by RJ Metcalf
Every step jarred her side, sending agony shooting along every nerve in her body, nearly blinding her. Once confident that Zak was following, she let go of him in favor of trying to hold her injury together.
Zak moved ahead of her and Garnet, leading them to the entry foyer. Clara smiled grimly, proud of the young Monomi. He’d be able to get Adeline and Garnet out. Clara pushed back a wayward section of blonde hair, the strands sticking to her blood-soaked fingers.
Zak looked back at her at that moment, his eyes widening in concern at her appearance.
Belatedly, Clara clamped her bloody hand to her side.
“You’re hurt!” Zak exclaimed, running to her, his lower lip not quite quivering.
Clara shook her head as hard as she dared, pointing to the stairwell. “Go!” She softened her tone as best she could despite the fire burning in her side. “Priorities, Zak. Escape.”
Her voice brooked no argument, so Zak didn’t say anything more. He cast a doubtful look at her side before turning back. One Zak split into two, then back into one.
I’m not going to make it out of here.
The realization startled her. But she couldn’t deny the facts. Blood soaked her side. Wet fabric rubbed like sandpaper against her wound. The skin felt like it was ripping more with each step. The edges of her vision blurred. If the palace wasn’t under attack, and they had a mani-med on hand, she’d have a chance. While under siege, that chance was gone.
Garnet appeared at her side. She shifted Adeline to her hip and held out her arm. “Let me help you.”
“No. Let me do what I need to.” Clara bit out the words as she glared at Garnet. “Your job is to get the princess out of here. My job is to keep you three alive.”
Without waiting for an answer, Clara pushed past Garnet and started down the stairs. They followed on her heels, pausing at the same time as her as they all stared down into the foyer. Clara swallowed hard, fighting nausea.
This had to be what shehalla looked like.
Never before had she witnessed such brutality. Bodies scattered all over the floor: rioters, guards, palace staff, all equalized in death. Hacked limbs everywhere, and what she could see of the floor was painted in blood, thick and slippery. By the doors were odd pockets of empty, blacked marble, surrounded by the carnage of mutilated corpses. The smell of blood and viscera hung heavy in the air, permeating her nose.
The sound of Garnet vomiting and Zak gagging behind her spurred Clara on.
If they were caught, this would happen to her friends, to the princess. Pain and anger blended to strengthen her resolve. She would get them out of here.
The foyer looked empty of enemies, but she wasn’t about to trust appearances. Not after everything that she’d already seen and heard today. A group of servants appeared below and raced to escape. Like a Vodan fly trap, a small band of rioters appeared from a different doorway and closed in around the escapees.
“Distraction! We need to go now!” Clara shouted, urging her group forward. The numbness in her side gave way for breath-stealing torment as her steps jostled her slashed side. She pressed a hand against it again. She had to keep her organs in place for as long as possible.
She stopped at the bottom to wait for Zak to catch up to her longer stride. Garnet slipped on a blood puddle and fell to a knee, gripping Adeline, who started screaming.
A rioter raised his arm, pointing at them and shouting. Clara growled in frustration. Zak whipped his head between the approaching men and the doors leading to freedom, stiff in fear. Clara stepped away from Garnet and raised her bloody hand in a rude gesture.
Leave them. Come to me.
They howled, stomping on the bodies in their bloodlust rush to get closer. Clara gripped her sword and yelled at Garnet and Zak. “Move!”
If she could buy them even one minute of a head start, it would be worth it.
“Keep away from them!”
The bellow reverberated through her, and she froze in place. She couldn’t spare a second to look away from the renegade rioters. But she knew that voice. It was trust, friendship, love. She swallowed back the tears that she’d held off this long. No. Don’t let him see me like this.
Andre reached her side, his sword out alongside hers against the oncoming men who had paused, watching warily. He kept his voice low. “Where is the Lady Sapphire?’
