Chapter 2: Politics Can Be Deadly
It was the smell of freshly-aired sheets and castle stone that told him where he was before he'd even opened his eyes. Mortesen blinked. He was still groggy, but he recognized his own room instantly. It was extravagant with rugs, drapes and bed curtains all dressed in gold and red, matching the tapestry of the royal crest of Cosium that hung on the far wall. His bed was large enough to fit several people comfortably, but only the young prince lay in it.
His neck felt sore and he reached up to rub it, then gave a pained hiss as the wrist Athena had injured protested the movement. Someone heard and came over. His father had been sitting in a large armchair beside a set of lit candles, waiting for his son to wake.
"Mortesen? Are you alright?"
King Negolas was coal-black without a flicker of any other color to brighten his fur, and in his hand was the scepter crested with the Cosmos Diamond.
"I suppose so, Father," he answered as he sat up carefully, noticing that the dust-crusted outfit he'd worn earlier had been replaced. "It's just my wrist. What happened? How did I get here?"
"Someone found you dumped in front of the main gate outside Cosium Town shortly after sunset. You've been home less than half an hour." Now he looked down at his son with less concern and more displeasure. "Perhaps you ought to tell me how your day went. The report the soldiers gave me sounded suspiciously like you put yourself in a dangerous position on purpose."
The young prince sighed. "I fought Karok alone, exactly the way you told me not to. I apologize for my arrogance. I truly thought I could best...him." He didn't know why, but he didn't want to reveal Athena's identity. "I was careless. He threw some powder in my face and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a cottage."
"Was that his headquarters?" King Negolas asked, leaning forward as he grew a bit eager.
"Maybe. It was practically bare, but all I know it was in the middle of a forest. There was a...a girl there. She kept an eye on me all day."
Lying to his father yanked on something vital deep inside. He resolved to be truthful except when it came to Karok's gender. Just until he could work through some things.
"Was she Karok's wife? A friend? Related to him somehow?"
"Definitely related, Father."
"What species was she? And what about her coloring?"
Mortesen paused, picking at a snagged thread in the blanket he was lying on top of. "Please don't ask me that."
The king looked at him in an odd way. "Why?"
"Because I know you'll send men to go hunting down everyone that looks like her. Father, I used my truth-telling every second we spoke. Everything she told me is true. People have their magic blocked with restraint manacles for no reason, they're punished severely for the slightest offenses, many are starving to death on barons' lands, and they aren't even permitted to leave if they want to find a better life."
The words spilled out almost against his will. Not until this moment had he fully realized he believed Athena. Or perhaps he had been too proud to allow himself to believe it while facing her.
But his father seemed to brush the words aside. "Of course those things happen here and there. It's inevitable. Some barons are worse than others. But I guarantee you, Mortesen, that being stuck on a baron's land and working for their sustenance is far easier than scraping a living off some bare stretch of countryside alone."
"But I saw children come to the house," he insisted. "I've never seen anyone so thin in my life! When she gave them food and clothing they were so excited, as though she'd given them the most wonderful presents in the world."
King Negolas cracked the smallest of smiles. "At any time during your stay did you feel this girl was trying to get you to think a certain way about things?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"There you have it, my son. You only saw what she wanted you to see and heard what she wanted you to hear. Yes, those things happen, but on what scale? Don't forget the truth can be twisted just enough to trick even you."
"Yes, Father," the prince replied in a defeated voice.
"At least you're home and safe. Now get some sleep. I'll discuss this more with you tomorrow. We need to catch that thief and put an end to his lawbreaking once and for all."
King Negolas blew out the candles and left. The door closed, but Mortesen pushed himself up from the bed. He couldn't sleep and was almost certain someone else couldn't either. Making sure his father's bedroom door had closed first, he slipped into the hall and crept to the door a short distance from his own. Inside was a very nice room, but not nearly as impressive as his.
He entered without knocking, feeling a swell of flesh-crawling unease creep over him, but he ignored it as always. Rakar looked up from a book at his desk. A single candle lit the page he was reading.
"Brother!" he cried when he caught sight of his visitor.
