Page 77 of The Mage and His Stolen Prince
“Non-sapient only.”
“What would you like us to do about the people who have taken over the rest of the town?” Sisyph asked.
I’d forgotten about them. “Spread the word. They’re allowed to stay only if they play along. Capture anyone who doesn’t. You can putthemin the dungeons.”
“So, you want us to do our job, just not against the adventurers?” Fyodor asked.
I nodded, glad someone understood the plan, even if he didn’t seem happy about it. “Any other questions?”
As it turned out, they had alotof other questions. Everything from ‘can I still carry my weapon’ to specific scenarios they would probably never encounter. I sighed and settled in for a long night of plotting.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Trey
Twelve Years Ago
A Manor House Being Passed Off as An Evil Lair
During an Interrupted Lesson
“You may leave us,” Father said, stretching to his full height, which was still a few inches shorter than Tilly, my nanny.
Tilly bowed her head and curtsied, her clawed hands trembling as they held her skirts. “Yes, Master.”
Father waited until she’d closed the door to approach the small desk where I’d been working on sums. Using his presence as an excuse, I slipped the sums surreptitiously off my desk. They fluttered to the floor, where I could conveniently claim they’d been lost, so maybe I wouldn’t have to finish them.
“Treasure,” he said, in the same way he always did, like I was an object rather than a person.
“What doyouwant?”
He glowered at me. “Don’t talk back to me.”
I copied his pinched mouth and furrowed brow, glowering back.
Suddenly he smiled and patted my head. “A good imitation.” He quickly became serious again and warned, “But I am your father and your master, and you will show me respect.”
I relaxed my mouth and waited for him to explain why he’d interrupted my lessons.
“I’m sending you on a mission. Do you know what that means?”
“I’m not ababy, I know whatmissionmeans. It’s a cinnamon for task.”
“Synonym,” he corrected off-handedly, “and it’s more important than atask. I’m sending you away to live with a different family for a while.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “And you’re going to be my spy.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to learn everything about the Desolated Lands.”
“Why?”
His eye twitched but he dutifully answered, “So I can conquer them.”
Father visited the Desolated Lands often, but he’d only taken me there for the first time a few weeks ago, after Margie had left and before he’d hired Tilly. A baker had given me a sweet, berry-filled hand pie and told me to let her know if I needed any help. Father had run around the whole town, muttering about rundown buildings and stinking garbage and the unwashed people. I’d tried to share a bite of the pie with him, but he’d recoiled in horror and told me it was rotten.
To me, the Desolated Lands were a happy place, filled with cheerful, kind people and sweet desserts. To him, they were ruins. On the carriage ride home, he’d ranted for hours about finding the happy place underneath.
