by RJ Metcalf
“Yes, ma’am. Dining hall by six. No broken bones. Be good.”
She captured him in her arms, smothering him with affection while he writhed, desperate to escape. She pressed a kiss in his hair and turned her cheek, waiting. He gave her a quick peck, then took off.
Not two steps into freedom, and he smacked into something solid and covered in cloth. He looked up, confused. Oops. He’d run into a person. A tall stranger that he didn’t recognize; someone with a white top hat contrasting his dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. His black eyes looked down at Zak with what he hoped wasn’t anger. He heard his mother splutter an apology behind him.
“Ahh, sorry sir.” Zak bowed. “I know I shouldn’t run in the hall. I hope you weren’t hurt.”
The stranger lifted a hand with an easy smile. “Apology accepted. Perhaps in reparation, you could be so kind as to point me to where Doctor Jaxton is? I’ve been searching for him all over today.” Zak pointed and the man tipped his hat. “Thank you.”
Zak waited just long enough for the stranger to walk past him, then Zak took off as fast as he could in the opposite direction of his mother—without running. He ignored her calling out behind him to slow down.
Maybe he’d find Matthias first, let him know that he was cleared for training. Or maybe he’d explore the back of the citadel and look for a secret passage or a skeleton or something creepy. Or maybe he’d watch Zaborah train—after all, he wanted to be the best Guardian.
The late spring air hung heavy with humidity, and Zak swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead. He slowed his pace long enough to roll up his long sleeves as far up his elbows as they’d go, and stuck his tongue out at his pants, which were tucked into his boots. At least his arms could feel the breeze now.
The sounds of the training grounds in the center of the citadel reached him before he could round the corner, and a shiver of excitement ran through him when everyone from the three small contingents came into view. Those training in the citadel were either all of the Monomi family clan, or children of the few royal soldiers stationed there. In a year, Zak would be allowed to start with the youngest group of seven- to eleven-year-olds, and then he’d work his way up until he was a full-fledged Guardian like Zane.
He spotted his sister, Zaborah, in the second group, blonde hair like mother’s pulled back in a tight braid, her teeth bared in a shout as she swung her sword at her sparring partner. Matthias stood nearby, arms crossed as he watched over her group.
Zak bee-lined for the tall warrior, his feet kicking up dust in his haste. “Matthias, Matthias!”
Matthias walked around the skirmishes to meet Zak, his white teeth sparkling in the sun as he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite shadow. How’s the arm? No cast today?”
“Doctor Jaxton said I don’t need it anymore. But he also said I might need surgery if something grows back bad, so there’s that.” Zak wrinkled his nose at the memory of the doctor’s smile. “He’s creepy.”
His friend planted his hands on his hips and laughed. “He’s odd, and not as friendly as Fitz-Williams was, but he’s skilled, and that’s what’s important. So, are you positive your arm is healed?” He leaned down and tapped, then pressed a finger on Zak’s tan arm. “No flinching this time, so maybe it is better. But I’d rather not chance it so soon after the cast is off. How about we keep the training simple today?” Zak’s lower lip jutted out and Matthias grinned. “I have an important message for someone, but I can’t leave these slackers just yet.” He gestured at the group closest to them. “Do you think you can be my messenger?”
Zak straightened eagerly, trying to look responsible. “Yes, sir!” He saluted.
“Hm.” Matthias leaned back, eyeing him critically. “I suppose you could be official enough.” He considered another agonizingly long minute while Zak squirmed, then Matthias clapped his large hands together and rubbed them, nodding. “Very well. Do you remember who Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner is?”
“Yes!” Zak started rattling off all he could remember, ticking off his fingers. “He’s Prince Brandon’s brother-in-law, one of Zane’s friends, he likes discus and practices a lot, but he’s not really good at it.” Zak looked up, his eyes growing wide. “Don’t tell him that last part?”
Matthias guffawed and ruffled Zak’s hair. “What he doesn’t have in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm.” Matthias crouched to be almost eye-level to Zak and held up a finger. “Remember that: Enthusiasm can make up for a lack of skill, same as anger, adrenaline, or fear can make up for lack of skill in a battle. Don’t underestimate your opponent, just because they know less than you.”
