The Kingdom of Liars

by Nick Martell

  Past the shattered colosseum, the rest of the Militia Quarter hadn’t fared much better. The trees in the immediate area had either been set aflame or snapped in two, only their splintered stumps left behind. The closest buildings had been reduced to piles of stone, and small fires littered the area like weeds. It was also so, so quiet I could hear the buzzing of flies one moment, and then so loud the next that my thoughts were drowned out by swords clashing and gunfire.

  Where were the rebels? Where were the survivors? Where were the reinforcements?

  Where was anyone?

  Despite all the destruction, I noticed a small group of people huddled a little bit away from the colosseum. There were maybe a dozen of them, and I squinted, hoping to spot my friends. I picked and slid my way across the unstable rubble as fast as I could, careful to avoid the most dangerous areas, and then ran to the grouping.

  Jamal, Arjay, and Sirash saw me coming before I reached them. When we reunited, I scooped Jamal up in the biggest hug I could as I ruffled Arjay’s hair. Sirash just smiled, and life felt right again. They all looked as dirty and bruised and shocked as I was, but otherwise fine. Jamal’s stuffed dragon was still in his pocket, and I was thankful he hadn’t lost it. Enough had gone wrong today.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said, with a half grin.

  “We were coming back to look for you,” Sirash replied.

  “What happened?”

  “Rebels,” Arjay declared.

  “Besides that.”

  “We got separated in the explosion,” Sirash said. “I tried to catch you before you fell, but I couldn’t. It was chaos after that. The blast destroyed the central arena, and without that foundation the colosseum disintegrated around us. Rebels disguised as Advocators were waiting outside to cut people down as they escaped. Not many survived.”

  “How’d you all?” I asked as I put Jamal down.

  “We did what we do best,” Jamal said. “We hid and waited for all the lunatics to stop killing each other.”

  “It helped that the Militia led a charge against the false Advocators and distracted them from us civilians,” Sirash explained.

  “Does that mean the Militia drove off the rebels?”

  All three of them looked at each other. But it was Jamal who said, “No. I think they’re all dead. The rebels shot at them as they charged. When the Militia retreated, the rebels followed. Last we saw, the Militia Headquarters was on fire.”

  “So this is an active war zone and the rebels are winning?”

  They all confirmed my statement with a nod.

  “Then we need to get going before any more rebels show up,” I said.

  “There’s no need to go anywhere,” an Advocator interrupted. He had a nasty wound on his forehead and his front teeth had been knocked out. “Scales will send help soon. Let us do our jobs and remain here for now.”

  “I’d rather take my chances. Especially if some of the rebels are disguised as members of Scales.”

  The Advocator shook his head and mumbled something rude but didn’t argue further. He returned to bandaging someone. Besides us, there were maybe ten other survivors.

  “There are rebels everywhere. How do you plan on getting out of here?” Sirash asked.

  I grabbed a sharp stone and sketched a makeshift map of the east side of Hollow in the dust. “We’re right in the middle of the Militia Quarter. The Ravens or Scales will block both bridges to the Isle and the eastern gates once they hear of the attack. So we have three options: the Rainbow District, the cemetery, or the wharf.”

  “The Rainbow District is blocked off, too. Some of the others tried going up there but got turned away,” Jamal said with a nudge toward his home district, off in the distance.

  “I think we should split up,” I said. “We’ll be less likely to be seen in twos.”

  Sirash agreed with me and then pointed at my makeshift map. “Arjay and I will take the wharf and then find Jean. We’ll have to swim, and I’d rather not be responsible for Michael drowning today.”

  I grumbled to myself. “I’ll learn how to swim eventually.”

  Jamal’s face was serious. “That leaves us the cemetery, where the walls are as tall as eight full-grown men. How are we going to get over them and onto the battlements?”

  “The wall is climbable. It’ll be tough, but I think I know a place that shouldn’t be too bad. And once we’re on the battlements, my foster father will protect us.”

  An uneasy silence fell over us all. Our plan was dangerous and risky and based on limited information, but what else could we do?

  “Are we doing the right thing?” Sirash asked. “Should we wait? We haven’t seen any rebels since the initial attacks. Heard them, but—”

  “I knew it!” the Advocator shouted, cutting Sirash off. “I told you all Scales would send reinforcements! Look! They even sent the Wardens! We’re saved!”

  A group of twenty or so people were walking toward us. They were dressed almost exactly like Wardens normally were: full dark-colored plate mail, curved-horn helmets, and massive spears across their back. The only thing missing was their stark white capes. It was part of their uniform, and they wouldn’t go out anywhere, let alone a battle, without them.

  “You thinking what I am?” I asked Sirash.

  He nodded. “Time to go. Be careful out there.”

  “You too.” I held my open palm out. “See you on the other side?”

  Without hesitation Sirash took my hand and said, “See you under the stars.”

  I tried to warn the other survivors, but when it became clear they weren’t listening, I grabbed Jamal’s hand and we ran away before it was too late. We only ran faster when we heard their screams. I told myself I would have been braver if Jamal wasn’t with me.

