Indrid didn’t appreciate that Alexandal called him a boy; he was a man and the choice was his: Give in to the steward’s request and stay at Ikarus as the new army general, or defy him and leave for a new life as the count of Grale and become the lord of the Graleon island.
Since he was little, Indrid had always wanted to become a leader. But that zeal for leadership grew with age. When he lived on Grale, he was convinced that his friends had only talked to him because he was royalty. Being acquainted with a count’s son had its benefits. Even parents would urge their children to befriend powerful people. And that was what Indrid felt he had been used for. Until he’d come to Ikarus and met Anna and Rayne, never before did he feel true friendship.
Now, he strove to become something more; a king, perhaps, or…the king. But that was an impossible dream. Only a Volpi could rule. He was not of ‘sacred’ blood. And it angered Indrid at the thought that there will always be someone above him.
His stepsister, Anna, entered his mind, then Rayne, then Montague and Greta. Anna was right, we are a family, Indrid thought. He couldn’t leave them behind to be stifled by a lunatic who once acted like a father-figure to them. But Rayne, the steward’s real son, had never seen the good side of Alexandal.
“No. Lord Alexandal is right,” Indrid said. “I must stay. We are at war.”
Rayne Volpi lay alone under his bed and traced the creases of his hand, wondering why the color of his skin was different from everyone else. He was not white like the Merns and mainlanders, nor the ebony shade of Graleon skin, nor red like the tribes of the Great Flats; he was pale gray. Was there something special about a ‘normal’ person, with ‘normal-looking’ skin, that makes them better? He thought. Better as in smarter or more suitable to accomplish more for the community? Or in Rayne’s case: less dangerous. He thought about the koi swimming around at The Ponds. Fish and birds flaunted hundreds of different colors and lived in perfect harmony while humans always found the unordinary to be sinful.
At the tip of his finger, a mark was left behind from the pin Montague had used to draw his blood. Thanks to him, Rayne was familiar with the stories and histories of witchcraft. He knew that blood was the most important ingredient for a spell. But why would Montague need my blood? The secluded king wondered. He isn’t a mage, is he? Am I a mage?
And Anna; what could she possibly think of him after what he had done? He had feelings for her. But he was only eight and she was twice his age. She was so beautiful to him. Indrid was lucky. By the way Indrid openly expressed his interest in her, Rayne was surprised they weren’t together already. His stepbrother told him that he planned to win Anna’s heart before he left for Grale then marry her on her eighteenth birthday. Then, both of his stepsiblings would surely be gone. The king felt ill.
His room was cold, as if the windows had been propped open, but Rayne knew that before he’d gotten comfortable on the floor under his bed, he made sure they were closed.
The draft came in through the creaking door with heavy footsteps following. The visitors didn’t say anything upon entering. Although the bed was still made and the room appeared unoccupied, they walked in with intention. It must be someone who knows where I hide, he thought. But by the way they stomped into the room, Rayne knew they were not visitors, but intruders, and he felt hostility in their steps.
There was no time to run. Large, muddy boots stepped to the edge of the mattress, right in front of the king’s face. It was obvious that they knew he was under the bed. Suddenly, a hand clutched his foot and pulled him out from his safe place. Masked men sat him up forcefully and wrapped a sack around his head so hard that the fabric squashed his nose as it pressed against his face. The king reached out for something to grab, but his groping arms were caught by rough hands. One abductor tied Rayne’s wrists behind his back while the other secured his mouth with a cloth. They knew their way through the castle all too well, Rayne thought.
Outside, the king was hurled onto a wagon, and they left in a hurry.
Rayne’s heart beat faster by the second. “Let me go! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” He was shivering. The young king begged for answers and after no response, he ordered them to respond, but they still said nothing.
The road to nowhere felt bumpy. The trip was short and Rayne recognized the path they had taken. It was on the way to The Ponds. But Rayne knew they were still on top of the Ikarus plateau. He had traveled this way before with Anna.
Flashes of his stepsister, Monte, Greta, and Indrid raced before him. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Rayne feared for his life. The majority of the world would never know the kind of person that he was. Neither would his father. He might never become king. Even if he survived this abduction, he doubted that he’d ever be in a position to make a political decision in his life after what he’d done to Fervan. After the incident, Rayne recognized how his emotions controlled him. And he didn’t trust himself. Perhaps, he thought, for the benefit of mankind, it was better that he distanced himself from the throne.
When they finally stopped, the king was pushed off the wagon and down into the mud. The
