by Nick Martell
“No,” he declared, voice rising in pitch. “No! The shadows tell me it was the trigger! But his finger was on the barrel! That’s the truth!”
Shadows speaking to him? Not even Dark could make his Darkness Fabrications do that. What had happened to this man’s mind? Even our mother, on her worst days, was in a better place than he was on his good ones. “If our father didn’t pull the trigger, then who did? Where’d the gun come from?”
“The smoking gun fell into his hand.”
This wasn’t helping his story sound more credible.
“Is there anything else you remember?” Gwen asked.
Blackwell didn’t respond, curling tighter into his body, wrapping his arms around his legs. Gwen had him rest his head on her shoulder as a mother might to comfort their child. She gave me a look, and I continued the questioning myself.
To gauge his sanity, I asked a question I already knew the answer to. “What about your Raven wife? What happened to her?”
“Dead. The shadows killed her in Naverre seven years ago. They said it was rebels, but I know the truth. Back then, the first memories were still in my head.”
“The shadows?”
“They whisper lies,” he explained. “They try to turn the truth into the first memories. They distort. Every time they come, they take more and more. They don’t want me to remember I know about them, know what they’re doing. That’s why I keep these candles lit all day and night. They can’t ever go out. Not ever. Never ever.”
“How did you find out your memories were affected by Darkness Fabrications?”
He breathed in and out very slowly, rocking slightly, bringing himself back to reality. Gwen’s attempts to comfort him were beginning to fail.
“Things changed,” he said. “Hard to tell the difference between misremembering and not being able to remember. How many cups were on the table at dinner? Two or three. Small things at first, but then eventually they got bigger and bigger. Because they change things. And then they have to change other things, to make sense with the old memories. Unending cycle of change.
“They changed the color of Kendra’s wedding dress. Then I knew. That memory was too bright for the shadows to change. Wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened to my mind. It had to be Darkness Fabrications. People thought the stress of losing my wife in Naverre caught up to me and this was how my family showed me how much they cared… put me somewhere where they thought I could get better.”
Although the asylum had been built to help people, nowadays it was closer to a prison for those whose families wanted to keep them out of sight.
“Do you know who did this to you?”
Colton Blackwell met my eyes, his own filled with longing and regret. “Do you think I’d be here if I did? Someone stole my life from me.”
“Can’t Light Fabrications reverse the process?”
He laughed. “Every day they use Light Fabrications to try and relieve what the Darkness Fabrications have done to me. All it does is create cracks in my mind before the shadows try to retake their lost ground. No one knows why, but I had to beg them to stop trying. The doctors here think my mind has been broken beyond repair. They’re just waiting for me to die.” He paused, drew in a long breath, and looked away from Gwen. “They don’t think I listen.”
I didn’t know what to say or how to comfort him. I rose to my feet. The man was clearly mad, and he’d said nothing credible to support my sister’s theories about our father’s innocence—or Domet’s that he had been set up. If anything, his words made me doubt there was anything to find, even if I could steal the king’s memories.
I was more confident than before that leaving Hollow was the right thing to do. Gwen got Blackwell comfortable again and we both left the room, Gwen shutting the door securely behind her.
“Do you see? Our father was innocent! A Darkness Fabricator set him up!”
“Those were the ramblings of a madman, Gwen. A smoking gun fell into our father’s hand? Nothing he said was proof of anything.”
“Did you listen to the same conversation? Didn’t you hear our father wasn’t holding the gun correctly? Nothing is random. It means—”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Gwen, Angelo has offered us a way out of Hollow. Our mother, too. If we want, we can be out of here and never have to worry about what the nobility thinks of us again. We don’t have to live up to the Kingman legacy anymore.”
Gwen knocked my hands away. “We don’t have to? Of course we don’t. You’re the only one who ever thought we had to. Lyon and I accepted, the moment we were branded, that nothing would be expected from us again. The only reason I cared was because I knew it would affect my children—if I ever had any.”
“I never knew you felt that way,” I said.
“I was realistic about the future… You weren’t.”
Part of me thought I could continue the family legacy away from Hollow, rebuilding it slowly over the years. And then there was a part of me that understood that if I left Hollow, the Kingman legacy would end with me. But, like my mother said, I had to do what was best for me. No matter what kind of obligation I felt to the city for my father’s betrayal. The city had survived without a Kingman for a decade; it could continue without one for as long as it had to.
“You’re right. But I’ve grown up. We can leave Hollow, Gwen. We can have a normal life.”
She started to pace. “I want that gun. I won’t leave Hollow without finding it.”
“What?”
“The gun that killed Davey. Bring me the gun and I’ll leave Hollow with you.”
There was a better chance of Celona repairing itself than that happening. All that finding the gun would do was aid her investigation. She would only leave Hollow when her hatred of the Royals was sated.
“You realize what you’re asking from me, Gwen? If the gun hasn’t been destroyed, which it could have been, it will be held by the king himself. I’d have to break into the castle for a chance at finding it.”