"Shhh!" Mortesen shushed frantically as he hurried to shut the door. "You don't want to wake everyone up, do you?"
Rakar smiled apologetically and clasped arms with Mortesen. It was the most intimate gesture they knew, so it was more akin to a tight embrace. His fur was light brown like his mother's, but his hands and ears had turned ruddy this past spring, implying he would get darker within the next few years. His quills had a staggered, uneven quality to them, so Rakar always kept them tied back.
"What happened?" he asked, brushing the shank of red hair out of his face. "When you didn't come back, everyone was scared that Karok had taken you for ransom."
"No. He...he just wanted to make an impression on me." The older prince gave a summary of the same story he'd given his father.
Rakar nervously fidgeted, lighting a few more candles so that they could see one another clearly. "I'm just glad you're back. It... I think it's getting worse."
Mortesen leaned forward, staring seriously at his half-brother. "How exactly?"
"No one would come near me earlier in the training yard. I had to spar against a dummy and I looked like an idiot in the process. It's like they all knew I could..." Rakar trailed off uncertainly, then he burst out, "I'm the mix of a noble and a Royal! What if the reason people feel so strange around me is really because my gift is unstable?"
"Stop it," his brother rebuked forcefully. "You didn't feel any different than usual to me when I came in. Once you discover all the facets of your Royal gift you'll be able to control the way your aura comes across too. I know it. Let's try to work with it again."
The younger prince stared, his reluctance obvious. "Now?"
"Right now. Focus on my soul."
Rakar swallowed and reached out, touching Mortesen's arm. A heavy, sluggish feeling came over the crown prince and he lowered himself into a chair weakly. After a few moments he looked up.
"Did you try to take more than half this time?"
"Yes, but I can't seem to hold more. I think that might be my limit." He was staring down into his open hands at something only visible to him. "...A blue hedgehog. She's what you're thinking about most. You're...worried."
Mortesen nearly choked. He ought to have remembered Rakar could see what was foremost in someone's mind when he touched their soul. At least his own mental image of Athena wasn't her dressed as Karok or else his brother would have figured it out.
"Brother, who is she? Why are you worried about her?"
"Ah—let's go on to the next step," he dodged.
Rakar looked even more nervous. "Please... I don't like that. Don't make me do it!"
"Rakar, control is everything. If you can't master your gift, it could end up bursting out when you least expect it. Remember the story about our great-grandfather? He didn't know all the abilities of the Third Eye and one day when he overreacted to an ambassador's rudeness, he accidentally hypnotized him. He didn't know what he'd done or how to undo it and it nearly drove the ambassador mad. Two years of war followed." He stood up unsteadily and held his younger brother by the shoulders. "I know you're afraid, but if you let this skill remain unharnessed, it could come back later and cause real harm."
The brown hedgehog kept his head down the whole time. Without looking up he gave a short nod and clenched his hands. A shudder went through his body, then he straightened.
"I think it worked. I feel stronger."
"Let's time it," Mortesen said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.
They talked for a while about inconsequential things until the younger prince said the soul had completely returned to his brother's body.
"Almost ten minutes. Nearly double what it was last time." He clapped a hand on Rakar's back. "See? You're not getting worse—you're getting better."
He started to smile, but it turned into something anxious instead. "Brother, I know you agreed not to tell Mother and Father that I can manipulate souls until I was ready, but I...I just don't think I'll ever be. Promise me you'll never tell anybody what I can really do."
"But Rakar, you have an incredibly powerful gift! Why would you want to hide—?"
"Please."
Mortesen looked at the expression of fear and misery on his half-brother's face. "All right. I swear I won't say you can do anything except see spirits until you decide to release me from this promise."
He was relieved more than the crown prince would have expected. "Thank you, Brother. You have no idea how much that means to me."
"I'd better get back to my room. If She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed catches me in here again she'll find some underhanded way to punish me. I don't know why your mother hates the fact that we spend time together. Goodnight, Rakar."
"Goodnight."
But before Mortesen closed the door, he looked back. "You can do it, Rakar. Control is everything."