Zak’s eyes narrowed as he committed Matthias’s words to memory. While the swordmaster often told Zak he was too young to start true training, he occasionally offered gems of wisdom like this, and Zak wasn’t going to waste them.
“But I need a messenger for today, so don’t go slaying dragons this afternoon.” Matthias smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. “Find the Second Lieutenant, and let him know that we’ll be having a last-minute game of discus this afternoon, at two. He’s welcome to come and play, or stand as a sub. We can’t let Captain Tigen and his merry band of misfits beat us again!”
Zak bounced. “You’re playing the Southern Garrison?”
“Yes, and we’re going to show the Southies that the royal guard is leagues ahead of them.”
All plans for exploring the citadel or watching Zaborah fled Zak’s mind. “I’m going to watch the game!”
“Not until you find Lieutenant Stohner, you’re not,” Matthias teased. “Finish your mission, and then I’ll see you at the field.”
Zak skipped from foot to foot. He saluted to Matthias, shouted a hasty, “Sir, yes, sir!” then raced out of the training ground to find Zane’s friend.
It wasn’t until he’d left the citadel gates that Zak came to a screeching halt, panic squeezing his heart. He didn’t even know where to start looking! He hadn’t even asked for all the information that Matthias could’ve had! Zak stood there and chewed on his finger, debating. Should he go back, admit that he’d made a mistake, get what clues he could, and then go look for Slate? Or should he try to do it all on his own?
Something grabbed his head and Zak screeched, batting at whatever clasped his hair. He struck an arm and followed the sight of it up to see dark leather armor and a shining hoop earring. “Zane!”
His brother stood over him, grinning as he mussed Zak’s hair further. “Hey there. That frown looks serious, and you’re giving your finger the thinking treatment. What’s on your mind?”
Zak tried to push his brother’s hand away, but it was like trying to push open the citadel gates after nightfall. Impossible. He gave up. “I’m on an urgent mission from Corporal Matthias to find Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner.”
“I see. And what’s the problem?” Zane dropped his hand off his brother’s head and moved it to Zak’s back, steering him toward the road. Zak let Zane lead him.
“I don’t know where to start looking!” Zak threw his hands in the air. “I—” he paused and looked up at Zane, reading the lines of mirth around his eyes and mouth. “You know where he is, don’t you?”
A short laugh shook Zane’s shoulders. “Indeed, I do. And I’m going to meet him right now, so I shall assist you in your endeavor so you can fulfill your mission for the glory of the kingdom!”
“Really? Thank you!” Zak squeezed Zane’s waist in a quick hug, avoiding the hilt of a dagger in the process.
“Of course.” Zane returned the hug. “Anything for my favorite brother.”
“I’m your only brother.”
“Like I said: my favorite brother.”
Zak soaked in every moment of banter with Zane as he followed his brother into the City Circle, and he stopped to stare at the many green garlands and planted flowers sprucing every window sill. “What’s going on here?”
Zane tugged on Zak’s arm to keep him walking. “Princess Violet will be visit
ing soon, and they’re making her path as welcoming as possible.”
“With flowers?” Zak wrinkled his nose. “They should use cookies. Or rock candy. That’s much more welcoming.”
Zane’s next words sounded strangled, but he didn’t slow. “I’ll pass that idea on to the decorators later. Hey, have you visited Zandra at her new job yet?”
“No,” Zak scuffed at a cobblestone. “She didn’t want me walking there by myself.”
“Well, lucky for you, then, that this all worked out.” Zane pointed, and Zak’s jaw dropped as he took in a grand building standing on the edge of one of the main roads leading off from the City Circle. Three stories tall, painted a deep crimson brown, each window of frosted glass had a red hawk in the center, and a sign hung over the door: Crimson Hawk.