“She left to warn His Highness and Sir Zane. I assume she is safe with them.” Clara forced the words out of her gritted teeth. She stiffened in alarm as a door under the balcony opened, revealing three more foes. She cast a despairing glance over her shoulder. Garnet stood nearest to the door, watching, her eyes wide in horror. Zak, not too far away.
The first group rushed forward now, swords brandished in glee. Clara planted a foot behind her, bracing for her final battle. “Andre. Take them and get out of here.”
The first group of adversaries reached them, cutting off Andre’s reply. He leapt forward with a shout, sword arcing down from above to slice into the man’s side. The man collapsed, dropping his sword as he uselessly tried to hold his organs in. Andre spun in place, sword clashing with the next man’s. That man overextended, allowing Andre to slice through a wrist, then a neck.
Clara held her own against the first man that came at her, but her strength had depleted. She stepped back to avoid a blow coming at her face and tripped over a stiff body, hair flying up to block her vision. Before the foe could stab her through, Andre danced over, defending her and dispatching the man until she shoved herself upright again, frantically pushing the golden strands away so she could see.
Andre looked at Clara in the brief breather they’d earned.
“I’m not leaving you here.” Despite the battle just fought, Andre’s voice remained low, intimate.
Clara couldn’t move her hand from her side. Blood leaked slowly now, and the entire room spun. She reached out and gripped his forearm. She looked up at him. “I’m as good as dead.” She lifted a few fingers, letting him see the extent of her injury. His eyes widened, and she pleaded, praying that he’d understand, “Let me finish this battle. Protect them!” Tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry I didn’t say yes, earlier.”
His strong fingers clamped over her numb hand. “I love you.”
“And I love you.” The burning fire in Clara’s side had reduced to a fading ache. She bit her lip and whispered, “Please, get them to the Hawk. Don’t wait for me. Don’t look back.”
His voice roughened as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I’ll get them out of here.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her shoulders lightly, and kissed her lips, then her forehead.
Relief and agony swept through Clara as Andre left her side. She would die alone. She fumbled. “Wait!”
Andre turned, hope in his eyes that she hated to squash. She tugged on her belt, and slipped her favorite dagger off the leather. She kissed the hilt and tossed it at him. He caught it instinctively, and she gave him a watery smile. “Protect her. Go.”
Andre’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gripped the leather sheath. He nodded once before turning.
Clara wavered where she stood as she faced the men. One yelled and they all stopped. He held up an oblong bottle she didn’t recognize. The men hooted and laughed, backing up suddenly. She dropped to a knee, unable to stand anymore.
What was this new weapon they had?
The short man held a match up to the bottle and lit a fuse, throwing it at her. The earlier floor-rattling boom suddenly made sense. Clara watched it arc toward her, and she turned her face away. Her eyes met Zak’s.
No. Don’t watch this.
The boy had been flung over Andre’s shoulder. Tears spilled down Zak’s cheeks, and Andre started to turn from the double doors to face her.
Turn away.
A gut wrenching boom. A thousand shards of pain. And Clara felt no more.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Zak
Zak shivered and closed his eyes, then popped them open again. T
he image of Clara’s body being ripped apart with fire was on the back of his eyelids.
Did they attack the citadel like that? Was his family safe?
Vision blurred with tears, he bumped into Garnet and the now-silent Adeline. His apology cut off when Andre held up a hand while keeping a finger pressed to his own lips as a sign for quiet. Zak fell silent, looking around blankly before recognizing his surroundings.
The stable behind the Crimson Hawk. They’d made it.
Andre opened the wood gate to the stable cautiously, peeking around the corner to look inside before entering. He held it open for them and motioned them through.
Though just as cold inside, at least there was no wind to chill them to the bones. Even with his thick socks and boots, Zak’s toes felt frozen.
Garnet sagged against a wood stall and coughed. She was unrecognizable from her typical polished appearance, frizzy hair waving in the drafty air, her clothes limp and grimy. Dirty tear-tracks ran down her cheeks. She coughed again and looked at him. “Zak.” Her voice had dwindled to a whisper. “Could you please do one more mission for us?”
