Chapter 8

Prince Jonathan knocked politely, then pushed open the door to his cousin's room. Duke Roger looked up from his desk, saw it was the prince, and contorted his lips into a welcoming smile.

"Jon," he greeted, "You startled me, cousin! I didn't expect you to be on time."

Prince Jonathan grinned back warmly; "Only for you, Roger. Besides, how often do I get the privilege of meeting you in your private study? I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity!" he hesitated before going on, "joking aside, your request for me to see you seemed urgent, considering it came almost as soon as I got back. I came as quickly as I could. Is anything wrong?"

Roger of Conté sighed, "Very astute," he said, carefully beginning to probe Prince Jonathan's mind with his Gift. All he could sense on the surface was concern for his own well-being, and a tangle of mixed feelings that Lady Delia seemed to be at the centre of. "How was your trip to the coast?" he asked, to take Prince Jonathan's mind off the uncomfortable prickling in his head that was Duke Roger digging deeper, into the prince's subconscious.

Immediately, as if the question had been a trigger, Prince Jonathan's mind was a-whirr with memories, and feelings entirely incompatible with the pleasant trip to the seaside.

Duke Roger, deep in Prince Jonathan's mind, was swamped with thousands of brief, flashing impressions and was momentarily staggered by the overload of information. Knowing that he'd found his answers, Duke Roger began to pluck out scenes, keeping an ear open to Prince Jonathan's account.

"… Thoroughly enjoyable, if a little dull on occasion. It was fantastic just to be away from the palace for a while, it can be so suffocating here. We visited the whole general region, the landscape is very beautiful – I'm going to ask some of the court painters to go draw the temple of the Mother Goddess we saw, it's ancient, which just goes to show how far back Her religion extends." Prince Jonathan sounded more enthused than he felt.

Deep in Prince Jonathan's mind, Roger of Conté had unearthed the goldmine of memories he so especially wanted. The overruling emotions in them were fear and gratitude and, inexplicably, awe. Duke Roger delved further, slowing down the visual images, watching them in slow motion – Prince Jonathan had been in a state of panic, everything was jumbled, fractured: Water, darkness, distress, desperation – resignation! Then breath. Air. In the water – A MAN BLAZING WITH LIGHT –

The shock and terror was too much, too sudden, and Duke Roger of Conté jerked violently away. Once more in his body, he breathed a long, shuddering breath. He held up his hand, and Prince Jonathan fell quiet, halfway through recounting his wine-tasting tour.

"What is it?" Prince Jonathan asked worriedly, was it just him or had his cousin's face gone a few shades paler than usual?

Roger of Conté was shaken. Where had the man come from? So he really had taken the time to follow the trail of the Dark, to Tortall, and now to Duke Roger. Duke Roger wanted more than ever to know the exact details of what had transpired on the shore of the Emerald Ocean. Was the Watchman somehow linked with Prince Jonathan? How else could he have sensed the danger to the prince's life, and averted it? Unless … a new thought dawned on Duke Roger – what if the Watchman could sense the Gift? What if he could trace Duke Roger's Gift directly to him?! A tiny bead of sweat made its trickling way down Duke Roger's armpit. He needed answers!

"Jon," he said evenly, "I don't know if you were aware – perhaps you were not at the beach when it happened – but there were reports of a freak storm."

"Yes," said Prince Jonathan, "we saw it and ran for the inn as soon as we had gathered everyone. You shouldn't have feared for us."

"Except," continued Duke Roger, his voice confidential, "the storm was not a fluke of nature," Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "It was spell-driven."

Prince Jonathan was all frantic excitement now, "I thought as much! I've never seen a storm so quickly brewed, nor head so unerringly towards people – do you know who did it?"

"Alas, no," sighed Duke Roger, "but the sorcerer has been active for some months now, and though I have been attempting to discover his location, I have met only with failure. His attacks are too sudden and unpredictable."

Duke Roger watched his cousin curse silently, before adding, "I have determined, however, that this immoral sorcerer has made it his task to end your life, Jon."

Prince Jonathan nodded, showing no surprise.

"You're my cousin and I want there to be no secrets between us, so I'll be candid with you: It is my belief that it was this very sorcerer who bewitched Demon Grey this autumn, in the hopes that the wolf would fell you on the hunt."

"It does make sense," Prince Jonathan agreed sombrely.

"Indeed. However, I am no closer now to finding the sorcerer and ending the threat he poses to you than I was when he first made it his mission to bring harm to you."

"I see," muttered Prince Jonathan, "I suppose all we can do is hope for the best then." He was thinking of Will Stanton, whom he now trusted beyond even the shadow of a doubt.

"Jon, you're the heir to Tortall, the King's only son. Hoping isn't good enough – the guilt would cripple me if you were to die at the hands of this sorcerer because of my shortcomings." Duke Roger sighed, "No, at all costs you must be kept safe. But I need your help, Jon. Will you help me?"

"Of course, cousin," Prince Jonathan replied, "but how could I do anything? The strength of my arm and my magic are all I could lend you, but I'm no magician, and as you intend for me to keep out of harm's way, I assume that letting me fight is out of the question. So no matter what battle skills I may have, you will refuse to utilise them."

"Aye," Duke Roger laughed, "you know me too well. But," he became serious, "you could prove invaluably helpful to me, Jon, as you have come in contact with our perpetrator's sorcery. I have never seen it at work, yet you were close at hand – if you could tell me everything that happened that day, including any attraction you felt to the storm – did you feel like it was calling out to you? As though, perhaps, it was pulling you towards it?"

