The Poison Prince

MORNING came slowly in the north. Xylia was awake and pulling on her soft leather boots before the sun was peeking over the tops of the trees. She wanted to go deep into the forest, and that meant an early start. If she could bring home a good haul today, then maybe some of the spirits in the village would be lifted. It wouldn’t be much, but it might be something at least. The last few nights had been some of the most depressing nights in her memory. No one lit a light in their homes and her uncle just sat and stared at the fireless hearth in silence as though the answers might come from the cold, damp ashes. Tristan’s death had reminded everyone of their plight, and everyone had gone to sleep with a dark cloud over their head, wondering if Death might come to collect another life debt anytime soon from their people. It was like The Draca were finally giving up on themselves, Xylia had found herself thinking.

“You’re forgetting your cloak.”
Her uncle’s gruff voice startled her as she reached for the rusty handle to their hut and Xylia turned around to glare at him for sneaking so silently into the room like that. He did it all the time and it always annoyed her. Her eyes travelled to the cloak hanging to the right of the door, the coarse brown fabric frayed and patched more times than she could recall.
“It’s going to get in my way in the forest,” she stated, her eyes still glued to it, knowing what her uncle was about to say next.
“You’re the last thing folk are going to want to see right now,” he walked to her with heavy steps now, his weariness showing in his features as he pulled the cloak from the hook and shoved it into her hands forcibly. “You survived your sickness, Xylia, and it’s there for all the burning world to see. The Draca see those scales and think you’re rubbing it in. ‘Look at me; I survived and you can’t’.”
Xylia brought her hand up to the right side of her neck slowly, her fingers rubbing over the raised, but smooth ebony scales that stood out from her snowy skin. “I’ve never thought that. I’d never say that to them.”
“We both know that, but folks in this village don’t. Mutts are beneath them, and most mutts don’t live once they get sick. Those who do are worse than the ones who die.” Her uncle only told her what The Draca had always believed, but it still cast doubt in Xylia’s mind. Did he think the same of her? “Keep covered up out there. Out of respect for Tristan if nothing else.” He slunk over to the small stove and busied himself boiling some water and choosing between the only two eggs they had left.
Xylia nodded her head and fastened the ratty cloak around her shoulders. She pulled the hood up over her head and let her fingers linger on the scales once more. They started at the hairline at the back of her neck and curved around to her collarbone. Only three thin scales wide they were permanent remains from an illness she suffered when she was only an infant. She had no recollection of it, but it was the same disease that typically claimed the lives of mutts like her; a fever wracked the blood and scales swathed the body until the child couldn’t breathe anymore. Xylia had been one of the rare few to survive, fighting off her own fever but keeping her blackened scales.
“I’ll be late back tonight,” she said, and noticed her uncle didn’t look at her again before she left the small hut they called their home.

The village was void of all colour as Xylia slipped by the silent cottages and huts, keeping her movements slow and steady. She didn’t want to be careless and trip over a loose cobblestone now. This was another mournful sunrise, and even the birds knew it, for none of them sang with the dawning of the new day. She vanished into the forest like a ghost and was swallowed whole by the trees in seconds. Only then did she lower the hood on her scratchy cloak. No one would see her in here; no one ever did. Xylia treated herself to a breakfast of berries that she knew were safe to eat, staining her fingertips and lips a dark red with their juices. She wiped her hands on her linen shirt and smeared some of the juice on there, not caring about ruining it. She suspected that by the time she returned home she would have more than berry juice ruining her clothes.
The deeper she went, the darker it got. Her eyes adjusted well enough and she had her path almost perfected by now. He had once thought her uncle cruel for casting her out into the forest the way he had done when she was still a child, but now it meant that she knew it well enough now and didn’t fear ever getting lost. There wasn’t a lot that Xylia was arrogant about, but her knowledge of the forest probably brought out the worst in her. She spent some time setting up traps for the smaller animals, making sure the snares were not going to fail after she continued on her way. Her plan was to do as much hunting as she could without her bow; it was her weakest weapon, as unbelievable as that was for someone who called themselves a hunter.
Still, she managed to do enough with it, though she often frowned and glared as she took aim with her home crafted arrows. Everything she knew she had taught herself. Her technique was flawed because no one had taught her what she was doing wrong, and no one ever would. She was not worthy of being shown the correct way. Xylia hid in the bushes, thorns scratching at her skin as she lay in wait, her thoughts always circling back to how she was nothing more than a mutt. For as long as she had wanted to prove herself better than that, a little voice always came back to tell her it was always what she would be; and nothing would ever change it.

