
Chapter 48 - Nick (Part 2)
The door burst open with an immense racket.
Two rough hands tore him away from a wailing Seb. His body tensed and replied by jerking his elbow into the man's chest. As he hit the armour, a lightning bolt of immense pain shot all the way to his pinky finger.
He howled.
With a sharp pull, Lieutenant Max forced his arms behind his back and wrapped his own broad arm around his throat. He stomped his feet in an unfruitful attempt to escape, which only made the man tighten his grip, yanking Nick's chin up. "Snap out this, Cadet."
Nick scoffed. He and Lieutenant Wallace—who now was crouching next to Seb—wouldn't understand why he had attacked their prince; why Seb needed someone to teach him this lesson.
"My Lord, are you alright?" Lieutenant Wallace supported Seb's back as he clambered up. "Shall I ask for a Healer to be fetched?"
"He tried to kill me." Seb was shaking, sobs erupting from his mouth as he frantically touched his throat.
What a pathetic sight. Seb had to learn to stop crying if he wanted to be taken seriously. His own childhood tears had died together with Abby. Perhaps, that day, his friendship with Seb had died too.
He breathed in and out, and coughed to get rid of the wheezing sound; it didn't do much. "Your uncle has over a hundred horses in the stables-over a hundred potential companions for Alex. You shouldn't have given my Billy away."
"This whole bloody fight is about a frigging horse?" sneered Lieutenant Wallace.
"Yes." Seb sniffed.
Grinding his teeth, Nick bit back his words. Seb wouldn't understand it was about so much more than that: his family, Alex, Fox and Seb blindly nodding to every proposition the King made.
"A bloody horse, Cadet!" Lieutenant Max pulled at his arms, shaking him. "Apologise for your abominable behaviour. Now!"
Nick managed a shallow shrug. "No, I have nothing to say."
"I do!" The pitiful cockerel narrowed his tear-streaked eyes. "Take him to the General. Inform him that his deserting Cadet was strangling me."
Nick lurched forward to unleash Wrath's rage a second time, yet the Lieutenant was quick to catch him again. The man grabbed him by the hair, which hurt like the seven hells. "I shall, but I can't present him to the General with this stink. I've known dead pigs reeking less than he does right now."
"Then get him some water and soap, Max. Ask one of the servants to assist, if you must," Seb snapped. He reached out his hand to Lieutenant Wallace. "Take me to Uncle Tom. I'll wait there."
Both men glanced at each other, then Lieutenant Max squeezed his neck. "Alright, piggy, let's give you a proper bath."
Nick hated getting dragged through the castle like he was a prisoner. On the streets was one thing, but by now the constant exaggeration was becoming quite pointless.
Of course he carried a slight bodily odour with him. Apart from that involuntary dive into the creek and the ungodly amounts of rain, he hadn't seen water all week. The uniform he was wearing was the same he had worn all week.
Honesty, if they had left him be, he would have voluntarily taken a bath. There was no need for all the dramatics. Thanks, Seb.
As they crossed the pale-looking serving girl in the hallway leading to the garden, Lieutenant Max halted her. "Evelyn, I need three buckets of the coldest water available in the cast and a bar of the strongest soap. Bring them to the garden. Urgent orders of Lord Sebastian."
The girl eyed at Nick in disgust, wrinkling her nose. "I understand, Lieutenant. Right away."
Lieutenant Max led Nick to the middle of the royal garden, not far from where Abby's sunflowers were growing tall. The flower's faces were all pointed towards him, and it soothed him, temporarily driving the God of Sin out.
"I don't care how unfair you think Lord Sebastian was—you shouldn't have strangled him. He's the Crown Prince," said the Lieutenant.
"Doesn't mean he should be a brat."
"He's under a lot of pressure. If anything were to befall him and His Majesty, the Lion in the North only has to march south to come and claim the throne. He's the lawful heir. Do you really wanna serve a Silvermark King?"
"Of course not." Nick coughed. Serving King Sebastian didn't seem like a good future either; not if he continued acting like a tyrant living above the law. His uncle wasn't a very good example either.
