The Errant Prince (3 page)

Myron obliged, baffled at Tamsen's behavior. By all rights, Tamsen should have been keeping him in the yard until he gave up. Unless… "You're not going to shift me back to the palace when I turn my back on you, are you?"

Tamsen snorted, picking up his own tea cup and knocking it back as though it were rotgut whiskey. "Not yet."

"Comforting. What are you doing with me, then?" Myron asked, tilting his head toward Tamsen curiously.

"Using you," Tamsen said. Myron raised his eyebrows, and Tamsen definitely flushed at that, his cheeks turning pink and making his freckles stand out against his skin. He gestured sharply to the herbs that were laid out on the table. They were freshly cut by the look of them and grouped by type, though Myron couldn't name any of them. "Bundles need to be one of these, two of these, and one each of those. Tie them together at the end of the stems and string two bundles together with a length of twine about this long."

"I suppose menial labor isn't the worst use to be put to," Myron said, solely to see if he could get Tamsen's cheeks any redder. Tamsen only rolled his eyes, however, and picked up an empty basket that had been stowed under the table.

"Have as much tea as you like," Tamsen said. He started to leave, but Myron spoke up before he could get more than a few steps away.

"What do I get for this?" Myron asked as he pieced together the first bundle from the stacks of plants. The last one was barbed, as he found out the hard way when its stem pricked at his fingers.

"What do you want?" Tamsen asked. That was a remarkably open question. Except, given the way Tamsen was watching him—sharp and wary—it was a test.

Myron tied off the bundle, setting it aside as he considered. Tamsen would toss him out on his ear if Myron tried for anything relating to Tamsen's status as a runaway prince. The answer was to pick something he wanted, and that was easy. "A spell."

"A spell," Tamsen repeated, relaxing slightly, though he still seemed to be expecting a trap. "How do you mean?"

"What?" Myron paused in the act of gathering the next bundle, then realized 'a spell' could mean a few different things. "Oh, I mean, teach me a new spell."

Tamsen smiled and nodded once, and Myron returned the smile easily. Smiling softened Tamsen's face, made him appear more open, more comfortable in his skin. It was a good look on him. Tamsen disappeared outside, leaving Myron alone inside his cottage.

Myron glanced around curiously, gawking more openly without Tamsen to supervise. There were
lots
of bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling, and Myron would bet they were how Tamsen sustained himself. The ones used for healing in particular had to net Tamsen a pretty penny. Even if the idea of a prince farming for herbs and spices seemed utterly ridiculous.

That it seemed ridiculous was likely one of the reasons Tamsen stayed out of sight so easily. Much like Myron when he'd started his search, he didn't doubt most of the other King's Guard and the King's Wizards expected something wholly different from what Tamsen was actually up to.

Myron still didn't have anything resembling a plan, but he was inside Tamsen's cottage, and it didn't seem like Tamsen was trying too hard to get rid of him. That was progress, and Myron was happy to go with it. He spent the rest of the morning making bundles under Tamsen's direction while Tamsen disappeared outside in the pursuit of collecting more plants.

Tamsen fed him as the afternoon approached, some leftover porridge and nearly stale bread. Myron would have been offended, except Tamsen ate the same, and it was still leagues better than the travel fare on which Myron had been subsisting for the last month.

He finished the last of the bundles after lunch, with Tamsen's assistance. Tamsen had a deft, quick touch, binding the herbs together with an ease borne of long practice. He'd been away from the palace for seven years, though; it was little surprise he was well-practiced at his chosen profession. Had he grown herbs everywhere he'd hidden? Or was that profession particular to this hideaway?

"How tall are you?" Tamsen asked, breaking into Myron's thoughts. He was staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Not tall enough to hang those without standing on something," Myron said. He was shorter than Tamsen, though not by much.

"Are you even tall enough to be a proper soldier?" Tamsen asked, eyeing Myron critically. He was trying to be irritating, so Myron didn't take the insult to heart.

"Who said I was a proper soldier?" Myron asked, giving Tamsen a wide grin. Tamsen scowled at him, but Myron paid that no mind. So far, Tamsen was turning out to be all bark and no bite. Myron could deal with that. Standing, Myron surveyed the ceiling.

