CHAPTER FOUR: PLIGHT OF THE SON
I have run away from the People's Palace. I've kept Vincent's journal with me. I read it whenever get a chance. Vincent has chronicled his whole life in this journal, and every page brings me closer to him.
In point of fact, it was the journal that convinced me to leave D'Hara for the Midlands. As I read further into it, and saw my cousin's desperation, I realized that he was in a very dangerous state of mind; he should not be alone.
Father knows where I am headed. I foolishly asked him for permission to leave and find my cousin, which he denied. I know full well that his skills as a tracker are unparalleled, and I have strained myself to hide my trail from him, but it will not take him long to find me. I wish now that I had paid better attention to his lessons.
I am now deep in the woodlands that surround Aydindril. According to the journal, it would be Vincent's first stop. Apparently, he wished to return to the Wizard's Keep, though I know not why. To my knowledge, the place had not been of much help to him the last time he took up this quest. I guess he waned to start at the beginning. I can see Aydindril from where I stand now, the Confessors' Palace and the Wizard's Keep in the distance.
I use my magic to erase any trace of my passage through the woods; I have become very deft in its use these past few weeks, but it is nothing Grandfather cannot undo, and he is sure to be searching for me, along with Father. Mother as well. She would probably kill them if they tied to leave her behind. Cara as well. This, as you can imagine, did not help my mood at all: the Seeker, the Mother Confessor, a Wizard of the First Order, and a Mord-Sith all hunt me, and all I can do to throw them off my trail is mask it.
People give me a wide berth as I wind my way through the streets of Aydindril. Some of them bow, and I sigh. In D'Hara, the people bow to me out of reverence, out respect for their prince, the son of the Lord Rahl. But it was different here. Here, the fear of male Confessors was still too raw. In D'Hara, they bow out of admiration: in Aydindril, they bow out of fear. It also doesn't help that I have this infernal collar around my neck. I wonder briefly whether Vincent had felt this way during his stay here.
The Innkeeper at The Dancing Dragon seemed a little distracted to me, but he managed to find me a suitable room; I'd decided there was no use in searching for my cousin without decent sleep and an empty stomach. I set my pack on my bed, stooping for a moment to retrieve the journal, then make my way down to the tavern, and order something.
I open the journal and begin to read as I wait for my meal to be prepared. The book is short, detailing Vincent's departure from Agaden Reach all the way to that day in the Gardens of Life. I reach the end and begin to close the book, already familiar with the end. But something catches my eye as the journal closes, forcing me to open it again.
Words were forming on the page. On their own. They were being written in a copious, crimson liquid. Blood. I quickly peruse previous entries and confirm my suspicions. The black, blotched lettering that I had taken to be ink was in fact dried blood. The book wasn't a mere journal. It was a journey book.
I sprint up the stairs and lock the door behind me, eager to read Vincent's latest entry. It could tell me where he was! I stare at the page, just as the Rada'Han turns white hot and leaves me convulsing in pain.