The Child Prince (The Artifactor) Read online

  Grandfather clocks.

  She had created a grandfather clock that never needed to be wound or maintained. They were expensive, of course, so only the nobility or a businessman could afford them. She didn’t mind this—she only needed a few in every city, after all. But for every one that she sold, she had its twin here, in a storeroom. When she activated her clock, it became an active portal to the other clock. All she had to do was open the glass door and step inside.

  Now, if memory served she had about five or six clocks inside the palace. She’d mapped out where they came out, but she hadn’t needed to use them in well over a year, and people rearranged things periodically in that place. Sevana still pulled the file and gave a glance over at the map, just to refresh her memory. Yes, as she suspected, no clock existed in the prince’s wing. The best she could do was that foyer, which meant crossing down at least three hallways. Three hallways with guards.

  Hmm. Too troublesome. Need my boots.

  She paused and really thought about it. She rarely carried passengers with her. Usually she stepped through the clock, did whatever she needed to do, and left alone. Would there be anything she needed? She’d never kidnapped a prince before, but she had snuck into a sorcerer’s tower and “borrowed” his familiar. Surely it would be similar?

  In that case…. Sevana replaced the file and went across the hall to her other storeroom. She’d need a few defense wands, a stasis crystal just in case things went really south, a seeking spell, and maybe an illusionist trick or two. There, that should do it.

  She slung it all into the leather belt she had designed for this purpose. It went snuggly around her waist and could hold ten wands, three crystals, and four potion vials without strain. She rarely ever loaded it to capacity, though. Like now, she normally didn’t need more than a few things.

  Alright, last thing. Where did I put those boots?

  Even on the best days, Sevana couldn’t be bothered to organize. It took grumbling noises from Big and several head-buts from Baby to make her sit down and organize. It had been quite some time since she had done anything with this particular room. The shelves and tables were stacked high with wands, crystals, and every possible article of clothing, potions, and a few other knick knacks she had created. The most she could claim was that she never mixed the products. All the wands were in one area, the potions in another, and so forth. So she went straight for the leather pile on the table and started digging. Boots, boots, boots…no, not those boots. Aha!

  She held them up, looking them over carefully. To anyone’s eyes, these boots were designed with a forester in mind. They laced up over the ankle, made of dark brown leather that would blend in well with a wooded area. They did not look glamorous, but sturdy. They were a little bulky for her tastes, but sturdy things lasted longer, and putting the right magical design into boots had proven to be a pain. She didn’t want to do it again just because the boots wore out after a few years.

  Alright, time to go kidnapping.

  Slipping out the door, she made her way further down the hallway, talking to Big as she went. “Big, I’m going out to fetch somebody. He’s going to be about eight, okay? So prepare a room for him. Make it somewhere near the kitchen, but make sure he doesn’t have easy access to my workshop.” She didn’t want to accidentally kill the kid the first few days he was here.

  Somewhere in the mountain, rocks shifted against each other in a low rumble, Big’s version of a grunt of agreement. Nodding in satisfaction, she went into her clock room.

  Big had expanded this room several times over the years. It was one of the few rooms that didn’t have a cluttered feel to it. For one thing, she couldn’t afford to jumble things together—she’d lose track of which clock went to which area if she did. And it made things difficult to step inside and outside of the clock if she had to dodge other clocks as well.

  Let’s see…according to the map, that clock opened out into the foyer.

  She pulled the master key out from the top, hidden compartment in the clock and wound it up. (She never left all of the clocks running. For one thing, doing so would keep the portals activated at all times which was a huge waste of energy. But for another, if she did, the sound in the room would be deafening.) When it wound up to speed, she set the time to what it would be in the palace (they were an hour ahead) and then opened the glass front. With one hand, she shifted the pendulum aside and stepped all the way through, going sideways a little to fit.

