Chapter Text
The secret cave near Drylliad lay far from the castle, hidden behind a narrow cleft in the rock where the land sloped downward. The royals only kept a small porion of their wealth in the castle and most of the wealth of Carthya was stored here in this cave.
Darius and I stood in the cave now. The royal treasury had been devastated because of the war two years ago. But the treasure that we had discovered beneath the crypt room during the Prozarian invasion, below the tomb of King Linus, had changed everything. There was more wealth in that hidden cavern beneath my castle than I had ever imagined could exist in one place. We had already transferred much of it here, to this secret cave near Drylliad, where it could be counted and guarded properly. The treasury looked the same as before now. In fact it looked even better than before. But I had no intention of using the treasure for myself. I rather intended to use it to rebuild my kingdom.
“The treasury looks the same as it did before. We can rebuild the kingdom and the castle with it, Jaron,” Darius said quietly, his voice echoing faintly.
I nodded, though my thoughts had drifted elsewhere. Treasure had never held much power over me, not in the way it did for others. But the war a year ago had greatly depleted our supplies. The treasure would do good to my people.
I wandered away from the stacked chests toward the far end of the cave, where the ceiling dipped low and the air grew cool and damp. There, half-hidden by stone, lay a small pond. Its surface was perfectly still, reflecting torchlight like a shard of night sky trapped underground.
I had been here in this cave for the first time long ago with my father and Darius. Back then, I had come to this very pond and used the coins in the cave as skipping stones. I had liked the sound they made when they struck the surface as they skipped a time or two, before disappearing beneath the ripples. That was until my father caught me. My backside still remembered his anger for it. For some reason a smile crept across my face at the memory.
I crouched near the water, letting my fingers trail close to its surface. It was then that I noticed a narrow opening to the right of the pond, its edges smoother than the surrounding stone. I was certain it had not been there before or if it had, I had never seen it. Being curious I decided to check it. I glanced back toward Darius, who was still occupied, and stepped toward the narrow passage. Sometime later it widened into a small chamber.
And there, standing alone against the stone wall of that room, was a mirror.
It was tall, framed in silver worked with symbols I did not recognize. Its surface was so clear that it seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. I knew at once it did not belong here. It must have come from the treasure room beneath the crypt room. Someone must have kept it here while everything was transfered to this cave. Perhaps it was some old relic from the time of the first three rulers of Carthya which had been forgotten by time.
I stepped closer to the mirror. It was beautiful and unlike any mirror I had ever seen. Instinctively, I reached out and touched its surface.
The instant my fingers touched the frame, light gathered in the mirror, brightening until it burned my eyes. The light was so bright that it could have blinded me. So I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was no longer in the cave, but rather I was standing in the courtyard of the castle.
That was odd. I remembered I was in the cave a while ago. Then when I turned slowly, my breath caught halfway between disbelief and dread. Something was wrong with this place.
My castle bore scars left by the Prozarians when they had attacked it weeks ago and the repairs had not been completed yet. But the castle before me at the present moment was completely undamaged. I wondered how that could have happened. Until I heard voices echoing across the courtyard.
“Prince Jaron has escaped again.”
Prince?
The words struck me like a blow and filled me equally with irritation and confusion. It was rather insulting. I was king and had been so for nearly one and a half year now. Every man in Carthya and in this castle knew that. Or they should have known that by now. So why would my own soldiers call me prince?
I pressed myself against the wall as several vigils passed by. Something was wrong about them as well. Their armor was similar to the older design of it. That was strange. Also, if I had disappeared then where was Roden? He was the captain of my guard. He should be here.
I walked away and peered around a corner. From the far side of the courtyard, I saw a familiar figure. High Chamberlain Kerwyn stood near the stables. He looked younger and straighter. His hair was also darker. And beside him was Darius.
But it was not the Darius who had stood with me in the treasury moments ago. This Darius was much younger. If I remembered correctly, he looked like he was an eleven year old boy again, back when he was the crown prince of Carthya. His posture was stiff with the seriousness of a child trying to be older than he was.
They were speaking with Mulwort Bench, the stable owner, who gestured angrily toward the open gates.
“That prince has done it again,” Bench said. “He has stolen my horse and ridden off into the city.”
Kerwyn sighed. “If the king learns of this… ”
“He won’t be just unhappy about this,” Darius interrupted, his voice sharp with certainty. “Father will be furious again.”
