5. Benjin

five

Benjin

Benjin huddled against the wall, bound there by the thick chains bolted into the stone. He'd long since lost track of how many times he'd been moved about, his face covered by a heavy woolen hood to render him blind.

Wherever he was now, it wasn't Gerald's Spring. There'd been several days of bumpy travel via wagon before they'd dragged him out and chained him here.

Not that it mattered much to him where he was. He had no intention of attempting to escape. What was the point? Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was that look of fear on Haldric's face right before he'd pulled away. As if he thought Benjin was actually capable of hurting him, let alone messing with his memories or kidnapping him.

And what of all these people convinced that you did? What about those spells you shouldn't know or the recognition you felt when you saw that mage?

To that, Benjin had no answer. He'd experienced that strange prickling in the back of his mind several more times during the journey while half-remembered dreams haunted him in what scant sleep he'd managed.

Then there was his troubling lack of details when he tried to remember anything further back than a few months ago. Everything became hazy, as if nothing but a dream itself. Had it always been like that, or had the nobles done something to him and Haldric when they arrived—some form of enchantment to make their ruse more believable?

Lost in his own thoughts, he barely registered the creak of the door to his cell opening. It wasn't until he spied the older man bedecked in jewels and garish silks completely at odds with the dank dungeon that he realized it wasn't the usual stoic-faced guards coming to deliver his next meal. Benjin sucked in a breath, recognizing the mage he'd glimpsed on his way to rescue Haldric.

"Greetings, young Benjin," the mage said. His deep voice held a surprising note of melancholy. "I'm sorry it took me so long to visit you, but as you can imagine, things have been rather hectic since our return to the palace."

The palace . So that was where they'd brought him. Unless this was another lie. Benjin's head began to spin.

The man peered at him, studying his face. "You must be terribly confused by all this—accused of committing a crime you have no memory committing? I'm sorry for that, as well. If there's anything I can do to ease your pain, let me know, and I'll do it if it's within my power."

"How about…letting me go?" Benjin croaked, surprised at how dry his mouth was. It had been several days since he'd last spoken.

That elicited a hearty chuckle from the mage. "I wish I could, my boy," he said, regarding Benjin fondly. "But alas, we all have our parts to play. Mine is to perform the ritual to restore your memories: yours…and the prince's."

The mention of Haldric raised a conflicting storm of emotions in Benjin, concern intermingling with grief and hurt. "He hasn't come to see me since I was taken," he found himself saying, his voice dull. "Not once."

The man gave him a commiserating look. "I imagine his aunt has had something to do with that. You have my word I shall do what I can to secure you an audience, though I can't make any promises. In the meantime, is there anything you'd like me to convey to him?"

A thousand words died on Benjin's lips. He shook his head, the motion rattling his chains.

The man nodded. "Very well."

He turned as if to leave, and sudden fear spiked through Benjin. He didn't want to be left here alone in the dark again with nothing but his doubts for company.

"Who are you?" he blurted before he could think better of it. "You…you said something about performing a ritual?"

The mage paused. His eyes—a deep, unnatural violet—studied Benjin's face once more as though searching for something.

"That's right," the man eventually said. "I'm the Grand Magus to King Roland. You don't recognize me?"

The cell was dim, lit only by a single flickering torch near the door. Benjin nevertheless tried to focus on the man's lined face. With a start, he realized he did recognize him. The man was definitely the same mage he'd glimpsed in the corridors at the baron's keep in Gerald's Spring, but there was more to it than that—a certain familiarity he couldn't explain.

That strange prickle caressed the back of his skull. A mental image (a memory?) flashed before his eyes.

They stood together in an ornate workshop lined with shelves full of strange instruments and concoctions. The mage was teaching Benjin how to brew a potion. It was fairly benign magic—a simple elixir to ease tiredness. Yet, Benjin struggled to get the steps just right.

In a puff of smoke, the bottle burst into green flame. Benjin tried to conjure water to put it out, but in his haste, he ended up spraying the entire table and its contents halfway across the room. He turned to the mage, expecting a harsh scolding, only to find him holding back tears of mirth.

"Not to worry, my boy," he said, clapping Benjin on the back. "You'll get it next time."

Blinking back to the present, Benjin couldn't help the sudden rush of fondness that filled him. "Dexil…" he said, the name coming to him as if straight from the Goddess' lips. "Your name is Dexil, and I…I was your apprentice."

