(Path of the Dragon Mage: Exiled) 5. Betrayed (Patreon)

The sun rose a few hours later. Corvus woke, and for the first time, he had a view of life outside the palace. 

Leaning against the carriage window, he gazed out at houses of all shapes, both big and small. Mostly small. 

He saw entire fields of plants he couldn't name but in numbers enough to put the palace gardens to shame. And more vast, empty spaces than he had ever imagined existed.

Common folk worked these fields, backs bent and wearing wide hats to protect themselves from the sun. Their children worked alongside them. 

His tutors taught him that the common folk were mostly illiterate because families needed every able hand working. A proper education was a luxury reserved for leaders such as the noble class.

Corvus had always pitied them. Now, seeing families outside,  working together without arguing… freer then he had ever been in his life, he felt a tiny stirring of jealousy.

As the day wore on, his curiosity faded into uneasy anxiety. 

He checked and rechecked his numbers—what he was starting to think of as his statistics since they seemed to outline his basics. There was no change. Even his stamina read as full, though he had been tired last night.

A recheck of his Path showed nothing new. His still portrait sat before his three Step One Classes.

Step One Class

Foot Soldier

Hedge Witch

Scullery Boy

If he could finally learn magic, that would prove he had royal blood. Perhaps, the king would make him a prince again.

Except…

His gaze dropped to his travel pack. If anyone were to discover he had taken the dragon egg, he would be executed. Even if he were still a prince. Anyone who wanted to keep their neck would have ordered the driver to return the moment it was discovered.

What had Starella been thinking?

But he knew. His sweet-tempered cousin had been worried about his egg growing lonely without him. 

Corvus did not want to give up the egg, either. Besides, his path was locked in. One way or another, he would walk the path of the Dragon Mage. To do that, he would need a dragon.
There was no one else in the carriage to see, but he made sure the egg was tucked in the exact middle of his pack. Where it would be cushioned by his clothing. Hidden and safe.

* * *

The carriage driver stopped at midday to allow the horses rest. 

Corvus took the opportunity to scramble out, stretch his legs, and relieve his bladder. They had stopped in the middle of a copse of trees. These were not the well-manicured specimens grown in the palace, but wild and scraggly with a carpet of pine needles no one had bothered to rake up.

Grabbing a handful of green needles from a low branch, he was rewarded with the sharp scent he’d only smelled before in candles. It was intoxicating.

The driver was waving him back. Dropping the needles, he returned.

“How long will our journey take?” he asked.

The driver looked at him blankly and then pointed to his own throat. There was an unusual divot there where the apple should have been.

“You’re a mute?” Corvus was taken aback. "Are you one of the Unspoken?" He had heard of men like this: Altered to keep the King’s secrets.

The driver nodded and then opened the carriage door.

Corvus returned back to his seat, his sense of unease returning. When the driver cracked the reins and they drove free of the trees, he poked his head out the window and looked back down the way they’d come. 

He was now so far away from the palace he couldn’t even see the tall spires against the distant sky. 

If something happened to him… Well. No one could interrogate a silent man.

Nothing will happen. I’m worrying for no reason.

Only… this time yesterday he had been a prince. Everything had changed since then. They could change again.

Feeling uneasy, he took the egg out of the pack and held it close, running his hand over its smooth surface. 

Occasionally, he would feel movement under the shell, as if the dragon were nudging at his fingers. He’d felt that before, but never so frequently.

He regarded it hopefully. “Perhaps you need to be away from the palace to hatch?” 

He lifted the egg to eye level to look close for striations or evidence of hatching on the shell.

As always, there was not the slightest crack.

* * *

Afternoon faded slowly in the evening. The fields were replaced by thick forests with more trees than he could count—and he did try. 

Birds he had no name for dipped in and out of the branches. Once, he even saw a great stag with a spread of large antlers leap across the road. It was gone in a flash.

The road grew noticeably rougher. Corvus reluctantly stowed the egg back in his pack and tried to rest. However, the bumps made it impossible to nap for long. 

The carriage jolted to a stop so abruptly, his chin fell off where he’d been resting it on his hand. Blinking, Corvus looked around. The first stars had come out, but with his night vision he had no problem seeing a squat little building standing by the road. 

No decorations adorned the hut, and no gardens were planted in front. Just a plain window. The dim outline of a dark rectangle must have been a small door. 

Corvus stuck his head out of the carriage window to look around for a proper home. There was none within sight. Where was the estate?

The driver hopped down off his seat and opened the carriage door. He said nothing, of course, only tipped his head to the side expectedly.

Corvus clutched his travel pack with the egg hidden safely inside. Sharp anxiety gripped him. What if Aunt Sunli hadn’t been able to send a message ahead? Would he have to explain the whole situation to a stranger? What if he was a slow or stupid student? What if he was turned away? What would he do with himself, then?