Kerwyn nodded, then looked at Bench. “I will see that the prince is found. You will have your horse returned.”
The words barely registered before another voice reached me.
“What's going on?”
My heart began to race at the sound of that voice for I recognized this voice. It was so familiar that I knew it beyond my own voice, deep down to my bones. It was my mother's voice. Her sound tightened my chest so suddenly I had to grip the stone to remain standing.
I did not want to turn around. I was afraid that if I did, the world would entirely break apart. But I could not stop myself. So I turned to see my mother walk across the courtyard toward Kerwyn.
Her hair fell loose down her shoulders with the sides braided back as she always wore it back in those days. Her gown caught the light, and for a heartbeat I forgot how to breathe. She looked exactly as she had in my memories.
“Your Majesty, Prince Jaron had taken a horse from the stables and run off again.” Kerwyn said to my mother.
“Again?” she asked.
I covered my mouth for I was afraid of what sound might escape me. Every instinct in me screamed to run to her, to call and speak to her, to touch her hand and feel that she was alive again. I could fall to my knees to be near my mother again. But I was so frozen that my body would not move. So I only watched from where I stood.
Mother sighed. “The king will not be pleased if he hears it.”
Bench bowed deeply to my mother and suddenly became respectful. “He does it regularly, Your Majesty. I only wish my horse returned unharmed.”
“Lord Kerwyn,” Mother said turning to Kerwyn, “tell the vigils to search the city. He cannot have gone far.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Kerwyn replied, bowing before he left.
She turned back to Bench. “You will have your horse returned, Mr. Bench.”
Bench bowed again. When he left, Darius crossed his arms in frustration.
“Why does he always do this?” he muttered. “He skips lessons, steals horses and runs off or does something that gets him into trouble or finds some new way to upset Father again.”
Mother only laughed which startled Darius, who stared at her in confusion. The sound of her laughter caused me to feel a catch in my throat. It nearly shattered me.
“That sounds very much like me at his age,” she said, smiling to herself. “He is just like how I was.”
Darius blinked at her. “What?”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing. Only that Jaron is very much my son.”
Darius looked unconvinced.
“Come,” Mother said gently. “Let us find your father before he hears of this on his own. He might have returned by now. Let's hope Kerwyn finds Jaron soon or there will be trouble for your brother.”
They walked away together.
I stood frozen long after they were gone and closed my eyes to steady my emotions. Only then did understanding finally settle over me. This world was not an illusion. The mirror had not shown me a memory. It had returned me to it.
This was the past when Darius was eleven years old. That meant I should be seven years old in this time. It was the age when I often ran from lessons, stole horses and rode into the city simply to feel free. That younger version of me must be somewhere in this city at the moment, racing through the city on a stolen horse, laughing and being entirely unaware of how precious and fragile these moments truly were.
I understood at once that I could not walk openly through the castle like this. Whatever magic had drawn me here had not stripped me of my years. If I remained visible, I would not only be noticed, I would disrupt what had already been written. If any of the vigils looked closely at me, the resemblance alone might be enough to unravel everything. Or worse, change something that ought never to be changed.
So I became a shadow and slipped through corridors I knew best, keeping to the secret passages and narrow stairs until I reached the vigils’ room. The door was kept open. Luck, it seemed, had not entirely abandoned me. I took a plain vigil's cloak from a peg by the wall and wrapped it around myself. I raised the hood on the cloak and kept it low over my face. Then I decided to find my younger self.
That thought was unsettling in ways I did not care to examine too closely. I wondered, what mischief I had chosen that day. I did not remember what I had done on this particular day and that, in itself, troubled me. All I knew now was that somewhere beyond these walls, a seven-year-old boy with too much courage and too little sense was riding a stolen horse into trouble.
I often used to take a horse from the stables and flee the walls. When I returned, I was usually scolded by my father. He used to yell at me for hours.
I already knew to find myself, I would have to think like the child I had been in the past. There were several ways I had escaped the castle in those years, but one rose to the forefront of my mind as naturally as breathing.
The kitchens lay quiet when I slipped inside, heavy with the smell of bread and damp stone. I had escaped the castle on several occasions by opening a latch in the floor and dropping through it into the river below. My tutors never followed me, because they knew how disgusting the water was once the kitchen staff dumped all their food scraps into it. The kitchen staff knew how often I used to sneak in and out of the castle through that door but they never told anyone of it.