“Aren’t you planning to already?” she questioned. “You’re not participating in the Endless Waltz to hang out with nobles all day long. You’re after something—probably with Domet’s help—and since you’ve suddenly joined the Waltz, you must want something from the castle.”
“How do you know the gun hasn’t been destroyed already?”
Her expression grew serious. “If I were murdered, would you destroy the weapon that killed me? Or would you want to know everything: where it came from, who designed it, who built it, and how it ended up in the murderer’s hands?”
“Maybe the king still has it.”
“I know he does.” She paused. “Help me. Prove our father was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt, and then we can both put Hollow behind us for good.”
We sealed the deal with a hug.
* * *
The moment I left the asylum, the shadows began to dance on the walls around me, and I knew my evening was far from over.
Dark was waiting outside on a bench, and once he saw me, he rose and walked over. The darkness seemed to distort him, elongating his features in the waning moonlight. “Michael, I don’t think I need to threaten you or your sister in there to get you to come with me, do I?”
I shook my head. “I’m surprised it took you this long to find me.”
“I’m patient.” Dark turned his back to me. “Follow. We’ll have a conversation somewhere more private.”
I followed him further into the city. I couldn’t make a mistake if I wanted to see the morning light. But I had more power than he realized, having hidden his documents.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
THE MERCENARY
I sat against the wall as Dark built and lit a fire in the hearth.
We hadn’t spoken on the walk to Kingman Keep, maybe because there was nothing that needed to be said. He tended the first flickers of the flame, gently feeding wood into it until it could survive on its own, then stood and brushed off his h
ands on his shirt. He had changed a little since I had last seen him, more put together. His angular facial features were from Hollow, but his thick black hair wasn’t. He’d trimmed his black beard and shaved the sides of his head to a thin stubble, while the rest of his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. His clothes showed proof of the athletic build I’d suspected he had when we first met, and his jacket was open enough that I could see the butt of his pistol in its holster.
“We’re safe enough here. Give me my envelope.”
“I don’t have it here.”
He looked at me. “I don’t believe you.”
“Give me some credit: I can be moonstruck sometimes, but I’m not an imbecile. Why would I risk losing your envelope by carrying it on me all the time when I could leave it somewhere safe?”
“Then where is it?” he said, a touch more anger in his voice.
“Somewhere you can’t get to without my help.”
“Doubtful.”
“Since Tosburg Company couldn’t, I doubt you could alone.”
Dark went still. “How do you know about Tosburg Company?”
I hid my smile, realizing I had the upper hand for the first time. I’d still have to be careful if I was going to get out of here with my life intact. “Read about them in your notes.”
“You opened my envelope? That was stupid of you.”
“Would you be treating me any differently if I hadn’t?”
Dark threw a piece of wood into the fire and watched it crackle. “Probably not,” he admitted, and rubbed his chin. “I know that Tosburg Company attacked the Hollow Library seeking some specific information, and that their attack failed… so I’m assuming you’ve hidden my envelope there. That’s annoying, and I’m not sure if I’d want to piss off the Archivists again. But I’ll do what is needed.” His hand curled around the pistol grip. “Your usefulness just came to an end.”
“I can retrieve it for you, given a few assurances.”
He looked at me with his grey eyes. “Michael, let me be clear. You stole from me. If you attempt to extort me for what is rightfully mine, I will kill you. That is a promise, not a threat.”
I held up a hand to forestall him. “I didn’t steal anything. You told me to hold on to that envelope, and I did. I had no way to contact you to return it, so I kept it safe until you found me. It’s not as if I was trying to avoid you. It’s yours in exchange for your word that this matter will be settled between us. And letting me know what happened to Sirash.”
“Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“I’ve made enough deals with people recently to know not to rely on their compassion once it’s over.”
“You realize what I am, right?” Dark asked, shadows darkening around him. “I am not a simple Waylayer or King. I am a Mercenary. Do you not understand what that means?”
“I’m known for my persistence, not my intelligence.”
Dark laughed, a proper belly laugh, his head thrown back and the shadows retreating again. “I need answers about something in this keep. Give them to me as a show of good faith, and in exchange I’ll promise you safety and tell you what happened to your friend.”
What was another deal at this point? Soon the only person I wouldn’t have made one with would be the king himself. “What do you want to know about?”
With a gesture, Dark led me into my old room in Kingman Keep. It was cold and dry, wind blowing leaves in through the broken window. Shattered glass covered the ground outside, glittering in the pale moonlight.
He stood in the center of it and asked, “Why is this room painted like this?”
There was a night sky painted across the walls and ceiling, dozens of constellations spread across them, from the Grey Dragon and God’s Left Eye to the seven major pieces of the shattered moon and the debris field around them. There was a painted sun setting into the tile floor where my bed had once stood. The paint had chipped slightly in the years it had been left unattended and uncared for, but it was still as wonderous a sight as it had been when I was a child.
