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!
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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.