Page 20 of Heartbreak Prince

“I wasn’t planning to.”

We take a different route through the Brasspool District, since the narrow streets are teeming with more unrest than before. One alley we cut through turns out to be blocked by a cluster of hostile-looking men, but when I take out my claw knives and whirl them around casually, the group parts and allows us to pass.

I’m more nervous about attracting the attention of the Kyrian guards, but we don’t spot a single member of the watch on the way back. Either they’ve given up trying to maintain order in favor of staying safe themselves, or they’ve been told to let the violence and looting play out.

By the time we reach the forest clearing where we concealed the carpet, my nerves are frayed to the point of unraveling. None of my classes or my training could have prepared me for the mental and physical toll of a real crisis of this magnitude. Most bodyguards wouldn’t have to face such an extreme scenario on their first night trying out for a new position. Considering that, I think I’ve done well.

Apparently the carpet disagrees, because the second I unroll him, he says dryly, “Back so soon? I suppose you want to ride me upside down again while screaming and gagging?”

“We’d like to ride you the proper way,” I reply. “Right side up, and at a reasonable pace. No screaming.”

The carpet rises higher, the glow of his unicorn hairs brightening as he twists toward Vawn, then toward me. As if he’s looking at us.

Magic carpets, like all high-end enchanted objects, are the purview of the rich. One of my classes had a unit about them, but even though we trained on them for about a week, it was assumed that we wouldn’t be riding them often. Most carpets can only carry one or two people, making them impractical for daily use. My professor explained that while they all have the ability to perceive their surroundings and respond to simple commands, they don’t typically carry on conversations, nor do they possess all five senses like humans do.

This carpet seems to be the exception to a number of rules. He’s definitely surveying us, sizing us up.

“Do you have a destination in mind?” he asks. “Or are you going to provide me with vague directives again?”

“We want to go north, to Anyssir Castle in the Grey Province,” Vawn says. “Do you know it?”

“Do I know it?” The carpet’s tassels bristle. “I am familiar with every hamlet, village, town, castle, estate, city, and watchpost from Xarsi to the western sea, from Tularesk to Kredissia and beyond. Not to mention streams, lakes, forests, ponds, mountain ranges, barrows—”

“Excellent,” I interrupt. “Let’s go.”

But Vawn asks, “How does that work? What kind of magic can infuse such a vast body of knowledge into the fibers of a beautifully crafted masterpiece like yourself?”

I roll my eyes at the flattery, but the carpet seems to appreciate it. His gold tassels smooth themselves, and the rigid lines of his borders relax.

“Carpet weaving and consciousness infusion is a relatively recent development in the field of magical object creation,” he intones. “The first person to create a magical textile was Emyr Hasselpert, a tailor who infused a simple cotton handkerchief with his young daughter’s laughter. It would giggle every time human tears were introduced to its fibers. Not the most useful of inventions, but it opened the path for countless more complex—”

“Fascinating as this lecture will be, could we save it for the journey?” I interrupt.

The carpet turns toward me, displeasure radiating from every fiber. “Very well.”

He flattens himself out, right side up this time. I step onto his surface and seat myself at the front, gripping two loops of thin gold rope.

Vawn settles in behind me and leans over my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear, the edge of his mask brushing my hair. “The carpet likes me better.”

His whisper makes me shiver, and I cringe away, rubbing my ear. “That’s because you’re a kiss-ass.”

“I do not possess an ass to be kissed,” comments the carpet. “You could call him a fringe-fondler. That’s the equivalent phrase among my kind.”

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” I mutter. “Let’s go, before someone sees you glowing through the trees.”

“Do I have your permission to continue my explanation of carpet fabrication and magical infusion techniques?”

“Yes,” I say grudgingly. “As long as you can keep an eye out for unwanted company and conduct evasive maneuvers as needed.”

The carpet rises higher in the air. “Define ‘unwanted company.’”

“Let’s just say people in general. We want to stay away from everyone.”

“A laudable if unsociable goal. Noted.”

“Before you dive into your lecture on carpet crafting—one more thing.” I tighten my grip on the handholds as we emerge from the leafy canopy of the forest. “We should introduce ourselves. I’m Forsythia, Syth for short, and that’s Vawn. He’s a prince.”

“Don’t say prince like that, like you tasted something bad,” Vawn objects.