“My father painted it for me. I was… maybe six at the time.”
Dark was silent as he made his way around the room, examining it closely. “I didn’t know your father was so skilled.”
“He wasn’t known for it,” I said, “but he painted whenever he needed to relax. A lot of his work used to be displayed in the castle—portraits and landscapes, mostly—but all of it is gone now.”
“It’s rare to see someone from Hollow with this level of artistic talent.” Dark paused and pointed toward the corner of the room where the seven major pieces of Celona were. “The brushwork there is amazing. Even masters have trouble blending colors like that. Where did your father learn to do this?”
I shrugged. “In another country, probably.” It was just another mystery in a long line of things I didn’t know about my father. Everyone spoke about David Kingman the traitor and little of anything else. I didn’t even know how my parents had met. “I suspect he would’ve become a painter if the world hadn’t needed him to be a Kingman.”
Dark glided his fingers over the chipped paint. He did a lap around the room before he said, “Why did your father paint this for you?”
“I was afraid of the dark.”
“The dark?”
“Yeah, I know, hard to believe,” I said, rubbing the back of my head. “I thought the shadows that moved in the night were monsters coming to get me. It drove our servants insane. Sometimes I woke up screaming from my nightmares and lit candles to keep the shadows at bay, only to fall asleep again with open flames in my room… One night, after the drapes caught fire, my father took me outside and we stood in the dark together.”
I cleared my throat and continued, “He told me that everything I was afraid of in the dark was also there in the light. The only difference was the way it looked. He made me touch the blue-and-grey flowers, walk across the wet grass, and watch the fish swim in the river’s green water. Then he picked me up again and we looked at the stars. He told me that the greatest treasure this world offers us is only visible at night, and if we didn’t go outside when it was dark, we would miss it. So, what was there to be afraid of? It was the first time I’d ever really looked at the stars and the moons before. They were gorgeous. We stayed up all night as he named every single constellation and told its story. The next day, he started painting this.” I was quiet for a moment. “Back then, he was my hero.”
“Fathers are like that,” Dark said, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Always disappointing their children when they need them the most.”
“Why do you care about this?”
“There’s a room in the castle that’s almost identical. I was trying to find out why.”
Why did Dark care about a similarly painted room in the castle? I asked him that question.
“It doesn’t concern you. But if you’d rather know why instead of what happened to your friend that night, I’ll tell you.”
“No, tell me about Sirash.”
Dark took a seat on the edge of the windowsill, ignoring the broken glass. “He ran away shortly after you did. Didn’t even stay behind to get paid. That’s all I know.”
“I don’t believe you. How do I know you’re not keeping him somewhere as a hostage?”
“If I had him, you would know.”
“So you have no idea where he is or what happened to him?”
“None whatsoever. He could’ve made it out, or Scales could have him.”
If Scales had him, his body could appear in the Hanging Gardens at any moment. And since he hadn’t been paid, his family was in danger. Worse, it was another three days before we were due to meet up again, and if he’d been implicated and I went looking for him, I could easily be the one Scales executed. What could I do?
Dark’s thoughts had already moved on.
“Tomorrow morning you’re going to retrieve my envelope from the Hollow Library and then bring it to me after Lights Out. Th
at’s well after the third event of the Endless Waltz, so there shouldn’t be any conflict.”
“Tomorrow? You don’t want it back tonight?”
He paused, as if thinking about what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. “No. If someone else is watching you, they’ll get suspicious of why you’re going to the library late at night. Especially when you’re not supposed to be there. I could accompany you, but that might make it worse. Let it take longer rather than risk what is rightfully mine.”
“If that’s what—”
There was a crash in one of the rooms outside. Dark drew his gun and pointed for me to hide in one of the nearby rooms. I went without hesitation. The last thing I wanted to do was be seen with a Mercenary. Although, instead of breaking a window and jumping out, I closed the door to a sliver and watched to see who had found us.
It was Trey, and he was walking into the great hall with his hands up.
THE MERCENARY’S APPRENTICE
Trey stopped in the middle of the Great Hall before I could open the door and scream at Dark not to shoot him, and lifted his shirt to show he was unarmed.
Dark didn’t lower his gun. “Who are you and what do want?”
“My name is Treyvon Wiccard,” he said, hands still raised. “You’re Dark, a Mercenary of Orbis Company, right? The one known as the Black Death?”
Dark was the Black Death? According to Angelo, the Black Death was credited with more than five hundred murders, all over the world. He was a daemon in human form. Only the Reaper was credited with more. What could Trey possibly want from him?
Dark must have shared my thoughts, as he asked the same thing.
“I want to join Orbis Company. I want to become a Mercenary.”
It was hard to tell if I was alive after I heard that, because I was certain my heart had stopped.
Dark didn’t share my shock and despair. He laughed, holstering his gun. “You want to be a Mercenary? Tell me, Treyvon, who exactly do you want to kill?”
That question caught Trey off guard, and with a stammer he said, “What? I don’t want to—”