Something rustled by the brook to Xylia’s left. She turned her gaze and took her aim. Breath held in her throat she waited for the right moment and then released her arrow, cursing when she missed completely. The frightened rabbit bounded back into the bushes and Xylia glared at the treacherous arrow embedded into tree bark instead of the woodland creature.
“I can’t eat Maplewood,” she snarled, yanking it from the trunk and tossing it back into her quiver. That was enough of her bow for now, and she shrugged it over her shoulder and decided to check on some of her nearby snares until she had calmed down.
She was emptying the third of her snares when she distinctly heard voices approaching. Xylia pulled her hood up and quickly tossed the empty snare into a Hawthorn bush and then hastily climbed high up into a tree to hide herself. No one came this deep into the forest and she had never encountered anyone in here before. Cautious, she pulled her dagger from her waist and clutched it in her hand.

“Your highness, if we continue much further we’ll reach the mountains and the edge of Lyris.” The first voice sounded weary, even irritated to be out so far.
“Then we must be close!” The second was the complete opposite. Xylia wasn’t used to hearing such enthusiasm or optimism and her brow furrowed in curious confusion.
“We have been travelling for three days now and we have seen no one. These forests go on and on.”
Two men on horseback came into her vision and she tensed up, ready to fight if she had to. She knew instantly that they were not of The Draca, but they were also not from any of the near villages. They spoke with pronounced accents, and though one was hidden in a cloak as black as coal, the other wore chainmail more splendid than she had ever seen before. No, they were not from around these parts.
“And so do you it seems. Tell me, Julius, were you always so dreary? I don’t ever recall.” The man in the cloak pulled on his reigns, dismounted, and crouched by the brook to splash some water on his face, gulping some down from his cupped hand.
A long, sullen sigh, and then the man in metal spoke again. “I just think that we should be prioritising other things. The Queen’s Banquet will be here before we know it. And the queen will be aware of your absence now.”
The man in the cloak laughed loud enough that birds above Xylia were startled from their nest. The men looked up and she froze. “Am I crazy, or…is someone up in that tree?”
“You are, and…is there?” The man in chainmail squinted and climbed down from his horse to look more closely.
She pressed herself against the bark and held her breath. She didn’t see the rock until it skimmed past her nose and then she wobbled, losing her balance. Xylia grabbed at the branches as she fell, but only scraped the skin off her hands as she tumbled roughly to the soft moss below, landing hard on her back. She felt some of her arrows snap in her quiver on impact and the air was completely knocked out of her body as she blinked up at the canopy of evergreens.
“There was someone up there!” The cloaked man cried in delight.
“You did not need to throw a rock at them. Are you alright, miss?” The chainmail clinked as he extended a hand to Xylia on the ground.
She blinked at him for a moment and then one by one her senses came back to her and she grabbed the dagger laying loosely at her side. “What the hell did you do that for?!” She turned on the cloaked man, jumping to her feet quickly and ignoring the aches that shot through her willowy limbs. She almost didn’t notice the other man pull a sword on her.
“I wanted to know if someone was up there or if I was seeing things. It’s been a long journey and I wasn’t sure if hallucinations were a real thing,” he shrugged casually and then turned to his companion, “Julius, put the sword away. I do in fact deserve this scolding. I threw a rock at her.”
“She’s got a dagger pointing at you, your highness.”
“At least the dagger isn’t in me, Julius. Now come on, put it away.” Julius reluctantly sheathed his weapon, but kept a cautious eye fixed on Xylia all the same. “Please, forgive me, Miss, I can be a little impulsive sometimes. I don’t think my actions through very well.”
“I can see that.”
“Maybe you can put that dagger away and we can start again?” He asked hopefully, a wide smile on his handsome face. “You’re sort of hidden behind that hood of yours, and we don’t know your name.” It was clear to Xylia that charm was not this man’s forte, but she was not stupid. They outnumbered her and they had horses. If she ran they could catch her, even with her knowledge of the forest.
“I’m Xylia.” She pulled her hood down and put her dagger back into the small leather sheath.
“Pleasure, I’m Tai-den.” The man blinked at her slack jawed for a little longer than was comfortable.
“Sire?” Julius stared at him with guarded curiosity, his gaze flickering briefly over Xylia as though she might suddenly bite one of them.
“’Brown hair, eyes like ice’.” Taiden whispered, not once taking his eyes off her. Then he suddenly snapped himself out of it and smiled again. “Prince Taiden, yes.”
Xylia looked at him with suspicion. “What would the prince be doing all the way out here? We have no nobility in these parts.” She had heard the rumours about the Prince of Lyris and the games he played with poison.
“Is that how you speak to your Prince?” Julius asked darkly, shocked at how this girl showed no respect to her future king.
She scoffed at him, sneering at the thought of curtseying to the man who had knocked her out a tree with a rock. “We’ve been left to die out here for years. Forgive me if I don’t fall into a giggling heap at the mad prince.”
“No, forgive my Captain. Julius is struggling to stay incognito on this little journey of ours,” Taiden was quick to interject before Julius could reprimand the young girl again, “what do you mean ‘left to die’?”
Xylia sighed and shook her head at him. “You’ve heard of The Draca, right?”
“Of course. They’re legendary.”
“And soon that’s exactly all they will be,” she took a deep breath and met his inquisitive gaze, “there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anybody can do. The Draca are dying. They’re being wiped out by disease. Still, to be shoved into the corner of the kingdom and ignored is just disgusting. They deserve better.”
“I had no idea.” Taiden confessed quietly.
“I don’t think many do.” Xylia said with a soft shrug, “like I said; it’s over for them.”
“But there has to be something.” It was Julius who spoke, and the softness in his voice surprised Xylia slightly.
She shook her head again and crossed to the stream to get a drink of the cool water. She used her sleeve to wipe her mouth and then looked at the captain with solemn eyes of ice. “Healers have come and gone from across Lyris. There is no one else like The Draca. No one can cure them. They simply get sick and then die.”
“How far are they from here?” Taiden asked her, the humour gone from his face now.
“About five miles in the direction I’m going.” Xylia told him, though she was unsure if she wanted to take the prince of Lyris and his captain to the village. She wasn’t sure if that would work in her favour or alienate her even more from the people there.
“We will accompany you.” Julius declared, mounting his horse although Taiden chose to walk behind Xylia. “We should pay our respects to the people even if we can do nothing more. Besides, it’s late. We need to rest before we carry on our journey. And forgive me, your highness, but I would prefer an actual bed tonight rather than the grass.”
“With all your complaining anyone would think you were royalty, Julius.” Taiden smirked.
Xylia shot him a wary glance, and made sure to keep her hand on her dagger as she led them back to the forests towards The Draca village.

