Return to Nacre

The time has now come for Martin to go home. I won’t leave you hanging.
**************
His journey was going to end the next day. Martin sat by himself at his campfire, idly poking the logs with a stick and trying to sort his thoughts. Looking around his camp just out of sight of the road, he knew it wasn’t anything fancy. Rowan grazed not far off, untethered. The bedroll was laid out nearby, ready for him to crawl in and sleep. The remains of his dinner, leftovers he bought in a town earlier that day, was only a thin cloth bag burning quickly in the fire. His bag with everything he cared to own was laying beside Rowan’s saddle not far from his bedroll. Everything that was his was right there beside him.

His simple life was ending the next day. The simple things he had now would be nothing compared with what was waiting for him.

He sighed, putting his stick away. It had taken two short weeks to get here. Now that he was almost to Nacre, he wished the journey had taken longer. He pulled his knees close to his chest, his arms folded on his knees and his chin on his arms.

“I’m not ready for this,” he whispered to no one in particular.

“Not planning on running are you?”

Martin glanced up to see a soft light on the other side of his fire. It had been a year since he last saw the Spirit in physical form. Usually, it just came as an annoying voice in his head. It didn’t look different from last time, a figure made of light and in vague shape of a person. There were no real features to the Spirit. It was a combination of all of what Aeterna was.

“You know I’m not planning on running,” Martin said softly, completely unconcerned that he was talking to light.

“We know,” the Spirit said. The voice of the Spirit always seemed like hundreds of people talking at once. “But it never hurts to ask.” It paused. “But we sense that you’re not just concerned about returning to Nacre.”

There was a disadvantage of having the Spirit linked so closely to him. It knew when something was bothering him.

“It’s been a year,” he whispered, curling into a tighter ball. “A year today when Luke died.” The Spirit didn’t answer. Martin buried his face in his arms. A year when his friend tried to kill the Mad General to save him, a prince too stubborn to admit the truth to anyone. Luke was killed instead.

“I don’t feel ready for this,” he confessed. “I couldn’t save my own friend. How can I save my nation?”

“Are you forgetting what Luke told you?” the Spirit asked. “He told you his death wasn’t your fault. He made the decision to fight.”

“And Terk was faster with his sword,” Martin sighed, closing his eyes. He could still see it. It still haunted his dreams to see the Mad General thrust his sword in Luke. He could still see his friend’s blood on his hands. “I could have stopped him.”

“Luke Ander was an Aeternan through and through,” it told him firmly. “There’s nothing that can stop a determined Aeternan.”

There was no use arguing that point. It was true.

There was a sigh. “He would be proud of you,” the Spirit said softly. “For what you’re doing now. We know you’re terrified of being our prince and that you would rather have lived your life as a spy, but you aren’t going to sit back and not accept your responsibility. You never have. When everything seems to be against you, you stand up taller and fight back. And then you win.”

“Can I win being a prince?” Martin asked with a chuckle, looking back up.

“You can win,” the Spirit said. “You will be a wonderful king someday, Martin Santer. We trust you.”

The light slowly faded. Then it was gone. Martin stared at the spot where the Spirit had been. He never liked it when the Spirit said that it trusted him. He always felt pressured to do the right thing, even if he didn’t know what the right thing was.

But this was different. There was no pressure, no demand to act. Just… acceptance. Acceptance of himself and what he could offer Aeterna.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling a bit. “I needed that.”
***********
Early the next morning, Martin got up and packed his things one last time. By the end of the day, Nacre will know that the prince had returned and he would be living in the palace. He saddled Rowan, his few belongings in the saddlebag.

“What do you think, Rowan?” he asked, stroking the horse’s powerful neck. “You get to sleep in a real stable tonight. A real home for yourself.” He paused, thinking about it. “I guess I get a real home too.” That was an intriguing thought. He had never had an actual home before. At Loman, he slept under a bridge. At the Tree, it was a small room that fit only a bed and a dresser. Now he was going to have an actual place to call home.

He was kind of looking forward to that.

Mounting, Martin rode on to Nacre, the butterflies growing excited in his stomach.

About midmorning, he came to a river. As he knew there would be, there was a ferry for travelers. It was a well-known ferry. Anyone from the north who wanted to get to Nacre on land had to ford the Morvan River. The ferry had a lot of traffic.

