Page 16 of Kingdom of Locks

Amell smiled gratefully, not doubting the enchanter for a moment. Bartholomew had been the castle’s resident enchanter all Amell’s life. His natural magic was one of healing, and in addition to providing sundry magical services to the crown, he’d been the one to patch Amell up when his foolhardy exploits had landed him in strife.

Which had been often.

In short, Bartholomew was as familiar to Amell as his old nurse, and the prince had been sad when the elderly man withdrew from his active role to take up some training responsibilities within the Enchanters’ Guild. He was one of the guild’s governing members, and rightly so. Few in Fernedell had more experience in magic than he did.

“How confident are you in the guild’s leadership?” Amell blurted out, with the lack of tact that was the despair of his family.

Bartholomew came to a stop, throwing him a startled look. “Do you have reason to doubt the guild, Your Highness?”

“Not really,” admitted Amell. “It’s just come to my attention that a series of attacks have been carried out against the various royal families of Solstice over the last few years, all of them using inexplicably potent magic. I want to be sure that if there’s some organized group of criminal enchanters, Fernedell isn’t harboring any of them.”

Bartholomew frowned, still unmoving in the street. Passersby wove respectfully around the prince and the senior enchanter, and Amell searched Bartholomew’s face for any sign of unease. He saw only a pensive consideration.

“I would be astonished to discover any such person within the guild,” Bartholomew said at last. “Although the idea of a broader connection between these attacks is worth further consideration. I must confess I hadn’t thought of it. If there is a conspiracy, we can only be thankful Fernedell has so far escaped being targeted.”

“Actually,” said Amell grimly, “we may not have.” With lowered voice, he told Bartholomew of the prison break, watching as the old man’s eyes widened in horror.

“So you’re confident no one from the guild had any hand in such an attack?” Amell pressed.

“I suppose I can’t be completely confident without any investigation,” said Bartholomew, raising his hands. “But I can’t believe it. To unleash so many violent magic-users on the unprotected community! It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“So there hasn’t been any tension recently?” Amell asked him. “No debate regarding the ethics of the prison, or,” he lowered his voice further, “discontent with the crown, or anything like that?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” shrugged Bartholomew. “The guild operates very smoothly. We have our disagreements of course, but we haven’t had true tension of the nature you describe in almost twenty years, not since Cyfrin.”

“Cyfrin?” echoed Amell, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. “Who or what is that?”

“He was an enchanter,” sighed Bartholomew. “Well, still is, I suppose. He disappeared after he was denied a position with the guild, but I can’t imagine he’s dead. He was a young man when it all happened, not much older than you.”

“When what happened?” Amell asked impatiently, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

Seeing the gesture, Bartholomew smiled and began walking again. “His father was an enchanter, and a senior member of the guild. He passed away quite suddenly, and it quickly became clear that Cyfrin expected to inherit his father’s position.”

“Is that how it works?” Amell asked, surprised.

Bartholomew shrugged. “Not necessarily, but it certainly can happen, if the guild considers the successor an appropriate candidate.”

“But they didn’t think that about Cyfrin?”

“No,” said Bartholomew dryly, “we certainly did not. Cyfrin’s father was a good man and a good enchanter, but his son was a rotten apple. Plus there was the issue of divided loyalties,” he added as an afterthought.

“Divided loyalties?” Amell asked, confused.

Bartholomew nodded. “His father was Fernedellian, but his mother was from Albury. A position in the Enchanters’ Guild holds considerable influence in matters of court—ideally candidates would have absolute loyalty for your father.”

“But that wasn’t the main issue?” Amell asked.

“It was barely a factor when compared with his other…indiscretions.”

Amell raised a questioning eyebrow, and Bartholomew sighed.

“How much do you understand about the role of vessels in magic?”

Amell gave him a sheepish look. “It rings a bell from my studies, but I’m afraid…”

“You remember little of them,” Bartholomew finished with a smile. “You understand about artifacts, I suppose?”

Amell nodded. “Of course. Are they what you mean by vessels?”

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