Then I’ll find a way to hatch my egg, he thought. I will develop my magical talents somehow, and I won’t come home until I do.

Feeling marginally braver, Corvus straightened his shoulders and jumped down the short step from the carriage.

The door to the hut opened and a man stepped out. He was heavy set with a wide, barrel chest and a stomach that poked over two spindly legs. His eyes were bloodshot, peering out from a sun-tanned, roughened face. He also had at least two weeks worth of gray stubble on his chin.

“Well, well. You didn’t waste time getting here,” he muttered and then looked to the driver. “He give you any trouble? Bribery? Attempts to run away?”

Corvus drew himself up at the insult. “Of course not!” 

Neither adult paid attention to him. Even a day’s journey away from the palace, some things stayed the same. 

The mute driver shook his head.

“Well, that makes for a change.” Finally, the man turned his attention to him. “My name’s Solt. You’re Corvus, I expect.”

Just Corvus. Not Prince Corvus. 

Corvus nodded stiffly and tried to put his best foot forward. After all, there was every chance Solt had already heard all the rumors about the talentless royal. “Thank you for taking me in, Lord Solt. I… I endeavor to be a worthy student.”

Solt’s salt and pepper eyebrows shot up. “Good. I detest thumping lessons in thick heads.” Not waiting for a reply, he drew a coin purse from his pocket and tossed it in a light underhand at the driver, who caught it. “Keep on this road. Around daybreak you should reach a nice inn—get a room and the best meal you can afford.” A pause. “You never stopped here. Are we clear?”

The driver nodded again. He didn’t glance back at Corvus before he jumped back on the seatboard and flicked the reins. Within moments, the empty carriage clattered down the road.

Corvus watched it go with the feeling that he had missed something very important. 

“Come,” Solt said and turned back to the door.

Hiking the travel pack over his shoulder, Corvus followed. 

The inside of the hut was easily the dirtiest place had had ever seen. Why, it didn’t have a proper floor at all. Just hard dirt instead of stone or tile. A simple open fireplace sat at one end, the mantle stained greasy with smoke. The other side was taken up by a pair of double cots with a large table in the middle. The entire—house? He wasn’t sure—was smaller than his personal bathroom at the palace.

This must be the sort of house a peasant lived in. But why would a friend of his aunt, or any respectable person, live here?

Solt gestured to the table. “Sit. Eat.”

Corvus looked around, at a loss. There was no one to seat him or bring out the meal. 

“Have you dismissed your cooks for the day?” he asked tentatively. 

The man snorted. “Cooks? You’re looking at the cook, boy.”

With that, Solt swung a spindly leg over the bench seat, ladled himself a portion of a greasy stew into one of the bowls, and began to eat.

The smell of food decided it for him. Corvus set his pack down and took his own seat across the man. Since there was no one there to serve, he ladled a portion for himself, only spilling a few drops. The stew was some sort of thick, gravy concoction. 

Determined to make a good impression, he ate with proper manners… though the only available cutlery was a single spoon. There was not a napkin to be seen.

“You’re a reedy looking thing, aren’t you?” Solt commented, though he hadn't glanced up from his bowl. “They feed you in that fancy palace of yours?”

“Yes. Three meals a day.” And much better quality than this, he didn't add.

He snorted. “Don’t look like it. I got a ten-year-old nephew that could snap you in half.”

Corvus didn’t know what to say, so said nothing.

“I suppose you know your letters, then? Reading and writing?” Solt demanded.

“Of course,” he said stiffly, placing his spoon properly to the side. He was hungry, but it was impolite to speak and eat at the same time. “I’m fluent in both the high and low tongues, and I was learning the demon language—”

“Yes, yes. All which I’m sure is very impressive to your high tower tutors, I’m sure. What about the things a boy ought to know?”

Corvus didn’t understand. “I beg your pardon?”

Finally Solt looked up from his bowl, squinting at him. “Riding and fighting, boy. Specifically the fighting. You got a build for the sword. A light dueling blade, perhaps,” he added with a quick up and down glance. 

Corvus shook his head. “We—I mean, the royal family—their magic protects them. There’s no need to ever use a sword. It would be improper.”

“And you pay people to cart you around in fancy carriages. So, no need to learn to ride a horse, either.” Solt was sneering at him, but Corvus wasn’t quite sure why.

“That’s right,” he said anyway. He didn’t add that he’d always longed to ride a horse. The king had offered the day Corvus picked his dragon egg, but that had only been a test. Lowering himself to ride anything but a dragon would be undignified, and his mother would have been in hysterics. He was far too important to be risked near a dangerous, unpredictable animal.

“Well, that changes tonight. We’ve got a week’s journey ahead of us. You’ll be saddle sore, but better for it by the end.”

His heart leaped. Him? Ride a horse? 

With effort, Corvus kept the excitement off his face. This might be a test. Sometimes, if he showed he wanted something too badly, it was taken away. A prince was supposed to be dignified at all times.