This morning however, there was only one group waiting to be ferried across. He rode down the hill to the ferry, wondering if he could get a ride with the group preparing to cross. When he got there, he noticed that it was actually a family. He figured they were moving, considering the covered wagon they were trying to get onto the ferry.

“Oh, come on!” a man grumbled, pulling on the reigns of the donkeys that were hitched to the wagon. “Just get on the boat already!”

“Daddy!” a young girl said, popping her head out from inside the wagon. “Philly is bothering me!”

“She started it!” another girl snapped, also poking her head out. The two girls looked only a couple years apart and both shared dull brown hair.

“Sally!” the man said. “Philly! Will you please stop fighting? We have other things we need to worry about. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be watching your siblings?”

“Uh-oh,” Philly said, disappearing back into the wagon.

Martin shook his head, smiling a bit. He wondered how much he and Sara were going to fight. He rode up to the wagon, noting that a woman sat in the driver’s seat, holding an infant. He nodded his head to her in greeting. She returned to the nod.

“Hello there,” Martin said loudly, getting the attention of the father. “Do you need some help?”

The man snorted, finally letting go of the reigns in disgust. “If you can get these lazy animals on the boat, you are more than welcome to help.”

Martin dismounted and joined the man in front of the donkeys. The animals were notoriously stubborn to begin with, but it seemed that these were terrified of the water.

“Maybe if we blindfold them,” he suggested. “That way they won’t know they’re going onto the boat.”

The man hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps… Philly! Get me some bandanas!”

“Coming, dad!” There was sounds of scrambling in the wagon and the girl jumped out. She ran up and gave her father the strips of cloth. Handing one to Martin, they tied the bandanas around the donkeys’ eyes.

“I hope this works,” the man muttered, taking up the reigns again. Martin also grabbed the reigns. Together, they pulled on the stubborn animals. The trick worked and the donkeys slowly boarded the ferry.

“Took you long enough,” the ferry master said, emerging from a small hut attached to the ferry dock. “We’ll lash the wagon so it won’t move.” He then noticed an extra person. “Who are you?”

“My name is Martin,” he answered, holding out a hand. “I just want to get across.”

The ferry master shook hands, eyeing the elven horse. “That’s all you have?” he asked, nodding at Rowan.

“Everything,” Martin confirmed. Not for much longer though.

“The pay is five bronze crowns per person and animal,” the man said, holding out his hand for the money.

Martin walked to Rowan, searched his things, and found the money Fred had given him for the journey. He paid the man the amount.

“You don’t have much left,” the man noted, putting the money away.

Martin shrugged. “I’ll be getting more soon.”

“Meh,” the ferry master brushed aside. “It’s none of my business. Your horse won’t have a problem going across?”

“No.”

“Good.” He suddenly whistled. Two other men appeared out of the hut. “Let’s get this barge moving!” he yelled at them.

The ferry ride wasn’t eventful and neither was the docking. It took more tugging to get the donkeys to move, but everything went smoothly.

“Thanks for your help,” the father said, finally shaking his hand. “My name is Kay and this is my wife Tara.” The wife nodded again from her seat.

“I’m Martin,” he said. “You going to Nacre too?”

“Moving there,” Kay explained, climbing up to the drivers seat next to Tara. “My wife’s brother owns a bakery there. Business is up and he wants to expand. We’re going to help. So I take you’re going to Nacre?”

Martin chuckled. “Returning to Nacre, actually.”

“Oh?” Tara asked, burping her infant. “You’re from the capital?”

“Yes.”

“How about you come with us into the city then?” Kay asked. “Maybe you can help us find our way.”

Martin decided to not point out that it had been years since Nacre was his home.

The ride to Nacre with Kay and his family was quite relaxing, helping the prince calm his mounting nerves. They did most of the talking, mostly about their excitement to be in the city and their fears about how living in the city would be different from their quite life on the farm. They didn’t seem to regret their decision to sell their farm, but they were hesitant about their new life.

Much like myself.

It was about midday when they turned in a bend in the road and Nacre appeared to them from out of the Morvan Woods.