It didn't take long for Evelyn to return with two full buckets. She approached them, groaning. As she dropped the buckets by the Lieutenant's feet, a bit of water splashed onto his boots.
"No-no-no. I apologise dearly," she said as though she had spilt tomato juice on a white shirt.
She was such a strange girl. With that soft jawline and unnaturally white skin, she could be considered a bit of a beauty. But the way she always startled so easily made it seem as though she was caught doing something she wasn't supposed to do.
The Lieutenant didn't say anything, just peered at her as she took a bar of soap from the front pocket of her dress and handed it to him. He gave it to Nick, then grabbed a bucket. "Take off your clothes," he said to him.
"I don't need help. I know how to clean myself."
The words were barely out when ice-cold water hit him in the face. He coughed and spluttered, spitting out the foul-tasting water. The bar of soap slipped out of fingers.
"Hasn't the army taught you anything?" The Lieutenant grinned. "Arrogance is punished, not rewarded."
"Do you say the same thing to Lord Sebastian?"
"The Gods made him of royal blood—you're a nobody. Now take off your clothes—I'm not gonna ask again."
Reluctantly, Nick undid his jacket. His eyes darted towards the castle, where on the second floor Princess Alana stood by the window. Waving.
If he could sink into the ground on this very instance and disappear forever, that would be heavenly. That didn't happen. Instead, he was forced to drop his jacket and take off his shirt. When he glanced up again, his audience had grown. The Queen wasn't waving, nor did she appear to be laughing.
Another bucket of water splashed over his head. "Come on, son of Sloth. I don't have all day."
He shivered, goosebumps appearing all over his skin. Evelyn was already approaching them with a freshly filled bucket. "So what shall I wear after I've washed? I can hardly see the General in my current uniform—it's drenched."
"I should let you wear one of Lady Alana's old dresses. Luckily for you, the gravity of the situation would make the joke quite inappropriate. You wait here." The Lieutenant tossed him the bar of soap, which nearly slithered out of his wet hands as he caught it. "Use it well. If you still smell like rotten meat when I return, I shall give you a wash you'll never forget."
Nick waited for the man to disappear into the castle before taking the bucket and pussyfooting towards the trees. No way that the Queen and Princess would see him butt-naked. The God of Pride may be behind his sudden cowardice, but he was sure Humility and Chasity approved.
There was something refreshing about running the soap up and down his body, as though he was cleansing his mind too, allowing himself to think of the next step.
Seb had asked to be taken to his uncle, yet had ordered the guards to bring him to the General. The muttonhead hadn't realised the two of them always had their regular meeting at four in the afternoon. He would have all the men of power in one room.
It was perfect.
Yet as he stood in the King's parlour in a fresh uniform, his two sycamore pins on his shoulder pad, he felt like a soldier that had fought his way out of the lavender-scented trenches and into a biscuit-filled no-mans-land. Seb was nearly glued to the King, who held an arm around him. The General was by their side, slurping a black liquid that looked like Scorian brew. He didn't seem impressed, which was no different from usual, but this wasn't a very usual situation. How hard could it be to show any kind of emotion?
"Explain yourself." The King hardly raised his voice, yet his tone was serious enough that only a muttonhead would dismiss him.
"The camp—" Nick began.
"We're not here to talk about the camp."
"Seb and I fought."
"He attacked me first," Seb whined.
Nick gritted his teeth. "Because you were being unreasonable!"
The General rubbed his hands and brought them to his chin, let it rest on his fingers. "Captain Jonathan did warn me about the boy's short fuse."
Pet the dog and it will be your friend. Kick it and it will bite. That was what Father used to tell George whenever he came crying that Nick had smacked him when they were little. Father knew he wouldn't fight unless someone had taunted him first.
"You have anything to say about that?" King Thomas asked.
The pendulum clock behind him ticked loudly, filling the silence. He coughed, allowing himself to consider praising the King and bargaining for forgiveness. Quickly, he dismissed the idea. "Seb thinks he can do anything because he's the Prince. Billy wasn't his to give away."
"I gave him to Alex, Nick!" Seb jutted his chin. "You're the one who has everything—a life outside the castle, adventures with your patrol. You have friends." He paused to sniff. "And now Alex is gone too."