Zak whistled lowly. Then, dubiously; “It’s pretty.” Not as manly and bold as he’d expected for an inn and tavern that was named after Lieutenant Slate’s father, the legendary Clay Stohner. He’d died a few years before Zak was born, during a mission that involved Aerugo—the annoying nation to Doldra’s east. Rumor had it, the Crimson Hawk got his name because of how many men he had killed through archery alone, before he even had to use his sword. Zak didn’t know what he’d expected, but the longer he looked at the tavern, the more it settled in his mind.
Zane grinned. “Wait till you see the inside. And Slate should be in there by now too.”
Zak tried to whistle when he walked into the inn, but after two failed attempts settled for a simple, “Wow.” The bottom floor of the inn looked to be primarily the pub, and it was huge. It had to be able to fit at least sixty men, and that didn’t count the gleaming wood bar where two men were sitting and eating lunch. Behind the warm brown wood were shelves lined with colorful mugs, and to the left of those were kegs actually sticking in the wall, spigots gleaming and ready to pour. Half the tables and chairs placed around the room were filled with people eating noon meal, and a large fireplace to the right had logs laid out and ready to be lit. A cheerful light streamed in through the frosted windows, illuminating everything better than the luminary crystals in the sconces and ceiling could.
“It really is pretty!” Zak spun around, taking in the room. “I mean, I thought it’d be more … tough … or something, but this? This is way more shiny.”
“Thanks.” The wry voice came from the door to the right of the hallway, and Zandra pushed open the door a moment later. Zak could see the kitchen behind her, and then the heavenly aroma of roasted meat and vegetables and fresh rolls wafted out after his sister. She bounced to a halt in front of him, bopped his nose in greeting, and then rose to her toes to greet Zane with a passing kiss on the cheek. “But I assume you didn’t come here just to see where I work.” She waved to a round table where a man in the military colors of the royal guard sat. He raised a hand in greeting. “I’ll bring you your usual order, Zane.” She looked down at Zak. “Hungry?”
Zak’s stomach rumbled, and he pressed a hand against his belly, shaking his head. “I have a message to deliver.” He drew himself up, his head barely reaching the top button of her corset in his attempt to look older and authoritative. “Maybe another day.”
His eldest sister tapped the toe of her boot against the paneled wood floor as she eyed him thoughtfully. “I’ll find something I can send out with you. Don’t leave until I’ve returned,” she ordered. She turned back to the kitchen and called out to the other serving girl, and Zak waved at his cousin Katrina before remembering that he had to talk to mister, no, Second Lieutenant Slate.
Zane was already seated at the round table, laughing at something Lieutenant Slate had said. Zak paused to roll down his sleeves, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric as best he could before walking over. I am a messenger for Corporal Matthias. I am formal. I am precise. I am a future Citadel Guardian. He stood as tall as he could as he approached them, standing just far back enough that he could bow crisply without hitting the table with his forehead.
He rose from the bow and offered his best salute, fist over his heart. “I have a message for Second Lieutenant Stohner of the Palace Guard from Corporal Matthias of the Citadel Guard.” He ignored his brother’s snort and focused on Lieutenant Slate. His eyes held a twinkle that could have been amusement, but he returned Zak’s salute and gave him his devoted attention.
“That would be me, yes. At ease. You may deliver your message.” Lieutenant Slate leaned an elbow on the table while he waited, nodding in thanks to Zandra when she delivered drinks to their table. She hovered there, waiting for Zak.
Zak clicked his boots together like he’d seen Zane do when talking to his superiors after receiving an order. “Sir. Corporal Matthias wishes to inform you that there will be a discus game this afternoon at two, and he is hoping you would consider joining. We cannot allow those Southies to win!”
Lieutenant Slate’s entire face lit up at the mention of the popular disc sport. “A game today?” He whipped out his pocket watch and looked at Zane. “Do you mind if we cut this shorter than anticipated?”
Zane and Zandra laughed aloud.
“No problem. I want to play too, and we’ll need the time to go back and get our gear,” Zane replied easily.
Zandra hurried back to the kitchen, her bustled skirt bouncing with every step.
Zak floundered. His job was done, he’d informed Slate. But he had at least an hour and a half until the game. Should he stay? Leave?