Once he was gone, Rakar went over to the mirror. With shaking hands he pulled his vest wide and looked at the reflection, throat tightening at the sight. A scar ran from the collarbone to his ribs in an arc. Even as he watched, it thinned. After another minute it was gone, leaving only a vague burning sensation behind.
If he was meant to touch people's souls, then why did it hurt him to do so?
The crown prince hadn't gone out looking for Athena, though in a way he wanted to. But he did spend more of his free time in Cosium Town. It was surprising how excited the people were to see him, and it didn't take long for him to become comfortable with their informal chatter.
A few days after his experience with "Karok", he sat down to eat his lunch at the town square. The castle looked so tall and forbidding from here, situated on a sea cliff that jutted out partway into the bay. Its towers, studded with gray stone that was occasionally bleached white, seemed to frown from above at the smallness of the neighboring town's buildings.
Cosium Town itself was larger than most since it was the capitol, but because of its relatively small harbor that wasn't deep enough for larger ships, there were only three docks mainly used for fishing vessels. An hour's easy walk southwest was another town, Briny Bay, with a much larger harbor, thereby naturally delegating it as the main heart of trade and commerce on this side of the kingdom.
Mortesen was just considering whether to return home for a sparring lesson or go down to watch the fishermen haul in their nets when he noticed a squirrel edging along toward a cart selling bread. While the baker had her back turned, his hand shot out and snatched a thin loaf. He'd only taken two steps when a boy started shouting. The squirrel panicked, but the little beaver who had seen him grabbed hold of his tail and wouldn't let go. Two others seized him from either side and hauled him back to the cart.
"Mama, I saw him!" the young beaver said. "He knew you weren't looking!"
Mortesen looked at the squirrel. He was about ten years older than himself and looked desperate. Most of the people in Cosium Town weren't the hungry, oppressed types, but they were still around. While townspeople shouted and growled at him, the hedgehog wondered if this thief had a family. One hand fingered some loose coins in his pocket.
Impulsively he approached and the crowd fell back, growing silent in respect. "I was watching too. Are you absolutely certain he stole the bread?"
The beaver child nodded.
"Then what are these?" He stooped and pretended to pick up something beside the wheel of the cart. Straightening, he held up two coppers.
The baker looked at the money and then at the embarrassed squirrel. "I see. It wasn't enough, but at least you tried to pay. Take it."
The thief's arms were released and he gazed at Mortesen, knowing exactly where the money had come from. "My Prince..."
But then he squeezed the bread in his hands and gave a quick bow before darting out of the square. Everyone began to scatter now that there was no reason to stand around. Mortesen reached into his pocket.
"I'll pay the difference he owed you."
She shook her head. "I can't accept charity, especially from you. I truly appreciate it, but... Thank you."
Trying not to appear rude, she busied herself by rearranging some buns. Left with no other choice, the hedgehog returned to the place where he'd eaten his lunch, thinking about the baker's response.
"I know what you did," someone said behind him a short time later.
Mortesen looked back and saw the young beaver crouching on the other side of the low wall where he was seated. He appeared to be trying to stay out of his mother's line of sight. And he looked angry.
"He'll just steal again and my mama will have to deal with it again."
"I was trying to help," the prince said, a bit flustered at being addressed so candidly by someone at least five years younger.
"You're laying a rag on a broken arm," the commoner snorted. "I heard my parents talking after they brought flour back from the miller's. It's getting harder to buy, and we can't afford even a single loaf to be stolen."
"Then why wouldn't your mother take the money I offered her?"
"Because you offered it in front of all those people!" he nearly exploded, barely managing to remain hidden. "She couldn't take it and make herself look like she was grubbing for every coin she could get."
"Oh..." Mortesen glanced back across the square at the baker. It seemed peasants had their own type of pride too. When he turned to speak with the young beaver again, the prince found himself alone.
He sat there thinking for a few minutes. It very well might be impossible to find the thief again, but he did know the baker. With a plan firmly in mind, he set off for the edge of town. It didn't take long to get there.
