The Kingdom of Liars

by Nick Martell

  “It’s his life,” Dark said. “He can choose for himself.”

  “If Sirash knew there was a way into the castle… would it be feasible?”

  He crossed his arms. “The king’s memories are most likely in the Royal Tower. And with the riots, King Isaac has probably been evacuated somewhere safe and private that the rebels wouldn’t know of. So it’s possible you could get in there and find the information without being caught.”

  “You know the way to it?”

  “I have a good guess.”

  “What do you want in exchange?”

  “A sample of your blood.”

  A sample of my blood? I opened my mouth to question why, but it wouldn’t matter, I would agree no matter what.

  “Done,” I said. “I’ll talk to Sirash. But before I do, I’ve seen you use both Ice and Darkness. How do you have two Fabrication specializations?”

  He chuckled. “For a Kingman, you really are ignorant of how the world works.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Oh, really?” he mocked. “Can you tell the difference between Gold Coast clans’ masks? Can you distinguish between a gun made in New Dracon City and one made in Eham? What about the difference between someone in the Warring States that identifies as a Winter man compared to a Summer man? Can you answer any of my questions?”

  “It’s been a long—”

  “Michael, I’ll tell you this much: if you think Fabricators are the only thing the Royalty and Emperor fear, you’re mistaken. If they were the only source of magic in the world, Hollow would be an empire, not a kingdom. But now isn’t the time for me to explain myself, no matter what you may think. Go get your friend. You’re wasting time.”

  Frustrated, I left the Mercenary and joined the others. Besides Sirash, everyone else was huddled together and talking quietly, most likely discussing whether I was still sane and what they should do about me if I wasn’t.

  Sirash, on the other hand, was sitting in a chair, staring into the fire. I took a seat on the floor next to him with no real idea what to say. Or even how to convey how sorry I was. Or how to tell him what had happened with his brother, someone I should have been protecting. I couldn’t express any of it in words.

  “You got away,” he said, still staring at the fire. It crackled in front of us.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said. “Maybe I was at some point, but not anymore. You got me out of there. That’s thanks enough.”

  “How did you—”

  “Know you were responsible?” he said. He shifted in his seat. “The castle educator told me I was going to be released at High Noble Domet’s request. Domet the Deranged isn’t known for his mercy. Why would he care about a Skeleton like me? I’m a nobody… and it’s not like I have any other friends who could have influenced Scales to release me, so it had to be you. I don’t know what you did to get me out of there and I don’t care. We’re good. Always will be.”

  “Sirash, I—”

  “It’s weird: I was so sure I was going to die in there, I gave up on my future. Now I have a life I don’t know what to do with, and I’m fucking it up just sitting here, and yet I have no idea what to do.”

  “Jean misses you.”

  He nodded solemnly. “I haven’t figured out how to face her yet. Part of me wants to hug her so tight and never let her go. Another part…” He took a breath, “Maybe it would be better if she and Arjay think I died.”

  “Sirash.”

  I was standing over him, glaring. He looked at me, expressionless, eyes lost in a daze.

  “She would be better off without me. Without my problems. All I do is drag her down. She deserves better than that. That’s why I was so proud when she finally joined the College of Musicians.”

  “Jean loves you Sirash. She always has.”

  He cupped his face in his hands. “She’ll be better off without me.”

  “What about Arjay? Are you just going to abandon him, too?”

  “He survived without me before.”

  I put my hands behind my head. Sirash was broken. He couldn’t even face his own fears, and I wanted him to lead us back to the site of his torture. I didn’t think it would be this bad, but he was in no state to help. I would have to come up with another plan. Maybe there was someone else who knew how to get into the castle. Or something. There had to be another angle.

  “Do you remember the old days?” Sirash asked. “Back when we used to run jobs every night together. All that time we spent just talking in the darkness? I thought about those conversations a lot when I was there. My memories of you, and Jean, and Arjay kept me alive.”

  There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away.

  “I don’t think I can keep conning nobles after this. I need a stable life. Far away from anyone with power or delusions of it.”

  A life without delusions of grandeur. I had wanted that once, and some part of me still did. Back before Domet had intervened in my life. Back when my only concern was to protect my family, while living month to month. I’d had simple goals: cure my mother and figure out why my father had given me a useless, rusted ring before he had died.

  “Do you remember when we daydreamed about robbing King Isaac?” Sirash chuckled to himself. “It was a child’s dream of hidden passages and secret ways… They turned it against me, you know? While they tortured me. The educators said there was a way from the dungeons to the river; I just had to find it. I think they enjoyed watching me run through the labyrinth—their own personal hunt. I almost found it, too… I’d been searching in a pattern, and one day they were almost frantic when they dragged me back to my cell. They never let me out again.”

  This was that moment. The one that could plague my nightmares for years to come, depending on what I said next. I had thought Jamal’s death would haunt me, but in the end I had only been a witness to his death. Everyone can watch someone get hurt and still sleep at night. But only monsters lie to and manipulate their friends when they’re down. If I truly cared about Sirash, I would tell him what had happened to his brother and take him to Arjay tonight, let them walk down the road toward recovery together.

