by RJ Metcalf
Vincent unlocked the bland, worn-looking wooden door and left it open behind them. He glanced behind Cole and smirked. “Lucky for us that the Monomi are guarding the main entrances to the citadel, and they left us only four guards. So thoughtful.” He flicked a hand at Cole. “Stay there.”
Cole’s forward motion halted in the doorway. Son of a whale, why are we here? He mentally railed against Victor, then paused when he saw the keystone chamber.
Simple, and yet beautiful, the circular room had large stained-glass windows reaching from the ceiling to the floor. Two-thirds of the way into the throne room sat the keystone on a simple pedestal. The keystone was larger than Cole envisioned, easily the length of his forearm, and an extreme almost-purple, with the deep-purplish black light, almost like the night sky, flowing out of it in either direction.
Cole’s body shivered involuntarily in awe and apprehension as he stared at the glowing ethereal black ribbon. If someone touched that light, they’d be dead, life and time sucked out of them.
Vincent returned to Cole’s side and glared, the purple of the keystone reflecting the hate in his eyes. He pulled a black-and-red flecked stone from his pouch and held it out to Cole. “Take this.” Cole’s hand rose of its own volition and took the smooth rock. “Walk the bloodstone over to the keystone.”
The hazy fog pressed down onto Cole, overriding his mind and his terror, preventing him from balking for even a second. Yet he could see everything he was doing. The dried blood on his hands smeared against the dark stone as he lifted his hand up to the barrier. He marched toward the shimmering curtain of power.
The barrier rippled.
Whales, no. Everything in Cole’s mind screamed as his body moved closer. Eight paces away from the keystone. Purple and green shot out from the obsidian keystone, the wall of power rippling like curtains caught in a breeze. Please, no. Horror squeezed Cole’s heart. Even if Sapphire managed to escape the palace slaughter, she wouldn’t be able to escape this.
He stepped again, the bloodstone held out like an offering to a foreign god.
And again the keystone reacted. Purple and green sparkled out like forked lightning, and the dark energy pulsed forward and back.
Someone, anyone, stop me. Please.
Then a dark-haired man was under his arm, foot extended from a kick Cole barely felt. The bloodstone flew through the air toward Victor. The Monomi raced toward the barrier, holding out his hand, shouting something that Cole couldn’t make sense of. He stood there a moment, watching as the colorful lightning faded away and the trembling barrier smoothed out. He turned then, green eyes blazing into Cole as Vincent shouted from the doorway: “Kill him!”
Relief that he had been stopped before the barrier fell fizzled away in Cole’s mind as the fog rose again.
Cole drew his sword and lunged forward as Zane Monomi leapt back. Zane’s hand reached back and reappeared with three throwing knives that he flung at Cole. Cole stumbled back as they hit him. A quick glance showed them in his shoulder, chest, and hip, but he didn’t feel them. The white haze of the control circlet held the pain at bay. He narrowed his eyes at the Monomi.
Please, kill me before he makes me kill you.
The three knives didn’t slow Cole, and Zane’s eyes widened. Cole swung at him and Zane yanked two short swords out of his belt, barely raising them in time to block. He pushed up against Cole’s blade as Cole brought his weight down. They both trembled with the strain. Zane heaved up then pulled back while Cole’s momentum crashed him forward.
Holding his sword high, Cole lumbered at Zane, stabbing out, overreaching. Zane parried with one sword, and Cole’s blade spun away, leaving his chest open for the second sword to impale him.
Cole blinked down at the blade, unable to draw a proper breath.
He dropped. His head hit the ground hard, and the circlet popped off and rolled away, releasing him from the bondage of slavery. Thank you.
The sudden sensation of feeling his body again would have brought him to his knees if he wasn’t already on the ground. Unbelievable agony seared his nerves as his wounds vied for attention. Numbness swept through him.
Slate. Sapphire. I am so sorry.
Blackness swallowed him.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Brandon
Brandon’s lungs spasmed as he ran through the passage. These crazy people wanted the barrier down. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not ever. He pushed himself to run faster through the dark tunnel, boots slapping down on the stone and pushing away, echoing loudly, announcing him to anyone who could hear. Every breath brought searing pain to his supposedly healed lungs. He couldn’t stop.