He nodded and she continued. “Please. Make sure it’s safe for us to go into the inn proper? I don’t want to put you in danger any more, but—”
Zak interrupted her, too tired to care about manners. “Zandra works here. I’m visiting her, and you could be in danger by assoc—by assochi—by being related.” A faint smile crossed Garnet’s face and it somehow soothed some of his embarrassment at not being able to pronounce association. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He slipped out of the stable and crunched through the snow to the front door of the inn, noting the many feet that had to have stamped down the snow before him. I hope there’s no bad guys here. Zak paused in front of the door, breathing as deeply as he could in the freezing air, hand trembling on the wood.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed it open. A warm draft enveloped him, making his lungs ache in the sudden change of temperature. He blinked. The inn was crowded, and many of the people jumped in fear before relaxing when they saw it was only a kid who had entered. Maybe they’d run from the palace too. He looked around for a familiar face.
Every barmaid or barkeep in sight was armed. Zak recognized two of his cousins, each one decked in leather armor, weapons strapped and ready for any hint of a fight. Katrina jerked her head meaningfully towards the kitchens. He nodded and wove through the crowded tables.
He opened the kitchen door. Zandra stood there, her eyes wide as she took in his dirty clothes, blood soaking the hems of his pants, and the tear stains on his cheeks. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him, battle axe on her hip clanking with the movement.
“What are you doing out here?” Her voice shook as she pulled back to look at him. “Were you in the palace?”
Zak nodded wordlessly. What could he say to tell her that he wasn’t alone, and without giving away who? “I … I was in the palace as it was happening. And I brought my two horses and a package. Can you help me with them?”
Zandra blinked twice before nodding and rising, quickly brushing off the woolen leggings under her short leather skirt. “Of course. And I’ll get you a room so you can get cleaned up.”
She led him down the long hall past the inn rooms, pushed an unmarked door open to the outside, and crunched through the snow to the stables. Before she reached the stable door, she paused and dropped her voice. “If you were in the palace, did you see Zane at all?”
“No. I looked for him, really I did, but then I was given a mission to protect the princess, and I—” Zak stopped when Zandra whirled, eyes wide.
“The princess? She’s here?” Zandra whispered harshly as she threw the doors open and marched into the stable. She honed in on Garnet and Andre and focused on the squirming child in Garnet’s arms, then she shook her head in disbelief. Her lips tightened as she looked at the lines of grief etched in Andre’s face and the trembling arms of Garnet as she struggled to continue to hold the heavy child. Zandra clucked her tongue and reached out a hand to touch each of their shoulders.
“Let’s get you all inside. I’ll open two of the adjoining back rooms and get you some changes of clothes. Warm food. You’re as safe as you can get here.”
Tears pricked Zak’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel safe again.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Cole
The slightest sound echoed through the secret passageway during the longest walk of Cole’s life. It seemed that if he didn’t have a specific order that Vincent was pushing, then he could think a little bit, deep down, despite the control circlet. His mind was still hazy, like a severe headache or sinus congestion, but worse, somehow. Like a bad dream—he could see what he was doing, he knew what he was doing, but he had no control over himself. He couldn’t scratch an itch on his face, even if he tried. Couldn’t even twitch his fingers, no matter how hard he strained. How would he get it off?
Vincent held sway over his mind and body, and all because of the simple, twined metal on his head.
He walked directly behind Vincent, lacking the control to even glare at the rapier-thin man’s back. Vincent’s pale skin made him appear ghostly in the darkness, and his dark eyes when he glanced at Cole, only heightened the feeling that Cole was a walking cadaver. Cole could only hear his own footsteps; Vincent walked silently, almost as if he was floating above the stone and packed-dirt floor.