  I am not proud of what I did, but I couldn’t stop it. Not this close to the truth.

  “The man who did that to your face… what if I said we could get revenge against him?”

  Sirash’s eyes lit up, and just like that, we had a plan.

  * * *

  I wasn’t expecting them to handle it well. My sister especially.

  They didn’t.

  “I’m not letting you go alone,” Gwen declared.

  “Neither am I. That Mercenary could kill you and we would be unable to do anything to stop him,” Kai said. “Or he could betray you inside the castle. I doubt the king would be merciful.”

  “I’m not asking for help,” I said. “I’m going and you three are staying here.”

  “We’re not asking to come with you, Michael. We’re planning to,” Gwen said.

  “If you’re caught, you could be charged with treason. No one is being executed because of me.”

  Gwen turned to Kai. “Can you give us a moment?”

  He hesitated but nodded and walked away. High Noble Margaux was watching from a distance away, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed.

  “So,” Gwen said, “we’re just supposed to wait around here and see if they’re going to cut off your head in the morning? Is stealing the king’s memories worth the risk? What will you gain?”

  “It’s about our father, Gwen. What if he’s been innocent all these years? What if—”

  “Michael,” she said, “I’ve always known he was innocent. We don’t need a document in that castle to prove it. What if there’s another way?”

  “There isn’t. Everything I’ve learned about our father and that trial leads back to the king. If we want the truth, this is the way to get it.”

  “Do you swear this is the only option?” she said, eyes intent.
“That this is worth the risk?”

  There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

  “I’ll stand with you if you want to do this,” she said. “But you’re risking everything you gained during the Endless Waltz. If you’re caught, nothing can or will save you. But if you don’t go through with this asinine plan, we can rebuild the Kingman legacy as a family. We can find the princess and work with her to ensure the Corrupt Prince never leads Hollow.”

  “Isn’t this what you wanted? A week ago, wouldn’t you have killed for this opportunity?”

  “A week ago I would have burned this city down at the chance to redeem our father,” she clarified. “But now I’ve had a taste of it… and I don’t want revenge to be my life. I don’t want to fight war after war like our ancestors did. If there’s a way we can help this country without killing others, I’d like to try and find it. And the only way that can begin is if I abandon the hatred I have for the Royals. Please, Michael. Stay with me.”

  “I have to go,” I said, more meekly than I expected. “I have to know if our father was innocent.”

  Gwen didn’t look at me with anger or sadness in her eyes. No. Her eyes simply seemed faded and cloudy as if she was too exhausted to pay me any more attention. I wondered how she shouldered the burden of believing in our father’s innocence alone for all these years, and now that I believed it, too, the anger that had ruled her for years was beginning to calm.

  No wonder she seemed so tired.

  “Do what you have to do,” she sighed. “Good luck, Michael. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I will, Gwen. I promise.”

  “I love you, Michael. Don’t forget that.”

  “I love you, too, Gwen. And I won’t.”

  My sister joined Kai, to plan their night while waiting for the blockades to rise. I knew that should have been me. That I should be next to her, planning our next move together. But I wasn’t, and what happened next would be on me… and me alone.

  High Noble Margaux was waiting for me by the exit.

  “If Gwen couldn’t convince me to stay, you have no chance,” I said.

  “I have no intention of stopping you, Michael. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  “Goodbye for now,” I clarified. “I’ll be back.”

  She stopped leaning against the wall and smiled as she put a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for not judging me. I appreciated it. More than you can imagine.”

  “I’m not dying,” I said as she walked away.

  “You’re not. But sometimes it’s important to remember that you are mortal and that some goodbyes are forever. Even if they weren’t meant to be.”

  There was nothing else to say, so she went to the side of the others. As much as it hurt, I pushed open the door to the waterway and went to meet Sirash and Dark down there.

  Sirash was waiting on the docks next to Dark. As I approached, Sirash asked, “What was that about? Why were you arguing with your sister?”

  “I’ll tell you on the walk over. Now, let’s go break into Hollow Castle.”

  NUANCES

  Slowly, we walked on ice up the river. With every step the Mercenary took, the water beneath him froze instantly with an orchestra of crackles. We followed him carefully, the water rushing past us on both sides of the narrow ice bridge he was making. I had no intention of swimming again tonight. The wind was cold enough against my skin already, and the later it got, the more and more I wanted to be away from this river.

  None of us talked. Dark was too focused on the ice pathway he was creating, and Sirash was struggling to walk on the slippery surface, still feeling the abuse he had endured. With every exhale a white wisp escaped his lips as if all the heat was leaving his body. I did what I could to help him. It was my fault he was here. I never should have let him come.

  “Tired? We can rest if you need to,” I said.

  Sirash shook his head. “No. Sooner we get there, the better.”

  He was shivering, wobbling back and forth on the ice as if daring the water to take him. I took off my jacket and bundled him into it despite his resistance. I could deal with the prickly skin from the cold if it meant he was better.

