His Worst Memories

FYI: I hate February. Just do. It's a horrible month where most things just go wrong. My computer had to be fixed, the family car has to spend a week in the shop, a computer monitor has died, and school seems determined to get all the blood out of me that it can. As I said: February stinks. So, I think it's appropriate for Martin to relive his worst memories this last Friday of this deplorable month.
***********
“Nightmare Dust?” the pretty research spy repeated, frowning. She glanced up to Abigail. “What does that mean? I’ve never heard of that poison.”

Any blood that had been in her face drained completely. Abigail suddenly stood. “Guards!” she ordered, her head spinning by the sudden turn of events. “Get all these men to a locked ward! Someone send word to Healer Smith. Get him here quickly!”

“Your Majesty?” Notment asked, coming out from behind his hiding place under the table. “What is it?” Abigail glared at her advisor. She was going to have a serious talk with him about what he had done and revealed that day.

“Nightmare Dust,” she spat. “Healer Smith sent me a warning today that the Venterians have it again. Someone got the formula.” Though how Martin recognized it was a mystery to her; he was never told about it.

“Nightmare Dust?” Councilor Carmen asked, her eyes wide with horror. “What is it doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Abigail growled. “But I want these men in a locked ward NOW!” The knocked out guards from the hall were already being moved.

“What is everyone talking about?” Sona asked. The queen eyed the pretty spy. The girl looked worried, her gaze lingering on the fallen young man who saved their lives. The queen sighed. Hiding the truth from her would hurt more than knowing what Martin would be going through the next twelve hours.

“A poison was created to destroy moral,” she spat. “It was created under our nose. In a very real sense, anyone forced under its unnatural sleep will relive their worst memories for the next twelve hours.”

Sona gasped, her wide terrified eyes turning back to the Alex. As if to confirm her words, the young spy shuttered violently in his enforced sleep. “No,” he moaned. “Please, no!” Suddenly he screamed, a wrenched sound from deep in his throat that everyone flinched to hear. Abigail gritted her teeth. What horrors was their Alex reliving?

“Get him out!” she snapped at the guards who just arrived. “Let him suffer in peace!” The guards were quick to obey, grabbing Martin by the limbs and taking him from the room. The spy fought against their hold. “NO!” he yelled. “Leave me alone!”

“Now do you understand?” the queen asked softly to her council as the sounds of Martin’s screams grew distant. “Now do you understand why Jonathan and I wanted that formula destroyed?”

No one answered her, most looked down at their feet ashamed. Sona had paled with the news. Shaking fiercely, the pretty researcher walked to the closest chair and sat, running a hand through her brown hair. The queen wished she too could sit, but she had to remain standing. She had to take command with everyone’s nerves shaken.

“Do you think Healer Smith can find an antidote?” Notment asked.

Abigail sighed deeply. “I don’t know. He couldn’t last time.”

No one tried to give an optimistic opinion. Smith was a well known research Healer. If he couldn’t find an antidote before, how could four years offer any difference?

“I’m surprised by that young man,” Councilor Bennett said, stroking his fat chin. “The way he acted, you wouldn’t have suspected he could fight like that. He was just too… relaxed when talking to us…” The other councilors muttered their agreement.

“Martin has a lot of potential,” Sona said softly. The councilors quieted their conversations. Abigail didn’t interrupt the girl; the research spy knew more about Martin than any of them. “He’s worked hard to get the Alex title.” Sona sighed, rubbing her temple. “I can’t help but wonder how hard it’s been on him, knowing that he might be the prince.”

“I think,” Abigail added softly, “that all our potential princes are like that. They all were working for a future, some having achieved it. How bitter have they been all their lives? Watching as others seem to breeze through life and they having to work hard to achieve the same life?” She shook her head. “We cannot simply find the prince and immediately bring him here. There needs to be another plan.”

All winter long, her councilors demanded that when they found the prince, he be brought to Nacre to begin his life as a prince. Abigail tired to argue with them, but they wouldn’t listen. Perhaps now, after one of their possible princes just saved their lives, a job he told them he enjoyed, they would listen to her. Glancing up to see their ashamed expressions, Abigail thought she finally won the debate.
*************
Healer Smith was at the palace within the hour. He went straight to work on the five men who had been poisoned. The two guards at one of the outside gates, the two from the queen’s office, and Martin. Abigail had insisted on seeing the Healer shortly after he examined the patients. Sona had also insisted on coming. Abigail only smiled at the demand and allowed the pretty research spy to follow. Only a matter of time before she grabs him.

They sat outside the locked ward, listening to the rain pound on the stained glass windows. Abigail felt a bit annoyed by the rain’s arrival. It only made the atmosphere more depressing than it already was.

“He’s been in there a long time,” Sona whispered. The queen glanced down at the girl. Sona sat very still with her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands, and her worried eyes never leaving the door. Abigail could sympathize with how she felt. The queen could remember when she sat the same way, waiting for the news about a loved one.

“Healer Smith knows what he’s doing,” the queen assured her, patting her slumped back. “He just needs some time.” Sona nodded, but did not look at her. Abigail sighed. Yes, she knew that feeling too well.

The rain continued through the next hour when the research Healer finally came out of the room. He rubbed his tired face as he quietly closed the door. “That formula should have been destroyed.” Abigail snorted softly to herself. Yes, it should have. The Healer bowed to her.

“Your Majesty,” he said, rubbing his eyes again. “There’s not much I can do. I’ve given the men something to help them rest easier, so they’re not thrashing as much, but I don’t know what’s going on in their minds.”

“So there’s no antidote?” the queen asked softly, fearing that was to be the answer all along.

“I hoped I could find one,” the Healer sighed. The door opened again and a younger man, Smith’s assistant, joined them. “But there simply isn’t.” He glanced back to the locked ward. “We’re trying to make them as comfortable as possible. Though,” he flinched and did not continue.

“Though what?” Abigail asked, getting worried.

The Healer flinched again. “We had to restrain Martin.”

“What?” Sona demanded to know, standing up. “You restrained him?”

“We had no choice,” the young assistant said apologetically. “He was literally fighting us. Even after we gave him the suppressant, he was still kicking and hitting. It was for our safety, as well as his.”

“Not only that,” Smith muttered, “he’s having a strong reaction to the poison. He’s already raging a fever, and the fever usually doesn’t start until later, when their bodies are trying to expel the poison from their systems.” Smith shivered. “Then again,” he said softly. “He did have a fever when he first came here…”

Abigail sensed that the Healer was holding something from them. “What was that last part?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. The research Healer shivered under her gaze. “Do you know the memories that Martin’s reliving?”

Smith grimaced. “Yes, in a sense,” he reluctantly answered. “I… I was here when Fred Chief brought him here. Martin… wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“I know,” the young assistant added, shivering himself. “There’s a reason why his early records are locked up.”

Queen Abigail frowned, but before she could ask them to clarify, Sona rounded on the two men.

“What?” she asked again, this time anger in her voice. “His records are locked?” Abigail knew that the research spy had been having a difficult time trying to find Martin’s first records, but she had dismissed it as a mere misplacement.

“Sona,” the queen intervened, standing and placing herself between the men and the flustered young woman. “I’ll deal with them. You go to bed.”

“But!” she started to protest when the queen held up her hand.

“No buts,” she said firmly. “We’ve all had a long day. It’s nearing midnight and Martin won’t wake for another ten hours. Go to bed. Tell Mandy, she’s my personal maid, that you will be staying with her tonight.” She glanced out to the still pouring rain. “I don’t want you out in that, at any rate.”

“But, Your Majesty,” Sona still protested.

“Go,” Abigail said softly, laying a hand on the girl’s sagging shoulders. “You need rest. I’ll get the information you need.”

Taking a deep breath, Sona finally curtsied and left. Abigail waited for the spy to be out of hearing before turning to the two quivering men. “I repeat her question,” she said softly, though her tone had a hard edge to it. “His records are locked?”

“It was a decision we all made,” Smith answered, fidgeting. “Martin, Fred Chief, myself, and the healer who treated him. Martin’s wish was the strongest though. He didn’t want people to know. As I recall, Martin fought hard against Suit from reading it, and afterwards, Suit wished he had listened.”

Abigail frowned. She knew Martin didn’t like talking about his past. It had taken an order from her for him to relate just the bare facts about his life on the streets of Loman. “I want to see him.”

Smith exchanged nervous glances with his assistant. “That’s not a good idea,” the research Healer told her. “We’ve placed him in a separate room from the others. Only Sean and I are allowed to treat him. Not that there’s much we can treat at this moment…”

“Martin saved my life this evening,” she said through her gritted teeth. “I demand the right to see him.” It was an order from their queen. They had no choice but obey. Flinching, the two men led her into the ward.

The four other men tossed and turned under their sheets, moaning and groaning. One was shedding tears. Four other assistants helped treat these men, sat by their sides and talked quietly to them. “We’ve found,” Smith explained before she could ask, “that if we talk calm things to them, they seem less bothered.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “But if only you two are supposed to treat Martin, why aren’t you by his side doing the same?”

“Because it doesn’t help,” the assistant answered. “The poison has a strong hold in him. There is very little we can do for him.” Smith took out a key and unlocked the door at the far end of the ward. Abigail could hear Martin crying. She hesitated before the door.

He didn’t want people to know… She was torn for a moment between respecting his wishes and her own concern. Shaking her head firmly, she stepped into the room.

There was only one bed in the small chamber, and the assistant walked to the bedside, taking out a wet cloth and wiping Martin’s sweat soaked head. Abigail froze as Smith closed the door behind them, horrified at what she saw.

Martin had been strapped to the bed, he struggled against the bonds. “No,” he groaned, his close eyes searching the memories they could not see. “Please… Stop!” His entire body glistened with sweat, the sheets only pulled up to his waist. For an idiotic moment, the queen realized it was the first time she saw the young man without a shirt. She wished he wore a shirt now.

His arms were covered with ugly scars, some of them roping around his arms. Each time he turned to the side, she saw similar horrible scars extended to his back. Without knowing why she knew, Abigail knew the scars covered his entire back. She lifted a hand to cover her shocked expression. “Who would do something like that?” she asked quietly.

