The Poison Prince

"IT'S going to scar some." Allela said gently as she doused Taiden's shoulder and part of his back in thick ointment. "But you won't be the first king with battle scars."
Taiden breathed in deeply, feeling the pain begin to subside. He was still tired though, and nothing could be done for that. At least not until he had a bed and half a dozen goose feather pillows. His shirt had been cut from his back to grant Allela access to his burnt flesh, and now he twisted it between his fingers, staring down at the bloody, pus smeared finery. White silk was not supposed to scream with the slaughter of innocent, loyal men. Yet it was all Taiden saw upon it. He didn’t know how many had died as they fled. More would likely be killed because of it, too. He groaned, wincing as Allela tied the bandages around him, fixing them tight so they wouldn’t slip or chafe his skin when he moved.
“I’ve bandaged enough of my own men to know you’ll survive, prince.” She told him with quiet confidence, her hands greasy with ointment and his blood.
Taiden mumbled his thanks and cautiously attempted to move. He was extremely stiff, and everything was still very tender, but now that he was free from his ruined shirt and had been treated, he felt a little better. His skin still stung as though a thousand wasps had swarmed him, but the burning had been extinguished; that he was most thankful of.

“I’m sorry, but I need answers before we reach wherever it is that we’re going.” Julius sat beside Taiden, but since the cart had left the castle tunnels, his hand hadn’t moved from the sword he had taken from the fallen guard.
Allela looked over at him and arched a thin eyebrow. “I’m a little pre-occupied cleaning myself up right now. Maybe it can wait- “
“No. I want answers before my prince ends up dead.”
Allela stiffened and fixed Julius with a glare so cold that Taiden was certain he’d turn around to see the captain frozen beneath a layer of ice. “No one will end up dead. I promised you safety. Xylia assured you aegis.” Her voice was hard like stone.
“It means nothing without the proof to guarantee it.”
Xylia lifted her head from where she had been sitting with it resting against pulled up knees. She had neglected the seat and sat on the floor, falling there after the cart hurtled through darkness. She hadn’t moved or spoken since then, and aside from the occasional sniff to clear her blocked sinuses, she had been mute.
“I’m the proof.” She croaked, her voice dry and hoarse after all the silent tears she had cried for Zechariahs. Her bloodshot eyes matched the state of Taiden’s ruined shirt, and her face was puffy and pink from the crying. “I don’t want to be, but I guess I am.”
Allela tossed a rag of fabric out of the cart after scrubbing her fingers clean with it and turned to Xylia. “Do you still have the letter from your uncle. I believe his words might best explain matters right now.” She said gently, frowning as she spotted some missed cream between two fingers. She wiped it on the edge of the cart and sighed.
“How do you know about that letter?” Xylia’s face was scrunched into an expression of confusion, an ugly look when combined with the aftermath of her sobbing.
“I was there when he wrote it.” Allela confessed softly, “When I heard about the firestorm that hit the village I knew something was afoot. I returned to see if you were a part of it. And then I met your uncle. He had so very little time left and he knew that you needed to go back to where you truly belonged. So he wrote the letter, and told me that you had left with the prince. I raced ahead hoping to stop you long before you reached the castle, but you did not take the route I expected.” Allela shook her head gently, thinking of how so much could have gone differently if she had been quicker, thought her actions through better. “Do you have the letter?” She asked again.
Xylia nodded her head, twisting around to reach the satchel she had tossed down in the corner and then forgotten about. Nothing in there meant anything to her. It held a small leather pouch with berries that she had refilled on the way into the town, a purse that had a single copper coin, and a ball of twine she used for traps in the forests. Then, at the bottom, was the letter. She had placed it carefully so it couldn’t crumple or tear. Carefully, she pulled it out now, swallowing hard as she held the creamy envelope in her hands once again. Xylia hadn’t looked at it since the night she read it, secretly hoping that she could pretend it wasn’t real that way. It could all be part of some crazy dream that ended when she defeated Devanna and gave her life in the process. Her waking up would be eternal sleep.
“I need some light.”
Allela fumbled about in the cart, reaching under the seats where she had pulled the healer’s kit from. She gave a triumphant holler and produced a set of matches and struck one against the grain like strip. The flame shot up and then settled, and Allela lit up a limp candle that appeared to be more melted wax than wick. Still, it did the job, and a soft glow gave Xylia what she needed to read the letter aloud. Her voice was scratchy, and she stumbled over the words of a man who had spilled so many secrets onto the parchment. In his dying hours he had confessed not just what Xylia had needed to know, but what she had deserved to know.

Xylia,
You do not belong in the village of The Draca. You never did and you never will – because you are more than you know, than any of them have ever known. Your mother told me the truth, but my foolish pride stopped me from doing the right thing – until now. The truth was that she was killed trying to take you home where you truly belonged. You only ended up under my protection because I kept my sister here when she carried you into the village. I held her prisoner and called her crazy, and she died for it. Her story felt so wild that I was sure she had been lying to hide the truth about your parentage. She wasn’t, and I have lived with that guilt ever since. I was a stubborn man, and consumed by grief I held onto the only thing I had left of my beloved sister; you. I raised you, subjected you to the torment of The Draca. I let them think you were another disgusting mutt unworthy of our kind. I did it all because I was too ashamed to speak the truth. I am sorry now. I’m sorry for all of it.

