The Named (12 page)

He snorts loudly. ‘Not for long!’

Chapter Twenty

Ethan

Isabel is completely enchanted. It doesn’t take me long to realise she’s born for this life. As soon as we return home we’ll work hard at mastering her psychological skills. Healing we already know will be one of her main talents. But so far nothing else has revealed itself. There’s still time, if we carry out this mission successfully. There’s just this premonition I can’t get rid of tonight – a prickling of my consciousness, a gut feeling something’s wrong, or going to go wrong. Maybe I’m just nervous about having Isabel along, being responsible for her and all. I don’t want her to get hurt, and I feel our training has been way too inadequate. But there’s something else worrying me too. It’s as if I’ve picked up some sort of stomach bug; an uneasy queasiness is kicking in and there’s a strange lethargy starting to shoot through my limbs, making each step more difficult than the last.

I try to put these weird sensations aside while I figure out exactly which wing of the palace we’re currently roaming. Recalling Arkarian’s holographic sphere, and considering the location of John of Gaunt’s
bedroom, I finally get my bearings. Our destination is not far at all, but we’re on the wrong floor.

As we head for the winding stairwell, I hear Isabel take in a sharp breath. I think it must be nerves kicking in, but then she says, ‘Back there in John of Gaunt’s bedroom … you know when—’

She stops suddenly and it hits me what she’s trying to bring up – the kiss I stole from her on John of Gaunt’s bed. I swallow hard as an uncomfortable feeling swamps me. I hope she didn’t get the wrong idea. I mean, I really like Isabel, and the time we’ve spent together has been the best couple of weeks I can remember. Is there something wrong with having a girl for a best friend? That’s how I feel about Isabel right now. I’m not sure if there could ever be more. Maybe one day, when I get over – I can’t believe where my thoughts have taken me. I was about to say Rochelle. I’m over Rochelle, well and truly, so why the sudden stab of pain?

I take a deep breath and choose my words carefully. The last thing I want is to hurt Isabel’s feelings. ‘Um, that kiss, you mean?’

She nods.

‘I’m really sorry about that. We needed an excuse to be found in that room. I didn’t have time to discuss it with you first. I hope you didn’t mind.’

She flicks her hand at me with a casualness I hope she really feels. ‘No, of course. I knew that.’

We pass the room where the council is meeting. The faint sound of muffled voices can be heard through the thick double doors. Soon John of Gaunt will make an appearance, stating his reasons why his ten-year-old nephew should be the next King of England.

‘Why does John of Gaunt not want the crown for himself?’ Isabel asks, changing the subject.

‘I doubt anyone would support him if he did. Nobody wants him to have more power than he already has. He’s incredibly wealthy in his own right, with more lands and titles and earldoms than any other noble to date. And his sights are set on other titles yet to come.’

It’s late, and if John of Gaunt is correct, the young prince will be fast asleep when we make an appearance. And as long as Arkarian is on cue, we’ll arrive before the would-be assassin.

The entire length of the hallway is empty. Unchallenged we reach the door to the prince’s bedroom. Where are his protectors? The palace guards? Cautiously I push open the door. No one appears to be about, which is strange considering this ten-year-old child will soon be king.

‘It’s so quiet,’ Isabel comments, as we move further into the semi-dark bedroom.

An elderly woman, obviously a maid or nanny, spots us from where she sits huddled, stitching a tapestry by the fire. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘Our names are not important. We’re here to protect the prince. Where are the guards?’

‘They were called away but a moment ago. They promised to return shortly.’

No sooner does the woman speak than a figure swathed in a long crimson cape enters the room from the adjoining dressing room. ‘State your purpose for sneaking around the prince’s bedroom!’ he snaps at us.

His arrogance is off-putting. Who is he? My instinct says he’s the assassin, pretending to be someone
important. When we don’t answer, he yells, ‘Get out! I demand you leave the room now!’

‘We’re here to protect the prince,’ I call out, fighting a growing nauseous feeling.

‘By whose order?’

I hesitate only a second. ‘John of Gaunt’s.’

The old servant woman looks from the hooded man to me. ‘Well, I don’t recognise any of you, so how about you all get out of here and leave me to my peaceful stitching? Or will I have to call the king’s soldiers?’

