by RJ Metcalf
He recognized and nodded to Roney, and the other two looked familiar, but not enough to know their names. The soldiers stood there, waiting, watching him with a grim air.
Cole looked around, curiosity blending with a soldiers perfunctory examination. “Thanks for letting us in. Do you know where Prince Richard is, by chance?” He looked at Slate, his expression far calmer than Slate knew his own to be. “If not, scout him out for us?”
“I’ll find him for you.” Slate rubbed his sweating palms against his pant legs. “If it means getting this over with and reducing the odds of anyone else getting hurt, of course. Stay here and hide if anyone other than myself comes in.”
Cole nodded. “Will do. Thanks.”
Slate walked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him, praying that Richard would be conveniently close by with no one around him.
Unsurprisingly, Richard was nowhere near the staff quarters. Nor was he in the kitchen or nearby dining rooms. Slate turned down another hallway, debating. Richard was likely in either the throne room or his own quarters. Which would be best to check first? He didn’t want to run into anyone he knew, but he also wanted to get this over with. He looked up from the floor and had to stifle an involuntary squeak.
Zane looked like a walking armory, minus his customary matte-black, dragon-skin armor. One belt held his double short swords, another had his long sword, belts criss-crossed over his chest, throwing knives carefully sheathed. A belt with potions lined up on it shifted across his thigh as he walked. Consternation thinned his lips when he saw Slate.
“Where have you been?” Zane reached Slate’s side and clapped him on the shoulder. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“I know there’s a mob outside.” Slate pointed down the hall, trying not to look directly at Zane. The Monomi were known to be good at reading people, and Slate didn’t want to risk Zane figuring out that there was more going on than he supposed. “I sent some scared staff to the music room to wait where it’s sound-proofed.”
“Good idea. And the mob is mostly Reformers, I’d guess.” Zane looked past Slate, scowling. “Have you seen many guards in this area? I want to send more back to the family to be on standby.”
Great. More complications for getting to Richard. Slate ran his thumbnail along the seam of his pants and kept from grimacing. “Aren’t there already guards around Their Majesties and Prince Richard?” he asked, trying to mask his worry over the mission with concern for them.
Zane turned fully to look at him, blinking in bafflement. “They have enough guards. I’m looking for more for your family.”
“But my family is visiting my mom. They left two days ago.” Slate watched Zane shake his head and alarm spread like ice over his skin, freezing him in place.
“No, Garnet got sick a couple of days ago, and no one has seen you to tell you of the changed plans.” Zane pursed his lips. “They leave tomorrow morning instead. But Brandon’s in an emergency meeting with the king and queen and Prince Richard, and I want a few more guards around the ladies, just to be safe.” He leaned forward and looked at Slate, then put his hand on Slate’s shoulder. “Are you ill? You’re pale.”
Slate stared down the hall, unseeing. His family was here. Right now. And Brandon was where Richard was.
Could he call it off somehow? Cole wouldn’t have let a mob start without a method for calming them down, right? They had to stop this. Now. Before someone other than Richard got hurt.
“I … I didn’t know that Garnet was sick.” He forced the words out. “I’ll need to go visit her as soon as I can leave and see her.”
Zane jerked a thumb over his shoulder, the way he’d come. “She’s here. In Brandon and Sapphire’s room.”
Air didn’t want to enter Slate’s lungs. The hallway seemed flooded with spots as terror clamped his heart. Even Garnet. They were all in danger. Because of him.
He should’ve come by to check on them, instead of blindly assuming their plans were moving forward just like his were. The entire situation was rolling out of his hands like ball bearings spilled on the floor.
Belatedly, he realized Zane was talking, and Slate flailed an arm in the direction Cole and his men were. “No guards that way. Nope. Try checking the music or billiard room. Good luck,” Slate rambled.
Worry creased Zane’s forehead. “You need to get more sleep, man, or you’ll get sick like Garnet.”
“I will, I will.”
Zane turned away. “I’ll keep looking for guards. You keep the women safe!” He sprinted back down the hall while Slate shoved his hands through his hair in a state of utter panic.