Julius kept his eye on the tall young girl and waited until he felt certain she was out of earshot for the moment. She kept wandering slightly off the trail and then reappearing a little further ahead of them with her satchel bulging a little more than before. It was no great secret that she was a hunter and sneaking away to collect her bounty. At least her momentary excursions provided him with a chance to talk to the prince in private.
“Your highness, about the girl-“
“It’s her! I know it is!” Taiden whispered gleefully, his eyes alight with boyish excitement.
“Her? What her?”
“The one we’ve been looking for!” Taiden watched as Xylia glanced back over her shoulder at them and then sidestepped neatly into a line of bushes, vanishing once again to retrieve another bounty from somewhere. “The seer said she had eyes like ice and brown hair!”
“Your highness, I’m sure many people could fit that description.” Julius wavered slightly. There was something about Xylia that he didn’t like. He didn’t want the prince running off with her, or whisking her back to the castle like some new favourite toy.
“But how many have we met since we left?” There was a crackling up ahead and then Xylia came back out from the undergrowth, a twig tangled in her hair that she didn’t notice.
“The seer speaks nonsense.” Julius mumbled to himself. He still felt like this was a wild goose chase, a quest for nothing.
“Are you two done whispering back there? Because we’re here.” Xylia stopped and waited for them to catch up to her, then she gestured with her head to the settlement now in sight. The two men took in the shingled houses with their mismatched roofs of thatch and mason work. The bland array of buildings and shops were set up in such a way that it was painfully obvious no one had come to visit or trade in a long time. Xylia shrugged her thin shoulders and then blew out her breath. “Welcome to the village of The Draca.”