“We never got the name,” Smith answered, equally quiet. “The story that Chief gave me was that some soothsayer from Loman said that Martin had a great potential. A thieving lord heard it, and being one of the suspicious types, followed him back to the Stand. Once there, he kidnapped Martin and tried to take him back to Loman.” Smith paused in his story. He walked over to the bed and tried to pull the covers over Martin.

“As far as any of us could tell, Martin fought back and the thief lord… acted in response. Chief told me that he was sure if they hadn’t rescued Martin right then, the thief would have killed him.” Smith sighed, shaking his head. “Martin was unconscious by the time they rescued him, and the thief was killed trying to escape. They tried to bind his wounds at the Stand, but his injuries were too great, so they brought Martin here to Nacre. My teacher was the best wound Healer in Nacre and we both worked for a month to try to return his back to normal… but his injuries were just too great.”

The research Healer hung his head. “After Martin recovered to some extent, we all agreed that it would be for the best if no one knew of it. You may have noticed, but Martin doesn’t like to be sympathized and fussed over. He’s so used to working hard that to get anything without a reason makes him nervous.”

Abigail finally managed to control her expression again to a concerned, but not horrified, monarch. She lowered her hand from her set mouth. “No,” she agreed. “He doesn’t like sympathy.” She gazed down at the thrashing spy. He kept muttering pleas, and she found herself wondering how he went on living after such a traumatic event in his young life.

Before, she had known Martin only as a hard working spy, the Alex at a young age, a young man who could be her son. This story, however, opened her eyes to the real man who called himself Martin. He was a man who suffered and worked to achieve his dreams. A man who could not understand why anyone would want to simply like him. A man haunted by a painful past and was trying to put it all behind him. Is it any wonder he gets bitter each time we try to dig up his past?

“Very well,” she decided. “I won’t discuss this with anyone. You and the others were right to lock his records up. When Martin wakes, don’t tell him I saw him.”

Smith bowed. “On his behalf, I thank you.”

Abigail nodded sharply and left the room. No one would know of Martin’s locked records. She would see to it. Glancing out the window of the ward, she decided that the rain was appropriate for the mood.
***********
Martin woke up, a sob escaping his lips. He knew he had been poisoned with Nightmare Dust, but that didn’t help with his dreams. Twelve hours, he thought, slowly opening his eyes to the soft light of morning. It’s been twelve hours. Twelve hours he would rather never live through again. He shivered, trying to block the memory of getting beaten out of his mind. He spent the last nine years trying to forget that night and the last twelve hours brought it back in an all too real dream. He felt weak but he knew he had to get up. He tried to get his arms underneath him to push himself up but something stopped him.

Glancing down, he saw straps at his wrists, elbows, feet, knees, and waist binding him to the bed. Groaning, he laid his head back down on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. I must have caused trouble in my enforced sleep. That didn’t surprise him. He had fought back then, why would his dream be any different? He laid there for a time, wondering where everyone was.

The door creaked open and Healer Smith poked his head in. “Oh, good,” he sighed in relief, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “You’re awake.”

“Finally,” Martin sighed. He closed his eyes. “How many people saw?” His shirt was off; it would take a blind person to not see his back and arms.

“Just me and my assistant,” Smith replied, walking to the bed. He began to unbuckle the straps. “When I realized that we had to strip you, I ordered that you get a separate room to give you some privacy.”

“Your assistant?” Martin asked, raising his freed hand to rub his face.

“Yes,” Smith sighed, unbuckling the last strap. “He accidentally found your records while researching and read it. Since then, your healing record has been placed under strict guard. No one else has read it.”

Martin grunted as he managed to get to an upright position. “I’d rather no one read it, but that doesn’t matter now, now does it?”

“I guess not,” Smith chuckled weakly. The research Healer then sighed. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to find an antidote.”

“I’ll be fine,” Martin assured him, rubbing his sore wrists. “Just so long no one tries talking to me about it.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Smith said. Suddenly he smiled. “Though I doubt that the pretty young woman will take silence for an answer. She’s been waiting for you to wake up for the last hour.”

Martin frowned. “Pretty young woman? You mean Sona?”

“Oh, she has a name,” Smith chuckled. “She seems quite concerned for you. You failed to mention that you had a girlfriend.”

Martin shook and stared at the Healer. “Girlfriend? When would I have time for a girlfriend?”

The research Healer shrugged. “Then it’s none of my business. But I suggest you allow her to come visit you. If she stares at the door for much longer, she’s going to burn a hole through it.”

“Shirt first,” Martin said firmly. One thing he did not need was for Sona to begin really digging into his past. Smirking, the Healer handed him one. Martin grimaced as he put the shirt on over his sore muscles. “I was thrashing a lot last night, wasn’t I?”

“That’s why we had to restrain you,” Smith apologized. “Shall I send her in?”

Martin sighed. “Might as well.”

Chuckling, the Healer left. Martin glared after his retreating back. Why would Sona be concerned about him? He had only a moment to adjust the pillows behind his back before the research spy entered. Martin frowned again.

“Didn’t you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, pointing to the bags under her eyes. “I was the one who was supposed to have the horrible night.”

Sona laughed, rubbing her tired eyes. “You’re such an idiot.” She sat down on the foot of his bed with a sigh. “How are you doing?”

She’s really composed herself for someone who’s supposedly been worried for me, Martin thought. Though, she had the same training as him; she knew how to hide her emotions.

“I’m sore,” he told truthfully. Sona eyed him, suspicion etched into her fine features.

“They told me they had to restrain you,” she said causally. “I’m not surprised.” She smoothed the covers by her. “Though, I am surprised you got a room to yourself.” She glanced up at him through her lashes, her eyes searching his face. She was looking for answers he wasn’t willing to give.

Martin shook his head. “My worst memories are my own business.” She sighed and looked away.

“Fine,” she said softly. Then she looked at him again. “But just you wait. Someday, I will get your story out of you.” Standing abruptly, she left without another word. Martin sat frozen to the spot. The tone she used spoke volumes. Martin knew then that she wouldn’t stop until she did hear his story. He shivered. He was not looking forward to that day.
********
It was after lunch when Healer Smith finally allowed them to leave their locked ward. The other guards didn’t say much as they left, each with a haunted look to their eyes. Martin felt the same, but he knew no one could tell that from his expression. He didn’t let that night nine years ago break him. Now would not be any different. He had worked too hard to let something like that change his life.

However, there was another problem that kept nagging on his mind. The conversation the night before clouded his thoughts. Notment had been on to something. Deep inside, Martin knew that Notment was right. He was born with the renewal spell; he had the powers of the original Santers. For most of his life, Martin had always thought that the tales of the original Santers were exaggerations, distorted stories that got even more distorted with each passing generation.

It was said that they could change the land, Martin thought, walking out of the palace and into the huge gardens. Everything bloomed with the night rain. It was said that the very heavens wept when a Santer was hurt. Martin flinched at the thought. The storm had started shortly before he was poisoned and only stopped a half hour before he woke up.

What else can I do with these old powers?

Martin wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question. It was his grandfather who should have shouldered this power. Not him. Thinking of the old king, Martin suddenly changed directions and went to find the cemetery. He wasn’t sure what sparked his interest in seeing the man’s grave. The dead could not answer.

But his feet didn’t listen to the logic. It took a short time to get to the back side of the palace where the Santers buried their dead. Martin nodded respectfully to the guards at the gate before walking through the iron barred gate. The cemetery was open to the public, so anyone could pay their respect. Personally, Martin couldn’t stand cemeteries very much; he always felt as if he was angering those he walked over, their dead presence watching him.

Now was no different. If anything, it was worse. Martin shivered despite the warm sun beating on the back of his head as he walked among the huge tombs erected for dead monarchs. These were his ancestors and he felt inadequate to walk among legends and heroes. He could almost feel their spirits following him, measuring him.

Trying to shake the feeling, Martin quickly found the grave of his grandfather, King Bert Santer. His grave was much like the others. A large grey marble tomb caved with his life history. Martin studied the images, having learned some of them during his education. Bert was a peacekeeper, more treaties were forged during his reign than in the last hundred years.

Is that why he was on talking terms with Terk? Martin wondered, finding a scene of the old king greeting a Venter embassy, the Mad General shaking hands with the Aeternan king. Would Bert have trusted the Venterian enough to tell him about his expanding powers and the renewal spell?

Notment thinks that Terk kidnapped me because of my powers, because he’s power hungry. The answer did not sit right with him. No, Terk wasn’t power hungry. Oh, some would believe it because Terk was so bent on conquering Aeterna, but Martin knew different. Since the war started, Suit had him learn every aspect of the Mad General. Terk liked things to be in their place, anyone who tried to rise above their stations got his wrath. Martin felt a smirk on his lips. No doubt Terk would have been furious with the way he had led his life, working hard to achieve a very high position.

Terk kidnapped me for a different reason other then my strong Santer powers. But Martin had no way of learning the true reason. Terk hardly ever left a paper trail of his own doings. It had been a surprise to find the written documents to prove that the pirates had orders to change his face.

Martin stood there for some time, wondering about what he was going to do. His grandfather was terrified of the renewal powers and decided to ‘curse’ his unborn grandson with the powers. Martin opened himself to Nacre, feeling their uneasy of the attack the night before. They might not like the war, but Abigail was a good monarch and Sara would be too young to take the throne. The people certainly worry a lot.

Martin decided then that his grandfather was over reacting at his budding powers. He had dealt with worry his entire life; he could sympathize with everyone. Granted, being able to affect the land worried him a bit, but he pushed the concern aside. I’ll get worried once I start making volcanoes go off.

The familiar prickling of the back of his neck warned him of someone coming to join him at the tomb. Whoever was coming was nervous about approaching.

Notment.
************
Brain Notment approached the spy cautiously. He had just received word that those poisoned the night before had been released and Martin had gone off on his own. The queen’s advisor wasn’t certain why he wanted to talk to the prince alone, but he followed his instincts. They had to talk. He stepped up beside the prince, uncertain what to say first. Did Martin know the truth of his past?