The mill was situated near the river, its wheel turning in a slow, ponderous way. The large sliding door was open and the miller, a gray porcupine, looked up.
"Prince Mortesen, it's a pleasure!"
"Glad to hear it, but I'm here on business. How much does a month's supply of flour for the average baker cost?" he wondered, looking around at all the turning machinery and gears.
Briefly the miller did the calculations in his head. "About fifteen silvers. Why? Are you planning a change in occupation, my Prince?"
Not having much of a sense of humor, he only shook his head in response to the joke. "Do you know a beaver baker?"
"Yes. Jev and his wife Loretta own a bakery on the east side." He looked at Mortesen shrewdly. "My Prince, if you are thinking of giving them the money, I know they won't take it."
"They'll accept this. Their son did me a favor and I'm simply repaying the debt—anonymously." He pulled out the money and handed it over. "And you may tell them that sound advice is worth its weight in gold."
"I understand," the porcupine nodded. "I'm sure they will too, once the surprise wears off. Your concern for the citizens of this town is admirable."
"Thank you, and good day."
Maybe he was still 'laying a rag on a broken arm', but what else could he do to help? What was the real root of the problem? He didn't know. And he wasn't sure how to find out.
As he left the mill, someone hiding in the shade of the forest smiled. She'd been watching him that day and wondered if maybe he had listened to her after all. "I guess there is a bit of hope for you yet, Prince."
A flash of movement caught his attention and Mortesen rushed forward trying to get a better look. He recognized the figure on a stag just before she vanished. Something he didn't understand squeezed inside to see her leave.
Then his gaze drifted from the edge of the trees to the forest beyond. A guilty ache stabbed at him. It had been a long time. Too long.
Rock-hard resolve pushed him forward and he went to the nearest livery stable to rent a horse. After paying for an entire day because he wasn't sure how long he would be gone, Mortesen mounted a gentle black mare and set off for the Forbidden Forest.
A few birds chittered to each other overhead, but there was no trace of any other animals. He knew they were there, but the woods kept them hidden and safe from any visitors. Several times he'd seen groups of Mysticals, though none of them had ever taken an interest in him.
There were only two minutes of riding through tangled undergrowth and dense trees, then an avenue seemed to materialize before him, leading along the smoothest path to the center of the wood where a bowl-shaped valley and waterfall waited. It took some time to reach it, but when he did, the familiar forest spirit was waiting there with a welcoming smile. This was the only place she could take on physical form.
The prince briefly spared a thought for the legend that gave the Forbidden Forest its name nearly two hundred years ago. An army invading Cosium had tried to attack the castle by going through the forest and coming at it from the southeast, but only a handful of terrified soldiers made it to the other side, babbling and half-mad. They described the earth opening wide to swallow dozens of their fellows at a time, streams going dry just before the parched men could take a drink, trees moving on their own to divide the army, and vines that dragged away anyone who tried to hack at the undergrowth or light a fire.
Shortly after the war was over, the king entered the forest alone to thank it for taking part in defending their country. The spirit that resided there revealed herself to him and, after some discussion, agreed to be an advisor and protector to the best of her abilities for the king and his heir.
For the next ten generations she had been a secret friend to the main line of the Royal family. Negolas had forbidden Mortesen from telling anyone about her except his firstborn someday. It was one of the only things he ever kept from Rakar.
"Mortesen! It's been quite some time, hasn't it?" Grandmother Lake asked, appearing as an elderly hedgehog whose body was composed entirely of water. She held a cane and was dressed in a long gown and cape whose design had gone out of fashion well over a century earlier, but it suited her. "You don't look nearly so chubby as you did the last time I saw you."
"I haven't come in four years," he said, getting off the mare and leading it over to the water for a drink. "Not since..."
Her smile faded slightly and she placed a hand on his arm. It was tangible, but almost liquid without being wet. "The summer fever took many lives that year. I'm sorry Amuera was one of those lost."
Mortesen looked down at a bracelet on his wrist, nearly disguised because it was the same color as his fur. He touched its obsidian beads, his words bitter. "Queen Priscilla certainly didn't seem to mind. Suddenly she was my father's only wife again."
