“Please turn around, my son,” Nicholas said quietly.
Tristan slowly did as he was told, his chest heaving from his tirade and the strength of his emotions. His cheeks were still shiny from his tears, and the anger still seeped through. But Wigg could see that the prince was once again more himself.
“Tristan,” the king asked, gazing into his son’s eyes, “how is it that your trousers are stained in red?”
Tristan groaned inwardly. All I wanted of today was to keep my secret and hope to someday go back to the falls. Now they are about to take that away from me, too.
Beaten and exhausted, the prince of Eutracia stood before them and finally, reluctantly, told them everything. The butterflies, the chase for Pilgrim, and falling into the cave. He went on, telling them of his exploration of the cavern, his swim in the strange water, and of being repelled backward at the portal of the tunnel. He left nothing out. When he was done, he didn’t know whether he felt better or worse. For a long time the room remained bathed in silence, the only sounds once again the occasional snap of the wood as it burned in the fireplace.
Wigg turned his attention back to the men seated before him. “The first imperative is to reestablish the wizard’s warp that once protected the wall that the prince inadvertently fell through. Tretiak, as the second most powerful among us, you are best suited for that job.” How the warp guarding the wall had been breached was a source of great concern to Wigg, but he did not wish to speak of it now. He could only imagine that it had been the quality and strength of the prince’s blood that had enabled him to unknowingly break through the barrier.
He turned his gaze once more to the prince. “I am sorry to have to say this Tristan, but we must forbid you to ever go near the Caves again. The stakes for all of us are much too high.”
Somehow Tristan had expected to hear this, and he thought that his heart would break at the very idea of it. But suddenly a different concern seized him.
“Wigg, if the warp is reconstructed in front of the wall, how will the Fliers of the Fields receive their sustenance? Will they die?”
Wigg let out a sigh and clasped his hands in his lap. “I don’t really know, Tristan,” he said, shaking his head. He stood, walked over to the prince, and put an affectionate hand upon the young man’s shoulder. “They were never supposed to go in there in the first place. Either way, we must recreate the warp.”
Nicholas stood slowly and walked over to the two of them. He looked at Wigg. “It is obviously past the time when the ceremony should have begun. All of our guests and the palace servants have probably long since wondered what has happened to us. Please notify them that the ceremony has been postponed one hour. In addition I should like the queen, Shailiha, and Frederick to join Tristan and myself here, in this room, as soon as possible.” The king turned his dark eyes back to his son. “I’m sorry, Tristan, but it appears that not only will you have to face the immediate concerns of the Directorate, but those of your family, as well.” He looked with disdain at Tristan’s dirty red-stained black breeches and leather vest. “And,” he added sadly, “it also appears that you will have to attend the ceremony dressed as you are.”
As Tristan wearily ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, Nicholas continued to gaze deeply into the deep blue eyes of his son, the man whom he loved more than anyone else in the world. Instinctively, he reached out to pull the prince to him in a long embrace, and was glad to find it being returned.
“I want complete privacy during this meeting with my family,” he told Wigg. “We will all be along shortly.”
Wigg bowed slightly at the waist. “As you wish, Sire.” The king and the prince watched as the elderly, powerful wizards dutifully exited the room. Then Nicholas turned to face the great fireplace, his back to his son, as the flames slowly started to burn themselves out.
I pray to the Afterlife, please let us survive the events of today, he thought sadly.
Tristan and Nicholas did not have to wait very long. In what seemed to the prince to be a very short amount of time there came a knock on the heavy door, and Wigg appeared with Morganna, Frederick, and Shailiha. The Lead Wizard silently ushered the visitors into the room. Then, after giving the prince a rather pinched, concerned look, he left, quietly closing the door behind him.
The looks upon the faces of the rest of his family quickly told the prince that not only had the three of them never visited this part of the palace, but that Wigg had told Morganna and Frederick all that had transpired today. At the behest of Nicholas each of them took a seat at the table, Tristan included. The silence in the room was palpable, and Tristan felt even more alone now than when he had first come into this chamber and confronted the wizards of the Directorate. The wizards are powerful, he heard his heart whisper to him, but it is my family that I hold most dear. Only Shailiha and the recently bathed Frederick managed slightly encouraging smiles in his direction, while everyone waited for the king to speak.
They didn’t have to wait long.
“Tristan,” the king began as if reading his son’s mind, “do you love us?”
The question hit the prince like a thunderbolt. How could his father ask him such a thing? Before he started to speak he knew his voice was about to crack, and it did. “Yes, Father,” he began softly. “My family is the most important thing to me in the world.”
Nicholas then unexpectedly leaned forward in his chair, gripped the chain of the Paragon just above the stone itself, and held the bloodred jewel out toward the prince. It twinkled in the light of the fireplace.
“And this stone?” the king asked, no small measure of regal command in his voice. “How is it that you feel about this?”
“It is the stone that I will soon wear around my neck, just as you have done ever since you turned thirty,” the prince answered, entirely unsure of the meaning behind his father’s question. “Other than that, there is really very little that I know about it.”
Suddenly more frustrated with his son than ever, Nicholas looked down at the jewel that he had worn for so long—the same stone he longed to see around the neck of his only son, where for so many years the wizards had said it rightfully belonged. How do I tell him these things? the king asked himself. How do I this day tell him how concerned his parents are for him, when all that he hungers to know cannot, will not, be told to him until the day of his coronation?
Nicholas let go of the Paragon and leaned back in his chair, sighing slightly. “It is no secret to the people here in this room, or to the directorate of Wizards, that you do not wish to be king. But you shall be the king, and in a very short time. And what I must tell you now is that if you do not change and show your willingness to take on the responsibility that is about to be thrust upon you, you will rule poorly, and neither the nation nor your family can survive that. Trust me when I say that, for reasons I cannot this day explain, your reign will be unique to all of Eutracian history.” Nicholas’ face seemed to soften a bit as he considered his next words. “Too many good people have died trying to protect the Paragon to let it be worn by one who will not fulfill his duties.
“I ordered Shailiha and Frederick here with us today so that they may also hear these things,” he continued. “So that they may know that your mother and I hold their interests in our hearts, as well. It is their futures and the future of their unborn child that you must also bear in mind, that you will one day be responsible for. I know it is not the way you wish things to be. I also know that you believe the world has been unfair to you, and in many ways, perhaps it has. But in time you will understand why.”