Vinthor gave him an irritated look, then nodded to Karl. “Eat, if you’re hungry.”
The expected after-show reception having failed to materialize, Karl was hungry, but the pain in his feet made it impossible to eat. “No, thanks,” he said, voice strained. “But I will take that wine.” He grabbed the goblet and took a large mouthful, prepared for something pretty vile, but pleasantly surprised to find it quite good. Not that he cared-it was the alcohol he wanted, hoping it might dull his increasing agony.
“The Healer will be here shortly,” Vinthor said. “Perhaps then.” He nodded toward the back room. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable lying down while you wait. And as I find I have lost my appetite,” he gave a significant look to the oblivious Jopps, who was chewing with his mouth open, “I will see if I can contact the Patron. And then, Prince Karl, Heir Apparent to the Keys and the Kingdom of Evrenfels, we will see what is to be done with you.”
He got up and disappeared back into the kitchen. Jopps kept eating, but his eyes followed Karl as he got to his feet, drained the rest of his wine in one long draft, and then limped, gasping with each step, into the next room. There he lay down, gaining some slight measure of relief when he lifted his feet from the floor. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he waited for the Healer… and his fate.
Lord Falk’s feeling of contentment did not survive breakfast. He was just spreading butter on a second piece of toast in the private dining area of his suite, enjoying the play of the sunshine on the lake outside, when he heard voices in the outer room and knew someone had come to call on him. He ignored them, and went on buttering his toast. There was always some new demand on his time, but toast only stayed hot for a minute.
He was halfway through the slice when Brich appeared. Falk swallowed, set the remaining portion of toast down on his plate (recently denuded of a healthy helping of ham and eggs), and said, “From your expression, Brich, you have something to tell me you suspect I will not enjoy hearing.”
“You’re quite correct, my lord,” Brich said grimly. “My lord-” and the fact he used the honorific twice in such quick succession was more testimony, if any were needed, to just how grim he felt, “Prince Karl is missing.”
Falk sat very still for a long moment, then said just two words, though each carried enough savagery to make even Brich pale a little. “When? How?”
“Sometime in the night, my lord,” Brich said. “His absence was discovered when his manservant went in this morning with breakfast. His bed had not been slept in. As to the how…” Brich licked his lips. “His window was open, my lord. It appears he simply climbed down the wall of the palace to the ground.”
“And Teran, his bodyguard? The other guards I left posted outside in the hallway?” Falk said softly. “They heard nothing?”
“No, my lord, but the thickness of the…” Brich’s voice trailed off, as though he thought perhaps it wasn’t wise to make excuses, even if they weren’t for himself.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Falk said, almost to himself. “He grew up in the Palace. As Brenna has recently reminded me, children have a way of finding secret ways of getting to places they aren’t supposed to be.” He took a deep breath. “Well, no doubt he is hiding somewhere on the grounds, enjoying the frantic search for his Royal Presence. The Heir may look a grown man on the outside, Brich, but he is still enough of a boy to enjoy such childish pranks.” He got to his feet. “Let us indulge him. Turn out the guard. Search everywhere. He must be inside the Lesser Barrier, after all.” He paused. “And send Teran to me,” he added softly.
“He’s already waiting in a cell,” Brich said.
Falk nodded once, and went to find him.
Teran sat on the cell’s bed, hands folded in his lap, head down. He looked up as Falk came in, then jumped to his feet. “Lord Falk, I-”
“Teran,” said Falk coldly. “How is it that the man to whom I have entrusted not only the Prince’s safety but also the task of keeping me informed as to his whereabouts and actions has once again failed at both duties?”
“My lord,” Teran said again. “He ordered me from his room. He was angry that I had not told him about the impending arrest of Verdsmitt.”
“It’s as well you did not,” Falk said. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing, my lord,” Teran said. “As I said, he was angry. He pointed out that he was both the Prince and my friend. I told him that you were my supreme commander and I had to follow your orders unless he had specifically countermanded them… which he had not.”
“And he said nothing that indicated he intended to sneak out of the palace, Teran?” Falk said.
“No, my lord,” Teran said. “The last I saw of him he was pouring a drink. He seemed ready to settle in for the evening.”
“And you heard nothing?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
Falk gave Teran a hard look. “It seems to me,” he said softly, “that you have now failed your duty twice.”
Teran paled. “My lord-”
“The terms of your service,” Falk said, “have always been that you serve me well, and your mother and sister remain well. If you do not serve me well…” He let his voice fall to a silky whisper. “Would you say you have served me well in these past few days, Teran?”
“My lord, I beg of you-”
“Your begging does not interest me.” Falk stood up. “Fail me again, and your mother and sister will find their lives suddenly very difficult. As will you… though in your case, it will be both difficult and short.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Join the search for the Prince. But I may wish to speak to you again later.”
Teran nodded and fled, and Falk dismissed him from his mind.
The day wore on. The searches turned up nothing. At noon, Falk, to general though muted outrage, ordered the Royal guard to search all personal quarters. By three o’clock, there could be little doubt: Prince Karl was no longer inside the Lesser Barrier.
Two boats had been found on the far side of the lake, one of the Palace pleasure boats and an ordinary rowboat no one could remember seeing before-but that meant little, since there were numerous boats tied up here and there around the lake, and if anybody was missing one, he was unlikely to claim it when it might implicate him in the disappearance of the Prince. Both boats were unmoored, and it could have simply been the breeze that pushed them so close together along that weedy bank… but the breeze had not churned the mud, flattened the weeds, and pushed through the thicker growth above the shore to the very edge of the Lesser Barrier.
It had snowed heavily again during the night, obliterating any tracks there might have been on the other side of the Barrier, but the signs seemed unequivocal. Prince Karl had passed through the Lesser Barrier, perhaps following someone else.
Which was utterly and completely impossible.
Or so Tagaza has always said, Falk thought. His calm response to the original news of Karl’s disappearance had long since vanished in rage burning hot enough to scour the streets of New Cabora with fire, had he unleashed it magically. But he could not turn that rage on the Commoners… not yet, at any rate. When he was King…
… except he might never be King if Karl had stupidly allowed the Common Cause to finish the job of assassination it had botched so spectacularly just days before. If Tagaza were not to be trusted, the magical search for the next Heir that the MageLords would insist upon would point straight to Brenna, and that would raise questions even Falk could not dance around. I’d have to kill her, he thought. Quietly and quickly. The Heirship would pass to someone else. Tagaza’s search would point to someone else. No one would ever know she was Heir, and Karl was not…