Chapter Twelve

T hat couldn't be Prince Dafron! He'd be older now, about thirty-nine or forty summers. Besides, Kerric had seen the prince's lifeless body and the king's and… someone who hadn't been Prince Eron.

Could the man in the cell be Eron Eritrescue? If so, how could Crau not know? Or maybe he did and intended to use the information in some way. Though Kerric wouldn't have guessed back when he'd shared ale with the commander, Crau apparently possessed an ambitiousness that drove him to betray his king. Seeing him strutting around made Kerric wonder if he'd ever known the man at all.

The appearance of King Lothan's son would explain why Kerric no longer took gargoyle form. But what of his men? According to Miisov, the curse should've ended when an heir returned. Shouldn't it? Or was that when a legitimate heir sat on the throne?

Kerric waited until the man who called himself Edry fell asleep to leave. He returned the lantern and opened the door enough to peer out. The guard had his back to the door. Good. Kerric ran his hand over the floor, found a pebble, and tossed it the other way.

The guard rose and, hand on his sword, followed the noise.

Kerric slipped out the opposite way, deposited the cup on a nearby table, and retreated to the servants' stairs. No lanterns hung on brackets, but he didn't trip on uneven stairs. He climbed above the official part of the castle, then the area reserved for the royal family. He came out on the top level, reachable only by these stairs.

Keeping his footsteps light proved a challenge, yet Kerric managed not to draw attention. Servants and most inhabitants should have been asleep at this hour. Another set of spiral steps at the end of the hallway led upward to what had once been a lookout tower, long ago converted into a workspace.

The mage used to sleep there, seldom going to his cottage in the town. Perhaps he'd chosen to stay tonight or changed his habit to sleeping in the castle all the time, especially considering the new prisoner.

Kerric didn't bother knocking, simply opening the door and entering with all the swagger he could muster. With all his spells, wards, and what-not, no sneaking up on Miisov.

Miisov sat at a desk in his workroom, where all the walls were hidden by shelves filled with books, potion bottles, and talismans. A dusty, unlit chandelier hung from the beamed ceiling, though only a small lantern on the table glowed with fire from the single candle within. Discreetly placed mage lights added illumination.

He glanced up from the book he'd been reading. "Took you long enough," he said, with no heat. "From what I surmise, you visited our guest first."

Kerric swallowed hard. He wanted to launch himself at this infuriating man who'd kept him imprisoned in stone for so long.

Miisov held up a staying hand. "Before you unleash your anger on me, let me assure you everything I've done has been for a reason, which will all become clear to you in time."

"I've perched on top of the castle for twelve fucking summers. Do you have any idea how many birds shat on me? One even built a nest in my wings. Wasn't that time enough?"

"You haven't been alone."

"Some of my men toppled themselves off the roof to keep from spending another moment imprisoned." Kerric himself felt moments of temptation.

Miisov tutted. "Were you able to move? Could you have thrown yourself off the roof?"

"I never tried." Considered the option? Yes. Tried it? No.

"A few rowdy soldiers helped your men off the roof. One fell on a priest. The soldiers have been dealt with. I must caution you not to try leaving the premises, or else you'll make the curse permanent for you and your men." Miisov continued, "There was quite an uproar about the priest. I would have prevented the deaths if I could."

"Does the false king have enemies?" Bain's enemies might very well become Kerric's allies.

Miisov's grin could frighten even a gargoyle. "This kingdom has become a nest of vipers. Ruling through fear is only effective for a time. Lothan ruled by earning respect, though he still had the occasional rival, covetous old fools who wanted what was his."

So, Kerric's men hadn't died of despair after all. "What of the thief in the cells? I've watched him work. He's too cunning to be so easily caught."

"I may have had a hand in that." Miisov gazed at the floor.

Kerric launched himself across the room, grabbing the collar of Miisov's robe. "You bastard. Don't you know they'll kill him?"

"They'll do no such thing."

"But surely, they see the resemblance to Crown Prince Dafron. Is this Lothan's bastard child, or could it be his younger son, Prince Eron?"

Miisov smiled inside his ample beard. "That you can see him for himself proves you have no desire to cause harm. Any who mean him ill will see a glamor that makes him plain and uninteresting. They also won't find the stone he carries to ensure the glamor."

"His coming here broke my curse. If that is so, why aren't my men free?"

"The curse is only partially broken. You are free because he needs you to be, though the curse isn't entirely gone. You are still confined to the castle until Eron takes the throne."

"How can he take the throne? He's an uneducated highwayman. He doesn't know courtly ways or how to run a kingdom." Dafron learned to take his father's place as king, but the younger son had been only a child, just starting his schooling.

"Ah, but he does. He has been raised to rule as surely as Dafron. He also has his mother's compassion and, with experience, will rival his father for wisdom. Right now, Prince Eron needs you. In time, he'll need your men. None of you will be truly free until he's king."

Kerric lowered his voice to a low growl. "Couldn't you simply break the curse? You created it."