But I’m not a prince anymore, came a quiet thought. He quickly shushed it.

Instead, he focused on another question. “Where are we going?”

“To my home, of course.”

“You don’t live here?”

Solt stared at him like he were an idiot. That, at least, was familiar. “This is a way-station, boy. Of course I don’t live here.”

“Oh.” The small portion of stew he’d eaten sat heavy in his stomach. He felt himself fidgeting, fingers twisting over and over before he caught himself. 

He had questions, so many questions. They bubbled up through his thoughts as if his brain were a container too small to hold them all. 

But in the past, asking the wrong questions risked drawing his father’s attention or upsetting his volatile mother. Neither were there now, but he found himself stumbling.

“Sir, Solt, I…”

“Yes? Spit it out, boy.”

“If you live a week’s journey away, how did you know to meet me here?” he asked in a rush. “How did my aunt get you the message to start my magical training?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What magical training?”

His stomach felt like it dropped down to his shoes. “My magical training,” he repeated dumbly. “I haven't developed any magical talents. I’m the only royal who—I can’t, and I thought—Aunt Sunli said…” She had told him that he would learn to access his talents, hadn’t she? Had he misunderstood?

Or had she flat out lied?

“Teach you magic?” Solt asked. “Do I look like a royal of the blood to you?”

His sharp tone made Corvus wince. “No, sir. But… but…”

The man only looked at him.

He’s not lying. He can’t teach me magic. 

At long last the grief hit him. First shock, and then fragile hope at the new paths ahead of him had kept it at bay. Now both were gone, leaving him with stark truth. 

What his father had done hadn’t been that surprising—he’d never liked Corvus—and his mother… well. He was used to his dramatic mother.

But Aunt Sunli had always been kind to him, and he loved Starella was like a younger sister. 

… But Sunli and Cipherus were in competition to be the next ruler after his grandfather died. His aunt loved him, but she also wanted to see her side of the family rule the throne.

Vesper’s accusations to Sunli came back, full force. “This was your plan all along! You want to be queen when Orphus dies, and make your daughter the crown princess.” 

What if it had not been a tantrum after all? 

Corvus stared down at the greasy stew, fists clenched and eyes hot. The feeling of betrayal burned as if he had swallowed a pepper whole. It encased his whole heart in fire. He wanted to rage. Wanted to cry.

Corvus was used to smothering his emotions. His father—Cipherus's—outrage would redouble if Corvus sniffled during a correction. He focused on his rage, pictured it as a haze of burning light which he then focused on shrinking to a pinpoint of light. Something he could easily snuff out.

A ding echoed between his ears. Before his eyes, a message popped up.

You have learned a new skill: Emotional Control

Corvus blinked. Muscles which he had not realized had been tightly clenched, relaxed a touch.

Solt’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You aren’t the first boy to be tossed out on his ear, though your blood is purer than most.”

Dismissing the message with a thought, he looked up at the man. “What?”

“That’s what I do, you see.” Solt tore off a hunk of bread, dipped it in his stew, and then took a bite. He spoke while chewing. “I take problem children—the ones rich families can’t handle. Most of the time it’s for wildness, or for kissing other boys, or maybe there’s just too many for even a noble house to afford.” He shrugged. “I take ‘em in and teach them to make something of themselves in the military service.”

“The military?” That’s what Solt had meant about riding and fighting? Him? Serve on the borderlands? But what about his egg? He was supposed to hatch his dragon.

He hadn't chosen the Path of the Foot Soldier. But what if the messages were all in his head? He was betrayed by his own family, was going insane, and…

Corvus felt himself wavering as his inner turmoil exceeded his current skill at Emotional Control. 

Solt moved quickly, catching him under his arm to steady him.

“Easy there, lad. Drink this.” He shoved a cup under Corvus’s nose. He drank, obediently. It was cheap wine, judging by harsh way it burned his throat.

Corvus managed half the cup before he turned his face away. 

The wine did nothing for the burning sense of betrayal. It hurt. He hurt.

Solt watched him carefully. “You’re not going to start screaming, are you? Telling me that you’re a prince and you’ll have me executed for not following your orders, returning you home, blah, blah, blah…”

“No.” His hand shook as he gripped the cup. Another swallow of wine didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt either. He finished it and set it back on the table. “I’m not a prince anymore.”

That much had been clear in the Paths. There were consequences for failure and being named an exiled bastard was one of them.

And maybe he should not be a prince. Intrigue was not one of his attributes. He'd blundered neatly into every trap laid out for him. For just a hint of a promise of magic, he’d left his home and committed a crime that could see him beheaded. 

Father had been right all these years. He was a fool.

And then the tears did come, and Corvus couldn’t stop them.

“No, boy.” Solt patted him roughly on the shoulder. “I suppose you are not a prince any more.”