The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Eight

Seeing a foreign castle didn't thrill Mirthal, but Tracou was excited so that was enough. Anything was better than Tracou being prickly.

"Shouldn't you warn your king about Winlea?" Pendaer asked, arms folded over his chest.

Tracou blinked a few times. The thought must not have occurred to him.

"I don't think I could get an audience with the king... I'm just a lord of a village by the coast. I'm not important."

Truthfully, no king could see everyone who had some kind of problem even if he wanted to, but certain people he did have to entertain. Mirthal knew that quite well. So much of his father's time had been taken up by meeting with civil officials and other duties that Mirthal met him only when some kind of ceremony required both of their attendance.

"He would see a foreign prince, no doubt," he said, puffing himself up.

This, at least, gave him a chance to be useful. Not Mirthal, but his title. It always came down to that whether he liked it or not.

Pendaer stared at Mirthal, expression harsh. "No."

"No?"

"I won't let you. Who knows what these dezmek might do if given the opportunity. We just freed you from Winlea and I am not—ever!—going to work with the dezmek to rescue you a second time."

"Oh, come on, Pendaer. Nothing bad would happen, right, Tracou?"

For a moment, Tracou said nothing, his eyes far away. Then he shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't know much about the king."

"Oh."

A chance to prove himself useful, lost. Still, he wanted to be useful as Mirthal and not as a prince, so, while this loss did bother him, it wasn't essential.

"Anyway, it's late in the day. I doubt he sees anyone after sunset."

"Mm, you're probably right."

"But! We can go look at the castle. It's really impressive! Better than that Winlean one." Tracou hummed softly to himself in approval, smiling. "For people without dezmek eyes, it's best seen at twilight, so we should hurry."

"I can't believe we paid two coins for beds made for children," Pendaer grumbled in Elvish. It was better to ignore him—especially since he was still moping.

"Let's go. We can get something to eat and rest afterward," Mirthal said.

They left the inn. Once they were all outside, Tracou took the lead, darting down the path surprisingly quickly for someone who hadn't walked in weeks.

Seeing him walk both pleased and disappointed Mirthal. Tracou had relied on him and Mirthal had enjoyed it and, given the chance, would have allowed Tracou to rely on him for the foreseeable future. Holding him and carrying him around had been fun. Knowing that Tracou depended on him for something satisfied him in a primal way, a way Mirthal hadn't yet acknowledged to himself, but was nonetheless a powerful motivator. It was one thing to enjoy someone's company, to want to see them safe, to help them when he could, but that other aspect was not something he could easily explain away as innocent. So he did not even approach it.

The amount of foot traffic had picked up from earlier. Stepping out into a stream of dezmek was surreal—they were all so much shorter than him. Some of them even stopped short of his ribs! Tracou was one of the taller ones, like he had said, and stood at a height just shy of Mirthal's shoulders. The other male dezmek were often a few inches shorter than Tracou. The female dezmek were even smaller. It was kind of cute, really. An entire city of tiny people living in holes in the rock sounded like something out of a bedtime story. These people weren't quite so tiny that they would be struggling with mice, though.