The Thief King

4 | Dawn Deals

Prince Logan never needed much sleep. In fact, he functioned far better with less rest. His mind keener, more focused and far more inquisitive at night. The morning often found him still reading, writing and analysing ancient texts. This night was no different. He made out a dismal sun breaking through the thick clouds hanging over the city. Soon the snows would arrive, with it the deathly cold that claimed the lives of many of the city's citizens 

A canine whine came from the corner.

"It's all right, boy. We are going to bed momentarily."

The hound lowered its head to large, dark paws and heaved a sigh.

"I am sorry to have put you out, Barrett, old boy, but you know, you might find some of this quite interesting if you would give me half the chance."

Barrett closed his eyes.

Logan smiled, leaned in his chair, and rubbed at a knot of tension in his neck. He had not meant to sit for so long. The palace physicians prescribed movement between the hours, but Logan always forgot. He doubted any scholar would act differently. Once a line of thought started, one owed it to the idea to see it to completion or risk losing it forever.

Ideas had not confined Logan to his chair this eve, rather a search for a solution. Knowing the snow was coming with its fatal touch spurred Logan's interest in healing houses and why his father had closed so many years back. Unaware of the situation, he stumbled upon orders to close down the facilities not generating enough coin to keep afloat. The records tracked healing houses in more affluent areas and their support of the ones in poorer sects until a trading deal with a handful of neighbouring kingdoms to the north-west of Southland soured, increasing the price of medicinal elixirs and tonics. In fairness, his father exhausted all possible fixes at the time. Offering less trading taxes on foreign merchants, lowering prices of Southland wares and grains, offering Lethilian's harbour as port for neighbouring ships. Nothing mended the past, and so the new prices stuck. Whatever the quarrel was, Logan was yet to stumble upon a revealing, detailed account. The matter seemed to have vanished entirely. Letters and records that would usually have mentioned the occurrence instead described it as a disagreement.

Logan sighed, placed a document aside, and ran his fingers through his dirty hair. The greasy feel reminded him of his desperate need to bath; between the scrolls and his need to find the reason behind the closures, such hindrances as time and attire were inconsequential to his academic mind. It was too early to call upon a maid to fetch him a bath. He would have to wait for a less incredulous hour. 

A knock on the door made him jump. Barrett growled softly. Logan soothed the hound, straightened his shirt and considered who might be awake at such an hour. He called his consent for entry. A young guard stepped through holding a letter. The man bowed with a grace only from adolescence and waited for further consent to enter. Barrett gave it with another sigh and, once again, placed head on paw.

"Is that for me?" Logan pointed at the folded parchment in the man's hand.

"Yes, Your Highness." The guard cleared his throat, taking two tentative steps forward. "I was told to bring it the king immediately, but it being so early, I thought it best not to disturb his slumbers unless the need is dire."

"And is it?"

"Well,"—the man flushed—"I was hoping you could be the judge of that. The man said it was not confidential enough to be seen by His Highness."

Logan raised a brow, took the parchment and flipped it open. The words were written in a long, superfluous hand.

"So an ambassador from Cyllindale has finally arrived to replace old Rickard. Strange." Logan scratched at the dark stubble under his chin. "I don't recall the king mentioning an impending guest from Cyllindale."