The Lost Prince (47 page)

“Uh … I didn’t realize you had to stop touring for me,” Daniel said.

“The band didn’t stop touring,” Tim explained. “Only I did. Thanks to the self-appointed Lord Robbe.” From behind him on the sill, he pulled out another ready-made cocktail. “Cheers.”

“I didn’t realize Malcolm was also a lord,” Daniel said.

Tim snorted. “I said ‘self-appointed.’ He’s a fucking sergeant. A soldier. A stinking, ambitious, little dwarv.”

“A dwarv?” Daniel said.

“A smelly, stinky, dirty race of muscular midgets who fuck hairy women that never shave and smell like sweaty male goats in heat that piss on themselves. They spend all day mining for jewels because aristocrats love sparkly baubles on their shiny dresses and will hock their husbands’ left nut for one.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

Clarisse slapped Tim a little harder than playfully. “Be nice.”

This fairy tale’s getting darker by the minute,
Daniel thought.

“You don’t write the lyrics, do you?” Daniel said sarcastically.

“Nope.”

“He’s just pissed because things were going really well for us before the magic gave everyone their memories back,” Clarisse said.

“Is that what happened?”

“One minute I’m rocking Madison Square Garden,” Tim said, “the next I’m back in a thunderstorm from thirteen years ago as my brain reboots ancient history.”

Daniel remembered a moment like that, too, at the bus station the night he met Colby. There was less and less deniability as the day went on. Could he actually be their prince?

“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” said an older gentleman joining in. He had a hint of jowls, salt-and-pepper hair, and a preppy tweed jacket with patches at the elbow. “Balzac Cruz, court jester, at your service, Your Royal Highness.”

“Uh—just Daniel is fine,” the boy said. “Really? A jester? How many people came across with you guys?”

“Many more than are here,” said Balzac. “Sadly, some of our party are no longer with us: Tristan, Callum’s lieutenant; Galen and Linnea who were to be your adoptive parents. They died in a horrible car crash when you were but an infant. She was the palace groundskeeper’s daughter and much loved among the staff. Her husband was the duke’s personal tanner, a man of great skill with leathers and furs and a great generosity of spirit.”

“What were you?” he asked, turning back to Tim.

“Minstrel.”

“So people here pretty much became what they were already back there to some degree.”

“Not exactly,” said Balzac. Pointing to Cal and Malcolm, he continued. “A knight is not a policeman. A metal smith is not an industrialist. This dynamic is about to turn interesting. Malcolm has the status and authority in this world. He earned it and is used to being the leader. Callum’s authority comes from the old world … it was inherited, and he remembers being used to being the leader. They need each other. Who is the legitimate authority?”

“You sound like a professor,” said Daniel.

“I am, my dear boy,” said Balzac. “I was. Before becoming a jester, I was a young scholar in the kingdom of Teulada.”

“Magic?”

“Nothing so gauche … philosophy, literature, and history. I would have been your tutor had we not lost our identities. Oh, the pain of all those lost years. I could have taught you so much. A tragedy. Where is the young wizard, Seth, by the way?” he said, looking about.

“The guy with the staff? He had personal business.”

“Has a staff now, does he? Well, I hope he does less harm with it than he did with that identity spell thirteen years ago.”

Hanging out with a drunk, angry rocker and an old fart professor that reminded him of Dr. Smith from
Lost in Space
was not Daniel’s idea of a good time. Outside was Park Avenue, one of the most famous streets in the most exciting city in the world. The suite, despite its size, was taking on the characteristics of an opulent prison.

“Who do I talk to about going out for a walk?” Daniel asked.

Tim snorted. Balzac gave him a forced smile like Daniel should know better. Clarisse pointed to the tall red-headed woman talking with Colby Dretch and Reverend Grey.

Daniel approached them, impressed by red’s height and physique—a stunningly beautiful woman, with olive skin and large green-gray eyes. He circumvented a couch to reach them, then realized walking up behind the tall redhead would have been quicker, and wondered why he didn’t. He looked at the area behind her.

“No,” the redhead said.

It must have looked to all like he was checking out the woman’s butt. Flushed with embarrassment, Daniel stammered, “I—uh…”

“You cannot go for a walk,” she added.