“Wow,” Kay whistled, softly, his eyes wide. “So this is Nacre…”

Martin also gazed at the city, feeling the same awe he did every time he saw the city. It was considered an architectural masterpiece. It was designed after the spiral of a seashell. There was one long street, the Spiral Path, that formed a spiral throughout the city; it was built with a shimmering rock that reflected different colors from different angles. At the center of the city in was the Aeternan Tree, a magical tree that bloomed blue flowers and silver leaves all year round.

But Martin’s destination wasn’t the Aeternan Tree, where most government buildings were. No, his home, the Palace of the Santers, stood not far from their current position. It was where the Spiral Path began at the edge of the city. He could see it, the blue stone towers of the palace reaching towards the sky, nearly blending in. The arching design served not to create the illusion of man’s work, but rather to reflect the beauty of nature. The palace gardens, nearly as large as the palace itself, were simply an extension of the palace. At least Martin shared a love of nature with his ancestors.

“Wow!” Philly said, climbing onto the drivers seat between her parents. “This is Nacre? I didn’t know it was so big!”

“One of the biggest cities in the world,” Martin confirmed, the awe starting to fade and his nerves acting up again. He was getting close.

“I hope this was the right decision,” Tara said softly, worry in her expression. “It’s just so… big.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Martin said. “There are neighborhoods that act like small towns. I think you’ll find that Aeternans are the same everywhere.”

It was a short ride to actually enter the city. Martin opened himself up to the emotions, immediately knowing that Nacre was thriving. The people, for the most part, were happy, going about their normal lives. He closed his eyes, feeling the heartbeat of the city pound inside him. It was somehow… comforting.

“Where does your brother live?” he asked.

“Somewhere near the palace,” Kay answered. He hesitated. “Would you mind…?”

“What’s the street name?” he asked, amused.

“Ferrell Street.”

“I know where that is.” He turned Rowan down one of the many side streets that spun off the Spiral Path. Thankfully, these streets weren’t as colorful as the Path. It took them a bit to move through the throngs of people at midday to arrive at the bakery. When they finally arrived, Tara’s brother blotted out of his shop and grabbed his sister in a hug, making her squeal.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, putting her down with a grin. “I wasn’t expecting you for another few days.”

“The weather was good for us,” Kay chuckled, helping his children out of the wagon. “And we had this nice young man help us across the river.”

Martin reached down and shook the baker’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the baker grinned. “Would you like to come in and have lunch?”

“We ate on the road,” Tara sighed, though smiling fondly at her brother.

“Dessert then?”

Martin laughed. “No,” he declined. “I really have to be going home.”

“A few more hours won’t hurt,” the baker said.

“I’ve been away a long time,” Martin insisted. “And besides, my family doesn’t know that I’ve come home. I want to surprise them.”

“A soldier returning home?” the baker shrewdly guessed.

“You could say that.”

“I don’t blame you then,” Kay said, shuttering a bit. “War is ugly business. I bet your family is glad that you’re out of it.”

Martin just smiled, knowing that his mother would not be happy to learn the reason why he had come home.

“Goodbye,” he said, shaking hands again with Kay, Tara, and the baker. “I’ll drop by later for that dessert.”

“Or we could take it to you,” the baker chuckled. “Goodbye!”

Martin turned Rowan away from them, taking a deep breath. Time to…

“Wait!” Kay called after. “You never gave us your last name!”

He turned in his saddle, seeing the family. The kids had already disappeared inside and the adults unloading the wagon.

“I never did, did I?” he called back. “It’s Santer!”

They froze, their mouths open in shock. Waving an apologetic goodbye, he kicked Rowan forward. Time to go home.

Home.

It was almost midafternoon when he finally arrived at the palace. He stared at the open gates, his stomach rolling with excitement and apprehension. His future was here. He was hesitant to start that future. He still didn’t know what to expect in there, what was expected of him.

“It’s alright,” the Spirit whispered to him again. “We trust you.”

Martin took a deep breath. He needed that. Without ceremony, he rode through the gates, ignored by the guards and everyone else. To them, he was just another person in the palace. No one important. Yet.

The courtyard attached to the main gate was in a rush, like it usually was. Servants ran to their many tasks, guards checking wagons that were delivering food, nobles and officials either coming or going. Animals whined as they were taken care of or ignored. It was normal business as usual. Martin wondered how much busier it was going to get in the next few days when people would come to see their returned prince.