“What do you want?” Martin suddenly asked, not even turning his head to look at him. His eyes were fixed on King Bert’s tomb. Notment flinched. He was told that it was hard to sneak up on the spy. A gift from his powers.

“I just wanted to know if you’re alright,” he answered, trying to pass off a casual conversational tone. “And to thank you for saving our lives.”

The unknown prince shrugged. “Just doing my job. Though,” he added off handedly, “it seems as if you would have different plans for me.”

Notment grinned weakly. Was he trying to say that he already knew the truth? “I don’t suppose you remember me,” he said softly, ignoring the spy’s comment. “But Chief introduced us, when you came here nine years ago.” Martin frowned but said nothing. Coughing, the advisor forced himself to go on.

“You were a surprising kid,” he admitted, not sure how he was going to approach the real topic he wanted to discuss. “Having survived so much…but still able to smile at the simple things.”

“Stop stepping carefully,” Martin told him, still not looking at him. “I know the truth of who I am. The question is, how did you know?”

Notment felt as if the prince slapped his face. Cringing, he forced himself to tell. “I can see a person’s magic. Quite honestly, I wondered why no one else sensed you. Santer magic is very unique, and in your case, powerful. When I learned of the Inhibitor, it made sense why. My Sight is powerful in its own way for me to have spotted you even with your powers blocked.”

He laughed weakly. “You’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell anyone when you first came. To be honest, because no one found you to begin with, I wondered if it was alright to reveal the truth. I didn’t know anything about you except that you are a fighter. I tried to learn more but I got distracted by being the king’s advisor, and then the queen’s.” Martin’s expression was blank, a perfect mask from one trained to keep his emotions to himself. Notment hated it; what was the prince thinking? Was he in trouble or did Martin just not care?

“Do you hate him?” Notment asked, referring to the dead king before them. Perhaps another topic would get the prince to respond. “If he hadn’t given the power up, you wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

Martin didn’t answer for a long moment. “No,” he finally said softly, his stony expression softening a bit. “I cannot hate him. He was only scared. I can’t blame him for that.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “However, I do blame you.” He did not explain what he was blaming Notment for, but the advisor didn’t need to have it explained to him.

“I hope you will forgive me,” he whispered, hoping that was the right thing to ask. For a moment, the prince did not answer. Martin finally spun around and started for the palace. He paused at his side, never once looking at him.

“I don’t forgive you,” he said softly, a hard edge in his voice. “I have spent my entire life wondering who I was, and I had to find out after nine years of hard work to become something they won’t let me be any longer the moment they learn the truth.” Notment cringed and turned to look at the prince. Martin finally was looking at him, his hazel eyes unforgiving.

“You could have told them,” he growled, his face darkening. “I could have been saved from the hard decisions I now face if you had told them and then they could have raised me like their proper child. Nine years of my life have been wasted, Notment, because of you. I cannot forgive that easily. It’s a good thing for you that I’m not ready to be prince yet. Otherwise, you’d find yourself wishing you had the courage to speak up sooner.”

Notment felt his knees shake as the prince gave him one last glare before snapping on his heels and leaving him alone. Sobbing, the queen’s advisor buried his hands in his face. What had he done?
************
Wow, I just realized that next week's post is going to be the last one from NaNoWriMo 2010. Fifty thousand words went by pretty quickly this time around. I need to get some writing done, and fast!

The Theory

Last week I introduced Brain Notment (annoying, isn't he?). I promised that he would get even more annoying. Brace yourselves. He's on the track of finding out the truth. To the story!
************
Because of Peter’s status as a guard at the palace, they were able to get into the Palace of Santers without going through too much security. Though Martin felt the eyes of the other guards on him when they walked in. Sona, of course, ignored the men and walked straight past them into the servants’ corridor beyond.

“All the palace staff know her,” one guard explained at Martin’s confused look. “And we know who she’s trying to track down.”

A guard gazed longingly after the research spy. “She’s a real special woman. Too bad she isn’t staying for longer.” Martin wanted to smack the silly look of the man, but managed to restrain himself. Why should he be protective of her? Wasn’t she complaining about how her family was overprotecting her?

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he followed after her, leaving the miffed Peter behind. No doubt the corporal would spend the rest of the day thinking of horrible things to call him once they get back to the manor.

“Well,” Sona said after they walked out of the hearing range of the guards, “I will be in the library for most of the morning. The queen will send for me there when the meeting is about to start. You should go report to her that you’ve arrived.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he answered. “Maybe I’ll join you in the library later?”

Sona smirked at his reply, and Martin once again wondered what she had in mind. “I’d like that. See you later!” She actually reached up and patted his cheek. Martin blinked and took a step back, surprised. She laughed at his reaction and left, waving.

“What does she want?” he muttered out loud, absently rubbing his cheek. He shook his head harder, he put the pretty researcher out of his mind and went for the queen’s office.

Walking through the servants’ halls, he kept glancing around at the people running around him. He knew it took several hundred people to run the palace grounds, and all for just one important figure.

One day I’m going to be one of those important figures. Martin stopped in his tracks at the thought. He took a new look at those around him. At the moment, they were absorbed with their duties; cleaning, repairing, cooking, tending, washing. No one stopped to look at him, or even ask what he was doing there, since he didn’t seem to be doing anything but walk. To them, he was a no one.

He bowed his head slightly, his stomach dropping. Someday, it wouldn’t be like this. One day, he was going to have to be their prince. One day, they would stop to look at him. One day, his life as a no one would end.

Could I be a someone? He wondered as he started walking again. He was just too used to being pushed aside, being insulted for things he never did. He was just too used to being invisible. Could I be their prince?

Walking through the busy servants, he wasn’t sure.
**********
Queen Abigail sat at her desk, feeling frustrated. She got a note earlier in the day that her head advisor wouldn’t be coming to the palace until late afternoon. His excuse had something to deal with research.

I’m surrounded by researchers, she thought, though the thought wasn’t bitter. It was because of research they had a list of two hundred young men who could be her son. Even so, the researchers had a tendency to get too engrossed in their work.

Not that I’m much different. Pushing the thought of her annoying advisor out of her mind, she put her efforts into the large pile of paper work on her desk. Though the House of People meet that day, she and other politicians did not attend all the meetings. There was work to be done outside the noisy hall of the House, and her work load was much larger than any of theirs. She was the queen with the responsibility of an entire nation on her shoulders. They only had to worry about their own county.

“Your Majesty,” Littleton said, knocking at her door. “Martin Alexson to see you again.” Abigail glanced up from her work. He was an hour early.

“Send him in.” Straitening from her work, she watched the Alex enter, his eyes immediately scanning her office. Her office was functional, the way she liked it. Everything had a place and a purpose. The books on her selves contained only those important to her as the queen; there was no time for entertained reading. The chairs, though pieces of art, were meant to be sat in, and many a meeting had taken place here. There were few paintings in her office, only the special ones that reminded her of why she was the queen.

Martin’s eyes passed by most everything, respect in his expression to see how she did not have a frivolous side, but then paused when he saw the picture of the Santer family. Abigail also glanced at it, feeling a pang of sorrow as she did every time she looked at the painting. It was done just a few months before her husband was killed. It was set outside in one of the gardens. Her Jonathan stood behind her and Princess Sara, his hand resting on her shoulder. Her gaze lingered on his face. It was such a strong face, with a firm jaw and piercing deep blue eyes. He wore no crown, Jonathan rarely did, but one could tell with his posture that he was a man used to power and used it well.

She and Sara sat on a large rock beside one of the natural streams that ran through their gardens. It was said that her daughter favored her more than her husband. In truth, Abigail could see her younger self in Sara. Including her stubborn attitude. But in this picture, they were happy. They were all so happy.

Sighing, she returned her gaze to Martin. The spy kept staring at the picture, a strange look of loss on his face. Abigail was confused about it until she remembered his background. He didn’t remember anything of his parents, it was believed they died in a pirate raid at Loman when he was just a young child. He had roamed the streets of Loman since without any sort of loving place to call home. He didn’t even have a name until he was almost five.

“You’re early,” she announced, breaking his gaze on the painting. The spy quickly adopted his reporting mask and didn’t glance back at the painting. He bowed to her.

“Sona’s cousin wanted to eat here,” he answered, standing back up.

“Oh?” Abigail asked, getting the hint of another story. “And have you eaten?”

“Before we even left the mansion.”

Abigail chuckled. Martin was an early riser. Suddenly she sighed, remembering the note she received that morning. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the meeting has been pushed back until later this evening.”

“Later?” he asked, frowning. “Why?”

“Advisor Notment said he needed to search something,” she explained. “What he’s trying to find is a mystery to me, but I will not start the meeting without him.” Martin narrowed his eyes, suspicious. As well he should. There was something else she and her advisors needed to discuss, and it involved the spy.

“In the meantime,” she said, pulling out some letters she had written the night before. “I was wondering if you would be willing to deliver these for me?” Martin eyed the letters but then walked across the office and took them.

“I’m to be a delivery boy now?” he asked, quickly glancing at the addresses.

Abigail smirked. She knew how the spy hated to feel useless. “It’s just to keep you busy until tonight. I don’t want you to get lost in the palace.” Martin snorted, his opinion about getting lost.

“Alright,” she corrected. “I don’t want you to become too familiar with the palace staff. I know nearly everyone’s top priority is the prince, but we have to think of the rest of you and your lives after we find the prince. I don’t want our Alex to familiar with others once he can get back to his life.”

Martin nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Well, then. I’ll get started.” Bowing to her again, he left. Abigail watched him go. She could only guess how hard this had been on the Alex. He was a hard worker and used to it. Suddenly having that taken from him and treated with care probably set his nerves on edge.

And what if he’s the prince? She wondered. She shrugged. We’ll work with it if he is. Sighing, she gazed down at her paper covered desk, wondering when running Aeterna had suddenly come to this.
**********
It was finally evening. Martin had spent all day riding through the streets of Nacre, delivering the messages the queen had given him. The spy in him wanted to read the contents, but he resisted the urge and left the letters alone.