The second her words are out, the hooded man leaps across the room at her. His foot connects just once, but it’s enough to send the old woman flying backwards.

Isabel runs to her side.

The sleeping boy’s eyes flick open as the hooded man quickly grabs a pillow from the bed and throws it over the prince’s face. The assassin is attempting to smother the prince right before our very eyes!

‘Hugo, hurry!’ Isabel calls out to me. At least she hasn’t forgotten that as an observer she must not intervene. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’

But I’m having serious problems of my own. For some reason I feel suddenly numb and semi-paralysed, unable to run or even walk. My stomach is roiling while my head is heavy as rock. The room starts swimming before my eyes.

‘Hugo? What’s wrong? You look like a ghost.’

Doubling over now with pain shooting through my entire body, I realise what must be happening. ‘Someone … I think someone is trying to wake me. I can’t move.’

The old woman scowls at me as if I’m nothing but a piece of garbage left out for the palace cats. Getting to
her feet, she runs into the hallway, screaming for help. Returning quickly, she throws herself at the assassin. He tosses the old woman fiercely backwards and she hits her head on the corner of a desk, sliding to the floor unconscious.

‘Hugo, what do we do? I can’t just stand and watch! You must let me help!’

The young prince, now fully awake, is struggling for all his worth beneath the strong hands of the caped man. I manage to get up, working through the pain and heavy-limbed sensations, and draw my sword.

The assassin turns to face me in combat but seeing how unsteady I am on my feet, decides not to draw his sword. He merely whacks me with an extended elbow, sending me reeling backwards to the floor. I try to get up again, but my stomach heaves and suddenly empties out with violent force. When I get a second’s relief from the intense vomiting, I look up and see everyone staring at me, even the assassin and the prince.

‘Oh, God, Hugo! Can I do something?’ Isabel asks.

The most I can manage is to shake my head as drips slither from my mouth to the floor.

While the assassin is momentarily distracted, the young prince moves, scrambling across the huge bed. But the assassin dives for him, slamming him back against the mattress, and starts smothering him again.

Isabel, eyes wide and wild-looking, leans over me. ‘Sorry, Hugo, but one of us has to act.’ She reaches for my sword and, with two hands clasped tightly around the hilt, raises it in front of her. With a fierce war cry she charges at the assassin.

The assassin, forced to let go of the prince, groans and spins around, clearly annoyed at having to draw
his own sword and the two of them fight while the boy looks on.

‘Go on,’ I say to him, nodding at the door, ‘get out of here! Save yourself, Your Highness!’

The prince comes over to me, avoiding the mess around him with careful steps, and squats beside me without taking his eyes off the duelling pair. ‘My coin’s on her.’

Increasing pain shoots through my stomach and into my chest, my body lunges forward and the prince jumps back.

‘Are you going to vomit again?’ the prince asks while keeping his eyes riveted to the duelling pair.

I shake my head and try to have faith in Isabel, but I’m assuming the assassin is no novice, Isabel is. This mission was supposed to be observation only. But Isabel does well, holding her position and forcing the assassin back several paces until his back hits the wall. Then, with an amazing display of swordsmanship, Isabel maims the man, slashing his left arm. But it’s probably only a flesh wound.

Beside me, the prince cheers. But I can hardly see him any more, the room is swimming and I feel as if I’m about to pass out. Something is terribly wrong.

Suddenly Isabel screams. For a second I think she’s been hurt and I try to get up. It seems the assassin, frustrated and annoyed, has found a new strength. He disarms Isabel, whose sword flies off and lodges on the window ledge. She’s in trouble now, and there’s nothing I can do to help.

The assassin aims his sword with the intention to kill, but Isabel uses her karate skills, bringing the man to his knees and causing him to drop his sword. The
prince cheers again and rushes for the weapon. It’s heavy and he has trouble picking it up. In the meantime the assassin gets his bearings back and flips Isabel on to her back. From within his boot he flicks out a dagger and aims it at the prince.

‘Look out!’ I call.

As he throws, Isabel jumps on the caped man, knocking the dagger off its course. It lodges in the leg of a wooden desk.