Dismounting, he walked over to where other horses were tied up. The boy watching over the animals jumped off the fence.

“Watch your horse for ya?” he asked.

“For a bit,” Martin said, handing the reigns over along with one of his last coins. The boy took the coin and put it in his vest. He then dug in his pants pocket for something, pulling out two wooden tokens. He put one on Rowan’s reigns and gave him the other.

“The numbers match,” the boy explained. “Give it back and we’ll give your horse back.”

“Thanks,” Martin said, pocketing the wood token. “I have a question…”

“Out of my way!”

They turned around. A nobleman on a fine white horse and surrounded by mounted guards barreled into the courtyard, scrambling everyone in their path. There were several glares in the noble’s direction, but he didn’t notice. Dismounting, he ran for he palace, shoving people out of the way.

“Was that Lord Pinsamen?” Martin asked the boy, frowning.

“Better believe it,” the boy muttered. “That man has been annoying the queen. It’s gotten to the point to where she’s about to bar him from the palace. I wouldn’t mind if he was. He’s a horrible tipper.”

Martin chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. Speaking of the queen, do you know where she is at this time?”

The boy snorted. “Meetings is my guess. No one sees her without an appointment. I hope you have one if you want to see her.”

“I think I’ll get an appointment,” Martin said. “She’ll want to see me.”
***********
Abigail saw Pinsamen rushing up the palace steps from her office window. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I don’t want to deal with him.”

“Your Majesty?” Shay asked. The queen noted that her personal assistant had an armful of paperwork for her to do. “What is it?”

“Pinsamen again,” she grumbled. “Please tell me that I have an appointment.”

“Well…” Shay said, adjusting the stack of paper in his arms. “Not really… But if you need an excuse, the gardeners want a word with you. Your daughter’s birthday is only a week away. They want to know if she wants to have an outdoor party or not.”

“To the gardeners then,” she said, shoving away from her desk and standing. “I do not want to deal with Pinsamen again.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Shay sighed, “but you’re going to have to sit that man down and tell him that he’s bugging you.”

“I did,” she muttered, storming out off the office. “He didn’t listen.”

Shay followed after her, struggling to keep the paperwork organized. Abigail couldn’t figure how he managed to keep it all organized in the first place. She would be lost without him.

“Oh,” he said as they rushed through the palace halls to meet with the head gardener, “you got another letter from General Chief. Along with a package.”

You should have told me that before I left the office, she thought, a bit annoyed. The trouble with everyone believing that her husband was dead was to keep up that illusion. No one in the palace knew that General Chief and King Jonathan was the same person. She didn’t know herself until a year ago, when he finally revealed himself and told her the truth of everything.

But she had to act like a queen to a general. She couldn’t be too interested in Chief’s letters unless she wanted people to be curious about the Ghost General. She agreed with her husband though. For the time being, it was best if the people thought he was dead.

Still, she itched to read the letter.

No, she thought. Talk to the gardeners first. It was still hard to ignore that letter. And what was the package?

The head gardener’s office was adjacent to the gardening shed outside. Several men kept going in and out of the shed, each carrying various tools for their jobs. The head gardener, Charles Grant, was actually supervising some work being done on the roof of the shed. One of his assistants pointed out her approached. Grant bowed when she arrived.

“Your Majesty,” he said, straightening. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

“I needed out of the office,” she said, her usual excuse. Grant smiled knowingly. All the head servants knew what that meant. She was avoiding someone. “Shay told me that you had something to discuss with me.”

“Indeed,” Grant said. “It’s about your daughter’s party next week. I’m afraid that the weather won’t cooperate for a complete outdoor party. It’ll be too cold by that point.”

“I suspected as much,” the queen sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to discuss that with her when she gets back this evening.”

Grant let out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you. I didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She doesn’t argue like she used to,” Abigail pointed out. She glanced up at the men working on the roof. “What happened here?”

“The roof is old,” Grant said, shrugging. “Just got to replace it.”

“Sir!” said one of the workers on the roof. “We’ve got a bad beam here. You want us to replace it too?”

“Yes,” Grant called up. “Anything bad goes!”

“Yes sir!”