“Oh. I didn’t even…”

“I have remarkably good hearing, Your Highness. Lord Dorn is still searching for you—perhaps more a threat now than even he himself realizes if what the detective says about his migraines is true.”

“Why should I care that the guy trying to kill me has a headache?”

Turning back to Colby and Allyn, Lelani said, “Transversing universes is a dangerous undertaking. There’s no long-term knowledge of its effects; but it would seem some people are more vulnerable to the changes between the two realities, like changes in water pressure to some divers. This malady starts with headaches and discomfort and evolves into full-blown madness. I believe Galen succumbed to this malady the night of the accident upstate. The migraines and dementia caused him to drive head on into that truck. Linnea would not have known what to do.”

“Good for us, right?” Daniel interjected.

“No, Your Highness,” she said, finally addressing him directly. Behind her eyes lay an entire universe … he wanted to fall into them. “Lord Dorn has in his possession scrolls with forbidden spells—banned magic from a much darker age in our history. He’s been procuring the components to cast such a spell. This magic in the hands of a madman will only lead to death and destruction on a wide scale.”

“He doesn’t need to threaten on a wide scale,” said Callum, joining them. Bree sat in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. “He has Catherine … He has my wife.”

CHAPTER 34

POWER PLAY

Callum didn’t recall Malcolm ever being this obstinate, and he really didn’t care for the change. Their heated disagreement had reached a point of discomfort for all within earshot; the other guardians stayed to the edges of the suite, giving the contenders ample space to quarrel. Mal ordered his security team into another suite entirely to give the guardians more privacy. This was Aandor’s affair. Only Colby, Scott, and Clarisse were allowed to remain with the guardians.

“Attack now!” Malcolm insisted.

His cheeks were flushed, and with his coppery hair he appeared ready to burst like an angry volcano. “They can’t have many men left. We can wipe them out for good.” This was the third round in under an hour with the very same suggestions and tactics. They were arguing in circles.

“Our priority is to set up Daniel in a new life miles away from here,” Cal said. “Get him off the same island that Dorn’s on.” Cal was frustrated to no end. Malcolm had exactly the resources needed to make Daniel disappear, set him up with a new identity in a town of their choosing and give the boy a life worthy of a prince of Aandor. But Cal couldn’t sign the man’s checkbook for him. Malcolm’s wealth was his own—self-earned and of this world. Cal’s anger was tempered only by Malcolm’s loyalty to their cause. He had not abandoned the prince as Prelate Grey had tried, or successfully ignored the call to arms as Tilcook had (if the man was even still alive).

“Your number-one priority should be your wife,” Malcolm insisted.

“If only to alleviate your guilt over the debacle that lost her in the first place, is that what you mean, Mal?” If the billionaire had been standing on a box, Cal was sure Mal would have socked him in the face for that last remark.

“If that’s what you choose to believe, Cal … if that’s what will get us to bring the war right back at these pigs, then yes! Damn you! I’m tired of being on the run. My family’s been running for a generation. We have nothing good to show for it! Let’s give the warmongers their own medicine and see if they have the stomach for it!”

“We can’t turn Midtown into a war zone,” Cal said. “We’d be discovered. Even your wealth and connections couldn’t hide us from that. We’re invaders from an alternate universe—political aliens … they’d have us in lockdown and throw away the key. Our best strategy is a stealthy one. Special forces style—surgical strikes.”

“You’d be surprised by what I could bury,” Mal said. “Don’t you know billionaires have carte blanche in post-Bush America? Are you willing to sacrifice Catherine for Midtown?”

“Cat’s safer now than she would be if we attacked,” Cal said, calmly. He wished he believed his own words as much as he was trying to make Mal believe them. “As long as we have the prince, Dorn won’t try…”

“Haven’t you listened to your own people?” Mal said. “Dorn’s going insane. This is Dorn of Farrenheil … He never played with a full deck to begin with. You remember the crap he pulled last time he visited Duke Athelstan’s palace. The man screws his own aunt for gods’ sake! He’s not going to care about hostage etiquette or keeping a low profile. Our best strategy is to use overwhelming force—take him out fast and hard.”