Cole’s mind could barely hold a lucid thought, and he had to struggle to maintain any grip of himself. Murderer. Liar. Traitor. His head had a numb ache from the concentration of fighting the fog of the circlet, but still he wrestled for control. Maybe, somehow, if he struggled hard enough, he’d break the magic. And, if nothing else, the circlet controlling his body meant he could focus all his energy into thinking.
The abandoned bodies of his friends flashed in his mind’s eye every moment he blinked. Jake. Ozly. He could still see the stain of their life blood on the floor. His hands were tacky, blood drying on them. Roney’s blood. I’m so sorry.
He would avenge them. Somehow.
And the doctor. He would kill the doctor along with Vincent. The doctor—Jaxton, was it?—he was an accomplice, and provided the circlet that turned Cole into an unwitting puppet.
Cole followed Vincent, barely able to climb the stairs in the dark, even with Vincent’s luminary crystal. Sapphire. How much danger was she in now, because of him? I’m sorry, Fire.
Vincent loosed a happy sigh. “It’s been far too long.” He glanced back at Cole. “Controlling you like this is reminiscent of the blood-bond, you know. And soon, all of your land and beyond will be under that same bond. And I won’t need this”—he brandished the control stone—“to have the control and rule that is rightfully mine.”
Rage rose in Cole, but it had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be loosed. He couldn’t stop fighting. Every time he started to, his mind fell back into a gray, blissed state of no thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let go of himself. He’d already lost so much of the man Captain Stevens had raised. He couldn’t just roll over now.
Vincent stopped ahead of him until a door slid aside, revealing what Cole could only assume was the citadel library. Here, the handsome fraud turned to look at him, his dark eyes cold.
“Remember your orders. Kill anyone who gets near us. Kill anyone who interferes with us. Protect me with your life.”
All forms of anger and hatred faded from Cole’s mind as the blank fog rose up, wiping him of thought and personality and awareness.
Vincent’s words pierced through the haze. “Out the door and to the left, then turn and go straight to the side tower.”
Legs moving of their own accord, Cole’s body marched out the door and followed Vincent’s directions. Two guards stood with their backs to him, chatting idly. Kill. Obey. They didn’t even have a chance to fight or call out an alarm as Cole stabbed his sword through the heart of one man. He pulled his sword straight through him to cleave into the
other. The men fell.
Vincent moved within Cole’s peripheral. “Keep moving.”
Cole pushed against the mental fog, but it rolled over him continuously, drowning out all efforts to rail against Vincent and fight back.
They turned the corner, and up ahead, four black-garbed guards stood at the end of the walkway. Two in front of an enclosed hall, and the second set stood at the door, which was barely visible beyond. Vincent stepped in front of Cole, blocking his view, and the mental fog lifted a bit. The guards watched them approach, their eyes steely.
“Halt!” the shorter of the pair exclaimed, his hand on his sword. “Who are you and what are you doing here? We’re on lockdown.”
Just as in the staff chambers, Vincent interrupted, this time looking at Cole. “Now.”
The haze rolled over him, and Cole’s body surged forward as he drew his sword, slicing through the neck of the taller guard. The body fell, head following a second later.
A dagger buried itself in Cole’s shoulder, but momentum let him finish his swing at the second guard. The guard blocked and gurgled blood. He dropped, revealing Vincent behind him, bloody dagger in hand.
Then the second pair of guards stood right in front of him. Cole reacted instinctively, his muscles drawing upon the memories of when he’d sparred with Monomi. He slashed, parried, and swung without thought, the haze in his mind preventing him from stopping. Preventing him from even seeing if he knew these guards.
It was the sudden silence and reduced fuzzy mind that told Cole it was over. He blinked in surprise, and his body moved to watch over Vincent.
Vincent casually reached down to the shorter guard and pulled a bloody chain with a key off the headless body. His dark jacket sleeves and pale hands glistened with splattered blood. He passed Cole to step over the gory corpses.
The fog in Cole’s mind receded a bit more, just enough for him to observe that now Vincent’s steps made noise—the quiet sticky sound of tacky blood leaving footprints.