I’ve got to start developing a sense of respectability, he knew. Just because he didn’t think he could be the prince Aeterna needed did not mean he couldn’t at least try to become more prince-like.

Instead of reporting to the queen again after he finished the work, he went in search of Sona in the library. Unfortunately for him, the queen was also there.

“Ah, Martin,” Queen Abigail said, grinning as he found them. “I was beginning to wonder where you had gone. How did everything go?”

“Oh,” he shrugged, “I had a couple of thieves try to steal my parcel, but they didn’t get very far.” He had broken a few fingers to keep them from trying again.

“I can only guess,” Sona snickered. The pretty research spy sat on a large stuffed chair surrounded by books. Shipping records. She’s trying to find my missing records. He wasn’t going to tell her she was looking in the wrong place.

“The meeting will be starting in an hour,” the queen told him. “Notment came back just a few minutes ago and demanded we start the meeting. I insisted that we enjoy dinner before we start.”

Martin frowned. “He demanded to start the meeting?”

“Notment sometimes gets a bit excited when he’s discovered something,” the queen sighed. “I’ve dealt with it in the past. I wonder what he’s found this time.”

“I hope he hasn’t found the prince,” Sona scoffed. The queen gave her a questioning look. “I want to be the one who finds him,” the research spy announced. Martin managed to mask his flinch as a sneeze. He was not looking forward to when she found out that it was actually him.

“Have you eaten dinner?” the queen asked. “Sona and I were just about to order some.”

Martin hesitated. “I think I’ll grab something on my own,” he said. “Quiet honestly, I’m a bit too nervous being around the both of you at the same time.” And alone at that.

The two women shared a mischievous smirk. “Very well,” the queen said, almost with a purr. “Meet in my office in one hour.” Martin bowed and quickly left. Though not quick enough, he heard their laughter at his sudden retreat.
**********
The queen was going over all the information they knew about the prince. Martin and Sona sat by the wall, watching as the various councilors argued about little bits.

“I feel sorry for the queen,” Sona said to him in a whisper. “She has to deal with these councilors’ own agenda on a daily basis. I don’t know how she handles it.”

Martin just shrugged. The queen had grown up as the daughter of a powerful noble house. She had learned politics from the crib.

“Well then,” the queen said, cutting a petty debate short. “We are agreed on events as they had been reported. Now, the young man responsible for returning the glove to us. Martin, the Spy Alex.”

Martin felt the surprised glances sent at him. He ignored the stares as he stood. The queen motioned him to join her at the head of the council table. Suppressing a groan, he joined her.

“Just tell them what you did,” Abigail whispered to him. “This isn’t going to be as painful as you think it might be.”

No, it wasn’t as painful. It was worse.

“We received intelligence that General Terk had something that concerned the Santers,” he started to say when one councilor raised a hand.

“Where did your source come from?” Martin narrowed his eyes. Wasn’t it enough for them to know they just got the information?

“We have several spies in Terk’s army,” he answered. “One even in Terk’s own staff. It was him who found out and reported to Suit about it. Suit in turn ordered me to go retrieve whatever it was because I was the closest spy in the questioned area.

“When I arrived to the said army, I snuck into the camp, found the command tent, searched it, and found a package marked ‘Dangerous: Santer Artifact.’ I then snuck back out of the camp and went to Dettis, where a certain artifact merchant, Piro, lived. I went to him and showed him the Inhibitor.”

“The man’s a known pickpocket,” another council member raised. “Why did you trust him with an answer?”

Martin took a deep breath. Why was it that nobles thought that thieves didn’t know anything? “Because he does know magical artifacts. He was the closest at the time.”

“Was time an issue?”

“Yes,” he answered, wondering why they wouldn’t let him just relate his report. “I had Venter soldiers on my trail and Suit wanted me back at the Tree as soon as possible.”

“Tree?” a council woman asked, her heavily powdered face frowning.

“The fort at which our spies reside,” Abigail explained. “That’s where Sara is currently.” The council nodded in understanding. It was no secret that the princess had started acting in a very un-royal like manner. It wasn’t surprising then to learn that Sara was placed under Suit’s protection. The Spy Master had ways of making even the most stubborn people straighten up their acts.

The queen motioned him to continue. “I went into his shop,” he went on, “and showed him the Inhibitor. He told me what it was and that it was suppressing some magic. Since I knew it was related somehow to the Santers, I asked if it could be turned off. He was able to do so.”

“Why didn’t you show him the glove?” asked a man with a large nose and dropping hair. “It was with the package, was it not?”

No, it wasn’t. But Martin wasn’t going to tell them that. No one knew he had the glove all his life; he had kept it a secret. It had been his lucky charm on the streets of Loman and carried it around since, a small part of him still believing it brought him luck. It was silly superstition. Well, it was silly superstition.

“I didn’t think it was important enough to show,” he answered with his usual shrug. It was the truth though. His lucky glove was not something he thought was important. It had no partner and seemed more worn than other gloves. Martin had always assumed he kept it because he was still suspicious. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he kept it because it was his Connection.

“It is an unremarkable glove,” Abigail agreed. “When the Seven Founders bound the magic of the land to the Santer line, they picked out the Connections to be common things in case a Santer needed to hide and it wouldn’t stand out. I don’t blame Martin for not turning it in. In fact, I am grateful he didn’t show it to Piro. I can’t image what would have happened if the truth about the Connection came to the general public at that time.” Her short speech cut their questions short about the matter. Silently, Martin thanked her for her intervention.

“After he turned the Inhibitor off, I returned to the Tree, gave it over to Suit, and he in turn gave it to the queen.” There. Perhaps that would end his part of this meeting.

“And then the list was made,” the large nosed man muttered, “with your name at the top.”

Great. They were going to be asking his opinions. Martin wanted to squirm, but stood at attention like he had been taught. He was to be the calm spy reporting, not a guilty prince caught lying.

“I thought they were making a mistake,” he told them. “And a part of me still believes that they have but…” He treated them to his most annoying shrug. “I do meet the requirements Sona had placed.”

“Yes,” Notment sighed. “We’ve already heard Sona’s report.” He nodded his head in the direction of the pretty researcher. “She is very through and we are very pleased with her work.” Sona beamed, though blushed a bit at the unexpected praise. The queen’s advisor leaned forward, his eyes intent on the spy. “But you’re honest opinion. Do you think you’re the prince?”

It was a question most asked him. Before he said he simply didn’t know. Not now. He knew he was the prince, though he wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with it. Martin paused before answering, what was Notment trying to get at? “The possibility is there,” he answered, carefully studying the advisor’s face. “I’ll be the first to say my past is murky, but so are another two hundred young men’s.”

“So,” another member piped up, putting his drink down, “you don’t dismiss it as improbable, but you won’t try to prove you’re the prince? Or at least start acting more like a prince?”

Martin frowned. “Why should I? I am already very successful, I enjoy what I am doing. The other young men on Sona’s list might also have lives they are satisfied with.”

“True,” Notment sighed. “But do they know the dangers that come with being the prince? Especially being the certain prince he is.”

Everyone in the room turned to the queen’s advisor, each expression varying from surprise to confusion. Queen Abigail motioned Martin to sit down, her suspicious eyes on her advisor.

“What do you mean?” she asked, slowly leaning back in her chair. “I assume that all the time you spent in the library concerns this matter?” Martin sat back down beside Sona, the pretty researcher sharing his confused look.

Notment stood up, bowing slightly to the queen. “With your permission?” She nodded her assent. “Members of the Queen’s Council, something has been troubling my mind ever since the queen came to us and told us that her son was alive. She has mentioned this question in passing, but none of us have a real answer.” He paused dramatically, taking a moment to look everyone in the eyes. His gaze finally lingered on Martin, if for just a moment longer before continuing. “Why had Terk kidnapped our prince?”

“Martin was sent to search for those answers,” the queen pointed out. “All he found out was that my son’s face had been magically changed so no one would recognize him as the Santer heir. The file he retrieved held no other information concerning what Terk wanted with my child.”

Notment actually snorted at the queen’s remark. “Perhaps that’s because Terk didn’t want the world to know why he wanted the prince.” He stepped behind his chair and began pacing around the table. “Let us review the facts. The prince was never held for ransom, his face changed, and we were led to believe that he was killed. The Mad General went through a lot of trouble to make sure no one would be looking for the prince. Why? Did he want to keep the prince? For what purpose?”

Notment paused to let his words sink in. Martin sank back in his chair. These questions had plagued ever since he learned the truth about his glove. Stop dancing around the matter, he thought impatiently. Just tell us what you’ve learned.

“This morning I went searching through the records,” Notment went on, “hoping that I would stumble on something. I started with the most recent records and started moving back.”

“Notment,” groaned the heavily powdered councilor, “we don’t need to know how you found the information. Even Sona was tactful enough to leave that sort of information out. So out with what you’ve found. We’re just dying to know.” The sarcastic tone wasn’t lost to the queen’s advisor.

“It’s actually important where I found the answer,” Notment said, not quite snapping but close to it. “The answer lies with the late King Bret.” The room buzzed quietly with the mutterings of everyone. Only Queen Abigail, Sona, and Martin didn’t share the quiet conversations. The queen leaned forward, resting her arm on the table.

“What does my father-in-law have to do with my son’s kidnapping?”

Distant thunder sounded outside. Martin looked out the window, frowning. He didn’t remember seeing a storm coming in earlier while he was delivering messages. This does not bode well. He had a sinking feeling that something was wrong.

Notment held up a finger as he walked back to his seat. He rifled through his papers until he found what he was looking for. He held up the old yellowed paper. “I have here an entry in King Bret’s journal.”

Abigail half rose out of her chair. “You went looking through the locked Santer papers?” she demanded to know, her eyes narrow with anger.

“I did it to find out the truth of your son,” Notment argued, flicking the paper out. He pulled a pair of glasses out of his front pocket and put it on the edge of his nose. “I will now quote from King Bret’s journal.” Thunder clashed before he went on, making Martin worry. This doesn’t bode well at all.