Dexil's broad smile conjured a familiar flicker of pride. "Excellent! You are precisely correct. I am Grand Magus Dexil, and you were indeed my apprentice for almost three months before…" His smile dimmed. "Well, before the unfortunate incident that brought us all to our current predicament."

The words tore at Benjin. "This has to be a misunderstanding. A mistake!"

Dexil shook his head. "I'm sorry, my boy, but there is no mistake. Tell me—how did you acquire that little cottage we found you in, hmm?"

Benjin opened his mouth to respond…then slowly shut it, blinking in confusion. "I…I can't remember."

Dexil didn't appear surprised by the admission. Unease coiled in Benjin's gut.

"And when did you first move there?" Dexil pressed. "What did you do before that? How did you and Haldric meet?"

Each question drove another dagger into Benjin, flaying him open with the irrefutable truth. He couldn't remember. No matter how desperately he strove for an answer, all that came was a vague blur.

In retrospect, the holes in his and Haldric's perfect little world should have been obvious. What other explanation could there be other than a spell designed to discourage them from delving too deeply in case they uncovered the truth?

Dexil reached past the chains and squeezed Benjin's shoulder. His grip was surprisingly strong for a mage. "I can only imagine how disconcerting this must seem, Benjin, but I promise it will all make sense soon. We'll speak again once the ritual is complete and your memories have been restored."

Benjin fought down the urge to protest his innocence. What was the point when everyone had already made up their minds that he was guilty?

Besides, can I really still claim to be innocent given what I just remembered?

He remained silent while Dexil checked over his bound limbs, applying a poultice to ease the pain where the manacles had rubbed his skin raw. When Dexil offered him a plate of food far better than the dungeon fare he'd been eating, along with a potion to help him sleep, he accepted both gratefully.

Once the mage had finished his ministrations, he turned to depart.

"Wait!" Benjin called after him, desperate for any shred of hope to cling to. "Why are you doing this? If you think I'm guilty, then why are you being so nice to me?"

Dexil paused near the heavyset wooden door to the cell and glanced back. The kindness and sorrow in his eyes made Benjin's heart ache. "Before all this, you were like a son to me. And no matter what you may or may not have done, nothing will ever change that." He bowed his head, and Benjin was surprised to see the glint of tears on his grizzled cheeks. "Besides, someone should be. I'm sorry, Benjin—truly, I am."

And with that, the Grand Magus departed. The heavy door clanged shut behind him, and in his absence, Benjin somehow felt even more alone than ever.

Sometime later, after the first restful sleep Benjin had had in days thanks to Dexil's potion, he heard the telltale sounds of another visitor. He eyed the door eagerly. Perhaps, the Grand Magus had come to visit him again.

His anticipation turned to shock when the door opened to reveal Haldric instead. Dressed in a fine leather tunic with a silver band set atop his brow, he looked every bit the prince he was supposed to be.

The sight turned Benjin's stomach. If Haldric really was a prince, then that meant Benjin really was the dark sorcerer who had bewitched him.

His unease only deepened when a fierce-looking woman he didn't recognize followed Haldric into the cell. She shot Benjin a furious glare, her fingers straying to the twin handles of axes at her hips.

"This is a terrible idea," the woman said with the resigned tone of someone who fully expected their advice not to be heeded.

Sure enough, Haldric ignored her. His green eyes fixed on Benjin as if desperate to soak in the sight of him. Unable to hold Haldric's gaze, Benjin looked away. Shame curled through him. He didn't want Haldric to see him like this, especially if there was any glimmer of truth to the charges levied against him.

He'd thought of nothing else since the Grand Magus' visit, and still he felt no closer to understanding what was going on. If his current memories were fake, the real ones continued to elude him beyond the occasional distorted fragment.

"Can't you just wait for the ritual?" the woman said into the tense silence.

"Stay here and watch us if you must." Haldric's familiar voice was both balm and poison to Benjin's ears. "But I have to do this."

Benjin snuck a glance at the woman in time to see her take up position in the doorway, grumbling about Haldric's stubbornness. On that much, they could at least both agree. She watched warily as Haldric approached Benjin, stopping only a handful of paces away from the chains.

