“I am not disagreeing with you. But Aden must be our focus now,” Queen Cara said.
Moving away from the door and back into the center of Aden’s bedroom, Erich considered his father’s words. King Frederich had always taught his sons that the mark of a good ruler was balancing the tension between justice and mercy. He had never heard his father eschew mercy completely for the sake of justice. But his father had also never encountered a Majis before...
Looking at his cursed brother, Erich felt the same anger toward the evil Munney and the desire to see him punished.
Aden stirred on the bed, his breath coming out in a deep, powerful rumble. Ian and Erich tensed.
“Should I call more guards to help restrain him?” Erich asked as they waited to see if Aden would move again.
Ian glanced up from his place by the bed. “No.” With furrowed brow, he glanced through the room. “There are four of us here now and father is outside the door. Besides, he’s going to wake up fine.” Ian sounded as though he was trying to convince himself. “He has to,” he muttered under his breath, “or I’ll never forgive myself.”
Erich’s heart ached when hearing the pain in Ian’s voice. “Of course he will wake up fine,” Erich reassured. “He maylookworse than he did before, but perhaps he’ll wake up with a better attitude.” Erich attempted to smile with his words, hoping that a little bit of humor would ease the tension in Ian’s face.
“Are you really trying to make a jest right now?” Ian’s voice hitched as it filled the room.
“Now is not the time, son.” Directly behind Erich, King Frederich’s voice sounded deep and low.
Erich quickly turned around, unaware his parents had entered the room.
“I wasn’t...” Erich started to defend himself but the disappointment and reproach in his father’s eyes cut him short. “I was just trying to help.” He sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. The panicked feeling of helplessness grew thick in his throat. “I... my throat hurts. I need to find some water.” Speeding away from the bed holding his potentially dying brother, Erich fled from the stifling weight of his family’s disapproval.
Across the hall, in the safety of his room, Erich threw himself on his own bed without bothering to remove the decorated clothing he’d worn to the dance.
His mind refused to sleep, but there was nothing left to be done. Other than lying on his bed feeling miserable and useless.
His father had already sent messengers to the Council in Chendas. They knew the most about the Majis and their magic. Hopefully, they would know enough to reverse the curse. Physicians had also been summoned from every corner of the kingdom. The only thing they could do now was to wait.
Erich flung his pillows across the room, one by one, until his bed was empty.
Tossing and turning in discomfort, he got up and gathered the pillows back to his bed—only to repeat the process.
He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting in silent misery when he heard frantic hoofbeats pounding in the private courtyard below his window.
He sat up immediately.
The sky outside was still completely dark. Whoever was arriving in such a hurry had something important to share.
Erich quickly left his room, glad to have found a purpose for the boundless energy that wouldn’t stop coursing through him.
He skidded to a halt in front of his father’s study. Normally, his father didn’t mind his sons participating in meetings. But everything about this night felt unusual, and Erich could still feel the guilt his father’s reproachful face had instilled in him.
“There’s been an attack on the coastline near the old monastery.” The messenger must have just begun his report. Erich could hear him fairly clearly through the wooden door.
It was the second time that night he was listening in to conversations uninvited, but he had no problem pushing the guilt for doing so.
“The attack is definitely from the magic-wielders,” the messenger continued. “They are hurling some sort of fire-spheres from their ship to the monastery and the coast. I left as soon as the attack began. But two other unrecognized ships were sighted farther out at sea and are working their way closer to shore.”
“How many soldiers are stationed at the monastery and village?” King Frederich asked.
“Barely more than thirty,” the voice of General Zimri answered the king’s question. The older man had overseen the Iseldis armies since before Erich was born. “They could likely call on an additional forty or fifty farmers and fishermen in the area, but they would not be able to arm them.”
“Especially against a magic attack,” King Frederich said. “That would be a slaughter. No, we need to send reinforcements now.”
“I will prepare to leave immediately.”
“Thank you for your willingness, old friend, but let us discuss this for a moment further to decide whether it is prudent for you to go yourself.” Erich could hear the desperate rhythm of his father’s fingers drumming across his desk. “With the attack here at the palace mere hours ago, this was obviously a coordinated effort. I don’t know where they will strike next. Your knowledge and skill might be best served here at the palace, to lead the larger strategic defense.”
“Let me call for one of the captains of the elite guard, then,” Zimri responded. “As next in the line of command, this task would fall to them.”