“’Apparently I have a power,’” Notment quoted. “’A power the Seven Founders knew that had to be renewed in order to protect Aeterna.’” The queen’s advisor paused, looking up from the paper to the confused expressions of everyone in the room. “This confused me so I went in search of the power he mentioned.” He put the journal down and picked another sheet up.

“The reason for the Connections was because the power of the land was too much for anyone, even the Seven Founders, to control,” Notment said.

“That is history we already know,” Abigail almost growled, leaning back in her chair. “Since then the Santers have had the Connections to help us with the power.”

“Yes,” Notment agreed, “but do we really know about the power?” He waved the new document before them. “This is a copy of one of the Seven Founders’ notes on the spell they preformed.” He nodded to Martin respectfully. “The Seven Founder was Martin Leaniten. His notes are the most complete there are on the spell itself, though the reading is a bit dry. It took some digging, but I found the power Bert was referring to.”

The advisor adjusted his glasses again and checked the document. “To put it simply…”

“As if Notment can put anything simply,” muttered Sona to him. Martin had to cover his laugh with a slight cough.

“The Seven Founders knew that the magic they mingled with the Santers would be diluted with marriages, unless the Santers started intermarriages.” Everyone in the room flinched, even the queen. “Once the Santer powers got diluted enough, the magic of the land would be set loose.”

“I don’t see a problem with that,” big-nosed councilor voiced, the others agreeing softly.

“It shouldn’t have been,” Notment pointed out. “But the land magic and the Santer magic got so mingled that they became one. Loose the Santers and we loose the land.” This subdued the debate, some with down cast eyes.

“So,” the advisor went on, “in order to safeguard our land against loosing the powers, the Seven Founders put in another spell. Every four hundred years, one Santer would be born with the original spell within them. And according to reports, the original Santers were extremely powerful.” He paused, the Queen’s Council hanging onto his words. “Powerful enough to affect the land.”

Martin felt his stomach drop and his heart jump to his throat. Is that why… He suspected he was more powerful than his mother and sister, but… I can affect the land?

“I thought we were talking about the prince,” a lady councilor pointed out, shaking everyone out of their stunned silence. “You’re implying that Bret had this power. What does that have to do with the prince?”

“I’m getting to that,” Notment promised. He picked up Bret’s journal again. “I continue with his entry. ‘Apparently I have a power. A power the Seven Founders knew that had to be renewed in order to protect Aeterna. It wasn’t until too late did I realize I was born with the seed of this power. The spell is renewed every four hundred years, no exceptions, and only renewed to one Santer. The four hundred years is coming again and I fear that I am the one to be renewed.

“’In the last two months I have felt my powers changing. I can’t quite describe what is different, but I feel the change. Instead of vague understanding of how the people feel, I know the minute changes. I know when most of Nacre is asleep or is upset with a bad storm. No one can walk into the room without me knowing who and why.

“’Jonathan tells me that I’m just exhausted with the approaching war. He doesn’t believe me. At times, I doubt my own sanity, but I know it to be true. The renewal of the Seven Founders’ spell has come to me.’” The queen’s office was quiet, no one even shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“That should have been the end of it,” Notment sighed, putting the paper down and picking up another, “but later I found this.” He held the paper out, squinting to reading it. Martin could tell the handwriting was horrible even from where he sat. “This was written two weeks after General Terk invaded. ‘I can’t take this power anymore. Each time Terk kills, something within me hurts. I can’t take it! So, it has been my decision to pass on the seed of power. I learned it not even an hour ago that I could. Jonathan can not take this power for me; I’m told he is too old for the power to take root in him. But the power has to go somewhere.

“’It is with regret that I place this power on Jonathan’s firstborn. I know that my son has just married, and I know the Healers say Abigail will have trouble conceiving, but the spell will not be deterred. I already know the power is gone from me and now grows within the child Abigail carries.

“’I am sorry, grandchild of mine. By the time you are born, the four hundred year renewal spell will take hold of you. I could not handle the power; it was too strong for me. I pray that you will fare better, since you will never know what it was like with the diluted powers. Curse me if you want, but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it.’”

Notment sighed, laying the paper back down on the table. “That’s the truth of it,” he whispered. “King Bret could not handle the renewal spell so he cursed in grandson instead.” The advisor looked up, locking his gaze on Martin. The spy stared back, unsure what else to do.

Martin had grown stiff with each word, something within in him dropping as the truth was slowly revealed to them. I have the same powers the Santers had when the first spell was cast. Things suddenly made sense. Despite his blocked powers, Martin had been able to use something of it. Without the block… He knew the entire city’s feelings, he knew more of the people around him… He had already used the magic of the land.

“You’re suggesting that Terk kidnapped my son because of this power?” Abigail suddenly asked, breaking the icy silence and forcing Notment’s attention to her. Martin shook his head out of the gaze. Why was Notment looking at him?

“Your son is powerful,” Notment pointed out. “And it was no secret that Bert was on talking terms with Terk before the war. He’s called the Mad General because he’ll do anything for power. He couldn’t take Bert, who had given up the power, but he could take the young prince and raise him to his fitting.”

“But Terk lost the prince,” one council member pointed out. “The spell pulled him back to Aeterna. Surely Terk would have known it was going to happen.”

Lightening flashed across the sky, illuminating the queen’s office. Martin jumped, Sona startled also at the clash of thunder. Martin shook his head. What am I feeling? He felt numb by the revelation, but something else nagged in the back of his mind.

“I agree,” Abigail said, her voice nothing but a buzz in Martin’s ears. The feeling of wrongness kept pulling on him. “My son would have been pulled back to us, even with the block.”

Martin suddenly stood, the need to act now moving his feet for the door. “Martin?” Sona asked, grabbing his arm. “What’s wrong?” He started to shake his head, about to answer that he didn’t know.

BANG!

A man dressed completely in black stood in the open door, knives in both hands. His eyes flashed from the slit in his mask as he spotted the queen across the office. He pulled his arm back, aiming it for the queen.

“Assassin!” someone cried out. Everyone clambered out of their chairs. Abigail ducked under the table just as the assassin threw his knife. Thud! It buried itself in the back of the chair the queen had been sitting in just seconds before. Martin didn’t waste any time gawking. Sprinting across the room, he grabbed the man by the waist and threw him to the floor.

“Ugh!” the assassin emitted before springing back on his feet. Martin leapt up, ripping his own knives out. Someone tried to catch his attention with his name, but Martin ignored them, his attention on the wary assassin before him. He had a slender build, though he moved with acrobatic grace. This man is a trained assassin. There was only one way to take care of a trained assassin. Take him out fast.

Martin lunged again, catching the killer off guard. The man stepped lightly to the side, brining a new knife into his empty hand. Martin spun to block the new attack with one of his own knives. Ducking under the swing of the other blade, the spy shoved the heel of his palm under the assassin’s jaw. The masked man stumbled back.

Before he could get his balance back, Martin dropped to the floor, kicked out, and knocked the assassin’s legs out from under him. Martin jumped on the assassin before he even hit the ground. He slammed his shoulder into the man’s back to keep him down. Grabbing the assassin’s arms and pulling them up so he couldn’t use them, the spy dug his knee into his back. It was a painful lock for the assassin. The man struggled against Martin’s hold, grunting as the spy pulled harder on his arms.

“Someone,” Martin grunted, “get the guards.”

“They’re knocked out,” someone answered him, their voice in hysterics. “They’re not answering us!”

“Then get more guards!” Martin snapped, struggling to keep the man pinned. The assassin suddenly relaxed, causing the spy to tighten his hold. He wasn’t going to fall for a surrender trick.

“Think you got me?” the assassin asked in a low voice.

“I’m working on it,” Martin growled. “Who sent you? Terk?”

The assassin chuckled softly. “Who else? Tell me, young man, why protect your queen?” Martin snorted. This man was talking to the wrong person to turn sides. I can’t turn against Aeterna even if I wanted to.

“That’s my business.”

“Your business,” he repeated quietly. “Then my business is to kill her. We’re at a stand still, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know about that,” Martin spat. “I got you down.”

“For now,” the assassin said, “but what about when you’ve got to let me up?”

“The guards will be here shortly. They’ll take care of you. In the meantime…” Martin pressed his knee harder into the man’s back, making the assassin bite back a grunt of pain. “I can handle you.”

“You’re good kid,” the assassin admitted. “But not good enough.” Martin frowned. What did that mean?

The assassin wrenched himself out of Martin’s grip by rolling onto his back. The moment his hands were free, he hit the spy across the face. Martin fell back with a cry, feeling something cut his cheek. His vision started to blur as he wiped the scratch, his hand coming away with blood. Why am I suddenly dizzy? Looking up, he saw the assassin stand up, his blade once again prepared to throw at the queen’s back. The spy tried to stand but could only get onto his knees. The queen was ordering someone who couldn’t see them.

NO! Martin acting without thinking. Taking a knife from his boot, he threw it into the assassin’s back. The queen turned around at the attacker’s sudden cry. Blood drained from her face as the man fell. Martin dropped back on the ground, his breathing becoming heavier. What’s wrong with me? In a moment, Sona was by his side, helping him lean back against the wall.

“Martin?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “Are you alright?” The queen joined them, kneeling beside him. Martin ignored the queen’s similar inquiry as he looked at his hand. A fine blue powder was smeared beside his blood. Martin glanced up to the queen’s worried face, his vision blacking out on the edges.

“It’s Nightmare Dust,” he said in a hollow tone. Great. The blackness finally took his vision and he slumped as the enchanted sleep took him.
***********
Poor, poor character. I'm not giving him any sort of break.

There you have it. Notment's theory about why Martin was kidnapped. I'm not saying if it's right or wrong, but it is very enlightening about Martin's power. Next week: Martin's time spent in the Nightmare Dust.

Brian Notment

Whew. It's been a hard couple of weeks without my computer. I think the total came to six papers written during the one and a half weeks I was without my laptop. Ugh. I really don't like using school computers. Thanks for waiting for my laptop to get fixed. Now I can spend more than twenty minutes online without it crashing. It's very nice.