Several support beams crossed the space, running both the width and the length of the cottage. The bundles of herbs were mostly slung over the beams, though here and there they hung from a hook or other protrusion instead.

"If you're not a proper soldier, what are you?" Tamsen asked, huffing impatiently. Myron would wager he didn't appreciate being ignored. He pointed to the corner behind Myron, opposite where the back door was. The bundles in that part of the room were sparser, with big gaps between them. "Hang them there. Stand on your chair, and I'll hand them up."

"Obviously an improper soldier," Myron replied cheerfully. He moved his chair over to the corner Tamsen had indicated, pleased to see he'd elicited another flush. Tamsen was scowling at him as he draped the bundles of herbs by their connecting twine over his arm.

"I'm sure Stirling would be happy to hear that," Tamsen said. He followed Myron over to the corner, looking faintly disgruntled when Myron hopped up on the chair gracefully.

"You'll have to go back to inform him of that," Myron said, slanting Tamsen a smile. "Though I don't doubt he's already aware."

"Space them so there's plenty of room for air to get in between them," Tamsen said, passing Myron the first bunch. "Be careful and don't damage them."

"Yes, highness," Myron said brightly. Tamsen huffed irritably but didn't correct him.

Hanging the bundles didn't take long, though Myron had to stretch for most of them even with the aid of the chair. Tamsen continued to boss him around, glowering every time Myron called him 'highness' in response. Myron probably shouldn't have been baiting Tamsen, but it was entirely too amusing to see Tamsen's face turn pink.

"What do you want to learn?" Tamsen asked, sounding unenthused as he dragged Myron's chair back to the table. He brushed stray bits of plants off the table, letting them fall to the floor.

"I'd like to learn how to conjure light," Myron said. He was certain that would be simple, so a good trade for binding plants for a few hours.

"Light?" Tamsen repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. Myron had managed to startle him again. "You can create sophisticated constructs, but you don't know how to conjure light?"

"I can pick something else," Myron said, shrugging. He'd already told Tamsen he wouldn't explain his haphazard magical education, not without Tamsen explaining why he'd left.

"No, that's fine," Tamsen said, waving him off, though he still looked puzzled. "Outside."

"Yes, highness," Myron said. That wiped the puzzlement off Tamsen's face, replacing it with his usual scowl. Or usual to Myron, anyway; there was every chance Tamsen was nicer to people who weren't trying to drag him back to Rishaw.

He led Tamsen outside, noting the morning's clouds were almost completely gone. That was good; he wouldn't get rained on if he slept outside again. Tamsen led him through the garden, away from the woods. There was a small meadow beyond the garden in the front of the house, and Tamsen stopped a few dozen paces into the grass. He sat down and gestured for Myron to do the same.

Myron sat down, tucking his legs in to settle cross-legged in the grass. So far, this was nothing like the handful of lessons he'd received in magic before everything had gone to hell in his youth. Those had all consisted of being locked indoors with a stack of books, a lot of memorization, and hellish quizzes every time he so much as ran into one or the other of his parents.

"I need to know what you know about magic," Tamsen said. He fidgeted, twisting his fingers in the grass in front of him.

"Not much," Myron said. He wasn't going to be tricked into telling Tamsen anything, though he didn't think that was Tamsen's intent. "I know the basics of casting. The constructs are the most complex I can do."

"Constructs
are
complex," Tamsen said. For a moment, Myron thought he was going to ask again. He didn't though, just let go of the grass and held his hands out, palms up.

Tamsen's magic felt fresh, bright and clean, with no outside magics warping or affecting it. There would be no other magics this remote. The energy Tamsen had let out hovered above his palms, steady and true. Myron couldn't see any light, could only just feel the magic, but as he watched, the energy started to glow. It grew brighter slowly, and Myron had to look away when it grew too bright to look at directly. The light abruptly winked out, the feel of Tamsen's magic disappearing at the same time.

"Wizard light is simple." Tamsen dropped his hands back to the grass, tangling his fingers in it again. "Put the energy out there, then make it show itself."