He had to stop this somehow. He ran in the opposite direction of Zane, racing down the deserted hallways to the staff quarters, chest heaving. Before he could reach the final hallway, blood curdling screams from behind him froze him in his tracks. Another scream cut short.
Slate turned back toward the inner palace, indecision gnawing at him. Had Cole’s group already left and looped the other way? Was this the mob? A faint shriek sounded from further away. A woman’s. Whose? Why? Cole had said they wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
What else had Cole lied about? Slate ran toward the screaming.
What have I done?
Chapter Fifty
Cole
Cole sighed in relief when the door clicked shut behind Slate. Cole stripped off his gloves in the warmth and tucked them into his pocket, then ran back to the false wall that Slate had led them in by. He muttered under his breath while he ran his fingers along the edge, looking for whatever mechanism would trigger it to open. A tiny gem flared red, and he raced into the dark corridor, looking for the same stone to open the outer door.
Vincent and his group detached from the shadows of the trees and tromped through the snowy path that Cole and his trio had made earlier. Vincent passed Cole in the narrow hall, his gaze focused beyond Cole, eyes narrowed, and lips pressed together. Each man that followed him in looked equally set and ready for the mission about to happen, all dressed in black or dark colors, walking soot piles in an otherwise bright and clean room. Strange orbs that he hadn’t noticed just an hour ago hung on several of their belts.
Cole glanced out, making sure they hadn’t been noticed from a perimeter check or some random citizen in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it seemed like the distraction at the gate was working thus far. He shut both the doors and slipped back into the staff quarters. It seemed odd that no one was in here, but maybe everyone was helping the royal family while they panicked over dissenters yelling at their front door.
Vincent detached from the group to stand in the shadows on the edge of the room.
Cole rested a hand on his sword hilt as he surveyed his three men and Vincent’s hand-picked five. “Once Slate gets back we’ll move as quickly and quietly as possible to get to Richard. After him, we’ll get to the king and queen, and then we’re out. To minimize chances of—”
Vincent cut him off with a single word. “Now.”
Cole stared at Vincent in confusion, trying to make sense of what he meant, until Ozly floundered, eyes wide in surprise, hands grasping at the sword tip poking out of his chest. Too late, the gears lined up in Cole’s mind. Double-cross. Ozly slid to the ground with a thump, blood pooling around his body. Jake fell a half second later, garrote still attached to his neck, crimson blood seeping from under the taut wire.
Jake’s body hit the floor and the sound snapped Cole into action. He drew his sword and spun on his heel to see a blade slice down toward Roney. Cole jumped forward, yelling at Roney to get down. He raised his weapon to defend his friend, but one of Vincent’s men stepped out, blocking Cole.
A guttural growl rumbled through Cole as he slashed at the man. The man—traitor to our cause—glided into Cole’s space. He blocked Cole’s strike and smashed his hilt into Cole’s jaw. Cole stumbled back. He blinked away the sparks in time to see the sharp edge of a blade coming at him.
He fell like a sack of potatoes
as sharp agony blossomed in his shoulder. He dropped his sword and clamped a hand over the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, and jagged bits of collarbone bit into his palm.
A shadow fell over him. He looked up, the world blurring through his tears. Roney stood over him, ready to defend Cole, glaring at the men who formed a ring around them. Where was Vincent in all this? Cole gently shook his head and tried to peer around Roney’s legs. Vincent watched by the door, a small smile playing at his thin lips.
Ozly’s glassy eyes stared in Cole’s direction, and he swallowed back bile. He’d been used. And how many lives were about to be taken because of him? I’m sorry, Captain Stevens.
The ring of men tightened, and Cole scraped his hand along the ground, feeling for his sword. Before the men could get within striking range and finish what they started, the door opened and a raven-haired man in a white doctor’s coat entered the room. A lump formed in Cole’s throat. A palace worker.
“Run!” The words sounded guttural as they ripped from his throat. “Call the guards, go!”
The doctor took in the scene with a casual air, not even blinking at the two bodies on the ground, nor the situation Cole and Roney were in. He closed the door behind him, sealing himself in the same room as them.