Death will find me before a healer does. This letter is my last chance to tell you the truth of your parentage, and what happened when you were still a bairn. I do not seek forgiveness from anyone, but you deserve to have a life better than what I have provided for you. I have given you strength and discipline, but you are ready for more. I don’t know if what I am about to tell you is a burden or a blessing, but you deserve to know. You have a future out there, Xylia. It could be wonderful.

Your mother left the village eighteen years ago in a quest to find a cure for the plague when it began to claim many of our people. She was gone for a very long time without word, and when she returned it was with you in her arms. I knew instantly that you were different, and my sister had cast aside her warrior robes for a dress of silk, and a carriage. You had scales of black on your neck even then and were cold to the touch, but your mother said that was normal. She spoke of the mountains to the north, of a kingdom of ice, and how she had been hurt, and rescued by the people there. She insisted that they were like us, but ice wielders descended from dragons. I was furious, accused her of telling lies in an attempt to mask her whorish behaviour. You were a mutt, and she a harlot. My sister held her resolve, spoke of the man who had granted her aegis. He healed her, visited with her, and ultimately offered her marriage and a future at his side. It would come with a crown. He was the king of this ice realm, and you were his daughter; born in the endless winter, the first daughter of frozen flame. I refused to believe her, and her own people killed her because of my anger. They would have killed you, too, if she hadn’t given her life first. In her honour I raised you, but I could see in that storm how you needed your own kind. You helped people who would never help you. Go to a place where they may appreciate your good heart and determined soul. Be the woman your mother wanted you to be.

She called you Phryensh`a, and told me it was the old northern tongue for Princess. I find it hard to imagine you in a gown or jewels, but it is your destiny. You are heir to a throne beyond the mountains, in a realm no one even knows of. Go, Xylia, and see what the fates have in store for you. You have always been too good for this village, for The Draca. So, go north, find your father, and tell him I’m sorry for taking his wife and his daughter. I believe in you, Phryensh`a Xylia Ileana Alewyne; daughter of the frozen flame.

Always,
Uncle Ashforth.

The silence hung heavy like the morning mist over the harbours, and Xylia read over her uncle’s last words to her once more on her own before folding the letter for what would be the final time, slipping the paper back into the thick envelope and returning it to the safety of her satchel. Her newly discovered secret was no longer a secret. She felt as though she had just peeled away her skin before the others and revealed her insides to them. Her beating heart pumped hard in her chest and she thought they could see it through the solid ribs that kept it safe. Bare and exposed, nerves stripped back for prodding, she was waiting for someone to speak, to jolt life into her with anger or mockery. It all felt like some awful joke to her. She was nothing, after all. A northern abomination of an orphan who could hunt with a dagger, but was almost entirely terrible with a bow and arrow. She was not royal material at all.
“I didn’t know ice dragons were a thing.” Julius mumbled, staring blankly ahead.
“They were rare. And they are believed to have died out long before their fiery cousins, but they were definitely a thing.” Allela responded, peering over the edge of the cart to gauge their location. The air around them was getting cooler. “Else we wouldn’t exist.”
“You never know?” Taiden’s focus was on Xylia, concern in his eyes lit up by the flickering candlelight.
She shook her head and met his gaze timidly. “Not until I read that letter in Misthaven.”
“And that’s when you became determined to remove Devanna at any cost; including your own death.” For Taiden, the puzzle was no longer a puzzle. The pieces were in place, and the picture was clear. Xylia had been scared, and shocked by the truth of her own life. Death had been an escape that meant she didn’t have to face up to it.
“I’m not royal.” She whispered, on the verge of crying again.
“You are.” Allela stated firmly. “And for seventeen years your people have not forgotten about you; not for one single day. They have always lived in hope that you would be returned to them.”
Xylia dropped her head to her hands and sighed deeply. Hearing that she was revelled by people who didn’t even know her didn’t make her feel any better. It just added to the burden. What if she wasn’t good enough for them? What if they expected some beautiful maiden already cut out to fit their perfect image? She was going to let them all down. Queen Devanna and now the Empress Loreina were still out there, still in control of Lyris and beyond. They could come after her, too. And Taiden. He was hurt saving her, and now more people might offer their lives for hers. All because she had a title and they expected her to be their sovereign. She wasn’t great, she wasn’t beautiful, she was just a girl with a dagger and ice.

Her chest was tight and heavy, and the darkness was making it harder to breathe. Xylia wanted to throw herself from the cart, but at the very moment she thought about doing so, the darkness gave way to blinding whiteness. Everyone shut their eyes as the cart emerged out of the side of a cloud high mountain, slowing just enough for them to adjust to the painful daylight. The watery sunlight was brighter than in Lyris, but only because of how it reflected from the glittering white snow. The ivory blanket covered everywhere they looked, from the peaks of the tallest mountains behind them, to the edges of the crystal blue ocean on the horizon. It twinkled under the warm sun, but never melted, and the icy air bit at Taiden and Julius, prickling their body hair and forming goosebumps, but Xylia felt nothing. To her it was cooler, but not at all cold. It was the first sign that she was from here; that her uncle’s words really were the truth.
“Welcome,” Allela began, gesturing to the grand city towering before them in the distance, “To the Xeo City, and the Kingdom of Fallycia.”