But on with the story! (and remember, Mesa adventure is cut out. I "introduce" Peter again) Last week, I said that I would introduce a character that actually annoys me. I know his visit is short in this post, but his annoying-ness will crop up next week. But trust me. You'll be annoyed with him too before the end of this post.
*******
Abigail Santer, the Queen of Aeterna, dropped down into her favorite overstuffed chair, sighing as she took off the golden circlet from her pounding head. She knew when she married Jonathan that she would have to deal with the politics that came with being queen, but at times she wondered why the politicians couldn’t solve their own problems without getting the entire court involved with their petty disputes.

“Your Majesty?” her assistant, Madison Littleton, said, poking her head through the door. Abigail missed her usual assistant, but Shay had requested a vacation. And he deserves it.

“Yes?” she asked, reluctantly sitting up in her chair. “If it’s another noble wanting me to send troops to their lands, tell them to take it to...”

“They’re not nobles,” Madison cut in. “One is Sona Merette.”

“Then send her in,” Abigail said, sinking back down in her chair with a smile. Any conversation with the pretty spy was welcome. “And the other?”

“He calls himself Martin Alexson.” Abigail felt her grin widen, confusing her assistant.

“Send him in as well.” At last! Evan’s Stand was freed and the spy no longer trapped there. Her grin turned into a smirk as the two spies entered, bowing to her. She could only guess how Sona managed to get her arm around Martin’s. It had been quite evident that the young woman was completely smitten by the Alex.

I wonder how long it’s going to take Martin to realize she’s flirting with him, she chuckled to herself as Martin managed to recover his arm from the pretty girl. The betting pool that was going around the spy network was constantly changing with when the two would finally become a couple. Suit’s bet was that it would take another four months. Abigail placed her bet at two.

“Welcome back, Martin,” she said, nodding her head in acknowledgment. “How is everything at the Stand now?”

“They’re doing better since the Seacats left,” he said, standing at attention she had seen him do whenever he gave a report. “Right now they’re working on repairs. My guess is that by the end of summer it won’t look like there was a siege at all.”

“That’s good to hear,” she sighed. All winter long she had a vague sense of discomfort coming from the south. “How is Commander Gillian?”

Martin raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “He misses the sea.” Abigail nodded, not the least surprised. Gillian would have been admiral over the Aeternan navy if the Seacats hadn’t banished him from the sea.

“And how is Lord Cantry?”

Martin flinched, an action the queen was surprised to see from the spy. “He’s dead. A Venter soldier had killed him in battle.” Abigail sighed at this. So that’s the reason for the flinch; he didn’t want to report a dead noble.

“I’m going to have to name his successor,” she noted to herself. “He had no children…” She shook her head. “But that is a matter for later. Please, both of you, sit.” Sona immediately went for her favorite chair while Martin picked one where he could see the entire room, including the doors and windows. Abigail said nothing of it. He was a spy. He was trained to keep an eye out for anything.

“Since you are here,” Abigail said, nodding to the Alex, “I’m guessing that Suit’s letter finally found you. What did you get out of Suit’s short message?”

“That I’m to report to your councilors,” he answered, rolling his hazel eyes. “I wrote out a report.”

“I know,” she said, trying to extend her sympathy through her tone. “But they have questions and the only way they will be getting their answers is if they ask you personally.”

Martin rolled his eyes again, mumbling under his breath about a waste of time. Abigail once again had the impression that the young man had to be useful and doing something important otherwise he felt like he wasn’t doing his duty.

“And what else am I supposed to do?” he asked. Abigail could already tell that he suspected what was coming next.

“You’re on the list,” she said bluntly. “And while you aren’t the average man, they still want those listed men’s opinion. You’re just convenient.” Martin groaned. The queen smiled sympathetically. “I know you don’t like it, but it is your duty.”

Duty. It was the one thing she knew that drove the young man. His duty came first. He considered himself a failure if he could not do what he felt was his duty. As she guessed, his face darkened at her subtle jibe.

“I will do what I must,” he said, glaring down at his feet. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow, sharing a surprised glance with Sona. That last bit was unexpected. Martin rarely let others know his feelings.

“So,” he went on, casually moving on to the next subject. “Where am I going to be staying?”

The queen chuckled. “What?” she asked. “You didn’t automatically think you would be staying in the palace?”

The Alex’s expression was blank, a reaction she had been expecting. “No,” he answered. “I didn’t automatically think I would be staying in the palace. One, I would have to be housed in a guest quarters for my stay, since my visit will not be very long. Two, staying in such guest quarters will send rumors flying, which as the Alex I don’t need. And three, you are already under enough stress with the nobles interrogating about where your son is, and I won’t help their questions.”

The queen smirked. She knew the spy would catch all the reasons why he should not stay in the palace. He really had no idea how close he came to the statement relating about the nobles. They already started complaining about how long it was taking to find their future king. There were even whispers that the prince really died that night long ago and it was her last stretch of sanity.

I’m not loosing my mind, she thought bitterly to herself. Yes, I have lost my husband, but I will not abandon my nation for fantasies of the past.

“Sona’s cousin currently lives here in Nacre,” Abigail said, the pretty researcher smirking as Martin frowned at her. “He’s offered his home to house both of you.” Abigail grinned to herself as the Alex eyed the pretty research spy, his expression uncertain if he should like the situation he found himself in or if he should be horrified he would be in close quarters with her.

Oh, Martin, she thought, watching the silent struggle he had with himself. Your future is so full. It’s getting near time you start to enjoy it.

“Excuse me again, Your Majesty,” Littleton said apologetically, bowing as she opened the door. “Your advisor seeks your presence.” Abigail sighed, sinking deeper into her chair. Now what did the man what to talk to her about?

“Send him in,” she said, resigned to listening to whatever her advisor had to say. A man in his late thirties walked in, bowing to her as he entered. Brian Notment was perhaps the only man she knew who looked boring; even Martin’s common face had some character. Not her advisor; his dull hair lay limp on either side of his head, the top thinning with age. His face was once handsome but age did not treat him well. Lines circled under his eyes and lined the side of his face, causing his expression to look boring. Even when he spoke, his low voice and careful words could put anyone to sleep.

“Your Majesty,” he said, straitening. “I was told that you had a new visitor.” His boring brown eyes causally glanced to where the Alex was sitting. One of his eyebrows slowly rose, his expression not quite shocked. “I take you are the Alex? Suit finally admitted someone would be better for the title than himself?”

Martin smirked at the insult about Spy Master. “It took me eight years to convince him.”

Notment almost smiled. “Well, it was about time he moved on with his life.” He turned to Sona and bowed. “Lady Merette, it is good to see you as well.”

Sona nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Thank you. How is your wife?”

“She left early this morning to help with her aging mother,” Notment sighed. “I’m going to miss her while she’s away.”

“Sorry to hear about your mother-in-law,” the queen said, cutting the pleasantries short. “But you came in here for a reason?”

“Yes,” her advisor sighed. “I’m afraid it’s a matter that is going to have to do without the spies.”

Abigail sighed. While she wanted the spies to stay; it was quite fun watching Martin squirm with Sona’s flirting; but she knew her duty. Like Martin, duty drove her and made her life. Aeterna would always be her top priority.

“Very well,” she said, using her authority tone. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but I am required. I will meet both of you tomorrow around ten.” The spies stood and bowed respectfully, as expected from them. Without saying another word, they left, Notment closing the door behind them. Her advisor then sat down in his favorite chair and began rambling about whatever the matter was.

Oh, Jonathan, she thought, reviewing the reports Notment brought. You have no idea how much I miss you.
*******
The sun had set by the time Brain Notment finally started for home. The queen had patiently listened to everything he had to tell her, but had firmly told him it was past time for them to call it a day. Not that I blame her, he thought as he stood outside the House of People, waiting for his carriage to come. Winter had been rough. The war against General Terk wasn’t going to end, the major merchant port Evan’s Stand was under siege, food was running low, and the prince had yet to step forward and take his place.

Brain shook his head as the carriage arrived. “Good evening, sir,” said the footboy, jumping down from the step and opening the door for him. Notment nodded his thanks to the boy, climbing into the carriage. I wonder, he thought, watching the seemingly unremarkable boy close the door, how long it’s going to take for him to come to his powers. If his Sight was correct, his footboy was going to be a powerful mage some day.

Notment knew when he was young that he had a special gift, and unlike many of the great mages and other magic users, his gift was considered mostly useless. He could see the magic in others no matter how small, but could not produce any magic himself.

There’s a reason why Suit doesn’t set spies on to watch me, he thought, watching as the House of People disappeared from his sight. Magic for each person was unique, no one could fool him about who they were. Not even Martin. I wish he would hurry up and claim his rightful place as prince. But then again, he couldn’t blame the young man for not stepping forward.

It had been a quite a shock to his system when Fred Chief introduced him to the child nine years ago, a presumed street urchin from Loman. However, Brian could see past the common face and see the magic of the Santers in the boy. But there was something… different. Martin was not the same young prince, excluding his altered face. Oh, yes, the magic was the same, but Notment just couldn’t understand what was different about his powers.

It was because of this oddity that he did not reveal the true identity of the child from Loman. Besides, no one would believe him. No prince would have spent most of his life wandering the streets looking for half rotten food to eat and sleeping under bridges without some mage noticing his Santer magic. There was something wrong about the whole situation.

The queen’s advisor sighed, slumping down on the hard seat. Then came the news from six months ago, it had been just as shocking as when he first saw Martin nine years before. The prince’s powers had been blocked. And it was the self same prince who managed to unblock his own powers. Now the spy had finally come to report to the rest of the Queen’s Council to talk about his opinions about how they were going to find him out. But that was the least of the prince’s worries, though Martin may not realize it yet.

He’s more powerful than any Santer I’ve ever known. Notment shivered. How could that be? Brian did not meet the prince before he was kidnapped, so he couldn’t say if his magical abilities were already born to him that strong or if the magic had simply built up over all the years he had spent without them.

“Driver,” he suddenly said, an idea coming to him.

“Yes, milord?” the deep driver’s voice came from outside.