  Jamal and I moved quickly and quietly through the district, avoiding anyone in a uniform and hiding whenever we heard yelling—or heard wails suddenly go silent. It helped that the rebels had no need for stealth, some of them even chanting about useless kings, corrupt nobility, the price of bread, and the need for the commoners to take back what was owed to them. I took their ideals less seriously every time I passed a body in the streets. If they wanted a revolution and a restructuring of power, killing the people who never had power to begin with wasn’t the way to do it. It would happen only when the country moved on from that useless King Isaac, his Ravens, the surviving prince and princess, and all the High Nobles.

  When we passed through the iron gates into the cemetery, I let go of the breath I had been holding while we had snuck through the district. The worst of it was over. With no people or property in here, there was no reason for the rebels to be here. Luck, for once, was on my side as we delved deeper into the unkempt areas of the cemetery. On our way to the wall, we’d have to pass by my father’s grave.

  Jamal held his stuffed dragon tightly. “I hope Trey doesn’t cancel our chicken dinner plans because of what happened.”

  “He might. Or he might want to celebrate that we’re both alive.”

  “Don’t think I can remember the last time he was ever happy about something.”

  “What about that time he found a gold sun in the street?”

  Jamal made an exaggerated sound of surprise. “Name another. But it’s not like you’re any different. When’s the last time you’ve been happy about anything? Besides not going into an orphanage after your father was executed.”

  He wasn’t wrong. My siblings and I had been relieved when we were put in Angelo’s care almost immediately after our father was executed. No matter how useless the king was, even he knew it wouldn’t be safe for us if we were still in public after the Kingman Keep riots. Those riots had killed enough…

  “Michael,” Jamal said as he tugged at me, “there’s a problem.”

  “What’re you—”

  Then I saw what he meant. There were two rebels standing near my father’s grave as another knelt in front of it, almost as if she was in prayer. A ridiculous thought or act for
anyone who knew my family well enough. The Kingman family had been at war with God since Hollow had been founded.

  We hid behind a dead tree. “What are we going to do, Michael?”

  Something poked me in the back, almost in reply, and I felt hot breath on my neck. “You’re going to raise your hands, nice and slow, and walk toward the others. Unless you want an iron ball in your spine.”

  I did as I was told, moving slowly toward the other rebels around my father’s nameless grave in a field of weeds. Jamal followed me, even if a gun wasn’t pointed against his spine, and his struggling and squirming drew the others’ attention to us.

  “Lookee what I found!”

  A thin, pale man with the rebel symbol shaved into the side of his head smiled. “What’re you doing? We don’t need hostages. Wait, is that…? Check the left side of his neck. Look for a brand.”

  “His neck?” the brutish rebel questioned. He grabbed my head and twisted it, exposing the crown brand. “I caught me a traitor! Best day ever!”

  “Not just any traitor. That’s Michael Kingman, the perfect replica of the great one.”

  The rebel was giddy. “I caught Michael Kingman! And look, his brand really is in the same spot as my tattoo. I should’ve believed you two. This must be a sign from God what we’ve done today is just.”

  The pale man approached me. He smelled like citrus despite all the mud and blood that covered his exposed skin. He squished my cheeks and covered my mouth with his hand. “Oh, having a Kingman is better than a sign from God. Em, come see him for yourself.”

  “You will never be forgotten and neither will your Sacrifice,” the woman in front of my father’s grave muttered, eyes closed, before walking over to us, as graceful as a dancer. A bold silver scar ran from below her right eye, along her jawline, to the bottom of her head and then disappeared beneath her high-collared shirt. She was gorgeous, in the most frightening way possible. “Michael, how long has it been since we’ve last seen each other?”

  I had no idea who this woman was. I repeated that sentiment to her in a much more colorful way.

  She giggled, and it made me shiver. “Oh, Michael. Always the rebel. Even before we existed. Have you come to join us?”

  “I’d rather die.”

  She ran two fingers gently along my jawline. “So stubborn. You know, you look so much like your father. Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Together we could restore the Kingman legacy.”

  “Restore the legacy? You’re murdering innocent people. I don’t think you get what my family stood—”

  The woman grabbed my collar and pulled me closer. “We’re the only ones left who understand. Our role in society is not an easy one, but it is necessary. We are here to rid the world of a tyrant whose regime will never end. Without this public spectacle, he would remain elusive, holed up in his fortress, indulging in wine and memories. But now we’ve done something he can’t ignore. He will have to act or risk losing everything he has built. And then, once we have the opportunity, we’ll bring about the next generation and eradicate any trace of the old.”

  “You really think you’re going to get close to the king? After this?”

  “Our goal is within sight. It’s a shame you’re as blind as the others. We could have been great together.” She turned my head from side to side, examining me. “But maybe it’s too soon for you to join us. I wonder… how much of your childhood do you remember?”

  “Lady,” I growled, “please shut the fuck up.”