Thinking through the brain-numbing pain was proving difficult. Cole adjusted his grip on his shoulder, and every nerve ending screamed in protest, rendering him dizzy as he tried to sit up. He swayed forward, barely catching himself through sheer force of will. Roney slid a foot back, anger and confusion practically radiating off him. The doctor strolled over to stand by Vincent, the light of the room highlighting his warm skin tone and the slight tilt of his eyes.
Cole glared at Vincent. “Why?”
Vincent didn’t even twitch in his direction. The ring of five men held still, their swords ready, waiting for some unknown signal from Vincent, who spoke in a voice too low for Cole to hear over the blood pumping in his ears. Vincent turned toward Cole and Roney, holding his hand up in a peaceable gesture to his men as he detached from the wall, a near-silent skeletal wraith of death. “Hold. The good Doctor Jaxton has something he wants to do.”
Roney shifted his stance to face Vincent and Doctor Jaxton. He lifted his blade menacingly as Jaxton stepped closer. Cole’s fingers found the hilt of his sword, and he gripped it as best as his numb hand would allow.
“Just try something,” Roney growled.
Jaxton slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled something out in his fist. He smiled and held it out toward Roeny. “As you wish.”
Roney stiffened. Arcs of electricity flowed from the doctor’s hand, raging around Roney, flowing through his sword and up his arms in waves. His eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the ground, limbs akimbo, clothes smoking.
Cole jerked forward, wishing he knew how to help with such an injury, yet barely able to move himself.
“You won’t bother me now, will you?” The doctor laughed, a harsh, grating sound as he lifted three fingers, revealing a smooth dark gray stone in his hand.
A lightning stone. Cole had seen them used to shock someone to life in the battlefield, but never like this against someone. Left arm dangling, Cole awkwardly tried to sit up while keeping pressure on his shoulder. The room spun, and he hissed in pain, clenching his eyes shut. He sagged back to the floor. Nausea roiled.
“Restrain him.” Two men stepped forward at Doctor Jaxton’s order, pulling on Roney to sit him upright. His head lolled, eyes unfocused and dazed. Jaxton slipped the stone back into his pocket and stood there, watching, waiting. The men wrestled Roney’s limp body over to kneel beside Cole.
Trembling from blood loss and anguish, Cole could only watch as the doctor knelt by him, carelessly dipping a knee into a puddle of blood. His white pants soaked up the crimson fluid. He brandished a thin, woven-metal silver circlet and angled it to Cole’s head, pushing it on with no finesse.
The effect was immediate. Though nothing had changed physically, he felt no pain. He could see his legs, his arms, the hard floor under him, the pulse of blood oozing from his shoulder, and yet he felt none of it.
He’d lost control over his body.
And even as he was recognizing this fact, it didn’t matter. He felt good for the first time in months, and a nap sounded lovely. Some distant part of his mind screamed, writhing, pounding to be let out, but that voice was small, quiet, subdued in comparison to the pleasant haze he felt now.
Jaxton grinned down at him. “It’s amazing, what uses that Perennian dream circlet can have, when tweaked accordingly.”
Vincent stepped forward casually, as if he were out on an evening stroll. He stopped short of the blood puddle, his boots lined up to the congealing edge, and he looked down at Cole, hands in his pockets. “You asked why earlier. It’s simple.” A grin stretched his thin lips. “I want everyone here dead. Doldra has to fall, and Aerugo has a man willing to give me what I need.” He gestured at the men around them. “And you were far too easily to manipulate once I mentioned Captain Stevens. I needed in a pawn. You fit the role nicely.” He flicked his fingers at Cole. “Heal him. I still have use for him.”
“I know, I know,” the man muttered as he pulled a rough jade stone from a pouch and held it over Cole’s injured shoulder. The doctor grinned down at him with gleeful eyes. “Now to fully test the pain nullifications of the circlet.”
He held the jagged stone over Cole’s shoulder and muttered something he couldn’t catch. Bone knit together at an impossible rate, pulling itself into its body as it healed, audible snaps and squelching coming from the wound. Even though he felt no pain, nausea roiled through him. Was this a nightmare?