“Is the library still open tonight?” He needed answers before he could do anything about the prince. No doubt Martin would also like answers.

“Sorry, milord,” the diver answered. “But they closed early today for cleaning.” Notment groaned, thumping his back against the hard chair.

“Very well,” he said. “We will have to go in the morning.” Notment gazed out the window to the darkened streets of Nacre. Something was seriously wrong. He knew that the moment he saw Martin today and his unusually strong powers.

I will figure this puzzle out. Brain smiled to himself. Ah, puzzles, something he could really get his energies in. Now the problem was finding the true source of Martin’s power before Terk tracked the young man down himself.
**********

“And who’s this?” Peter asked, glaring down at Martin. Peter was a large man by any standard, standing at least a foot and a half taller than Martin’s average height. His build matched his impressive height, with broad shoulders and hard muscles. Even his orange hair made him stick out from any crowd.

“He is the man I was telling you about,” Sona answered, blushing at his hard greeting for Martin. Please be nice! she silently pled, but her cousin didn’t seem to get her message. “You said he could stay while he was here.”

“I hope it’s a short visit then,” Peter growled, turning on his heel and stomping back into the house. Sona turned to Martin, giving him an apologetic smile. He just shrugged and walked through the door, shouldering his pack to a more comfortable position on his back.

He’s just so used to people not accepting him, she thought sadly as she watched him take a quick glance around the entry way. How do you go about living when no one is willing to like you for who you are?

Perhaps it was because of his mysterious past.

Despite all her research, she could not find any information about his past, it was the reason why he made it onto her list of possible princes. And he never attempted to try to write down the events of his life. It was almost as if he wished it to be gone completely from his life.

And the records aren’t helping me either. His earliest records were when he arrived to Evan’s Stand, just a note of an extra passenger on Captain Gillian’s ship. Even then, his records don’t show up again until six months later when he joined the spy network.

Sona sighed. There was no point trying to get any information out of him at this time. He was a man used to having a shell around his emotions and past. It was further trained for him to have that shell for his work as the Alex. He was the type of man who was supposed to be invisible and unimportant. Despite making people assume he was unimportant, he was still dangerous. People had been known to die around the Alex. And I like him anyway.

“Your cousin has an impressive house,” Martin noted, lazily gesturing to the hallway. “I’m surprised he can stay here on a soldier’s pay. He’s a corporal, correct?”

“You’re power of observation lives up to your title,” she chuckled, brushing her loose hair from her face. “Yes, he’s a corporal. As to why he’s staying here, it is actually our lord’s summer home here in Nacre. When our lord found out that Peter was given a special assignment to work at the palace for a short while, he graciously let him stay here. Just so long as he doesn’t mess it up,” she added at Martin’s skeptical look.

“Given a special assignment,” he mused. “Since when was guarding the palace a special assignment?”

Sona about asked him why he hadn’t heard the news, but then realized that he was trapped in the Stand all winter long. He was missing an entire winter’s worth of news. “The nobles had been complaining about how other areas were getting special treatment in the war and having their young men work in the palace,” she explained. “The queen solved this by having each district of Aeterna send some of the soldiers to the palace to guard her. It’s only fair.”

Martin shrugged and let the matter drop. Sona expected this from him. She had little doubt that he would catch up on all the news in the next few days.

“And I’m sorry about Peter,” she sighed. “I’m afraid I have a very protective family. I’m the only girl born to them in the last hundred years.”

“Wow,” Martin replied, honestly surprised. “That’s a lot of men who want to protect you then.”

“Too many,” she mumbled. She had been expecting that Martin would not be well received by her family, though Peter’s greeting was harsher than she had been expecting. To them, he was a no one, a man with no past, no family, and therefore with no future. I’ve just got to get them to see the man I see in Martin.

It had been two years since she developed her attraction to the young spy when his reports after the war started began to cross her desk. Reading his reports always led her on grand adventures, even the most boring retrieval missions. He knew how to write! His bravery and dedication caught her attention. It wasn’t before too long when she realized that she had a crush on him, joining the dozen other girls who found Suit’s apprentice attractive.

Not that he knew it. He was too busy being Suit’s apprentice. Now that he was the Alex, she was determined to make him see her. It’s going to take time, my Martin, she thought as she led him to the room her cousin would allow him to stay. But I will catch you and you won’t be able to stop me.
********
Peter hated how her cousin looked at the common spy. He had seen the look a million times before on a million other girls who saw a pretty soldier in the army. A few of those girls trying to gain his own attention. But to see it on his pretty cousin’s face as she looked interestingly on the young spy… it made his blood boil.

What does she see in him? Peter wondered, staring coldly over the dinner table at the man she called Martin. The young man ignored the cold stare, quietly picking at the roll that was left of his dinner.

“What?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes. “Aren’t you hungry?” Though the spy had already eaten most of his meal.

“I don’t need to eat everything that’s put in front of me,” Martin said, shrugging in his annoying way. He shrugged too often for Peter’s liking. Did the spy take nothing serious? “I’m surprised you haven’t eaten everything off of your plate. Won’t you faint from malnutrition if you don’t eat enough?”

Peter stiffened at the spy’s insult. “Listen here, Martin,” he growled through gritted teeth, “I am allowing you to stay with us for a while. Now, how about showing some manners in return?”

“My apologies then,” he said, nodding his head. Suddenly he stood and bowed deeper to his cousin. “Sona, I had no idea you were such a wonderful cook. My complements. Now, if you will excuse me, I want to get some fresh air.”

“No problem,” she replied, shooting a dangerous glare at Peter before smiling back at him. “Enjoy yourself.”

Martin turned to him, giving him a mocking bow. “Well, Peter,” he said, straitening, “thanks for the conversation.” With that, he turned on his heels and left. Peter sorted when the door closed behind him.

“I don’t like him,” he stated out loud. Sona turned to him with an angry glare.

“What was with that?” she demanded to know, pointing after the spy. “All he did was tell you hello and you immediately insult him!”

Peter snorted softly. “I don’t like his look.” Sona rolled her eyes.

“None of you like any man’s look.” She sat up in her chair. “I’m a grown woman, Peter. When will the rest of you realize this?”

“Did I say anything about you?” Peter snapped, quietly cursing her quick insight. “I said it’s his look I don’t like.”

Sona pounded the table and shot to her feet. “You don’t like how I’m looking at him,” she snapped back, pointing in the direction the spy left. “If I wasn’t the one to introduce him, you wouldn’t have thought anything of him!” Peter flinched. She was right. Martin would have been just another common face and not a man who caught his precious cousin’s eye.

“Cousin,” he said in the most serious tone he could and shaking his head. “It’s time you knew, but none of us, your family, want you to have a spy for a husband. In all truth, we didn’t want you to join the spies in the first place. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she asked softly, her eyes narrowing. “I spend most of my time in records. Martin has the dangerous life.”

“Exactly!” Peter stood up, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “And when is he going to pull you into it? Or let’s say he doesn’t. You would be married to a dead man. Anyone foolish enough to be a field spy has a death wish!”

Sona glared across the table. “He’s isn’t like that,” she growled. “And if you would just be nice to him, I’m sure you will agree!”

“I doubt it!” he shouted.

Sona stiffened. “Fine,” she huffed, turning away. “No there’s no use talking to you. You’re too set in your own foolish opinions, soldier. I cannot wait until you admit you’re wrong about him.”

Holding her head high, his cousin left the room. Peter snorted and sat back down in his chair. It was unlikely that he was going to change his opinions about the spy. His occupation often lead to death, and he hoped his cousin would see the truth in that before she got hurt.
*************
The night was still cool with winter, but spring had truly come to Nacre. Martin breathed in the night air, enjoying the evening. Yes, Sona’s cousin did put a damper on his visit, but it wasn’t anything Martin wasn’t already used to. The corporal was just another man who didn’t understand just who he was trying to insult. Insults meant nothing to the Alex. Actions, however, did. And Sona’s actions were confusing him.

Martin shook his head. What did the pretty researcher want from him? Since his arrival, she had been by his side, trying to make sure he was enjoying himself. Perhaps she’s flirting with me. Martin shook his head even harder. No girl in her right mind would flirt with him, not with his painful past and dangerous reputation. No. No girl would want him.

Besides, he really did need to leave this night. There was something since Evan’s Stand had been bothering him. Tracker, the top Venter spy and Martin’s rival, had used a poison he had never seen before. That was saying something. As Suit’s apprentice, it was part of his training to memorize as many poisons out there as possible. There were only a hand full of people who knew more poisons then him. Thankfully, one of those persons lived in Nacre.

It was only a few blocks from the lord’s home. He left his Rowan stabled back at the house and walked to his destination. Sona’s lord must be a count, he reasoned, approaching the Healer’s home. He’s not rich enough to live with the rest of the nobles but has enough to live with the well off.

This mansion was much like the country lord’s. A large home with very little lawn, it didn’t even could be called a lawn. More of a large hedge with random trees surrounding the home. The iron wrought gate was locked for the night, but Martin wasn’t deterred. Taking out his lock picks, he made short work of the lock.

Humming softly, he locked the gate behind him. The Healer wouldn’t want his home to be venerable to any passing thief that wasn’t blessed with Martin’s skills. There was a large rope beside the door, with a bell attached to it. Pulling on it once, he waited for the door to open. He knew someone was home, the soft light from the windows proved it.

He was rewarded with his patience when he heard the approach of a limping man. The door swung open, revealing a man only ten years older than Martin. He wasn’t the most attractive man, with no chin and brushy eyebrows. Roland Smith frowned as he tried to see Martin.

“Hello?” he asked. “May I help you?”

“Healer Smith,” Martin said, lifting a corner of his mouth in a small smile. “I don’t suppose you remember me. But I am Martin…”

A quick smile came to the Healer’s lips. “Ah, Martin,” he laughed, grabbing his hand and shaking it vigorously. “It’s hard to forget you! Look at you! All grown now. But my manners, please come in. Come in!”