"Is that why you came to me? To blame someone who had no hand in your mother's death?"
The prince met her eyes at last. "No. I missed you, but it felt wrong to want to come here...as if doing so would be almost a way of replacing her in my life."
The spirit looked at him with soft blue eyes. "Why do you think I go by the name 'Grandmother Lake'? I know it's wrong to usurp so important a figure as a parent. Any old woman can be a grandmother. I'll never take her place, but I can still be there for you in my own way."
Mortesen was hugging her before he knew it and she returned the gesture.
"So, why did you really come back?" she asked once they released one another.
He lowered himself onto a large, flat rock half-submerged in the water, seeing a little swarm of silver minnows flashing in the sunlight by his feet. "I wish it was just to see you, but the truth is I don't know what to do. I'm sure you know about Karok."
"Sweet girl," Grandmother Lake smiled indulgently. "She hides in my forest sometimes and I make sure her pursuers don't follow. I try to keep an eye on her, but you know my influence only extends half a day's ride in all directions from this place."
"She...um...caught me a few days ago." His embarrassment was eclipsed by the following words as an undertone of distress bled through. "I thought I knew what it was like in Cosium, but she told me about things I never thought could really happen in our kingdom. My father doesn't believe it's as bad as she says. But I do. Everything about her was truthful. I want to help, but how? I don't know what to do."
Silently, she listened as he spoke. Once he was finished she leaned on her cane. "Mortesen, sometimes life can feel like you're wandering through a dark forest with nothing but a tiny lamp to light your way. You can't see the destination or much of the path—only two or three steps ahead at a time."
"Grandmother, please!" he sounded nearly exasperated. "I know you love the cryptic responses, but I really am asking for advice here."
"What do you think this is?" she asked, the suggestion of amusement lighting her eyes. "Your father will never allow anyone to force his hand, and I daresay he's taught you the same. I am only providing you an easier way to understand your choices. You know the goal, don't you?"
He paused. "To make life better for my people."
"Keep your eyes on that, and if an opportunity comes into your little circle of light, you'll have the chance to do something. That's all you can do right now. The day will come when you'll have the power and the ability to do more."
This struck a chord within his chest, causing Mortesen to gaze at the valley's waterfall, completely lost in thought. At last he turned to her, stood, and once more embraced her watery blue form.
"Thank you, Grandmother."
That Afternoon...
King Negolas stared at his wife, eyes growing dark as an ocean storm. "Priscilla, this had better be one of your jokes."
"Husband, I only received word this morning and I'm just as surprised as you," the soft brown hedgehog protested, standing against the seaside windows of the king's study. "None of the princesses can attend. That's all I know."
Her innocence looked so sincere but Mortesen's truth-telling said the exact opposite. He glared at her, knowing he couldn't say a word about it. She was too good at getting out of difficulties, and he didn't know which part of what she said was untrue.
Negolas glanced at his son with a reluctant sigh. "Mortesen, I know I said you would have the ball, but it seems there's no point if no one can come."
Being sick for over a week during his sixteenth birthday had necessarily canceled the celebration earlier in the year, but to make up for it, his father had promised one that would last three days, ending on the Autumn Equinox. Mortesen shot a glance at the queen whose face was smeared with a false apology. He didn't really care about the party, but letting her get away with sabotaging it irked him.
A wild idea occurred to him. "Father, there may be a way to salvage things."
"I'm listening."
"If the princesses cannot attend, why not throw the doors open to any maidens in our kingdom who are descended from Royalty?" He gave a wide, sweeping gesture, getting excited as the idea took form. "And I don't simply mean nobles. I'd like peasants to get the chance to come too. Any young ladies between the ages of fourteen and twenty."
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Queen Priscilla trying not to scoff, but King Negolas appeared to give the matter some thought.
"Since it's a celebration in your honor, I don't see why you can't welcome whomever you choose. If you write up a formal invitation I can have it spread across the kingdom by this evening. Eight days ought to be enough time for anyone who wishes to attend to travel here, even from the borders."