  Thank all magic I’m not that tall, she grumbled, not for the first time. She’d wanted to make the clocks bigger, but all grandfather clocks adhered to a certain range of height, and to avoid suspicion, she’d had to scale things a certain way. It forced her to do this awkward bend, twist movement just to fit through the clock.

  Space warped slightly as she crossed the dimension of one clock and stepped into the other. On the other side of the twin clock, the world was very quiet. Not to mention deserted. It was late afternoon here, so everyone had likely sat down to dinner. Perfect. It meant she had less chances of bumping into someone she didn’t want to. Like nobility. Or guards.

  From the inside, she popped the latch on the glass front and stepped through, carefully closing it behind her. Then, just to insure that she didn’t meet anyone, she walked up the wall to the ceiling. The boots reacted perfectly, as expected of something she had made. It felt like walking on the ground, the boots gripped the ceiling surface so naturally. Aside from dodging a few chandeliers and buttresses, she might as well be walking on the tiled floor.

  The only problem that she foresaw was that she would likely sneeze up here. The dust gathered on the edges of the trim was thick enough to plant a flowerbed in. Well, not that she could blame the cleaning staff. How would a normal person go about dusting something twenty feet in the air, after all? But still, if she’d known it’d be like this, she’d have brought something to tie over her mouth and nose.

  Trying not to breathe the dust in, she started jogging. The prince’s chambers were supposed to be somewhere in the east wing. If she followed this hallway down, took a left, and then went up a flight of stairs, she’d be there. But which room?

  I’m going to have to use that seeking spell, after all.

  As she jogged up, she started thinking about what she’d do after she had him in hand. Just shoving him in a room and letting Big babysit him didn’t seem like the right tactic. After all, if he didn’t have the skills to be king, then breaking his curse would be futile effort on her part. Rats, she’d have to think up some sort of teaching regime to make sure he was up to snuff. She let out a sigh…and almost instantly regretted it, as it nearly set off a sneezing fit.

  The next time she broke into the palace, she’d bring a cleaning wand with her. This was ridiculous. How could anyone skulk in this place when they were constantly fighting the urge to sneeze?

  Alright, so training for the prince, after a thorough diagnostic, of course. Then he’d…wait…what was his name again? Sevana paused with one foot on the ceiling leading up, brow furrowed in concentration. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. The prince had been cursed when she was six or seven, if she remembered right, and ever since then people called him “The Child Prince.”

  Ah, well. She’d learn it shortly.

  Shrugging, she continued upwards. As she walked, she took out the seeking rod and held it loosely in her right hand. “Ne Fole,” she commanded softly. “Ziik pov.”

  The rod instantly jerked upwards and to the left. Good, he was not at the formal dinner with the others. She hadn’t expected him to be. Ever since he’d been cursed, he’d disappeared completely from the public eye, becoming little better than a hermit. (Although considering the Council magistrate’s open delight at his state, she had to wonder if the prince hid in his room or if he were imprisoned there.)

  In a few moments, she entered the right hallway, the rod pointing her unerringly toward the door. There were no guards stationed there. This didn’t surprise her,
not with a lock like that. She hadn’t seen a lock that large and impressive since she’d visited a dungeon troll.

  Well, fortunately she didn’t have to deal with the lock. (She hadn’t brought any unlocking charms to begin with, either, which she’d have to remember next time.)

  But that did answer her question. With a lock like that, the prince was definitely a prisoner.

  She put the searching rod back in its holster and walked to the end of the hallway, where a trio of large glass windows dominated the wall. She pushed one open, walked outside and onto the stone blocks of the castle’s exterior, and continued to the next available window. This window, however, had a small balcony attached to it, which was helpful. Someone had even thrown it open, which made it all a little easier on her.

  Happy this was going so smoothly, she dropped onto the balcony’s edge and took a peek inside. As expected of a palace room for royalty, it had a vast size to it with cream colored walls, edged in golden trim, with very expensive velvet furnishings here and there. The plush carpet alone could feed a small village for a year. But her eyes passed over all of this without worry, looking instead for occupants. No guards or servants in the room, it seemed. Good. Stepping into view, she casually strolled inside. Of course, that’s when the first wrinkle in her plans appeared.