Though there was one more thing. At the age of seven I had not discovered this entrance yet. I had found that passage, only a year later, at the age of eight.
A loaf of bread sat unattended on a tray on the table. I took it, and without thinking, I broke off a piece and shoved it into my mouth. Some habits never died. Then I slipped the rest into my sleeve. I was halfway through chewing when a voice startled me.
“Who’s there?”
There was only one person who ever spoke with that particular warmth and suspicion combined in her voice back then. It was Cook.
From the corner of my eye I saw her standing by the far end of the table, wiping her hands on her apron, while she peered at me with mild curiosity rather than suspicion right now.
I cleared my throat and altered my voice, roughening it just enough. Even if I spoke plainly, she would not recognize me. I was taller now and broader with my face sharpened by years. My voice also sounded different from how it was when I was a seven-year-old child.
“The younger prince ran off again,” I said, keeping my back turned. “I was told to look here in the kitchen in case he has returned.”
She snorted softly. “Then you won’t find him here. If he were here, I’d know.”
Before I could respond, footsteps echoed at the kitchen door. Two vigils appeared in the doorway. “We’re looking for Prince Jaron,” a vigil called. “Has he returned and come here?”
“No,” Cook said promptly. “I haven’t seen him.”
The vigils distracted her long enough for me to reach the corner of the room. While she spoke with the vigils, I seized the moment, lifted the latch, and dropped through the opening before she could turn and see me.
Though as I slipped through the door on the floor, I heard a puzzled Cook mutter behind me, “Where did that vigil go?”
“Who?” Another voice asked.
After a while, I emerged from the water in the river coughing and wiping the filth from my hands. Then I pulled my hood tighter as I made my way beyond the gates.
I walked through the streets of Drylliad, soaked, just as I had done countless times before. The city stretched before me, noisy and alive.
Now the question pressed harder than any wall had ever done. Where was I? Or rather, a better question would be where was I likely to be at this moment?
I did not have to wonder for long when a scream cut through the street.
“My horse! Someone stop it!”
Another voice answered her that sounded far too confident and familiar.
“I’ll get it!”
My heart stopped at the sound of that voice. I ducked behind a stack of crates, then I saw him. My younger self stood astride a horse, hair wild and eyes bright with reckless determination.
Ahead of him, a loose frightened horse bolted through the crowd. I moved without thinking, intercepting its path and grabbed the reins at just the right moment. My younger self arrived a breath later as I hauled the horse back with more strength than the boy beside me could possibly have had. The horse reared, then stilled. Young Jaron slid off his own horse and together, we led the other horse back to the woman.
She thanked young Jaron profusely, then turned to me and offered her gratitude as well.
“Thank you for helping,” she said.
“I had it,” the boy said before I could speak, chin lifted in challenge. He casted me a sharp look. “I didn’t need your help.”
Ungrateful little—
I bit back the thought because I realized this boy was me. I winced. Was I truly like that?
And then the truth struck me. Of course, I had been exactly like this.
“I noticed,” I said dryly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“No one you need to know.”
We walked a short distance together while I kept my hood on. As young Jaron led his horse on foot, he glanced at me sideways. I studied him as well from beneath my hood. He was small, thin, too restless and was already carrying my defiance.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I said. “It isn’t safe for you out here. You might get into some trouble.”
He scoffed. “You sound just like those other people who always complain to my father. Especially the nobles.”
Then his eyes lit with mischief. “I once pulled a prank on one of them,” he added, grinning. “It felt good.”
I smiled beneath the hood. Yes, I knew that. And, if I was honest, I had never entirely stopped. I still offended most of the nobles deliberately whenever possible and felt rather entertained by it.
Young Jaron stopped and swung into the saddle of his horse. “I’m going now. I don’t need your help anymore.”
He started to turn away to leave.
“Wait,” I called him.
“I think you should know,” I said, “the guards are looking for you.”
His eyes widened as he looked back at me. “What?”
“I saw them in the city this afternoon.” That was true enough.
“Oh no,” he muttered, “I have to get back to the castle.”
And without another word he kicked the horse into motion and rode off toward the castle.
When he disappeared, the memory suddenly came back to me. This had been the day when an unknown man had helped me catch a woman’s runaway horse. I had never known who he was because I couldn't see his face clearly at that time. And I had never questioned how strange it was that he had vanished afterward. I realized it now it had been none other than me. The past was not merely replaying itself around me. It was rather folding and stitching its seams together with my own hands.