Lieutenant Slate tapped the table, then reached into his leg holster and pulled something out. He leaned toward Zak. “Give me your hand.”
Zak lifted his hand hesitantly, his eyes widening in awe when the man pressed two yellow coins into his palm. “Thank you for conveying your message, lad. Now don’t spend this all in one place! And, actually”—Slate pulled another coin out and added it to the two already in Zak’s hand—“relay this message to Corporal Matthias please. I’ll be there as soon as I finish my noon-day meal, and I’ll have acquired my game clothes. Likely around one forty-five.”
Zak’s fingers trembled with excitement as he fumbled with the button on his belt pouch to secure his new treasure.
“Slow down there, buddy,” Zane interjected. “Steady hands are better than hasty hands. Even if it takes a few moments longer, get the job done properly. This isn’t life or death.”
Heat flushed Zak’s face, but he slowed down, finally able to pop open the button and slip the coins away. He grinned sheepishly. “If I may have your leave, sirs?”
Zane and Lieutenant Slate shared a conspiratorial look before they both nodded. Slate smiled at Zak. “You may have our leave. Good work, Zak.”
“You don’t have my leave yet!” Zandra called out. “Never forget the one who promises to feed you. Honestly.” She grinned at Zak even as she rolled her eyes. She slid two plates of steaming food in front of Zane and Slate, then pulled a small bag off the tray and handed it to Zak, but didn’t let go when he grabbed it. “I know you’re in a hurry, but you owe me.” She bent down, face turned to the side, and tapped a finger against her cheek, waiting.
Can soldiers kiss their sister while on their shift? Bribery! His stomach rumbled. And with food too! He didn’t know exactly what was in the bag, but he could feel the warmth radiating from the fabric, and the scent of fresh spices set his mouth watering. Zak looked back at the two men at the table by him, desperate to know what to do in this situation, but they unhelpfully tore into their meal, Zane praising the tender meat while Slate raved about the potatoes.
Traitors. Both of them. Zak pressed a quick kiss on his sister’s cheek, then tore for the door the moment she released the bag. He pivoted on his heel right before the door and bowed to the three who were laughing together. “Your message will be delivered right away, sir!” He hesitated, then added: “And thanks for the food, Zandra.” He turned to the door and face planted into someone.
Not again.
A quick glance over his shoulder showed that no one had seen it happen this time. He s
ighed in relief, then looked up.
A large, muscled man wearing the eastern garrison colors and a blue captain’s armband stared down at him. Dark smudges under his eyes gave his face a haunted appearance and Zak took a half step back. “You all right, there, kid?”
“Yes, sir.” Zak bowed. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
The man ran a hand through his short hair, and his jaw clenched even as he shook his head. “I’ll be fine. My problems are not due to you. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.” Zak skirted around the soldier and entered in the City Circle. He glanced back at the closed door, then shrugged to himself, letting the concern for the man melt away as he focused on his new task.
Chapter Eleven
Cole
There were far too many fresh mounds in the cemetery, but Cole steeled his heart and marched to the corner, where the stone for Captain Stevens glowed faintly in the twilight. Cole’s steps slowed as he neared the memorial marker, and he locked his knees to prevent himself from kneeling in the freshly churned dirt. He stared blankly at the blue light before sighing and pulling his flask from his hip pocket, lifting in salute, then pouring half the ale over the stone, his heart heavy.
“This isn’t how I wanted my promotion, sir, and you know it.” The words held more pain than Cole would’ve imagined coming from his own mouth. He took a swig from his flask before returning it to his belt. “I don’t know what to do next. How am I supposed to fill the ranks and lead the men through this?” He shoved a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “Whales, it’s been a week, and I still can’t bring myself to clear your desk.”
He knelt, avoiding the damp trail the ale had made in the dirt. Rough memorial stone met Cole’s fingers, but those edges would smooth in time, after snow and rain and wind did their work. “Sir, I’m sure we have a traitor, and I don’t know where to start looking. I need someone who isn’t caught up in the politics, someone who can help investigate everyone in the chain of command, and I don’t have the time or subtlety for it.”