Richard is dead. His brother’s headless body haunted his vision, the blood pouring from his neck pooling on the floor.
Brandon sucked in a gasp that felt as much a sob as it was a need for air. His muscles trembled from exertion, unused to being pushed so hard, so far, for so long. Training in the afternoon was nothing like this—the terror, the adrenaline, the fear, all mixed into a deadly combination that swirled like a poison within him. The suspense of the riot, the fear for his family, the terror of battle, the sorrow of finding his parents and brother—it was all too much. He could feel his body wanting to give out, wanting to curl up in a dark corner and pretend it was all a bad dream.
Mother is dead. His fingers twitched at the remembered horror of finding her body in so many pieces.
The many bruises, scrapes and bleeding cuts over his arms and chest stung in the cold air. Sweat dripped into them, a throbbing reminder of what was yet to come. He didn’t know how many foes would be ahead of him, if Zane had gotten there yet, if Brandon would need to battle alone. If he was going to his death.
Father is dead too. His stomach lurched, and he stumbled as his sinuses remembered the smell of his parents’ room.
Brandon ran up the stairs ahead of him, legs wobbling in weariness as he neared the top. He leaned against the open door frame briefly, panting. He stumbled forward a few steps, clutching on the back of a plush chair, waiting for his trembling muscles to regain their strength.
He stumbled when a new thought hit him. He was now king.
An invisible mantle of pure weighted grief pulled at him, tugging at him, trying to slow his steps, trying to bring him down, trying to sink him into the ground with misery.
He pushed against it, focusing. He had to get to the citadel. He couldn’t stop now.
Please, let me not be too late.
Sapphire was with Slate. Adeline was with Clara and Andre. His girls were safe and protected, and he had to ensure they stayed that way. The barrier had to stay up.
Pushing against the chair, he jogged to the open door and felt a fresh spike of adrenaline and alarm when he saw the two dead guards.
Whales in the Void!
Exhaustion forgotten, Brandon raced down the familiar hallway, running pell-mell towards the keep door. He bit back another curse when he saw the dead guards and the bloody footprints that led into the tower. Caution whispered to him and he listened, slowing his running, quieting his footsteps as best he could. He was unsure of how many would be inside. Running headlong into multiple enemies would not be helpful to anyone he cared about.
The sounds of battle from within encouraged him that he wasn’t alone in this fight. He rushed forward as quietly as possible, eyes searching the room for clues as to what was going on.
Lieutenant Harris lay on the floor, chest wound bleeding out. He was soon to be dead if he wasn’t already. A braided silver circlet lay on the floor near a window. But what held Brandon riveted wasn’t the nearly dead Lieutenant Cole Harris. It was the two men. Specifically, the man being stabbed from behind in the gut.
Zane.
Zane fell to the ground, bleeding, and a tall, pale man with a dark ponytail kicked him, once, twice. Brandon’s mind blanked in rage, snapping him free him from his shocked stupor.
He leapt towards the tall man, not knowing when he drew his sword,
only that it was in his hand, swinging towards the face of the enemy. The dark eyes of his opponent glared at him, his own sword rising to block. Sparks flew when the swords met in the air.
Brandon staggered under the strength of the man’s blow. Rage lent his exhausted muscles power. He pushed back, kicking out at the man’s knee cap.
The man jumped back, barely avoiding his kick. He skidded across the floor, stopping close to a stained-glass window, his long ponytail whipping with the movement. He snarled at Brandon and surged forward.
Brandon deflected, his strength rapidly depleting as fresh cuts opened on his arms and legs where he hadn’t fully blocked in time. Find his pattern. Brandon interjected his sword into the flurry of deadly movement, halting the pale man’s sword tirade. He grunted as the man whipped his sword around, forcing Brandon to give ground.
Brandon lashed out and the man moved a fraction of a second too slow, and Brandon’s blade sliced partway into the man’s left arm. His opponent snarled. Moving forward impossibly fast, his opponent feinted a side blow before stepping close to Brandon and jabbing an elbow into Brandon’s throat.