Abigail stayed to watch them to pull the beam out, discussing with Grant of how some of the party could be outside. Throwing ideas around, they were considering opening just part of the garden when the men working on the roof started arguing.

“I’m telling you!” one man said, grunting as he pulled on a rope tied to the beam. “We need to move it there!”

“But wouldn’t it be easier to move here?” another man snapped.

“It wouldn’t be safe to move it there! Just put it where I told you.”

Snap!

The beam they pulled out snapped in two, sending the two men flying back. The one hit the roof, the other down the roof, somehow grabbing the rain drain to keep from falling off.

“No!” Grant yelled, rushing forward. The man tried to keep a grip on the drain, but it too needed replacing. It started to tear from the roof with the weight of the man. Abigail stood horrified as it came free of the roof. Grant was going to be too late to catch the man.

Fumph!

Someone was suddenly there and caught the man as he fell. Both men fell flat on the dusty ground, neither injured.

“Quinton!” Grant said, pulling his man to sit up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Quinton replied, rubbing his head. “I don’t think anything is broke.” He turned to the man who managed to grab him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” the man said, sitting up and rubbing his head.

Abigail froze, staring at the young man. It had been a year since she last saw him, when he was so depressed the weather was overcast. But there was no mistaking who he was, even if his was a common face.

“Martin?” she asked, too stunned to realize that people were watching. “What are you doing here?”

Martin got to his feet, brushing the dirt from his clothes. “I’m here to stay,” he said, frowning. “I thought that would be obvious.”

“Here to stay?” she asked, still stunned. “Permanently? I thought… What about your duties?”

He shrugged. “I’m needed here more.”

Abigail stared at him. There was something else, something he wasn’t willing to say in front of everyone. If there was one thing she knew about her son, it was that he had a purpose to his actions. He was there for a reason.

I should have read that letter from Jon, she silently berated herself. It would have told her of Martin’s coming.

“Well,” she muttered, folding her arms. “You could have least sent a letter warning me that you were coming.” The gardeners looked at the young man confused. She didn’t blame them. Martin was average looking. He looked nothing special. Which were the results his kidnappers had hoped for.

Martin shrugged. Abigail vowed to break him of that habit. “Why? I’m here now. Any letter I could have sent would have arrived today.”

“But we don’t have anything ready for you!” she groaned, exasperated. He shrugged again.

“I’m good with anything.”

“That’s not how it works,” she pointed out. “Shay!”

Her assistant stepped up, the paperwork still in his arms. He eyed the young man, just as confused as everyone else. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“We need to have a tailor sent immediately,” she ordered, noticing a flinch from her son. She smirked. He had come to be the prince. He might as well get used to it. “He’ll need a new wardrobe.” She paused, looking over her son’s travel worn attire. “Do you have anything you can change into?”

Martin glanced down at what he was wearing. He was covered in dirt from catching the man. “This was the freshest thing I had.”

Abigail groaned, covering her face with a hand and shaking her head. “Martin,” she grumbled. “You are not going to walk around in that.”

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s only a bit of dirt.”

“You look like a common traveler,” she said sternly, shaking her finger at him. “No one will take you seriously if you dress like that.”

It was Martin’s turn to groan. “Are we seriously arguing about what I’m wearing?”

“A prince must dress like one,” she pointed out. “I’m not having my son looking like he just climbed out of dirt hole, even if you are old enough to make your own decisions.”

The activity around them came to a screeching halt. Everyone gaped at the prince, their work forgotten. Martin glanced around, flinching a bit as he realized he was the center of attention.

“We could have worded that differently,” he said, fidgeting as if he wanted to run from their shocked gaze.

“Why?” Abigail snorted. “I’m planning on shouting from the rooftops that you’re back. Now, come. We have work to do.”

“Work?” he asked, sounding hesitant.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I’m going to make you presentable for the public.” She paused, remembering something else. “Oh, and Shay? Get some workers to start cleaning out a royal apartment for my son here.”

“He won’t be staying in yours?” Shay asked, staring at the prince.

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “He’s a grown man. He needs a place of his own.”

“Then I should make my own decisions about what I should wear,” Martin argued.