  The only person in the room lounged in a chair, a leg dangling over one arm, and an oversized book in his lap. Or at least, it looked oversized in comparison to him.

  Sevana stared at him for a long moment, not quite believing her eyes. After all, this…boy…didn’t fit with her mental image of the prince. For one thing, she’d never seen a scrawnier child. According to the history of their country, the prince had been cursed at the age of eleven, and the curse had reverted his age to that of an eight year old before they’d managed stop to it. He looked eight, too. The only thing that seemed out of place were those intense, apple-green eyes that seemed to penetrate right through her. His messy, sandy-blond hair seemed to go in every direction, like he’d just rolled out of bed after sleeping on wet hair. With pale skin, baby fat, and short stature, he looked cute, the way that puppies were cute.

  She hated cute.

  After that first initial look of surprise, he dove off the chair and went behind it, using it as shield. He did not, interestingly enough, reach for any weapon. (She would have in his place.) “Who are you?” he asked in a child-tenor. The voice belonged to a child. The tone did not.

  She couldn’t do much with a child that looked this young. Still, she didn’t know what else she could do, either. One way or another, she’d have to follow through with her original plan. Decided, she folded her arms over her chest and locked her eyes with his.

  “My name is Sevana. I am here to kidnap you.”

  He blinked, whether at her directness or at her announcement, Sevana wasn’t sure. “Kidnap me. For ransom? Because I have to tell you, no one here would pay it.”

  Hooo. So he did know the political situation he was in. A sharp mind resided behind that child’s face. “You’re probably right,” she agreed bluntly.

  They both paused, studying each other intently. Sevana didn’t know what he thought behind that inscrutable mask of his. She didn’t fancy standing here all day in a staring contest either.

  “Not going for a weapon, princeling?”

  “Are you worried I will?” he riposted steadily.

  “If I had a complete stranger break into my room, I would certainly reach for one.” He hadn’t even tried for that enormous bell pull near the door, which would likely summon a swarm of guards. Or a maid. Someone, at least, that would help him. This just became curioser and curioser. Unless… “Unless they’ve deliberately left you unarmed?”

  He stared at her for a moment longer, eyes locking with hers, and let out a slow breath. “I think you’ve already guessed what the situation is before you even entered this room.”

  “You’re a prisoner here,” she said bluntly. “And you are unarmed and without protection of any sort, which is why you haven’t tried calling for help.”

  His eyes closed in a fatalistic manner, fist clenching until his knuckles shone white. “Indeed. It is as you say. I am at your mercy, Miss Intruder. So, what do you intend to do?”

  “I’m not going to ransom you. I’m here to take you away so that I can study you.”

  “Study me,” he repeated neutrally, eyes searching her face.

  “That’s right. I want to know what spell or potion was used on you so I can reverse it.”

  “Are you a great sorceress?”

  It was Sevana’s turn to blink at him in puzzlement. “No.”

  “Magess?”

  “No.”

  “Witch? Shaman? Any kind of a magic user at all?”

  “No, no and no.” Sevana smirked at his flabbergasted expression. “You were examined by every magic specialist in the five kingdoms at one point or another, weren’t you? They couldn’t find the answer, either.”

  “Exactly.” The prince glared at her, his mouth not quite forming a pout. “So what makes you more qualified?”

  “I’m an Artifactor,” she responded easily, heading for him. “If anyone would know the subtle nuances of a potion or spell, it would be me.”

  “Artifactor,” he breathed. For the first time since she entered the room, he looked cautiously optimistic. “Wait. Could you perhaps be the prodigy Artifactor, Sevana Warran?”

  She preened a little. Well, the kid knew her, did he? “The very one.”