  “You didn’t need to give me your coat.”

  I shrugged. “I’m too hot. I wanted to feel the cold air against my skin. You’re doing me a favor by wearing it.”

  “Liar. Now, you going to tell me what happened with Gwen back there, or are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “I’ve seen you two argue before. That was different.”

  I stopped on the ice, the wind blowing my ragged brown hair. My body didn’t shiver, though, comfortable in the cold air. “What’s wrong with different?”

  “She walked away from you. Gwen’s never done that before,” he said. “Don’t just stand there. Walk and talk. Or don’t. Your choice.”

  Sirash followed Dark as I stood there silently. After running my hands up and down my forearms, I continued, eventually walking side by side with him again. “My sister and I had an argument about what I’m doing. She’s finally starting to move on from what happened to our father. But… I… I…”

  “Can’t?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because what if my father was innocent? What if I can prove he was framed?”

  “Do you want to know if he was innocent, or do you want everyone to know that he was?”

  “Both.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re Kingman, and Kingman—”

  “Michael,” he said, “you’re too obsessed with your family legacy, and one day it will kill you.”

  “It’s only because it’s what I’ve had to do to make sure my family—”

  “If it was always about your family, you wouldn’t care so much about how you’re seen, even by people you hate. You wouldn’t care about the nobility that insult you after we’ve conned them, or about all the people unjustly hung by Scales. But you do. You’ve always been mindful of how everyone views you.”

  “I hate the nobility. I don’t care—”

  “Do you want me to give examples? Because I can do that. I’ve known you long enough to be able to.”

  I held my tongue.

  “You don’t know how to deal with what happened to your father. I get that. You remember him as a hero, so none of it makes sense for you. But you can remember him like that without caring what others think. No parent is perfect, and growing up is realizing that. If you’re determined to make the world remember him fondly, but treat it like it’s your family against the world, you’ll drive away anyone who cares about you.”

  “I’m a Kingman, I have to—”

  Sirash paused as if about to drive the final nail into my heart. “Michael, your father didn’t destroy the Kingman legacy… the king did. He banished you and your siblings from Hollow Court and branded you as traitors because of your blood. That is not you or your father’s fault, so stop acting like the world is watching you. Maybe it will one day, but it isn’t yet.”

  “Sirash, I—”

  He stopped on the ice and turned to me. “Omari Torda. That’s my real name. You never asked, and I never told you. But I have my own family legacy to live up to, so we might as well work on them together.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me your real name sooner?”

  “Because I was scared. Because when I was forced into slavery as a child, I was made to believe I was worthless. That my life wasn’t as important as those I served. That I was the other. Even though I got out of that life, those lessons are hard to unlearn. Some part of me thought you’d turn your back on me eventually.” A pause. “I don’t think that anymore.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. The pain in my chest had turned to a steady heat running through my veins. It wasn’t my Nullify Fabrications. No, it was something else. Acceptance, maybe? I couldn’t tell. Only that I felt relief. Then guilt. Deep, penetrating, overflowing guilt
that made my head spin and my breath race. Guilt over how selfish I’d been.

  Whether I had accepted it or not, my father was dead, and the truth I kept chasing after wasn’t for him or Gwen. It was for me, so I could have faith in the man I had once thought of as my hero. But Sirash—Omari—was right: it wasn’t worth it anymore.

  Heh, and truthfully… my family’s legacy would probably be my downfall at some point.

  I was aware of that. But it wouldn’t be tonight.

  It was time I followed my mother’s advice: Fuck ’em all.

  This was a mistake; I had to get us out of here.

  “Omari, how about—”

  “Do you two like being cold, or can we hurry this up already?” Dark bellowed. He had stopped walking when we had, standing in front of a wall alongside the river. I looked up and trembled.

  Hollow Castle was towering over us. We had arrived.

  Omari Torda smiled, patted me on the back, and walked as fast as he could over to Dark.

  Dark was waiting for me by a slim, triangular metal door in the wall with a rust line at the river’s high-tide mark. Omari knelt, rummaging with the lock.

  “Where does this door come out to?” Dark asked.

  “Dungeons,” Omari said. “Not too far from the torture room. I can lead you into the basement of the castle, and from there we can get to the tower.”

  “Can we do it without being seen?” I asked. “We aren’t exactly dressed as nobles.”

  Dark stared at me and called me an imbecile with his grey eyes.

  “That’s why we’re going in as Advocators,” Omari said. “There should be some spare uniforms in the dungeon or the basement. If not, we’ll knock some guards out and take theirs. Shouldn’t be a problem to find a few empty cells for them to nap in.” The lock clicked and inched open. “And that’s our way in.”

  Dark grabbed the door and pulled it open.

  The wind howled down the empty tunnel, and chains rattled somewhere within. “First stop is the torturer’s room for uniforms. Then we’ll work our way through the castle to King Isaac’s study. Don’t use anyone’s real name while we’re in there. If it all goes to shit, well, I won’t be around to see it. Any questions?”