"It will be done within the hour," he said, giving a customary bow and leaving the study.
Negolas turned to his wife. "You are the hostess. Be sure everything is handled accordingly. This foolishness with the princesses was unacceptable."
Queen Priscilla nodded as though ashamed and excused herself in the most humble voice, but the moment she was in the hallway, a sneer distorted her features. Mortesen was only a short distance away and she coughed, attracting his attention.
"Clever. Most clever," she said, sidling up and looking down her nose at him. "Though the purpose of such a unique invitation is beyond me. How irritating that most of the burden of preparations will fall on my shoulders. I suppose you counted on that."
The black hedgehog tried to keep from bristling at her tone. "It is your duty as queen. I hope you're up to the task."
She smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress and gave a smile that had no warmth underneath. "Oh, I'm quite sure I can handle my responsibilities. But that doesn't mean everything won't blow up in your face like a badly-concocted potion. I only hope you can deal with it when it inevitably does."
Mortesen ground his teeth as he watched her sashay down the hall.
But in fact things might have devolved into chaos before the ball even began if the head cook hadn't been outspoken and not afraid of losing her position.
She cornered Mortesen that afternoon, reprimanding him as though he was a servant rather than the crown prince. After he was made to understand the possible disasters that could ensue if an accurate head count was not given, he admitted such thoughts hadn't crossed his mind. She advised him in no uncertain terms to make sure there was a general figure at least three days in advance, especially if he wanted to avoid eating raw food for a month.
As she left to return to her kitchen, the cook threw one last comment over her shoulder. "I certainly hope you have a plan for where they'll be staying for three or more days."
The realization that there may very well be more than fifty girls coming and that the castle only had twenty proper guest rooms threw him into a flurry of panic. Unconsciously he made his way to the training yard and sat down on a bench, feeling like an utter fool.
"Are you going to sit there moping or do some sparring?"
Mortesen looked up at his friend, Alexei, and gave a wry smile. "Do I look miserable enough to mope?"
"Not really. Just distracted," the skunk amended. He was a regular recruit, about three years older than Mortesen, whose father was a high-ranking captain. Because of his performance in the last couple years it was expected that Alexei would be promoted soon. "You could tell me about it while we practice. Get two things done at once."
"Practical as ever," the black hedgehog noted, proceeding to equip himself with leather armor soldiers always wore for training.
He summarized the head cook's complaint between strokes. Alexei didn't scoff since he knew the prince was likely to get riled if he was mocked, but he ventured another comment after the final words about a place to stay came up.
"How many maidens do you think are likely to cross the country alone?"
Mortesen dodged a thrust and parried. "None, I'd say."
"Don't use Branch in the Storm! You left yourself wide open by blocking too high. Try it again with Cat Dances on the Wall." Alexei made sure the prince was doing the sword form correctly before returning to their original conversation. "Now you see they won't just need accommodations for themselves, but for their escorts as well. Cosium Town only has four inns, and since you asked them to come, it's only appropriate to pay for their boarding. I don't know how you'll manage if too many attend, though."
Mortesen was so surprised that he let himself be disarmed with The Grapevine Twines. "Pay for their boarding?"
"Of course," Alexei said, returning the weapon to him. "I'm also concerned about their animals. Even if most of them can't afford to own horses, I guarantee a lot of them will have something to ride or carry their belongings."
"Maybe it's not as bad as it seems," the black hedgehog said more to himself than to his friend.
With renewed vigor he cast himself into a new attack, sliding past his opponent's defense with Parting the Silk to inflict a "death blow". Alexei grinned at him, recognizing a plan in the works.
The Next Day...
Athena read the notices in Cosium Town, then she read them again. And one more time for good measure.
"Smart. I wonder if he came up with that himself," she finally said, leaving the town square.
Offering ten silvers to any household that gave hospitality to the visitors who came to attend the ball would keep things from getting out of hand on the first day when every room at the local inns filled up. Plus it would be some extra money in a family's pocket.
The blue hedgehog exited town and noticed fresh-cut lumber being hauled to a clear spot near the river. A corral was already being constructed to house animals for the visitors.
