobey your king.”
“How dare you let your people starve.”
Sloane stared up at his son, and Thane stared right back at him. Lorcan had never seen the prince stand up to his father. He usually did whatever he was bid. The king could easily order the warriors to remove the airgead from the cart and send his son to his chambers where the door would promptly be locked. Thane might be the prince, but Sloane was the High King. His word was power over them all.