“Thank you.” Martin respectfully walked past the Healer and glanced around the entry hall. It was similar in size and design of the country lord’s home, but this one was much more inviting. Instead of dark woodwork, every wall was covered in paintings of lush forests and exotic places. Healer Smith was a known for his interest in unusual and peculiar plants. It was for this interest that Smith was considered one of the best research Healers in the world. Many of the recent discovered cures of illnesses were discovered by him.

“Well, Martin,” Smith said, taking a better look at him in the lit filled hall. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you. It’s been what now? Seven years?”

“Eight,” Martin corrected, also grinning. “I’m surprised you remember me though. You were only an apprentice Healer when we last met. Since then you’ve become one of the most celebrated researchers there are.”

Smith chuckled. “I only wanted to help the world in some small way I could. But I could not forget you. I’ve never seen a child with as much fight as you had. So how have you been? I’m surprised I haven’t heard about you.”

Martin smirked. “Oh, you may not have heard of me personally, but you’ve heard what I’ve done.”

Smith raised a brushy eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’ve been titled the Alex.”

The Healer’s smile widened and shook his hand again. “Well, congratulations! I knew you would make it top somewhere! Though, why you picked spying when you could be top in a more respectable profession is a mystery to me.”

“Well,” Martin chuckled, “I don’t like attention. Makes me nervous.”

“I suppose it does,” Smith chuckled. “Well, come into the den and we’ll talk. At least, I assume you’ve come to talk. From all the Alex’s I’ve heard about, they don’t do anything without a purpose.”

Martin shrugged. It was the truth, a spy always had something more to do than idle chatter. So what is Sona trying to get from me? He shook his head again. Why was she popping into his head like this?

Smith’s den was something Martin would call warm. Tables and couches filled the room, each with piles of books. Other books filled the walled shelves, except for one wall. It was full glass wall, with a double fancy doors that lead into what the spy assumed that was the Healer’s own personal garden atrium. Smith poured a drink from a mini bar and offered him one. Martin shook his head at the drink. The Healer raised an eyebrow.

“Alcohol doesn’t agree with me,” he explained. Smith nodded, understanding. He put the second drink down and sipped at his own.

“So,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bar, “what’s on your mind?” Martin sat on the edge of another table.

“How familiar are you with weapon poisons?”

“Nasty business,” Smith spat. “But I’ve had to work on their antidotes on the past. Why? Found one you don’t recognize?”

Martin nodded. “I came across it this last winter at the Stand, while it was under siege. It’s not something I’ve ever remotely seen.”

Smith frowned. “Symptoms?”

“A deep sleep that lasts about twelve hours,” he reported. “The victim is under noticeable distress, since they thrash and moan in their induced sleep. They develop fever and sweat out the last six hours. After they wake up, they report that they relived their worst memories, over and over and over again. They say it didn’t feel like a dream, that they actually went through their worst memories.” Martin left out that he knew this last part was real. He had seen into the man’s mind while he was poisoned. Thankfully, entering the mind of another Aeternan hadn’t happened again, but it did put Martin’s nerves on edge. I’ve got to understand my powers. Though how he was going to do that was still puzzling him.

“Hum,” Smith thought. Putting his drink down, he wandered to a section of his books, pulling one down. “Sounds like something I’m afraid we Aeternans created. I thought the poison was destroyed four years ago…”

“Yes,” Martin sighed. “I had lost it in the sea when I stole it back from the Venter spy. I was never told what it was. And quite honestly, I was surprised to see it again.”

The research Healer paused as he put his glasses on his face. “You’re the one responsible for getting rid of it? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’d thank you for losing it, but if what you say is correct, the Venterians have it again.” He flipped through the book. Martin noticed it was actually a lab notebook with hand written notes.

“Ah,” Smith said, coming to the page he was searching for. “Here I made a note of it. Yes, the symptoms are the same.” Sighing, he closed the book. “They came to me five years ago with a new poison for warfare, asking if I could come up with an antidote. I was unable to. Because I couldn’t it was decided to never use it. However, the Tracker stole it before anyone could decide to lock it up or destroy it. Thankfully you got rid of it and ended the debate. Unfortunately, they kept the formula. I’m guessing that someone leaked the formula to Terk and that’s why they have it now.”

“What is it?” Martin asked.

“It was named Nightmare Dust.” Smith put the notebook back on its self. He walked back to the bar and picked up his drink. “The reason for its making was to lower moral of the enemy army. It’s colorless and odorless, so it would be put into the enemy’s water supply. However, it was supposed to just make the victims remember their worse memories. Not put them to sleep and make them relive those memories. They tried different variations, but they couldn’t make it work. That’s when they came to me for an antidote.”

Martin folded his arms, scowling. “Who thought of a poison like that?”

“A man who died a year or so after you lost it,” Smith answered, sipping at his drink. “Rumor has it that he couldn’t stand the shame of creating it and committed suicide.” He sighed deeply. “However, if what you say is true, then we have a problem. If the Venterians ever decide to use it on the general public, things will get worse.”

Martin nodded, glancing away. It would get worse. He could just image the pain that would come to his own emotions through his powers. The people would not tolerate an attack on their minds. They would demand something to be done.

And I’ll have to answer their demands, Martin knew. While his powers could not influence the people, they could influence him. He was helpless against their demands, he had to obey. Martin sighed. This was not what he wanted.

“You seem tired,” Smith suddenly said. Martin looked up. The research Healer had a thoughtful expression on his face, his arms folded on top of his forming gut. “There is something else. Isn’t there?”

Martin let out a short bitter laugh. “Yes, there is. But it has nothing to do with the poison. Just the responsibilities of becoming who I am.” It was truthful enough. His duties as the Alex were demanding. But it was his duty as the prince that made him worry.

“I can understand that,” Smith sighed. “It takes a while to come to really get used to any responsibilities. My advice to you, young Alex, is to get ready by practicing now. It’s only likely to get worse before it gets better. And with the Nightmare Dust now hanging over our heads, it’s going to get a lot worse.”
************
As Sona expected, Martin was up early in the morning. He had come back to the mansion late the night before. Peter had stayed up and was going to accuse him of drinking when he realized that the spy didn’t have the smell of alcohol or acted drunk. Sona hadn’t been surprised; it was a known fact that Martin wouldn’t touch a drink. Biding them both good night before her cousin could come up with another accusation, he went to his room and locked the door.

Hum, she wondered the next morning and finding his room empty. Where is he? They weren’t scheduled to meet the queen for another three hours. Thinking he might be hungry, she went down to the kitchen.

Just as she thought, he was there, opening cupboards and frowning at what he found. She shook her head. “Looking for something to eat?”

As usual, he didn’t jump at the sound of her voice; he always knew when people were around him. “This place is bare,” he replied, finally taking a roll from the bread basket from the night before. He turned around and leaned against the counter, looking at her with an unsure expression. “How does your cousin survive here?”

“He usually eats with the rest of the guards at the palace.” She walking into the kitchen and joined him by the counter. “And when he’s off duty, it usually with some lady or other who invited him over for a meal.”

“Hypocrite,” Martin muttered. Sona coughed to cover her laugh. To her pleasure, he smiled at her reaction. “Is your cousin here?”

“Sadly,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “He has night duty tonight. He’s trying to sleep in.” She eyed him. Now was as good a time as any with her cousin still in bed and not watching over them. “Oh, happy birthday.”

Martin stared at her, leaning a bit back. “Thanks,” he said, looking surprised. “I didn’t think anyone in Nacre knew today was my birthday.” She smiled pleased she was able to surprise him.

“I have access to your records,” she reminded him. “One of reasons why I remembered yours is because you chose your birthday. I’m curious, why pick today?”

The spy coughed, an embarrassed blush coming to his cheeks. “Today is the day when I arrived at Aeterna. Nine years ago, I came to Evan’s Stand and began my life here.”

Sona blinked. “Really?”

He laughed weakly. “Yes. I got a new start, might as well mark it as my birthday, right?”

Sona shared his smile. “I think it’s grand.” He kept smiling at her, making her ridiculously happy. “Oh,” she said, remembering why she brought up his birthday. “I wanted to give you something.”

“Sona,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “You didn’t need to.” She could almost hear him say that he was used to getting nothing.

“But I wanted to,” she replied, shoving off the counter. Making her way to one of the drawers, she opened it and produced a thin wrapped present the length of her arm. She held it out to him. “Happy birthday.”

Martin took it, eyeing her suspiciously. Carefully unwrapping it, he frowned as he held up the unfinished flute.

“I know you like to carve,” she explained. “And I heard you play the flute, so I thought this would be appropriate.”

Martin felt the length of the flute, bringing it up to his sight and looking down it. He lowered it and smiled at her again, a smile of rare simple happiness. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone knew I played the flute or carved.”

Sona laughed. “Kriste told me,” she confessed. Kriste Ander was yet another spy, and the twin sister of one of his best friends, Luke. Thankfully she was willing to help Sona figure out what to do about Martin instead of teasing her about it. Well, teasing me too much. Kriste shared Luke’s humor, though her pranks were more subtle than her brother’s.

“And what is going on here?”

The two spies turned to face the door, where a very angry, very tired soldier stood. Peter glared at Martin, as if he suspected something more was going on.

“We’re talking,” Martin answered in a dull tone, but Sona heard the hint of annoyance. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Talking about what?”

Sona snorted. “Is it any of your business? Can’t I talk with any man without you getting all defensive?” Peter stiffened at her attack. Her family was defiantly too protective of her when it came to men she liked. Why did they automatically assume that all men would try to take advantage of her?

“We’re going to be eating breakfast at the palace,” Peter suddenly announced. “Hurry up and get ready to go. We don’t have all day.” He stomped out of the kitchen, muttering darkly to himself about annoying spies.

“Sorry about him,” Sona apologized again, sighing. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Martin gave his usual shrug.

“He’s just doesn’t want to see you hurt. And let’s face it. I do have a reputation.”

He was right about that. Although Sona knew that Martin tried to avoid attention, he got it and it wasn’t always the most flattering attention. But that didn’t matter to her. All that mattered was that he cared for people and would do what he must to protect them.
************
Well, that's this week's post. Next week will promise to be... eye opening. Enjoy the journey!