Athena gave a whistle just within the first shadows of the Forbidden Forest and was on Flora's back before the stag could come to a full stop. Her divided riding skirt billowed around her knees as they went bounding homeward. All the way back she thought about the invitation. Was Mortesen truly interested in finding out how many distant relatives he had or was he trying to get to know the peasantry?
Or...was it something else entirely? She considered the exact wording of the invitation and began to wonder.
Once at home, she went around back and opened the cellar. A chest was hidden under piles of collected oddments and she hadn't looked in it since the day she placed it there nearly six months ago.
Athena carried it into the house and slowly traced her family's crest carved into the top. She had avoided this chest for half a year not because of what it contained, but because of the memories associated with it.
When the nobles of Marcuria and their hired army had stormed the castle, slaughtering anyone who professed loyalty to the Crown, she along with her parents, King Garrik and Queen Tryska, had managed to escape with a single piece of luggage. Her grandparents remained behind to throw off their pursuers, and their fates were inevitably painful. Knowing the violent nature of uprisings, they fled to a nearby port town and gave the captain of a merchant ship most of the money they'd brought if he would leave immediately.
Cosium was far enough from Marcuria to avoid the entanglements of politics and old hatreds. Or at least that was the hope.
It being harvest season when they arrived, the only work they could find was in the countryside. Leery of losing their only possessions, they hid the chest in the woods before introducing themselves as Rik, Tryss and Thia to a baron who ran a small wheat-farming town. He was willing to give them a chance, especially at this time when every available hand was needed.
No sooner had they been brought to a small, empty house than a seemingly harmless question about whether they could use magic came up. Before they understood what had happened, Garrik and Tryska found themselves wearing chainless restraint manacles, but Athena was completely ignored, being then fourteen. The indignity of wearing irons was more painful to them than the reason behind it.
A week after moving into the baron's town, Athena couldn't sleep once again because her stomach was still accustomed to being regularly filled. The scanty portions they were given could be supplemented by vegetables Athena used her Nature magic to grow, but since they weren't grown naturally, they had little flavor or nutrition.
A voice attracted her attention in the nighttime stillness. "Garrik, did we make her pretend to be Justus for her sake or for ours?"
Her father didn't speak for a minute as he reflected on this. "I suppose...when it began we simply panicked. I certainly didn't think of anything other than the nobles' comments back when it became known you couldn't have more children. I never considered what was best for Athena. Did you?"
"No. Everything became about making sure she did every single thing right as both herself and Justus—not truly about her well-being at all. The plan was always to pretend he was alive until she could get married, then announce he'd died unexpectedly so that she and her husband could retain the throne. I knew it wasn't right all along and not fair to her, but I didn't care at the time." Tryska's voice grew anxious. "Are we doing the right thing for her now? Here?"
"I want to. She's all we have left." He shifted in the darkness. "How is it I didn't see it before?"
"We were too busy. Too frightened." Athena heard her mother move, manacles clinking slightly, and imagined her hugging Garrik. "Maybe now we can do our best to make up for those mistakes."
"Do you think she'll forgive us, Tryska?"
"...I don't know."
From that day forward she truly felt like their daughter as they stumbled along the path of rediscovering how to love her for herself. She loved them all the more for the effort, and by spring they had grown tight-knit.
Thanks to her strength she could do work with her father, and it was during the winter when they chopped and hauled wood, or later during planting season when they pulled a plow side-by-side and cleared irrigation ditches that they learned more about each other than any time in their entire lives. Athena also knew how much her mother adored roses, so she planted a cutting and "encouraged" it over the span of a few weeks until rosevines starred with sweet, honey-colored flowers hung from the house.
It was a surprise and a shock to see a visitor at their door one evening, especially one with a thick, familiar accent and style of clothing. He was a brown-furred fox who said he'd been searching for them for the past two months because Marcuria was now at war. The current situation was at the tipping point and their country needed a leader.
"I'm here to ask if you will come back," he proposed. "Are you willing to return and take the Crown once more?"