Brandon collapsed, shock holding him there as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come.
Stunned, he watched the tall man whirl away and stalk back to the center of the room. His head whipped back and forth, as if he was searching for something. He snatched up a dark rock from the floor and rushed toward the keystone.
The inky stone blazed, hot pink and orange flaring across its purple-black surface and rippling through the barrier curtain.
Zane gasped from where he was slumped on the floor, his voice low. “An Elph.” He lifted his head to look at Brandon, shifting as best he could. “Brace yourself, it may—”
Before Zane could say anything more, the keystone pulsed a blinding white light interwoven with oranges and pinks. A heartbeat later, pure energy shot out of the keystone, rolling in a wave through the room. The white wave hit the ponytailed man and the rock in his hand exploded. Blood and stone fragments fell from his fist as he cursed, and the energy wave flung him into the wall.
The wave sent the corpse on the floor tumbling, limbs flopping grotesquely as it crunched against the doorframe, the awkward impact audibly snapping at least one bone. Zane groaned as he bounced and slid across the floor; he was prepared just enough for the pulse to twist his body in time to push his feet against the wall to avoid an impact like the other two.
Brandon wasn’t so fortunate.
He realized just as the keystone pulsed that he was in the worst possible position to deal with a force wave. One of the many windows was directly behind him, and there was nothing for him to grab a hold of or brace himself on. The wave of energy smacked into him with enough force to throw him through the aperture. Colorful shards of glass tumbled in the air around him and the silver circlet on the floor flew out next to him.
Brandon watched the snowy ground rush up to greet him.
I’m sorry, Sapphire. I broke my promise. I’m not coming home.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Slate
A huge blast rocked the hallway Slate ran through. He ducked, arm instinctively thrown up to cover his face in case of flying debris. When nothing fell, he lowered his trembling arm and sprinted again.
What in the Void was that?
He raced into the keep and stopped at the sight of Cole’s body beyond the broken bodies of Monomi guards. His friend of so many years lay there, body twisted unnaturally around the door frame. His glassy eyes stared into the distance. Slate hesitated, carefully stepping around the fallen men, his gaze darting around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and looking for anything dangerous to him.
Beyond the door, red and orange swirls pulsed sideways from the keystone like flames from a bonfire. Tongues of green and purple sprayed over the vibrant red and orange, forks of silent lightning causing the hair on Slate’s neck to stand on end. Something is very, very wrong.
A groan to his right snapped Slate’s attention away. A dark-haired man in familiar black clothes laid on his back, legs up against the wall.
“Zane!” Slate sprinted and fell to his knees next to his shivering friend. Zane’s olive skin had faded to an ashen color, his black shirt sticking to his chest and shimmering wetly with blood. His hair stuck straight up where Zane had clearly tried to push it back.
A fresh wave of horror crashed over Slate’s already-battered emotions. “Oh. Oh no. I have to get you help. I’ll go get a mani-med. You have those here at the citadel right? Do you have yarric paste?” Slate grabbed a vial off Zane’s belt and popped it open. He sniffed the yellow cream inside. Thank the Author. He started smearing the pungent medicine on Zane’s bleeding wounds.
Zane groaned and flopped his head side to side. “No. No time. Keystone first.”
A bright strobe of light from the keystone spooked Slate, and he dropped the vial on Zane’s chest. “What’s wrong with it? I don’t know much about the magic, but something isn’t right.”
Zane opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the keystone, his eyes unfocused. “They tried to bring it down. I stopped them. I killed Harris. The other fled.” He struggled to move and fell back with a grunt. “It’s sabotaged. We have to fix it.”
A hand slick with blood grabbed Slate’s arm before he could move. Zane’s green eyes pierced him, a different anguish than physical pain shining in them. “Brandon’s gone. He fell through the window.” His voice weakened. “Tell Sapphire. I’m sorry … I couldn’t protect him.”
Zane’s words hit Slate like a punch in the gut. He doesn’t know about Sapphire. A yawning chasm of grief opened under Slate, beckoning him to jump in. He swallowed hard and clapped his bloody hand over Zane’s. “Barrier first. Regrets second.”
