Yesterday's Prince

2. A Little War: Uther

Mommy stared down at him, a sharper version of her daughters' faces filling his vision. He licked his lips and said, "You don't understand—"

The fae laughed, and there was no joy in the sound. He shivered. She said, "Is that what you think?"

"There's been a mistake. I'm—"

His throat collapsed on itself. Only after his mind ran blank did he gasp for breath. Mommy shook her head, putting one large, black talon on his lips. She said, "I told you not to try again. You will hurt."

Uther swallowed. Would he have been wiser at thrown himself at Brinn's mercy? Either way, it seemed, fate drew his string today. Instead, he'd followed the fae, thinking—what? Not thinking, that's what. He panicked and went with the best-option-at-the-time. Now, mommy transfixed him with her alien stare.

"I know you," she said, her voice softer but loosing none of its reverberation. He felt it rattle in his head and slink down his spine.

"You don't," he protested feebly. The fae didn't blink.

"I know Arniel Gains. He is a wizard down in—" she said a word he didn't recognize "—and he has hurt many of our kind. He hunted us from the—" that word again "—and has enthralled us. I have known wicked wizards in my time and evil men, but there is none as loathsome to me as Arniel Gains. It has been many years since I have seen him, but I promised him it would be his death next time we met."

Uther's mind was a static buzz. He was young enough to still feel that slight invincible feeling, but now, he was certain he was dead. Arniel made enemies with the fae, and he would pay for his uncle's crimes. Curse that man, Uther thought. A thousand and one curses upon his head.

The fae parted her mouth, showing him all of her little, pointy teeth. She said, "You are lucky that I know you are not Arniel Gains."

Uther blinked and replayed the words in his head again. He stammered, "H-how? How do you know?"

Mommy gave him an insulted look. She said, "Because I know. I am an –" another word he couldn't place "—fae. This is what we know."

"That's...good," he said. In the absence of terror, exhaustion crept into him. "Please untie me."

Mommy reached out and snapped the ropes. She just broke them. With her bare hands...well, maybe claws.

"Mommy, he smelled like magic," the fox-faced fae said. "The iron chased him."

Uther's stomach knotted. Brinn. Cyrus. His troops. He didn't know a thing about what happened to them. A new wave of cold sweats broke over him. Did his uncle do something to them, too? Did he make him do something to them? He had to get back to them, had to find out if they were okay, and tell them he was still himself.

He struggled up, but the world spun, and he collapsed back upon the slab. His vision popped in bright colors, and he slipped in and out consciousness. Mommy's voice cut through his hazy mental state.

"Go. I must tend to this one," she said. Little feet padded across the floor, their echoes dying away. He stared at the ceiling, feeling so ill he wondered if he was dying despite his best efforts not to.

He went blind. Uther struggled, but a cool finger rested on his lips. Mommy said, "I am covering your eyes. You must listen to me now. It is important."

He believed her, only partly because she terrified him, but also because she was fae. They were supposed to know the deepest secrets of magic that even wizards hadn't plumed. He forced himself to unclench and let her cool hand rest over his eyes and upon his forehead. He let his one good eye flicker shut. The constant background nausea still assaulted him, but he checked it enough to remain laying on the slab. He hadn't much strength left in his mind or this body, but he made the effort.