“Until you know how to dress like a prince, you’re not,” Abigail said firmly. She grabbed his arm and yanked him towards the palace. “Come. We have work to do.”
***********
While Martin was getting measured for new clothes, Abigail managed to get the letter from her husband and the package that came with it. She opened the package first, an idea of what it could be. She was satisfied to see that she had been right. It was a formal Ghost uniform in Martin’s size. Once she knew what it was, she ordered the prince to put it on after his measuring.

While the tailor was busy getting the prince’s measurements, Abigail quickly read the letter from her husband. She really should have read it earlier. Although Jon was vague about why their son had returned, he did say that Martin was coming. He even teased that their son would be there before the letter reached her.

The tease would have been funny if it hadn’t just happened.

“Stubborn prince,” the tailor said, coming out of the dressing room where he was getting the prince’s measurements. “He refused to take off his shirt for the best measurements!”

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” Abigail asked, not sounding the least bit concerned. It would be for the best that Martin didn’t take his shirt off in public. She had seen his back. She shivered a bit. While she didn’t have the full story, she knew it was for the best that no one else saw those scars.

“Of course not,” the tailor huffed.

“Good,” she said, putting her letter away in her pocket. “When will you have some clothes for him?”

“Tomorrow morning,” the tailor answered. “I just have to make some adjustments to my in stock clothes.” That didn’t surprise Abigail. Martin was average in nearly everything physically. He bowed and quickly left the room, closing the door on the servants trying to look in. Abigail had to smile. News of the prince’s arrival spread quickly through the palace.

“I don’t see why I have to wear this,” Martin grumbled, walking out of the dressing room. He tugged at the coat sleeves, making sure it fit correctly. Abigail nodded in approval. Even though it was a Ghost uniform, it would pass well enough for the day until his new wardrobe arrived. It gave the prince a presence of authority. People would know that the prince was important.

“I told you,” she said, walking up to him and adjusting his collar. “You’re a prince now. You need to look like one.” Martin quickly stepped away, fixing his collar himself.

“Still,” he muttered. “I just got here today.”

“So?” Abigail asked, wishing Martin didn’t have a short military haircut. “A prince must be on top of fashion. You had looked like you just got out a ditch.”

“But I did!”

Abigail sighed. That was her son. She was about to berate him when the door burst open and Lord Pinsamen swept inside with Shay following closely behind. They left the door open and curious servants crowded to see their prince. They soon started spilling into the room, pushing each other to get a better view of the new Santer.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Shay said, glaring at the nobleman. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Listen to the servant sent to stall me?” Pinsamen asked, glaring at Shay. “I have business with the queen!”

“And I don’t have time for business,” Abigail said through her teeth. She gestured to Martin. “I have him…”

Pinsamen snorted, glaring at the prince. “What? This whelp? Why are you interested in…” He paused, noticing the captain stripes on Martin’s shoulders. “A Ghost captain?”

“I wouldn’t call him a whelp, Lord Pinsamen,” Abigail snapped.

“I’ve been called worse,” Martin pointed out.

“Not any longer,” she said sternly. “Lord Pinsamen, I expect you to show a little more respect to your future king.”

Pinsamen laughed sarcastically. “You honestly don’t think I would believe that lie? This whelp? The prince, your son?”

“Yep,” Martin answered for her. “That’d be me.”

Pinsamen glared at the prince again. “Prove it.”

Martin shrugged and pulled out his Connection from his coat. He put it on. Abigail rubbed her chest suddenly, noticing that the servants and noble also rubbed their chests. Jon had warned her that whenever Martin proved his lineage by putting on his Connection, everyone would know he spoke the truth. He mentioned that the side effect was that the knowledge came with chest rubbing. Jon couldn’t explain it.

Pinsamen visibly trembled, his eyes wide as he looked at the prince with new understanding. He bowed low. “Your Highness.”

“As I said,” Abigail snorted with satisfaction. “I expect you to show some respect to him. And I am busy trying to get him settled into his new life here. Shay? You did get some servants to start cleaning out one of the royal apartments, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Shay bowed, then turned to the prince with another bow. “And the head holster said that he found your Rowan. He’s rather impressed that you have an elven horse.” Even the assistant sounded impressed about Martin’s steed.