Garrik looked at his wife. Athena never knew for certain what was going through his head...whether the prospect of being restored to his homeland and throne was too alluring, or whether he only thought of his people and his duty to them. In some sad, secret corner of her mind she also wondered if he was reluctant to leave this house where they had found a measure of happiness the castle had never supplied.
"We will go," he answered in the kingly voice Athena remembered so well.
The stranger smiled, but not in relief; it was...sinister. "Oh, dear. That really was the wrong answer."
A knife flashed in the candlelight and Garrik jerked in surprise just before it plunged into his chest. Tryska shoved her daughter back and threw out one hand, remembering too late that her manacles prevented her from using magic, but the assassin didn't know that and responded with another knife.
Athena had been so shocked that she let herself be thrown against the back wall, and now lay there staring at her parents as they writhed and gasped on the floor. Blood seemed to be everywhere...
"The nobles can't risk you returning and ruining everything. Marcuria will take over other countries and become stronger without you," the fox sneered down at them. His eyes found Athena. "But there's no point in killing you, 'Prince Justus'. No one would accept you even if you went back."
His words snapped her out of the paralysis encasing her body and she watched him opening the door to leave. Burning anger seared her veins and she screamed, "I won't let you get away!"
She called to the rosevines draped along the house and, because she had put so much magic into their growth, they remembered her without needing physical contact to respond. The fox found himself tangled in a web of clinging, biting tentacles that tightened more and more as he struggled to escape.
Athena scrambled over to her mother, touching the pale orange fur and finding no trace of breath left in her form. A few feet away, Garrik still moved feebly. She hurried to him and felt for his heartbeat, but he slid his fingers around her wrist.
"Papa, I'm so sorry! Was this my fault?"
When he tried to speak and couldn't, she realized there was nothing she could do to save him.
"I forgive you," she whispered, leaning against his fur that was the same shade as her own. "I forgave you for everything long ago. I am proud to be your daughter."
The flicker of a smile passed over his features, soon overshadowed by pain. Garrik didn't die immediately. The assassin had purposely given him a fatal wound that leeched his lifeblood slowly so that it took the better part of an hour before his eyes finally glazed over. By then all her tears had already been cried away.
Athena hadn't realized she'd killed the fox until she had finished wrapping her parents in blankets for their burial. The sight of him, strangled by the vines and bleeding from thousands of thorns, evoked no other emotion than a numb sort of disgust. The guilt and sorrow of having killed anyone at all would come later, after she had mourned for those she loved.
She left everything in the house except for a black cloak belonging to her father, then carried her parents out and set them gently in a two-wheeled wagon. Athena pulled it out of the town that slept while her family had been murdered, stopping to retrieve the hidden chest, and disappeared into the woods.
She never went back.
The chest sat in the middle of the little home she'd made for herself, reminding her of all these things. Slowly she unlatched it and began to take out the items inside, one at a time. Near the bottom lay three dresses folded with care, as they were sentimental. Her mother had brought the one she'd worn when meeting Garrik for the first time, her wedding dress, and one that had been made for Athena's first ball—the event that had led to the discovery of Justus's death.
She stroked the brocade designs for a few minutes, then pulled the dresses out and saw a pair of shoes she hadn't known were there. They had to be her mother's. Athena picked one up and inspected the padded leather covered with white cloth, shimmering in the late evening sunlight, and strung with a delicate webbing of glass beads.
Curious, she slipped it on. Perhaps the year before it would have been too large, but now it fit almost perfectly. She put on the other and walked across the room, instinctively settling into the glide of a princess. She sat down at the table once more, eyes fastened on the dresses.
The blue hedgehog was wrapped so deeply in her thoughts and memories that night fell before she moved again.
A/N: Since FF-dot-net apparently hates competition, I'm afraid it's impossible to post a direct link to the picture that has been drawn to promote this story, but all the same, if you do a google search for Karok, LiyuConberma and DeviantArt, (all at the same time, mind you) you can find it. It's definitely worth the effort to see Athena striking a heroic pose with her Mystical. She seriously looks like Sonic in disguise.