“Yes, of course.” Lord Munney seemed all too eager to return his focus to the crown prince. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
“If you will excuse me, my Lords,” Onric interjected, “I have some other matters to attend to.”
Ian nodded to him and then led the councilor back inside the palace.
Making sure no one was following him, Onric wound his way to the inner courtyard and slipped inside the ruins of the old castle.
He knew he would be required to work closely with Lord Munney for the rest of the year, but he was not looking forward to it.
Thinking back to his father’s words the previous evening, his hand found its way to his side pocket for the fiftieth time that day. The needle was still there, just as it had been the last forty-nine times he had checked. He couldn’t tell if he was worried about losing it or feeling guilty about using it. Likely, it was both.
Winding up an old stone staircase, he made his way to the top of the old eastern tower. It had been one of his favorite places as a child. Not only did it afford a generous view of the newer surrounding palace, it was also filled with crates and chests of abandoned treasures. Or at least, that was what he had thought back then. Broken statues, outdated globes, dull weapons, and swaths of canvas had been an endless source of entertainment for his young imagination.
At the moment, however, he was not looking to recreate the games of his childhood. He was going to follow through on his father’s secretly condoned mission.
When the Majis had been exiled one thousand seasons prior, or two hundred and fifty years ago, the Council had confiscated all spelled items as a safety precaution. They had destroyed most of them, but some they were using for research in order to prepare the five kingdoms for a safe reintegration of the quotidian, or non-magical, with the returning Majis.
But the Return was only four seasons away, and for as long as he could remember, Onric’s parents had returned from each session with empty promises from the Council. The kingdoms had agreed upon a set of new laws that would protect the weak. But if the powerful Majis came back and overpowered them instead of reintegrating, then everyone would be weak.
Onric reached the tower room and closed the door behind him. It smelled of dust, just as he had remembered it, though he had not remembered the additional sickly-sweet scent of mold. But no matter, this was perfect. No one would disturb him here.
He found a stray piece of canvas and settled himself atop a wooden chest, holding his breath as the dust resettled around him. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he gripped the metal case. There was only one way to find out if the needle was spelled or not. He opened the elaborate case and removed the simple needle, threading it with a strand of silk he had borrowed from Meena. Then he turned his attention to a scrap of canvas. He’d once learned how to sew a leather casing around the hilt of a weapon or bow, but that was closer to weaving than actual sewing.
He folded a corner of the fabric over, his left hand beneath it, holding it firmly in place while his right hand confidently pressed the tip of the needle through the center of the two pieces.
A scuffling noise from the corner of the room startled him, and he jumped in surprise. The tip of the needle buried itself in his finger.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling his damaged hand from behind the fabric, expecting to see blood. His aching finger looked exactly as it usually did. He stuck his finger in his mouth anyway to soothe the pain and moved his eyes towards the source of the sound, expecting to see a mouse. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see a now-familiar brown kerchief. The new servant girl was peeking up from behind one of the crates in the corner of the room.
“Prince Onric?” she asked, standing and working her way through the maze of crates to reach him. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Realizing that he was sucking his finger like a petulant child, he quickly pulled it from his mouth. “Uh, no. Of course not.”
“What are you doing?” Her eyes ran down the pile of canvas he was holding. He looked down, unsure how to explain his outlawed activity... Where was the needle!? All other thoughts left his head as his mind flooded with worry. He flipped the canvas over. The needle hung in the air, suspended by the thread that was now attached to the canvas.
He picked it up and carefully poked it back through the fabric so it was safely in his sight on the other side.
He looked back up at the girl beside him. “What are you doing here?” His voice was defensive.
She took a half step backwards, her face clouding with doubt. “Searching for decorations for the crown prince’s ball, my Lord.” She dropped her face to the ground, hiding it from him.
“Oh, no.” Onric realized too late that his question had caused her to transform into timidity once again. “You have every right to be here. I was just surprised, is all.”
“I’m sorry for startling you, my Lord.” She dropped into a curtsy and took another step back towards the corner she had been in. “I had better get back to the search.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me. You have no reason to apologize. I was the one trying to make an apology to you.” He followed her around the crates. She seemed to talk best when she was not focused on herself. “So, Steward Daniel sent you up here to find hidden treasures for my brother’s ball?”
She had dropped to her knees in front of an open crate. “Yes, he thought that since I...” She paused.
“Since you?”
“He thought that I would have a good eye for finding items from our past that might show us hope for the future.”
“That sounds like something my mother came up with.”
“It seems to be the theme they would like this event to convey.” Her words were careful and guarded.
“And I take it some poor girl who is chosen to be the crown princess is supposed to bring us all hope for the future.”