At this moment the doors fling open. John of Gaunt and several soldiers come charging into the room, quickly sizing up the situation. The assassin, realising his work here tonight will remain incomplete, takes a flying run and leaps out of the window. It’s a long way down, but I know he’ll not leap to his death, but back to wherever and whenever he came from. The only consolation tonight is that even though I totally stuffed the mission, thanks to Isabel, the prince still lives.

John of Gaunt orders his men to pursue the assassin and bring him back alive, which of course they won’t ’cause they won’t find him, that’s for sure. But off they go, running out the door, and John of Gaunt checks that the young prince is all right. Noticing the pool of vomit spread out over the floor he watches carefully where he puts his feet. He then helps Isabel into a standing position. ‘My lady, His Highness and I are most grateful.’

He offers a hand to me, but I cannot move. The violent nausea and chest pain have increased so much in the last few minutes that I’m starting to think I may not make it back to my own bed alive. Breathing is too hard now as my lungs struggle to inflate.

‘He’s ill, my lord,’ Isabel crouches beside me. ‘What
do I do, Hugo? Tell me what to do.’

‘Arkarian,’ I mouth in a hoarse whisper against her ear. ‘But not in front of …’

She looks up at John of Gaunt. ‘We need a room.’ Within seconds John of Gaunt has two of his men lift and carry me to a bed in a room down the hall. Isabel thanks them while shoving them out the door.

‘
Arkarian
!’ she screams, and in the same second the two of us are returned to the Citadel, where Arkarian is waiting, a deep frown carved into his forehead.

‘Ethan, you must hurry.’

Isabel tries pushing Arkarian out of her way to get to me. ‘What’s wrong with him? Is it something I can heal?’

‘Be patient, Isabel, he’ll be well again soon.’

The pain eases and my lungs inflate again. ‘I think I’m getting better already.’ I try to sit up but fall back down.

‘That’s only because you’re closer to your body. But you will be well again soon,’ Arkarian explains. ‘As soon as you return to your mortal state. But there’s something I have to tell you first. It’s about your—’

My stomach churns and I think I’m going to throw up again. I roll over as pain tightens like a rubber band around my head. Isabel jerks backwards and starts yelling, ‘Hurry, Arkarian! Are you blind? He needs help!’

Arkarian nods and waves his hands over me with a strange impatient expression on his face. ‘You’d better go then,’ he commands, and before I have a chance to wonder what he was going to say, the room and everyone in it disappears.

Chapter Twenty-one

Ethan

I wake to see Dad gazing into my face, his hands on my shoulders shaking me. I have to think quickly: how long was I out? It couldn’t have been much more than a couple of minutes, but the time spent in the Citadel is the unknown factor. We took so long to get going. Still, a few minutes at most, surely. All I have to do is act calm. He can’t know anything. And he mustn’t find out. It would be dangerous – for me, for those associated with me, and even for Dad. And there was my breach of one code already last week, and again with the handwritten note. My appearance before the Tribunal is coming up shortly. Hell, I have to be careful!

‘Dad, stop shaking me! What’s the matter?’

‘Ethan? You were out cold.’ He encloses me in a grip so hard his fingers dig into my shoulders. Then he stiffens and pulls back, eyes squinting and dark. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I was just sleeping, Dad.’

‘No, you weren’t.’

All I have to do is make him think he imagined my comatose state. He’s talking through fear. It should be
easy to allay those fears, now that I’m here and fine and talking to him. ‘Dad, you had your hands on my shoulders the whole time. Look at me, I’m fine.’ In fact a heavy lethargy has gripped my limbs. I just hope he doesn’t ask me to get up and prove anything.

‘Something strange is going on.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! What could possibly be going on?’ I stare him straight in the face, forcing myself not to blink, not to falter in any way. It’s now, as my thoughts start to settle into some sort of order, that I wonder what he’s doing here, in my room, in the middle of the night. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Mum?’

‘She’s all right now.’

‘What does that mean?’

He shifts his glance to the door as though watching for her to make an appearance. ‘She had a bad dream again, that’s all. You must have been in it. She made me get out of bed and check on you. But you were so deeply asleep, I couldn’t even tell if you were breathing or not. And when I shook you, you didn’t respond.’