Prince Jonathan felt his resolve to keep his ordeal a secret start to waver. This was his cousin after all. All Duke Roger wanted was to keep him safe, and he already seemed to know so much, but still… "Well–"

"Were you in danger at any time? And what did you do? Remember, anything you tell me could be essential to defeating this sorcerer. Leave nothing out, I can't emphasise enough how important even the tiniest detail could prove to be!"

Completely enthralled, Prince Jonathan made up his mind, and proceeded to relate to Duke Roger the events of the day on which he nearly died.

-

"Will, what in th' Black God's name is goin' on?" demanded Laughing Nell, shoving Will against the wall of the side-street she'd dragged him into. Will looked at her, surprised. He had no idea what she was talking about. He'd come into Corus for news, had been walking down the road, eavesdropping on people's conversations – and now he was facing an incensed Nell.

"What did I do?" he asked, perplexed.

"Don't pull that rubbish on me! How could I know what ye've done t' get Duke Roger's attention?!"

"What?"

"Don't act like ye don't know! Word is he's out for ye. I should've known ye was trouble! Th' moment ye started askin' me 'bout Duke Roger I should've ditched ye! And then Jamie Bone! As if th' signs weren't clear enough! What're th' odds of an urchin turnin' swordsman overnight?"

Will sank to the ground. So. Roger of Conté had twigged something was peculiar about him. Perhaps he knew more. Will's brow furrowed in thought. The situation had changed, and he had to adapt. Fast.

"What exactly does he want from me? Is he going to kill me? What does he have against me?" he asked out loud.

Nell hit him, and though his head snapped back and juddered painfully against the wall, and his eye should have felt like an erupting volcano, it barely registered.

"How can ye keep lyin' and pretendin' t' be an idiot? I'm th' one askin' th' questions! George was right not t' trust ye, by th' Goddess! What does th' Duke want with ye?"

"I'm not sure."

"Don't play stupid with me, Will! He wants an audience with ye, and everyone knows that's not good. How can I help ye if ye won't tell me anythin'?"

"An audience…" Will mused. "Then it's still OK." He got to his feet and rubbed the back of his stinging head.

"What's OK?" asked Nell, still angry, and now starting to be confused and a little scared. Blood was trickling down his face, but he made no sign of knowing it.

"Everything's OK. He doesn't know anything for sure, if he only wants to talk. He's got nothing on me." He smiled, then winced. "Nell, what did you do to me? Did you have to hit so hard? I'm going to have a headache for days."

"I'm–" Nell bit her lip in the middle of her apology. "Will–" she wasn't sure how to be angry with him again and continue her line of inquiry. "Will, why won't ye tell me anythin'?" she settled with finally. Will heard the unhappiness in her voice and didn't know how to respond.

"Nell…" he took her hand, "there's nothing to tell." He smiled and shook his head, seeing the protest already on her lips. "Well, maybe there is. But what good would it do to know? It's not important."

"Maybe if ye tell me, I could be th' judge of that." Nell muttered.

"Yeah. Maybe one day." Will grinned.

"Ye mean never," Nell grumbled.

"Can't I be mysterious?"

"No. 'Cause I can't look out for mysterious. I can't protect mysterious."

"What makes you so sure I need protecting, anyway? I'm strong and healthy and I can use a sword."

Laughing Nell shrugged, "If ye didn't need protectin', ye wouldn't need me and I wouldn't be seein' ye so often, would I? So I guess it's in my interests t' be lookin' out for ye." Will could see her hiding a smile now, and knew he was on safe ground.

He tightened his hold on her hand.

"I'll be alright. Stop worrying."

"I can't, stupid, or I would've."

-

Alanna pounced on Will as soon as he returned to the palace. He could tell she'd been waiting for him by the impatient look on her face.

"Duke Roger's asking to see you. It's a big honour, since you're only an apprentice soldier really, so you don't have a choice about going."

"Right. Where do I go? Where are his rooms?"

"You know the hall? Go up the smaller flight of stairs you see near there. And don't give away too much. If he thinks I suspect him – I don't even want to go there."

Will rolled his eyes at her. "If he suspected you, he'd be interviewing you. He probably hasn't considered that you might be his prime enemy yet. Chill."

"But so much depends on him not knowing anything, and not finding out about anything! And he'll use his Gift on you! I wish I could tell Thom how things are going here. I bet he knows something. He always hears things at the monastery."

"The Rogue's messengers still not getting through?"

"He hasn't sent anyone since the last got killed. It's so annoying. I'd go myself but my duties won't let me."

Will thought about this for a moment. "I'll go."

Alanna looked at him sceptically. "Will, you have duties too. Aram Sklaw would never let you off for a week, and it would take you longer than a week to get to the City of the Gods and back. Besides, it's too dangerous. Duke Roger has the road watched at all times. You might be good with a sword, but you can't escape archers."

"I'd find a way."

Alanna's mouth twisted with indecision.

Will smiled and shook his head. "Just give me the letter tonight."

Then he went. Alanna stared after him. How come he's so carefree?

Maybe he has insanity in his family, too, Faithful suggested from somewhere in the region below her knees. Alanna sighed.

"I'll just have to ask him, if he gets back alive."

Will, nearing the hall, overheard the exchange and smiled. They call you Faithful, but where is your faith now, cat?

And if Faithful heard the criticism, he made no sign of it.

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Author's note: just wanted to say, A-man you are officially my Number 1 Reviewer. Rock on. The rest of you can be ashamed. Or you could review 8P. ttfn