As a Queen, her sorcery powers would be questioned, if known or discovered later. In her research, there had never been a Queen with sorcery powers, let alone those of a mage. The royalty of Wren might rebel if they knew of her magic powers. If the royalty reacted that way, she couldn’t imagine the reaction her subjects would have. She had to keep her powers hidden.
A new thought forced its way into her thinking. If Princess Eleonore had not tried to seize the throne, would Prin have voluntarily stepped aside and avoided all that was happening? Prin believed herself not nearly as qualified about training, preparation, and ambition, not to mention palace politics. Eleonore had begun studying to achieve her goal of wearing the crown as a child and had fully expected to rule. She was better qualified in all respects, but one. She was ambitious.
Someone had murdered several people, people she cared about. Each death brought Eleonore closer to being the Queen, and Prin refused to allow that plan to succeed. She would remain Prin, a poor, elderly traveler until reaching the King’s Palace, then she would transition into Hannah.
It would not be easy. Nobody would know where she had been for five years, or the name she used, but many would resist her rule if for no other reason than that they had believed for years that Eleonore would be the next Queen. Eleonore was prepared to fight and other royalty sided with her. Even her mages would try to oppose Prin’s rule.
The opposition to the throne and overthrow attempts had continued for the last five years, and attempt after an attempt had been made on the King’s life. Eleonore had fled when he fought back, but the conflict continued. Hannah was the wild card.
The raven was right. It was time to go home. Prin found herself anxious and wondering why she hadn’t returned to her homeland sooner. The responsibilities and difficulties seemed to call to her.
Prin glanced down and found her hands trembling. She looked at Treeman and reached for the throwing knife. It slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground near her feet.
A familiar voice behind said, “That shows you are human.”
She turned to find the combat master standing quietly beside a rose bush in permanent full bloom. He limped closer. “If you were attacking me I’d be dead,” Prin said.
“That was only your first weapon. You’re prepared to fight with more. Listen, your whole life will change by the end of this day, if it has not already. Pick up your knife and try again.”
She stooped and felt like she might pass out. But she stood and slipped the blade into the scabbard. A glance at Treeman and her hand flew to the hilt, cocked, and let the knife fly in one smooth motion. She had made the same throw more than a hundred times a day, over five years, from different distances. Probably two-hundred-thousand times, seldom fumbling or missing. Her confidence solidified.
He said, “Princess Eleonore and Lord Jeffery are in hiding, I hear, along with their servants, three powerful mages, and the support of their vast treasury.”
“Meaning?”
“Right now, you believe you must charge into the palace and claim your throne, and perhaps you do. However, that is what they expect. Think about that. Do something else.”
“I’m dense in the head today. Tell me more.”
He reached behind himself, and quickly selected a practice staff from the bucket holding almost a dozen of them, rolled it around in his hands and suddenly shouted, “Defend yourself.”
Prin glanced around for another staff or something else to use for her defense but found nothing. Her eyes darted to the combat master to determine if he was going to allow her to sprint to the stand of practice staffs before he attacked. It was lucky she did because instead of placing his hands in the typical attack stance, his arm drew back, and he threw the staff like a spear.
She dropped to the ground as it sailed over her head. “Hey, that wasn’t fair.”
“My point, exactly. Do not expect your cousin Eleonore to play fair.”
She sat up. “No.”
“There are only three things that can happen if you look at this from her standpoint. You never return. That’s a good outcome for her. You die attempting to return. Another good outcome. You return and claim the throne. Also, a possible good outcome.”
“How is that last one possibly good for her?”
“Think about it from her perspective. She has had at least six years to prepare for your return. Do you believe she has not considered the last outcome and prepared for it? For instance, to make it incredibly simple for your weak mind to comprehend, she may have placed a poisoned needle on the seat of the throne. Nobody but a King or Queen dares sit on it, and Willard is too ill. So, you would be the next to place your bottom there.”
“I think I’m beginning to see. If I die, even after my coronation, Elenore rules.”
He continued, counting off horrible outcomes on his gnarled fingers, “The door handle to your private chambers may have a spell cast on it that makes your hand wither after you touch it. The bed may contain a dozen nasty surprises. Your royal clothing may be treated to make your skin fall off. Bats may fly into your window at night and attack you with their tiny teeth until you die. An otherwise friendly dog may tear your head off your neck. An arrow you release while hunting may circle around and strike your throat. Lightning may strike you—directed by a mage.”
Prin said, “Enough. I understand. In any of those cases, Eleonore would swoop in and claim the throne without opposition.”
“Easier than fighting you. You must deal with her.”
Prin pulled her throwing knife and flipped it into the air. It spun twice and landed in her fingers ready to throw again. Her eyes didn’t bother watching the knife. She tossed it up again. And again. In a voice, almost too soft to carry, she said, “It sounds like seizing the throne will get me killed.”
“Without a doubt.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Brice burst into the house late in the afternoon on the same day he’d arrived. “We’re booked to depart at dark.”
“Tonight?” Prin asked.
“Yes. The next ship that sails directly to Indore departs in two days, but it’s a slow cargo ship with a single mast. The ship tonight is a fast passenger ship, and I booked the last cabin. It’s due to arrive six days sooner than the cargo ship.”
Prin turned her attention outside through the rear window that overlooked the garden. The summer sun was well past noon. She turned to Sara, who nodded to Brice. They were all in agreement. “You did right. We need to pack.”
Sara said, “I only have to grab my bags and say goodbye.”
Brice said, “I’m ready, too.”
Prin felt her lower lip tremble and tried to hide her anxiety. Yes, she had also prepared for this, but it still came too soon. Maude sat and sipped her endless tea and thankfully didn’t make eye contact. Prin said to her, “Send for a carriage.”
“It’s waiting out front,” Brice said.
Prin spun and strode to her room, back straight until the door closed softly behind her. She fell on her bed and wept. A movement caught her attention, and she saw four ravens, so black their feathers shimmered. They landed at the glass door leading to the garden and beaks tapped the glass. She wiped her eyes and opened the door, suspecting what was to come.
“Hannah, time to go home. Hannah. Hannah, time to go home.” They all squawked at her in the same voice, repeating the same phrase, but not beginning at the same time. The resulting burst of sound was almost comical. But it drew her out of her funk—at least, the worst of it.