  Another giggle, higher pitched than the last one. The other rebels even joined in, only stopping when she did. “I always suspected you didn’t remember. I wonder what caused it… Was it a Darkness Fabrication? Or did you use your own Fabrications and lose the memories in the process? So many options. But there’s still hope so long as you don’t suffer the same affliction as your mother.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never used Fabrications, I remember everything, and don’t you fucking dare mention my mother again.”

  “Did I strike a nerve?” she asked with a smile. “You see, Michael, if you truly remembered everything, you’d be with us, fulfilling your father’s wishes. Haven’t you ever wondered why a Kingman killed a Royal? A child Royal, no less?” She put her hands behind her back and leaned close. “I’ll tell you if you say my name.”

  When I didn’t respond, she said, “Such a shame. I would ruin the surprise, but I’m worried it might do more harm than good. Thankfully, we’ll meet again. Once you’ve remembered why your father truly killed the boy prince.” She turned her back to me and waved goodbye. “But just so you don’t forget this, kill the nobody.”

  My scream was drowned out by the gunshot, and Jamal’s eyes went wide as he crumpled in place like wet paper, a bloodstain spreading across his back. The rebel behind me cackled, still holding the smoking gun as I threw my elbow back into his face and heard a crack as his nose broke. I turned and tackled the rebel into a tree and heard another crack and hoped it was his back. The pale rebel yanked me off him and then threw me against the ground next to Jamal, his friend’s gun pointed at my chest. The woman hovered around me.

  “Leave him,” she ordered. “A Kingman is too valuable to waste, and I don’t want him to die until he remembers who I am and why we fight.”

  They left me in that field of weeds in front of my father’s grave, holding Jamal’s body in my arms and begging him to wake up… saying it over and over and over again until the sun was low in the sky and Scales found me holding his dead body.

  * * *

  Scales took us to some building that was too fancy and clean and structurally sound for us to belong in. They took Jamal away from me, despite my protests, and put me in a room that was dark and cold, and let an auburn-haired woman clean and bind my injuries while she hummed a lullaby to me… It was only after she left, taking her soothing lullaby with her, that the weight of what happened fell on my shoulders. I had Jamal’s stuffed dragon clenched in my hands and wondered how I was going to tell my best friend his brother had died in front of me. And that I had been powerless to stop it.

  The Wind Fabricator from the colosseum found me. She was closer to my age than I’d realized and dressed in the typical military uniform of the Executioner Division of Scales, the only differences between her uniform and that of an Advocator were that hers was colored white instead of purple, was incredibly dirty, and she had an emblem of two axes crossed over each other instead of the standard gold scales. There was also a gold crown insignia on her lapel, signaling her participation in the upcoming Endless Waltz.

  “Michael,” she said, without the typical iron in her voice that I expected from members of Scales. “My name is Naomi Dexter. We met earlier in the Militia Quarter after the explosion. I’m here to collect your statement. Are you ready?”

  I nodded. My throat hurt. From screaming, from begging Jamal to live. I wondered what my voice would sound like when I spoke again.

  “What happened?”

  “Rebels,” I croaked.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Rebels,” I said louder. “They killed him.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “There were three of them,” I said as she opened a notebook and began to take notes. Did she have that the entire time? I hadn’t seen her enter with it. “One of them looked like a bruiser, probably has a broken nose… maybe a broken back. The second was pale and sickly and smelled of citrus. The last was a woman, with a scar that covered most of her face.”

  “Tell me more about the man who smelled like citrus.”

  “What about him?”

  “Anything. A name or place or a passing thought. Anything he said about their plans. Anything that could help us capture him.”

  “If I knew anything important, I would tell you,” I said, voice straining. I was holding back tears, just thinking about what had happened in the graveyard made me remember Jamal and… and… and…

  Naomi p
ut her pencil down on the desk and reached across to take my hands in hers. They were warm despite all the grime. “I know this is difficult to talk about, and I’m sorry about your friend, Michael. These rebels have taken a lot from all of us. I… I don’t like to talk about it much, but they killed my mother in Naverre. Ever since then I’ve made it my goal in life to stop these people from hurting anyone ever again. So, please, can you go over what they said to you? You’re one of our best leads right now, and, truthfully, you might be our only hope at stopping them once and for all.”

  I steeled myself and exhaled. I scrounged my memory for anything that might be helpful so this could never happen to anyone else ever again. “The pale man barely spoke to me. But the woman—”

  “Stay on the pale man.” She squeezed my hand. “What did he say to you? Tell me the specifics. Maybe something that doesn’t seem important to you will mean something to me.”

  “Others were there. Why are you so interested in one man?”

  “Because reports in the past led me to believe that was the Emperor, the rebel leader. Do you know anything about him or not?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  Naomi let go of my hands ever so slowly before leaning back in her seat, arms crossed. “They left no other witness. Did they give you any reason to explain why you were allowed to live?”

  “They said because I was a Kingman, and too valuable to kill.”

  “Why would you be too valuable to kill?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, head pounding.

  A silence, and she made another note. “Be honest with me, Michael. Are you working with the rebels?”

  “What?” I responded. “How could you ask me that? I’m a Kingman, and Kingman don’t kill—”