"It is not so easy. Cursing you to stone was the only way to save your life, as I knew you'd be needed one day, and you didn't deserve death. It also showed what the arrogant usurper took as loyalty to him, thus allowing me to live and stay in the castle where I could put things in motion. But I created the spell hastily, so it wasn't my best work." Miisov abruptly changed the subject. "So, you've met with Prince Eron, have you?"

Prince Eron. The prince truly lived. Kerric's mind whirled, and he slapped a hand against a shelf to steady himself. "Yes, though he said his name is Edry."

"Did you let on that you knew his true identity?"

"No." Though Eron must've noticed Kerric's shock upon seeing his face.

"Please don't. Befriend him, but he must remain in the castle. He cannot be free."

Kerric barked a bitter laugh. "He's as much a prisoner as I to whatever vision of the future you have, you old goat. What if I want no part of it?"

Miisov narrowed his eyes, bunching his bushy white brows. "You would turn your back on King Lothan, our last true king, and his son, who is the rightful heir?"

"Lessa is the second child. Why not involve her?" Women often ruled in Kerric's homeland of Splosia, Dillane, too. But Herix was neither of those.

"How many of our people would accept a queen on the throne? Especially one married to a disgusting waste of a man."

"Married? To whom? I'm sure she had no say." Kerric imagined the sweet—okay, maybe not so sweet—girl he'd once known, married to a man far beneath her. A natural leader, had she been born male, she'd undoubtedly now lead troops into battle.

And win.

"She did not. And I will address the issue later. For now, understand that Eron must become king."

Kerric's mind drifted back to the child he'd taken up to the ramparts, who'd asked endless questions and had always been a sunny sort, the perfect likeness to his queenly mother before she died far too young. The man in the dungeon bore little resemblance to the innocent child of Kerric's memories. He'd grown up beautiful. And treacherous, apparently. "He is a thief."

"Are not stealth and cunning required for survival at court? Also, the discernment to know when to strike and when to wait? He's been well taught in everything from penmanship to archery to combat to running an estate. The one he fostered with did not wish to give Eron up but wanted to adopt him, make him an official heir."

"If you truly cared for the boy, you'd have let him build a life far from here." So much treachery to be found in Hisar.

Miisov blew out a noisy breath. "I do care. But I also care for the people of Hisar. They deserve a benevolent king, and Eron is the king they need. He has learned the necessary skills for the coming battle. Now, will you help me?"

Kerric splayed his hands out to his sides in a gesture of surrender. "What choice do I have?" He glanced up to see a man who looked very similar to him but with silver hair and eyes, startled before realizing he was gazing into a polished silver mirror. He crossed the floor in three long strides, staring at his reflection. "What happened to me? My hair? My eyes?" Eron had mentioned Kerric's silver hair, but Kerric assumed it to be but a trick of the light.

"A product of the spell, I'm afraid," Miisov answered. "You have come to resemble the stone you turned into."

"Can it be changed?" Kerric stared in shock at his image. He'd once had sun-kissed brown hair and blue eyes.

"I do not know. I had no idea the curse would affect you so. Even if I had, it wouldn't have changed my course of action. You also have not aged."

"Not to be rude, but I can't say the same about you."

Miisov shook his head in a dismissive gesture. "Your body has still seen twenty-seven summers, I believe. When you face your enemy, you'll be younger, stronger, and more determined. Crau has let rich living rob him of his vitality."

Hard not to notice the lack of Crau's title. Mages weren't generally afforded titles other than Mage and were, therefore, careless with what they called others, but Kerric chose to take the omission as a good sign. Still, he wasn't entirely sure how much he trusted Miisov.

"How do I know you tell the truth? That you're not using me for some nefarious purpose?"

"Did you trust King Lothan?"

Did Kerric? Yes. Without a doubt, yes. "With my very life."

"And he trusted me with the lives of all loyal to him." Kerric wouldn't mention where that trust had gotten their late king. "Would you trust me more if I shared my greatest secret?"

"Maybe."

The weariness in Miisov's eyes made him appear even older. "Like you, I am cursed because I let King Lothan down, and for that, I paid the ultimate price. I appear alive. I walk, talk, eat, sleep, and seem to grow older, but I am bound, like you, to this castle until such a time as I make amends. I can leave for short periods, but only because I've imbued my staff with the essence of this place. If I lost my staff, or attempted to leave without it, I would still be bound to the castle, but as an incorporeal ghost, unable to pay my debt and free my soul. Our fates are bound, Captain Kerric. In essence, I appear older because I traded my life for a chance to avenge my rightful king."

Before Kerric could puzzle out Miisov's meaning, his skin grew warm, invisible fire licking up his body. Had Miisov lied? Was he striking a killing blow? "What's happening?" Tight bands wrapped around Kerric's chest. Breathe. Kerric couldn't breathe.

"Do not worry. Dawn approaches." No panic showed on Miisov's face or in his words.

"What does that mea—" The word cut off abruptly. Kerric once more found himself perched on the ramparts with no need for breath.

A gargoyle once more, with far more to contemplate in his hours of silent watch.