  The flash of optimistic hope passed, replaced by caution. He seemed to shrink a little behind his chair. “I fear I don’t have any power here. If it is some grand reward you seek, I cannot grant it to you.”

  She snorted at the very idea. “What I want is this: when you become king, I want you to grant me an eternal Artifactor’s License.”

  The prince blinked at her quite stupidly for a second. “That’s it? You just want a license?”

  “What do you mean ‘that’s it?’” she demanded in aggravation. “Do you realize how much paperwork is involved to get a license? And I have to do it yearly, to boot!”

  His face contorted, as if he were struggling to not laugh out loud.

  She shook a finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

  He held up both hands in a pacifying gesture. “I would not dream of it. Very well, Artifactor, if you truly do break this curse on me, then I will grant you your wish.”

  “Good.” She reached his chair and looked down at him. “Are you ready to be kidnapped yet? As your kidnapper, I am generous enough to let you put on shoes first.”

  He hesitated for a long moment, staring up at her with calculating eyes. Then a lopsided smile tugged one corner of his mouth up. “At this point, I suppose any risk is better than none. I need more than just shoes.” His eyes darted around the room. “Give me two minutes.”

  “Nothing bulky,” she cautioned him calmly as he emerged from behind his shield and started darting from one side of the room to another. “In fact, if it can’t fit in a bag, don’t bother. I can only carry so much.”

  “No, it’s nothing heavy that I need,” he assured her in an absent fashion as he started rummaging through different chests lined against the wall. “It’s just, if I don’t bring some sort of proof of my identity with me, they won’t believe me later if you actually manage to restore me.”

  A valid point. Hmmm. So he can think quickly in unexpected situations, eh? Good, good. He’ll need that ability to survive. Especially if he was going to be coming and going through her workshop.

  “Ah, found it!” He grabbed something from the bottom of a chest and slung it around his neck before stashing it inside his shirt. Without another word, he changed directions and put on some sturdy boots, a coat, and a hat with a low brim. On first inspection, the simple black shirt and pants that he wore looked ordinary enough if very well-tailored. It should last long enough for her to pick him up some more common clothing.

  “Ready?�
�� she asked impatiently.

  He nodded to her. “Lead the way.”

  The kidnapping went off without a hitch. Sevana brought the little prince through the grandfather clock without anyone even spotting them. After he stepped down onto the cave floor, she turned and shut the clock off again.

  When she looked back at him, the prince was staring with wide eyes, nearly turning in on himself so that he could see in every direction. “Wait,” he said in a high-strung voice, “so every clock here connects to an outside clock?”

  Curses. He figured it out that fast? She grabbed his chin with her hand and turned him to face her directly. “This room does not exist,” she told him firmly.

  He opened his mouth to object but paused, studying her expression cautiously. Then he gave a jerky nod. “As you wish.”

  Too afraid of losing her help to argue, eh? Good. They’d get along well that way. Grabbing him by the arm, she towed him out the door. “Before I forget to ask, what’s your name?”

  “You don’t know my name?!” he asked incredulously.

  “Haven’t heard it in a decade. Everyone calls you the Child Prince.” She shot him a look over her shoulder. He looked stunned, as if she had just knocked all the air out of him. “Name?” she prompted, a little impatiently.

  “Oh. It’s Bellomi Christoff Vogel braun Dragonmanovich.”

  Sevana stopped in mid-stride and gave him an arch look. “Why under the heavens do you need five names?”

  “I’m the 49th Prince of Windamere,” he answered wearily, as if this didn’t even need an explanation. “My name has history in it. Do you really want me to explain it?”

  No, not really. She’d probably forget the explanation in five minutes anyway. “Well, I’m not calling you that. And I’m not calling you Prince or Highness or some such either. While you’re here, you’re simply my apprentice. I don’t want people being suspicious of you and asking questions.” Although people were bound to ask questions. Sevana had refused to take apprentices for years after all. Taking a boy in suddenly that no one knew would make the rumors fly.