Jaxton pulled a potion off a holster on his belt, another demented grin splitting his face. “Looks like the circlet does do what it’s supposed to. Most people are passed out in pain by this point. Let’s test this.” He unstoppered the vial and poured the liquid over Cole’s shoulder, chanting something indistinguishable, the words rolling off his tongue in a way that made the hairs on Cole’s arms stand on end.
Cole could see just out of the corner of his eye enough to watch his skin extend and smooth over the exposed bone. His thoughts were fuzzy, and he struggled to think coherently. How was this possible? What magic did Jaxton have?
Roney blinked dazedly as he came to, his dark face pallid as he watched Cole’s shoulder heal.
Doctor Jaxton knelt for a moment longer, shaking his head, as if tired or weakened from healing Cole. He stood, the blood on his pant leg dribbling down in red streaks as he faced Vincent. Jaxton pulled two stones from his pocket, dropped one back in, then tossed the other to Vincent. “I think you’ll enjoy the changes I made on the dream circlet.” He gestured to the rock. “As long as you carry that controller on you, you dictate what he does.”
Vincent held the blue striped gem up, investigating it in the light. “Indeed?” He looked at Cole and Roney with cold, indifferent eyes. “Let’s test this, then. Cole. Kill Roney.”
At the order, Roney jerked against the bonds and men holding him down. One of the men grabbed Roney’s elbow and pulled it high behind his back before pushing him forward, grinding his cheek into the ground and pinning him there.
A strange fog rose from the back of Cole’s mind, further blanketing his thoughts and emotions. His fingers tightened around his sword hilt, able to fully grip it again. He stared blankly at Roney as the men yanked his friend to his feet again.
Fight this. Fight this! The tiny, undisturbed part of Cole railed. He struggled mentally against the strange fog, but it was like fighting a pervasive mist. He couldn’t win.
“Cole.” Roney’s voice sounded distant. “You aren’t yourself. Cole, no—”
Roney’s words cut off as Cole’s sword rammed through him, catching on his ribcage for a brief moment before Cole pushed his weight into it and the blade pushed through, crossguard flush with Roney’s chest. Cole yanked out the sword and turned to face Vincent, the point touc
hing the floor, blood dripping off it. The men let go and Roney’s body dropped.
Vincent offered a slow clap and a nod of appreciation. “Excellent work, doctor!” He turned to the men. “If they haven’t broken the doors yet, let the men in to riot. Put those bombs to good use. Leave none in the palace alive.” He rubbed his fingers together and shot a glance at Cole. “If the good doctor is correct, and the second prince’s wife is still here, twenty lut to whoever gets to her first. Do as you will.”
A few men bowed while the others simply ran for the door, whooping.
Thoughts and emotions momentarily released from the control of the circlet, Cole stared at his friend’s slumped body, still hazy. Sorrow for Roney blended with despair for Sapphire. Slate said she was going to be out of the palace. What had changed? He had no doubt what plans the men had for her. Self-loathing made him want to bow his head, though the control of the circlet wouldn’t let him.
And even that was hard to feel. The barest of pressure over his forehead and above his ears was all he could make out. Everything else fell away in a world of numbing clouds.
“Excellent work with the control circlet, Jaxton.” Vincent’s smooth voice complimented the doctor. “I’m very pleased with the results. Shall we make our way to the citadel?”
Doctor Jaxton bowed. “Thank you, sir. Follow me.”
Vincent looked at Cole. “Follow us and if anyone comes near, defend us at all costs, kill any who interfere.”
Cole’s mind returned to a blurry haze as his body stumbled after them, the bloody soles of his boots sticking to the floor as he walked.
The halls Doctor Jaxton led them through were empty, though they did pass a trio of slaughtered guards before they moved upstairs. Jaxton held the library door open for them.
Jaxton walked with a confident swagger to the back of the room and lifted a lamp, stroking the base and waiting as a door silently opened in the bookshelves. He stood back and gestured. “Courtesy of the clumsy Monomi brat.”
