slept in a narrow truckle bed, in a small dark cell. The child whimpered and cried in his sleep. He tossed and turned, bunching the coarse sheets in his small fair hands.
‘Mama. Mama,’ he whispered as he woke. But Mama was far, far away and could not help him now.
A slow, desperate tear ran down his pale cheek. He did not know which was worse. The nightmares of sleep, or the long, slow, cold drudgery of day.
The room was freezing. There was no fire in the tiny grate. When he finally got up, the water in the jug had a thin film of ice glazing its surface. He had to break the ice to sip the water and splash his face. He had not had a proper bath in weeks. His white hair stood up in clumps. His ice-blue eyes, which had once sparkled with mischief, were now dull and lifeless.
Through the tiny window he could see nothing but white snow stretching into the distance. No sign of life. Spring would not come to the mountains for many weeks.
His breath left a misty patch on the window. Once he would have been entranced by snow. By the endless possibilities of cold, fluffy flakes. Snowballs. Snowmen. Snowfights. Snowsleds.
Not any more. Snow was prison.
He sighed and dressed in long black robes. Every bone in his body ached with sadness and loneliness. The tears sat just below the surface, waiting to rise.
But he would not let them see him cry. Once he had been a royal prince. Once he had been Prince Caspar of Tiregian. Now he was just Boy.
A sharp knock sounded on the door. A sallow, sharp face poked around the corner.
‘Aaah, Boy. You are already up and dressed,’ said the priest. ‘Good. It is time for breakfast and then lessons. Today we are going to study the Nine Laws of Krad, then History of Sedah, followed by Etiquette in Emperor Raef’s Court. I am pleased with your progress. We are finally making some headway.’
Prince Caspar felt a little thrill of happiness. A word of praise. It was the first kind word he had heard in weeks. Then he shook himself mentally. No. This man was his enemy. The Sedahs had murdered his family. He could never be friends with this black-robed priest.
‘Now here is your medicine.’ The priest offered Prince Caspar a small silver cup filled with a brown bitter brew. ‘Drink it all up, Boy.’
Prince Caspar knew from experience it tasted disgusting. He glugged it down obediently. It burned his throat going down.
Every morning and evening he had medicine. At night, it helped him sleep and kept the nightmares away for a while. During the day, it blunted the memories and the pain. Sometimes it almost made him feel happy.
For the first couple of weeks he had fought the medicine. He had fought, and spat, and gagged, but always the priests had held him down, holding his nose until he had swallowed it all. Now he knew there was no point in fighting them. They would win in the end. There were too many of them, and he was just a child, completely alone.
‘Good, Boy,’ said the priest, taking the cup and checking it was empty. ‘Now come to breakfast.’
The boy obediently followed the priest down the stairs to the hall. At least there was a fire there. And breakfast – usually dry, stale bread. Another dreary day had begun.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, Fox called Lily, Ethan, Roana and Saxon down into the cabin. He spread out a creased map on the table. Mia climbed down his arm and sat on the table staring at the map with great interest, as though she were puzzling out the shapes and symbols.
To the north was Tiregian. To the south was Sedah, and in between was a scattered line of islands and rocky outcrops – the Nine Isles – pointing like a crooked finger towards Tiregian.
‘By my calculations, the Sea Dragon probably left Tira this morning on the ebbing tide,’ Fox explained. ‘They will be roughly twelve hoursbehind us. The ship will be heading south here to the major harbour near Emperor Raef’s court.
‘If we sail south for eight days, with good winds, we
‘Mama. Mama,’ he whispered as he woke. But Mama was far, far away and could not help him now.
A slow, desperate tear ran down his pale cheek. He did not know which was worse. The nightmares of sleep, or the long, slow, cold drudgery of day.
The room was freezing. There was no fire in the tiny grate. When he finally got up, the water in the jug had a thin film of ice glazing its surface. He had to break the ice to sip the water and splash his face. He had not had a proper bath in weeks. His white hair stood up in clumps. His ice-blue eyes, which had once sparkled with mischief, were now dull and lifeless.
Through the tiny window he could see nothing but white snow stretching into the distance. No sign of life. Spring would not come to the mountains for many weeks.
His breath left a misty patch on the window. Once he would have been entranced by snow. By the endless possibilities of cold, fluffy flakes. Snowballs. Snowmen. Snowfights. Snowsleds.
Not any more. Snow was prison.
He sighed and dressed in long black robes. Every bone in his body ached with sadness and loneliness. The tears sat just below the surface, waiting to rise.
But he would not let them see him cry. Once he had been a royal prince. Once he had been Prince Caspar of Tiregian. Now he was just Boy.
A sharp knock sounded on the door. A sallow, sharp face poked around the corner.
‘Aaah, Boy. You are already up and dressed,’ said the priest. ‘Good. It is time for breakfast and then lessons. Today we are going to study the Nine Laws of Krad, then History of Sedah, followed by Etiquette in Emperor Raef’s Court. I am pleased with your progress. We are finally making some headway.’
Prince Caspar felt a little thrill of happiness. A word of praise. It was the first kind word he had heard in weeks. Then he shook himself mentally. No. This man was his enemy. The Sedahs had murdered his family. He could never be friends with this black-robed priest.
‘Now here is your medicine.’ The priest offered Prince Caspar a small silver cup filled with a brown bitter brew. ‘Drink it all up, Boy.’
Prince Caspar knew from experience it tasted disgusting. He glugged it down obediently. It burned his throat going down.
Every morning and evening he had medicine. At night, it helped him sleep and kept the nightmares away for a while. During the day, it blunted the memories and the pain. Sometimes it almost made him feel happy.
For the first couple of weeks he had fought the medicine. He had fought, and spat, and gagged, but always the priests had held him down, holding his nose until he had swallowed it all. Now he knew there was no point in fighting them. They would win in the end. There were too many of them, and he was just a child, completely alone.
‘Good, Boy,’ said the priest, taking the cup and checking it was empty. ‘Now come to breakfast.’
The boy obediently followed the priest down the stairs to the hall. At least there was a fire there. And breakfast – usually dry, stale bread. Another dreary day had begun.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, Fox called Lily, Ethan, Roana and Saxon down into the cabin. He spread out a creased map on the table. Mia climbed down his arm and sat on the table staring at the map with great interest, as though she were puzzling out the shapes and symbols.
To the north was Tiregian. To the south was Sedah, and in between was a scattered line of islands and rocky outcrops – the Nine Isles – pointing like a crooked finger towards Tiregian.
‘By my calculations, the Sea Dragon probably left Tira this morning on the ebbing tide,’ Fox explained. ‘They will be roughly twelve hoursbehind us. The ship will be heading south here to the major harbour near Emperor Raef’s court.
‘If we sail south for eight days, with good winds, we
Similar Books