Head twitching in a slight nod, Zane gestured weakly toward the barrier before letting his hand drop. “I need to be closer. Please. Help me.”
Slate studied Zane for a long moment. There was enough blood on Zane and the ground around him to suggest a slow-bleeding injury. “I can’t move you. You’ll bleed out—”
“Now, Slate.” Zane glared. “Barrier first. Concerns second.”
Jaw clenched, Slate pulled his friend up to a half-sitting position, then dragged him under his arms closer to the terrifying pulsing barrier, cautious to not get too close. He gently set Zane back down and crouched next to his head. “Now what?”
“I need your blood to mix with mine.” Pain laced Zane’s words. “This uses some life force, and I’m not strong enough on my own to heal the damage.”
Slate swallowed hard and nodded despite Zane’s closed eyes. “Where do you want it?”
“Ring.” Zane lifted his hand, showing the black jewelry on his finger. “And when I die, take this with you. Don’t leave it here.”
“You aren’t going to die. I’m not going to let you,” Slate snapped. He’d already lost Sapphire, Brandon, even Cole. He couldn’t lose another friend. And what would he tell Zak?
Zane opened his eyes to look at Slate, green orbs piercing him. “Promise.”
“I vow to take it with me when the time comes.” Slate could feel the weight of the vow pressing on his back, hunching his shoulders forward.
The keystone flared a hot orange, adding a rosy hue to Zane’s pale face. Zane stared at it with glassy eyes. “Blood, now, while I still have something in me.”
Unsure if it needed to be fresh blood, blood from a battle or blood freely given, Slate drew his sword, gritted his teeth and ran his palm over the sharp edge. He gasped as pain radiated from his hand, thick blood flowing faster than he anticipated. He grabbed Zane’s cool hand, coating it and the ring with the hot, sticky fluid.
Relaxing his head against the ground, Zane sighed, his words barely audible; “My life for all of theirs.”
Strength poured out of Slate. He sagged, barely catching himself before he could fall on his friend. He watched in awe as the brilliant orange and red flashes faded away from the
thrashing barrier, receding back into the keystone. The keystone itself shone black, purple, and green shimmering in an eerie halo around it.
“There.” Zane’s voice was barely audible. “Still weak. But better.”
“Great. Now let’s get you to a healer.” Slate staggered on his knees as he shifted to stand.
“Not yet.” Zane’s eyes stayed closed. “I …” He coughed and blood coated his lips. “I think it may be too late. It took more … than I anticipated. Are they safe?” He opened his eyes, and Slate could see the concern that glimmered there.
Zane didn’t have to specify which “they” he referred to. Slate glanced at the barrier, noting the streaks of green that hadn’t been there before, the subtle orange in the heart of the keystone. It wasn’t fully fixed, and Zane was dying at his feet. Guilt crushed Slate’s chest, tears finally falling free. He drew up his knees and buried his face into them, uncaring of the dried, flaking, and congealing blood.
“It’s all my fault. I thought it was Richard who tried to kill Sapphire, Zane. I-I trusted Cole and his men. Let them in so they could assassinate Richard.” Even now, the word assassinate stuck in his throat. Slate swallowed hard, confessing to his knees. “They were going to get just him, but they didn’t. They brought the mob.” Hot tears scalded Slate’s cool cheeks and he closed his eyes against the grief. “Sapphire is dead. Because of me. Now Brandon is gone, you’re dying, the barrier is weakened, and all because of me.” He rubbed his face against his shirt sleeve, his arms shaking from exhaustion and emotion.
Zane’s eyes blazed into him, righteous anger giving him a second wind. “If this is your fault, you need to redeem yourself.” He inhaled sharply, his gaze never leaving Slate’s. “Find the guy who did this. An Elph. He failed to take down the barrier. He’ll try again.” Zane coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood, his volume weakening, but the bite in his words staying sharp. “Execution is too good for you. You live with what you’ve done. If Adeline is alive, you protect her. Protect the barrier.” He gasped and winced, then settled his head back, his face losing what color it had. “Lie, if you must.”
