Page 16 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
“How long?” I asked.
The apprentice didn’t answer.
It took me a moment to realize he wasn’t ignoring me; the words had gotten stuck in my throat. “How long?” I repeated, louder this time. If he was new, that might explain why the old man hadn’t mentioned him.Maybe this is his first mission—
“Five years.”
Five fucking years?The words echoed in my head. I was lucky I didn’t shout them out loud, or Dad would have come to ride next to us again. If he did that, I couldn’t finish the conversation.
And I needed more information from thisapprentice.
“I’m surprised you haven’t earned a title already,” I said carefully.
The apprentice pursed his lips. “I’m working on it.”
“And what has he told you about me?”Because he hasn’t told me a damn thing about you.
“Treasure Banes, twenty-one, you’ve served the master on this mission for twelve years.”
‘Served the master.’ Does he even know I’m his master’s son?
“Your goal is to tear down the defense spell protecting the Desolated Lands, and I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?” I asked, my heart racing. The last thing I needed was an evil sidekick barging his way into my plans. “I thought you were here to deliver a message.”
“That is the message. If you’d had the mirror with you, we could have arranged a meeting somewhere quiet, rather than in the middle of the road.”
“I’msosorry to inconvenience you.”
“At some point, you’ll need to cut the sarcasm.”
I wrinkled my nose at him, stopping short of sticking my tongue out. “Make me.”
“I intend to.”
The bold response startled me. I stared at him, brow furrowed, trying to understand his meaning.
He gazed ahead placidly, as if he hadn’t thrown down the gauntlet.
Working with him would be fuckinggreeeat, I could already tell.
“How are you supposed to help me?” I asked. “It’s not like I can bring you to the meeting. ‘Hey, everyone, this is a random farmer I met on the road, thought he might prove useful on a quest.’”
“I’ll be there when I’m needed.”
Translation: he would watch me from the shadows, waiting to pounce when I fucked up.
Did the old man really send his apprentice here to help me, or to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t stray from the mission?
As we pulled into town, the farmer-guise settled firmly back into place. The stiff, pompous apprentice polish faded away and the homey, I’m-just-a-helpful-old man accent returned. “Here we are, folks!” he called as his cart pulled up to the inn.
“Thanks for your help,” Father said, holding a hand out to me. I didn’t need it to get down, but I took it anyway, comforted by his familiar strength and warmth.
I never looked at the apprentice as we unloaded the cart, and he never looked at me.
Yet I felt his presence like a heavy collar around my neck that I couldn’t discard until I completed my mission.
Chapter Six