"That's not my fault."
"You weren't here." Seb's voice dulled to a murmur. He eyed his uncle in desperate need of confirmation. "It was the best thing to do. I didn't want her to be unhappy anymore."
"Well, I'm unhappy too." Nick reached for his shoulder pad and undid his sycamore pins. Holding them into his hand, he approached the General. "I want to quit the army."
General George kept his hands under his chin. He didn't blink at all. "Your desertion already made that clear, Nicolas. But I don't allow my men to hand me their pins when they're emotional."
"I'm not. I've thought this through."
"Is that why you arrived in the city without your backpack—all part of your plan?" the King jeered. "As for Seb, the mistakes you accuse him of were on my watch. I didn't intervene because he didn't break the law."
"He did. Billy was my father's. The horse passed to me when he and my brother died, which means that you stole him from me."
The General snorted. "When was the last time you were accused of stealing, Thomas?"
"Pretty sure the Eastponders accuse me on a daily basis," the King said, half-smiling. "Inheritance laws are complicated, Nick. Seb will tell you all you need to know. Studied them while you were gone."
The books on Seb's couch. King Thomas had wanted Seb to know to law, to prepare him for this precise moment.
"Oh, right, I have." Seb closed his eyes, a frown of concentration plastered on his ink-stained face. "Titles, money, and possessions shall be passed on to the oldest living son, on the condition that he is eleven years of age—"
"Which means that Billy is mine. I'm the oldest living son, and I'm eleven. Nearly twelve even."
"—and married. When both parents are deceased, a guardian is appointed to anyone unmarried and under the age of sixteen. When there are no living relatives within three generations of the deceased, guardianship is appointed to His Majesty the King. The governance of titles, money, and possessions is the responsibility of the guardian." Seb's eyes sprung open and turned big, as if he finally understood what he had been reciting. "Billy isn't yours, Nick. I didn't steal him. He belongs to Uncle Tom."
Nick was perplexed. He wished he could accuse Seb of lying or speaking of matters he was too stupid to understand, yet he had never considered this. The roles had been reversed. Seb had defeated him in his own speciality—knowledge. A sudden sadness grabbed him by the heart, pulling his strings. "But... it's still wrong. He's the closest thing I have to a family... he's my friend."
"Doesn't Alex deserve a good friend by her side?" the King asked, "and before you protest, please tell me when you last rode him. You read books to him, feed him the best apples from my kitchen. Billy's a horse, Nick. Special creatures, they are for sure, but he'll never replace your sister."
"I know he's not Abby." His throat swelled up. He coughed, yet the lump didn't fade. Neither did the image of her running towards him and wrapping her tiny arms around him.
"Captain Jonathan was very detailed about what happened in the royal forest. We'll blame it on the traumatising events you went through in Laneby. The General and I discussed the situation. We still believe your future is in the army."
"But the things that happened during the camp." Nick had to turn this conversation back into his favour. Having Seb in the room would have to be an advantage, the pawn needed to win the world's trickiest game of chess. "We gain points by killing women and children."
"Magicians," the King quickly replied.
"Murderers too," the General added. "Each of them killed a Greenlander citizen."
"But I always thought you didn't harm children." Nick was sure of that. The King had told that when Princess Panthera had been murdered.
The King scratched his ear. "I do not condemn children to die unless they are a threat to the safety of this kingdom. I've read reports of some creating uncontrollable winds and floods that leave death and destruction in their wake. I can't allow such people to make more casualties."
"And what about Fox?"
"What about him?"
Seb tensed, his skin a shade paler than it had been moments ago.
"Do you consider him a threat?" Nick asked the King.
"Yes." The King patted Seb's arm. "Don't you?"
Nick nodded. "If he's still alive, he's a valuable tool for King Ariel. He knows what Seb is like, his strengths and weaknesses"
"I once asked you what you would do if you were in my shoes. You didn't wanna answer back then, too keen to flee to your horse. Try again—what would your advice be."