Benjin forced himself to meet Haldric's concerned gaze. "Hi, Hal," he croaked. "So, what have you been up to these past few days?" He jingled the manacles on his wrists securing him to the back wall. "Because I've just been hanging around here."

Tears welled up in Haldric's eyes, Benjin's poor attempt at humor falling flat. He stretched out a shaky hand, his fingers trembling as he cupped Benjin's cheek. Despite his shame and uncertainty, Benjin found himself leaning into the touch. All too soon, Haldric dropped his hand.

"I-I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner." Haldric's soft words were as shaky as his hand had been. "I wanted to, but…"

"It's okay." Swallowing, Benjin studied the silver circlet set atop Haldric's brow. It was too painful right now to focus on his face.

"None of this is okay! I tried to convince them to keep you somewhere more comfortable, but they insisted that you be interred here." Haldric shot a glare at the woman guarding the door.

She offered an unapologetic shrug. "This cell is specially warded. No magic, runeflame or otherwise, will work within its walls. It is a necessary precaution when dealing with a dark wizard."

"And the chains?" Haldric demanded. His angry gesture caught the nearest strand, rattling them. "He's hardly a threat without his magic!"

"He took out a good half-dozen of my guards and got the drop on Marshal Fendrel," the woman said with a hint of begrudging respect. "I will not apologize for doing everything I must to ensure he remains safely ensconced here until the ritual to restore your memories is complete."

"It's fine," Benjin repeated, cutting off Haldric's protests. "Really." He licked his lips, attempting to sort his jumbled thoughts into words. "I…I've had plenty of time to think down here, and I understand now why you wouldn't go with me. I should have listened when you said you wanted to stay and seek answers."

"I never wanted to hurt you." Haldric's voice came out pleading, edged with desperation. "You know that, right? And I'll do everything I can to protect you, no matter what the ritual reveals."

"I know." Benjin hung his head, afraid to ask the question that had haunted him most since Dexil's visit. He forced the words out anyway. "Do you…do you believe all this about a curse? That you're really the prince, and that I…"

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the thought. Somehow, speaking it aloud made the possibility feel far too real.

Haldric looked away, pulling back. "How can I not?" he said quietly. "It's the only explanation right now that seems to make any sense."

Benjin wished he could deny it, could prove that Haldric was mistaken, but Dexil's visit had left Benjin equally torn by doubt.

"I'd never do anything to hurt you either," he said weakly, knowing it wasn't enough. That the assurance meant far too little given their present circumstances.

Still, he was grateful when Haldric met his eyes and gave him a pained smile. "I know."

"Time to go," the woman barked from the doorway. "I allowed you this brief visit, Your Highness, but you can't linger here—not while the boy's insidious spell still grips your mind."

Scowling, Haldric glanced at her and arched a brow. With the silver crown and his fine cloths, he pulled off the haughty look almost too well.

"I thought I was the prince?"

Despite Haldric's imperious manner, she snorted and shook her head, appearing more amused than intimidated. "So, now you accept your birthright? You can't have it both ways, Haldric, denying the responsibility except when it suits you." Her fierce grin cut off his attempted protest. "Besides, your father named me your guardian. Until you ascend the throne, I technically outrank you."

His shoulders slumping, Haldric sighed. "Fine. If you insist." He fixed Benjin with a strained smile. "I'm not sure if anyone's told you yet, but Grand Magus Dexil is almost ready to perform the ritual. It's set to take place first thing tomorrow morning. We'll get our answers then."

Haldric began to walk away. He reached the center of the room and hesitated, his fists tightening at his sides, before suddenly spinning around and striding back to Benjin.

Benjin's breath caught as Haldric leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, lingering long enough for Benjin to feel the warm caress of his breath. The skin there burned as if set ablaze by Haldric's touch. Had Benjin's hands not been bound, he'd have reached up to touch the spot.

"When this is over, I swear I'll make you eggs just the way you like them," Haldric murmured. He held Benjin's gaze for a span of heartbeats, his face a reflection of Benjin's own inner turmoil, before finally turning and following his aunt from the room.

Benjin mulled over Haldric's departing words long into the night. While he couldn't deny his relief at an approaching end to this horror, the truth terrified him almost as much as not knowing. Would he even recognize the person he became once he regained his memories? He hoped so.

At least this would all be over soon. Either he'd be vindicated, found innocent of everything they claimed…or he deserved whatever fate they condemned him to.