Inkway to Albreton

Chapter Nine

Prince Albert and King Allard, having raced back to Castle Albreton as fast as they could, arrived at the broken wall in a short three days. The horses leapt over the break in the wall and landed in tandem before they dashed to the castle itself, skidding to a halt before the mote. King Allard sang the magic word in a baritone and the lily pads mushed together, forming a safe passage across. Swift and King Allard's mare stayed at the edge of the mote and didn't cross to the other side where the castle gate swung open magically at King Allard's presence.

Jasmine was nowhere to be found. Prince Albert searched every corridor, every room, every nook and cranny of the castle that he could think of, but nothing even remotely lead him to a clue as to where Jasmine had gone. That is, until Mythos emerged from one of the darker corners of the castle and took Prince Albert by the arm. King Allard had gone off to search a different wing of the castle and the prince, in his haste, had almost run right past Mythos, his heavy boots stomping against the hard, stone floor. But she had been there ready to grab him as he dashed by.

The prince whirled around at Mythos' surprisingly tight grip. "Mythos? What is it? Do you know where Jasmine is?"

Mythos looked at Prince Albert with pained, wet eyes. She mouthed something.

Prince Albert had never been very good at lip-reading but Mythos' expression meant something was wrong. Taking Mythos gently by the shoulders, Prince Albert asked in a much less frantic manner, "You don't have to talk. You need only point me in the right direction."

Mythos' lips scrunched up. Then she covered her face, dropped to her knees and wept.

Prince Albert had never seen her like this. Worried, he knelt in front of her and gripped her shoulder, "Mythos, what happened? Are you hurt?"

She mouthed something else, voiceless. In all the years she had been in Castle Albreton, Prince Albert had never witnessed Mythos being anything but calm and collected. She was a strong woman, a good friend, wise and kind. It pained the prince to see her like this. He wanted—no; he needed—to help her. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing that Mythos could speak. Up until now, gestures had sufficed for whatever she needed and nothing ever seemed to truly upset her. But now, with Mythos crying silently, her head resting against his shoulder as she shook with grief, Prince Albert yearned to know how to help, how to ease whatever pain she was going through. For the smallest moment, all thoughts of finding Jasmine vanished from him.

Mythos broke away from the prince, wiped her eyes and plucked the quill out of the belt he wore to keep his chainmail tunic in place. She pointed to the dry edge of the quill.

"I don't have any ink," said Prince Albert, "Fragmaroginog hasn't replenished my supply—" The prince stood abruptly. His concern for Mythos molded into unrivaled hate for the wizard. Facing Mythos with fire in his eyes, he said in a tone so flat it could never be mistaken for a question, "Where is Fragmaroginog."

That was good enough for Mythos. She took Prince Albert by the hand and yanked him towards the depths of the Castle Labyrinth, dropping the quill carelessly onto the floor where it would lay forgotten. The prince lurched forward, not expecting her to take such a forceful measure; but soon he was running beside her, farther and farther into the dark belly of the castle. They made haste, guided only by the candlesticks lighting the corridors and the electric sound of clashing magic that rebounded up ahead.

They came upon a golden door. Mahogany vines swirled about its surface, glowing starlight blue in the darkness, brightening the rest of the door's metallic shimmer. Two phoenix statues next to the door's frame leered at Mythos and the prince as if they had spirits of their own. Mythos had led him to the Hall of Truth. The prince had never seen it in person before, though he had heard his father speak of it when he was young; The Hall of Truth was the setting of many tales passed down through the generations of the castle, and sometimes, a character in itself.