“Once we have the prince tucked away…”

“What! What!” Malcolm challenged. “What next? Daniel becomes an adult, goes to college, gets a job, and grows old? When Daniel turns sixty, only a few days will have passed by in Aandor since he left. Are we bringing his great-grandkids back to reclaim the throne, because I have news for you, they aren’t going to have the concentrated blood of ten kings. What’s the point of saving HIM if we don’t get his ass back on the throne, running his country? We need to find a corner of the kingdom that’s safe and set up a de facto government and resistance movement. We wipe Dorn out NOW so we can get back to the business of getting home, repelling the enemy, and saving the kingdom.”

“Daniel needs to be trained,” Cal said. “He doesn’t know a thing about Aandor … about how to rule.”

“What’s the difference, Cal? It’s a monarchy … a flawed system of government even under the best ruler. We’re restoring the old status quo. The same advisers, council members, generals, and nobility will be running his government, as they did his father’s—the same one percent—nothing changes. Daniel’s not going to get to pick who he’ll marry. He just has to fuck the girl
they
pick for him and make little baby emperors. Maybe, just maybe, that kid will be grateful enough for my efforts to restore the mines stolen from my people. You get to go home to Castle MacDonnell and your eight hundred acres if we win. I still have to lead my race a thousand miles back east to Farrenheil to pick up the pieces of our broken lives. So excuse me for being a little impatient.

“Mark my words: Dorn and his lackeys are not done bringing the war to us. He’s not suspending his campaign to kill us all on the possession of your wife.”

Cal was tired of this tennis match. He could see that the others were exhausted as well. The more they argued, the more they inched ever closer to an unretractable statement that would threaten the fellowship of the group. To his credit, Mal refrained from acting autonomously. He could have simply launched his own attack with his security people, all experts in the way of combat, except Mal desperately needed Lelani. Only a fool attacked a wizard without one of his own. Even Symian was dangerous enough to make Malcolm hesitate. But the centaur was loyal to Cal and would not follow Mal’s orders.

Cal also heard Mal’s desire to have him lead the attack between the lines of his argument. Maybe it was respect for Cal’s skills, or maybe he needed Cal’s blessing to assuage him of responsibility should something happen to Catherine in the battle. Dwarvs were known for their stubborn natures—personalities as immalleable as the granite they hewed to reach their ore. They were also notoriously frugal and practical. With time, though, even water could wear down stone.

“Can we all just take five,” Scott suggested.

“I’m getting tired of the sound of my voice, too,” Malcolm said, and retired to the wetbar to fix himself a drink.

Cal could use a stiff one himself, but wanted to retain his clarity in the midst of this pressure. He did a survey of the suite—of the people sworn to help him in his cause and their significant companions. Bree conversed animatedly with Clarisse, who appeared to reciprocate his daughter’s enthusiasm. Tim was alone in his own corner working on his fifth cocktail of the day. What were they thinking thirteen years ago, bringing a musician along, as though Tim would risk life and limb for the prince instead of saving his own selfish ass? Minstrels were worse than mercenaries—coin grubbers with no combat ability and always ready to bed your servants or someone’s wife.

Lelani, Colby, and Allyn Grey were in their own corner consulting about the spells necessary to restore Colby’s heart. The reverend kept getting interrupted with calls from home—always from his daughter because his wife had stopped speaking to him. From what Cal could gather, his wife had packed Allyn’s belongings and placed them on the curb, but his brother-in-law had retrieved them and hid them in the garage. Grey looked dejected. Cal realized how lucky he was that Catherine had accepted … or maybe that was too strong a word …
tolerated
the intrusion of his former life. But with Cat in the hands of the enemy, he was able to forgive Allyn’s decision to stay out of the fight to protect his family. Cal did not have that luxury.

The reverend was a little stuck-up about working with a wizard. Perhaps it was the strain of being separated from his family, or finding himself back in a war he wanted no part of, but Grey had mentioned that perhaps it was God’s intention that Colby go the other direction to a true death.

Scott chimed in with a “What would Jesus do?”, which didn’t upset the reverend nearly as much as pointing out that Colby was a heck of a lot more alive than Lazarus was when Christ plucked him from his crypt. What ultimately convinced the reverend was the torture of Colby’s son. Dorn had gouged out the poor lad’s eyes to spur Colby into action. The boy was already quadriplegic. The horror of it touched Cal deeply. He looked at Bree, safe inside these walls and thought
There but for the grace of God …
Tory would need his father more than ever.