“Thank you for informing me about that,” Martin said, standing at military attention. Abigail wondered if he stood like that to remind everyone that he was a Ghost. “I like to know that my horse is being taken care of.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. That was different. Last she remembered, Martin was reluctant, frightened even, to have anyone take care of Rowan. He was rather protective of all his things. The little he had.

“When will the rest of your things be arriving?” Shay asked. “I’ll warn the head holster to look out for it.”

The prince frowned. “There is no other stuff.”

Everyone chuckled as if he had made a joke. “Funny,” Shay chuckled dryly, with a hint of an annoyed smile. It was a much humor as he would show. His expression quickly changed to his normal bland one. “Really, when is it coming?”

“It’s not,” Martin insisted. He grabbed his bag from a nearby table and held it up. “This is it.”

The chuckling died off. Abigail also eyed the travel worn pack with the nearly broken latch. She knew her son’s past and how he never formed attachments to anything. Not surprising though, she admitted. Not with how he grew up.

“But,” a butler said, raising his hand. “You’re the prince. Shouldn’t you have more?”

Martin shook his head. “I haven’t always been the prince. Everything I’ve had belonged to someone else. My clothes, my bedding, my books, even my horse until General Chief gave me Rowan. Everything was someone else’s to take away from me and give to someone else. I’ve always been able to pack what I own in a single pack.”

The crowd muttered quietly to themselves. Their prince, a famous Ghost Captain in his own right, hardly owned anything. “So,” a braver soul voiced loudly, “anytime you wanted, you could have packed up in ten minutes and left?”

Martin shrugged. “I didn’t need anything else.” He glanced down at his uniform, sighing. “I suppose that is going to change quickly, now that I’ve come home.”

“A lot of things will change,” Abigail dismissed, quickly dispelling the awkward atmosphere. She paused. “Sara doesn’t know you’re home yet.”

“I noticed,” Martin said dryly. “Where is she? I’m surprised she hasn’t broken any of my ribs yet.”

“The princess already knows who you are?” Pinsamen asked, the first thing he managed to say to the prince civilly.

“Actually Sara and I have known for a year now,” Abigail sighed. “The problem was that Martin is a Ghost. He had duties to preform. It was agreed that he wouldn’t come home until he had fulfill his vows as a Ghost.”

“Which number are you?” a servant asked, sounding excited. Not surprising. Ghosts were heroes. Everyone knew that. Everyone also knew that Ghosts were assigned numbers when they were accepted into their ranks.

Martin took a deep breath, obviously preparing for the explosion. “Ghost Captain Eighty-One.”

There was a brief silence before the servants irrupted into excited whispers. Thanks to some discrete connections Spy Master Suit had in the media, newspapers were always quick to report another victory of Ghost Captain Eighty-One. Nearly everyone thought him as a hero. Which, in Abigail’s opinion, he already was.

“As I said,” the queen said, smiling. “He had other duties to preform. But now you’re home.”

“You still haven’t told me where Sara is,” Martin pointed out, quickly changing the subject. No doubt he was worried about all the hero worship he was about to get for being Ghost Eighty-One.

“She’s at a luncheon party,” she answered. “It’s about time I send someone to collect her.” She grinned, an idea suddenly striking her. “How about you go get her? She’d love to see you.”

Martin narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing that her suggestion had another motive. “I’ve been on the road for two weeks,” he said. “I was kind of hoping…”

“To spend time with family,” Abigail finished for him, clapping her hands. “Good. You’ll go get her.”

Martin blinked, his face expressionless. Yes, he knew there was another motive behind her suggestion. “Fine,” he said, easily concealing his annoyance from everyone. If Abigail didn’t know him well enough, even she would believe he thought nothing special about going to get his sister. “Where is she?”
*********
Yes, I left it on a cliff hanger. I can’t keep all the action in one post when it’s more than twenty pages, now can I? This seems like a longer post than normal, and on the original word document, it is by about two pages, but there were a lot of short lines that made it long when I had to put in the blank spaces so you know where a paragraph ends. Funny how things work out that way, huh?

As a side note, only a week and a half left of camp, then a week of vacation, and I’m back to writing away (especially since I don’t have any school to interfere right now). However, I’ve written about six pages in the last couple of days, so I think that my vacation is going to have a lot of writing involved. Yeah!

Next week we’ll have more of Martin’s grand return to Nacre. Until then, enjoy the journey!