"How do I do that?" Myron asked. His brow furrowed as he tried to recall if he'd heard of anything similar in his readings. "The making it show part, I mean."

"How do you make magic do anything?" Tamsen asked, which was useless as an answer. "Do something small, in case you screw it up."

Rolling his eyes, Myron copied what Tamsen had done. Holding out his hands, he fed a small amount of energy into the space above them. Holding the energy there, he tried to make it show itself.

Myron yelped, startled, when the energy popped loudly, snapping back with enough force to knock him over backward. He stayed where he was, pressing a hand to his chest as his heart damn near tried to jump through his ribs in alarm. He sat up slowly, making a face at Tamsen, who had expected that result if the amused little grin on his face was any indication.

"You could have warned me," Myron complained, running his hands through his short hair to settle it into place again. "What did I mess up?"

"You pulled the wrong element of energy to the fore," Tamsen said, still looking far too pleased with himself. "You can make force or light from energy. You pulled force."

Myron wrinkled his nose. That wasn't very clear, but it wasn't as though he was used to clear instructions when it came to magic. Holding out his hands again, Myron frowned in concentration. He pulled up a small bit of energy again, carefully assessing it and trying to ignore the way Tamsen was watching him closely.

Two elements: light and force. He'd pushed the energy before, had forced it, so if light was the opposite element, to get light he'd have to do the opposite. The opposite of pushing, forcing it, would be to let it go? Myron let some of the energy go, but it just dissipated back into his skin, sparking briefly as it sank in with a sharp tingle.

Myron huffed in frustration as he reabsorbed the rest of his energy. He glanced at Tamsen questioningly, absolutely lost.

"When it sparks, hold it before it dissipates," Tamsen said. "Like locking the animation into a construct."

Myron pulled out another little bit of energy. Focusing, he let some of it go, trying to lock it in place when it started to spark along his skin. It took a few tries, but it finally caught, bright and steady. Myron turned it over in his hands, giving it more energy to make it brighter. That only made it bigger, and Myron frowned at the little ball of light.

Pushing the energy back into a smaller space made the light brighten, and Myron played with it for a few minutes, changing its shape, making it duller and brighter. Tamsen watched, a funny look on his face, but he didn't interrupt.

Myron let the magic dissipate, the sparks of it sinking into his skin with a faint tingle. He looked up and gave Tamsen a smile. "Thank you."

Tamsen shrugged, climbing to his feet. Myron let him go, not following. Instead, he stayed in the meadow, repeating the light trick until he was positive he had it and could do it with his eyes closed and without holding his hands out in front of him. He collapsed backward into the grass when he was done messing with his magic.

It would be dark soon. Myron stared up at the sky, wondering again what had made Tamsen leave Rishaw. He knew a little of why the king was searching for Tamsen—besides the obvious of Tamsen being a missing prince, a liability and potential weakness because of it.

Myron probably had a few weeks, possibly a month or so, before anyone else figured out where Tamsen was. He doubted anyone would miss him, specifically. The regiment of the King's Guard he was attached to worked mostly solo, so as long as he checked in periodically—every few weeks—no one would pay any attention to his not reporting in. That only meant he had time, though he was still no closer to figuring out a way to convince Tamsen to return to the palace with him.

He certainly wasn't going to learn anything lying about lazily. Myron climbed to his feet, stretching and yawning. He hadn't done anything particularly strenuous, but he was still tired. Making his way back to Tamsen's cottage, he headed around to the back. Tamsen had yet to use the front, past when he'd confronted Myron over his spying construct, and Myron was content to continue that precedent.

Tamsen was puttering around in the garden near the back door, though he immediately left off when Myron came around the corner. "You can join me for dinner. If you like."

"I would love to," Myron said, following Tamsen into his cottage. He still wasn't sure why Tamsen wasn't running him off or trying to sneak away.

The answer hit him in the face as he stepped through the doorway into Tamsen's cottage again. It was obvious in all the little touches around the house: the books would have taken time and money to collect; there were personal bits and bobs tucked in the shelves, nooks, and crannies around the room; and there were several homemade throws tossed over the chairs in front of the fire.