"Bring him back to The Greenlands. Turn him into an ally, one who may know how the Silvermarkers live." Before the men could argue that Fox was a magician, he added, "Magic shouldn't be outlawed anymore. It would solve many issues. There wouldn't be any unnecessary slaughtering anymore—neither up here or by the border. People would stop hating us because we killed their mother, father, sister, brother, son, or daughter. I wanna strive for peaceful co-existence."
"So you do not fear magicians?" the General asked.
"No, I don't really get scared." Nick shrugged. "They're just people. Fox was a clumsy muttonhead."
"I don't like your reasoning. A fearless man is a dangerous one—not someone I would want hanging out with Seb." The King licked his lip in thought. "Or my daughter, for that matter."
Nick didn't know what to say. If the King preferred, he could stay in his room for all eternity. There were plenty of books he hadn't read yet. Sure, he would miss the Princess' company, but he didn't care about not seeing Seb anymore.
"Lana was looking forward to your return. She walked to your room every day, placing new books on your bed," the King continued. "Pack them. I believe some time away from the castle will be good for both Seb and you."
"What?" Seb cocked his head.
"I'm leaving?" Nick coughed. He had only just gotten back. Were they going to put him in an orphanage, or marry him off?
"George will soon be travelling north to Whitepeak, to a prisoner camp for magicians. We believe that a few days there will teach you more than the Academy or any camp ever will."
Nick pressed his lips tight. It didn't seem like a bad punishment, but this seemed like climbing the army's ladder instead of ending his career.
"It won't be a fun trip, Nicolas. The reports we've gotten over the winter moons were alarming. Cruelties on both sides—torn-off limbs, disembowelled bodies. The peaceful co-existence you speak off is a disillusion. It will never happen."
"So what's the aim?" he asked.
"It's a double aim," the King said. "One, find out what orders Captain Frank gives to his Lieutenants and Serjeants. There are lads returning from Whitepeak all traumatised—that has to stop. Secondly, come up with a procedure to transport the prisoners to Burnfirth. I'm in the middle of the negotiations, but we should soon finalise a new treaty with the Icians to ship relatively harmless magicians up there."
Nick grinned. "It's better than killing."
"But Uncle Tom," Seb intervened, "if George is up north, and Captain Jonathan is with the patrols, then which officer will remain to look after Sundale?"
"Captain Oswald will, Sebby. He's currently with the patrols, but I've asked Captain Jonathan to send him to Sundale. It will please Lord Simon too. His man will be allowed a little peek in our kitchen—figuratively speaking. And a happy Lord Simon is good for my treasury and my night's sleep."
The General folded his arms against his chest. "I'm not sure, Thomas. I clearly remember you saying that you can't stomach Oswald for long without causing a political disaster with the Port of Diligence."
"You'll only be gone a week. Jonathan's a two-hour-ride away." The King stretched his legs. "It will be fine."
"These ideas of yours, Thomas." The General shook his head. "I'm fearing that your luck will turn. The Gods aren't favourable to anyone this long."
"You call what happened to me favourable?" The King let out an uneasy chuckle, unseen tension rising between the men. "I lost my brother, my nieces, and my sister-in-law."
"Nieces you never knew, a sister-in-law you met a couple of times when you were little. And can I remind you how much you despised your brother for what he did to you? Don't act like tragedy only happens to you—we've all lost people."
"Really, George. Are we going to make this about you, now? It's been three years since they died. Don't you think it's time to focus on the living?"
"What makes you think I'm not?" The General reached for his cup of Scorian brew. "Oh, and I'm taking the royal carriage. The new Lieutenant's exam should be ready in a moon's time. I'm not gonna waste any time with my butt on a horse."
"Fine." The King darted his eyes towards Seb. "Go back to your chamber, Sebby. Answer those letters I gave you."
"No!" Seb tilted his head backwards. "I don't wanna do that anymore. They're boring."
"Grow to like them. It's one of the many things you will have to do when you're King."
"Then I don't wanna be King," Seb muttered. He rose up and continued mumbling as he staggered to the door. He shut it with such force that spoons rattled in the porcelain cups on the table.
Nick sniggered silently. Seb's defiance gave him hope he would one day see his uncle's true face, that he wasn't a lost cause.
And that he—perhaps—wouldn't be a horrible King.
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