The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twenty Three

Clearly there was no fun to be had here. But then, what did a Pendaer having fun look like? Tracou couldn't begin to imagine.

"You try," Pendaer ordered, thrusting the shovel at him.

"I'll do no such thing."

"Try it!"

"I can use magic to make a hole for you if you want one this badly."

"No. No magic." Pendaer pushed the shovel against Tracou's chest. "I want to see you try. If you can do it, the others can. Then we can leave pitfalls."

"Ugh..." Tracou snatched the shovel from Pendaer. "If you can't do it, what makes you think I can?"

"I can do it just fine—I'm worried about the wood snapping. You people have no idea how to work metal, something even the humans have learned! It's pathetic."

Tracou huffed, but Pendaer was right. Carpentry, masonry, metalworking—dezmek had a vague grasp on the first two, but the last had never been necessary. They depended on magic for everything.

Placing the shovel against the ground, Tracou took in a breath and pushed. Nothing. He leaned his body weight on it, straining, but this caused the shovel to skid against the ground. It slipped from underneath him and he flopped onto his belly, his chin slamming the handle of the shovel.

Pain blossomed.

Pendaer stood over him and threw his hands into the air.

"You're all like children!"

Wand tucked into his sleeve, Tracou grabbed Pendaer's ankle with magic. He squeezed once to give Pendaer enough time for the color to drain out of his face before he yanked him backward, forcing Pendaer flat on his face.

While Pendaer lay stunned on the ground, Tracou jumped up and dashed into the manor. He had expected Pendaer to give chase, but he didn't. In fact, hours went by and Pendaer still stood outside, struggling to dig with his piece of wood. Tracou sometimes stood by a window and watched him, his heart sinking.

Even if a hole wouldn't be of much help, it was more than what Tracou had done.

Tomorrow, he would tell Serpouhi.

But tomorrow is always a day away.

Tracou made several attempts to visit someone and ask for advice on the ax dangling above Ergakan's throat, but he accomplished nothing. Each time he tried, his tongue felt awkward in his mouth and he couldn't decide on how to phrase it. How would Serpouhi react? Ardit? Would they reprimand him? He should have told them right when he arrived. Now he had let this fester for months.

As Pendaer's hole grew, so did Tracou's anxiety.

Three days had gone by and Tracou visited Serpouhi on each of them. He sat in one of her chairs once again, a cup of tea in his hands. She sat across from him, observing. Waiting.

The first thing he had set out to do today was to visit Serpouhi. He had arrived after breakfast and lunch had been over for some time now.

"Tracou..." she began, her voice full of sympathy. "Did Mirthal reject you?"

Tracou jolted, spilling tea on his tunic.

"N-No." He whisked the stain away with his wand. "No... we're lovers now."

"He didn't change his mind?"

Tracou shook his head.

Serpouhi sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then why do you keep coming here? I don't get it. You've been here for hours and, I mean, normally I don't mind it, but you look like a mouse."

"I-I just... I have to tell you something, but I can't get it out."

"You managed to tell Mirthal you liked him, right? How could this be harder?"
Good question. Each passing day made telling Serpouhi more vital, but his throat tighter. Something was wrong with him. Why hadn't he told her the first day he had arrived? But the why didn't matter—the fact was that he had stayed silent. He had given himself excuses, like the wedding, and had proceeded with his life while trying to ignore the piece of wriggling anxiety in his gut.

As Tracou mulled that over, not realizing the way he had eagerly embraced the distraction, the door opened. Garin stepped inside, coughing. Serpouhi instantly got to her feet.

"Are you all right? You're all dusty..." she said, trotting over to him.

Cold rippled through Tracou's body at those words. He turned around in his chair only to see Serpouhi fussing over a conspicuously gray Garin.

"I can't get it off," Garin complained.

"What do you mean you can't get it off?"

Stiffly, Tracou got out of his chair and went over to the open door

The world outside had dulled. Gray. The same sickening gray from the waterfall, the same gray that had clung to his wagon. A layer of powder coated the ground. A haze hung in the sky, allowing scant blue to peek through. But not for long.

It was too late. He had failed.

Tracou's heart froze, broke off from its position in his chest, and fell all the way down to his heel.