by RJ Metcalf
Slate nodded through Zane’s words, even as he quaked at the fury in Zane’s voice. “I … I promise.” He looked down at his friend.
Zane wasn’t breathing anymore.
I’m so sorry.
Slate wiped his bloody hand against his pant leg, then rested his hand on Zane’s chest. “You have done your duty. Go, rest in peace in Areilia.” His voice cracked at the end.
He didn’t want to say that anymore today. Or ever again, for that matter. He raised his head and saw Cole’s broken body. One last time.
Before he could stir himself to go to Cole, he heard the distant gong of alarm for the Monomi. Whales! No time! He lunged for Zane’s ring, pulled it off and slipped it on his own finger. Fear consumed Slate, knowing that the odds were good that at least one of Zane’s family members would be on their way here, and he absolutely could not be here when they arrived. How would he explain himself, if he was found here?
Lie, if you must.
Slate stumbled to his feet and ran out the short walkway, looked both ways, and darted into a nearby shadowed alcove. His surge of adrenaline was weak, leaving him swaying and holding onto the wall for support as Monomi guards thundered by.
He still had to get to the Crimson Hawk. Had Garnet and Adeline made it out with Zak and Clara? Were they at least safe? If Brandon had fallen, where was Andre? Had he gotten away? Was he dead? After all this, what about Richard?
He leaned against the wall and let his head thunk into it. His body ached from a hundred small cuts and bruises, his head throbbed with a headache, and his heart ached from grief. What would he tell them, if they all survived? He couldn’t tell them the truth.
But what could he say? If he said anything wrong, he’d be executed, without doubt. And then he wouldn’t be able to guard Adeline and the barrier. Assuming his niece even lived. What would he tell the Monomi? Zak?
A ragged sob tore through Slate as he moved beyond the alcove to the staircase as he fled. How would he live with himself now? Everyone was dead because of him.
Lie, if you must.
Chapter Sixty
Zak
Zak kicked his legs over the edge of the bed, watching the too long hems of his borrowed pants flutter. As good as it felt to be in clean, dry clothing, he couldn’t help feeling weird about it, like it was somehow wrong to be safe and cleaned up when there were dead bodies lying around the palace. The memory of Matthias’s body crumpling and Clara—No. Don’t think about it.
He glanced up, watching Andre sit across from the bed. His shoulders hunched forward as he methodically wrapped gauze around his cut arm, more absorbed in the task than he probably needed to be. Clara’s bloody hand print soaked Andre’s other sleeve. Andre was covered with several other smaller cuts, bruises and welts.
After Zandra had brought them changes of clothes and provided warm water for cleaning up, Andre had retreated to scrub blood off his hands and body privately, coming back soon after to dress his wounds in the same room as everyone else. No one commented on his red-rimmed eyes. Or Clara’s dagger on his belt.
Garnet sat in a chair, dressed in hand-me-downs from one of the barmaids. She still wore her own emerald and black bodice, but paired with the borrowed rich brown skirt and thick burgundy undershirt, it lost much of its elegance. Her eyes watered seconds before she sneezed, her cold already making a nasty comeback after the long trek in the snow. Zandra passed her a fresh handkerchief. Garnet accepted it with a murmured “thank you”.
Princess Adeline was safely nestled in a crib, sleeping.
The room was quiet and peaceful. And Zak hated it.
Loved it and hated it.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he scrubbed them with his sleeve. What was happening at the palace now? The citadel? Was his mother fighting? Zaborah? Were they safe? His father was definitely out there. Was he alive? After seeing so many die today, he no longer held the belief that they were invincible. And that hurt. Where was Zane? Prince Brandon? Lady Sapphire?
Zandra stood abruptly, drawing everyone’s eyes as she paced, arms behind her back. Worry lines blemished her smooth skin. Her green eyes remained downcast as she stepped past Garnet, reaching the end of the room before turning back. Zak’s eyes drifted down, idly counting the potion bottles on the secondary belt she wore. Anything to keep him from thinking.
The heavy steps of someone in the hall brought Zak’s head up. His hands shook. It didn’t matter if there was a guard from the Hawk stationed around the inn now, fear was too strong an enemy to fight.
Zandra stood by the door, waiting for the signal knock of a friend, handaxe at the ready. Andre’s hand dropped to his sword.
A rhythm pounded on the door. Three knocks, two knocks, five.
Zak sagged in relief, watching his still-tense sister open the door with one hand holding her weapon. She stood there for a brief moment before allowing it to swing open, silent as two people stood there: Katrina and Slate.
Slate stepped in, nearly shuffling more than walking.
Katrina hung back in the hallway, nodding her respects, then closing the door quietly, shutting herself out of the room. The entire room remained silent, taking in the appearance of Slate. He stood slumped, his characteristic straight posture gone. Blood stained his hands, his eye, and soaked his clothes. A multitude of scratches and abrasions covered him, the obvious source of at least some of the red. He shifted, Zak noticing then the blue sword and sheath that he wore.
That looks like—
Garnet and Andre spoke at the same time:
“Slate! Thank the Author! You’re the first! Have you seen anyone else?”
“Where did you get that sword? Where is Lady Sapphire?”
Lieutenant Slate pressed his lip together, trembling, head hanging, the evidence of tears shimmering in his eyes. He slowly clenched his hands, bringing them up, staring at them as if for the first time. Lowering them to his sides, he looked Garnet in the eyes, his gaze shadowed and weighted with a sorrow.
Garnet gasped in a rough breath, holding it, waiting.
Slate opened his mouth. “She’s dead.”
The words were so soft that Zak thought he’d misheard until Slate spoke again.
“Sapphire is dead.” Slate sank down to his knees, raising his dirty hands to cover his face as he wept.
Zak stared at the grown man crying before him, shocked. A quick glance around the room told Zak that everyone believed Slate, that she was really gone.
The room wavered through Zak’s blurred vision.
Zandra stepped forward, her boots near silent despite the wood floor. She rested her hand on Slate’s shoulder, bending forward so as to let him hear her over his sounds of anguish. “I’ll go grab some spare clothes for you, give you a chance to clean up, then you can tell us what you know.”
A shuddering breath rocked Slate as he pulled himself to sitting upright. He shook his head adamantly. “No. Wait. I need to say it all now, then I’ll go.”
Zak saw Zandra and Garnet exchange looks before she nodded reluctantly, settling on the bed next to Zak. Zandra covered Zak’s hand with hers.
They waited in silence for Slate to speak when he was ready.
“Sapphire … we were trapped. And I was about to die, and she, she—” Slate choked back a strangled sob. “She got in the way. She sacrificed herself to save me. I don’t know why.” He shook his head dumbly, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the bedspread. “She’s the one who had a family. I have nothing to lose, and she, she just threw herself out, and then I—” A shudder ran through him and he closed his eyes, tears leaking down his face. “I don’t know why.”
Garnet’s face shimmered wetly, her hand pressed over her mouth.
Zandra exhaled hard, her voice soft. “Any news on the citadel?”
Slate opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He stared at the floor. “No, sorry.”
Zandra touched his shoulder, and Slate flinched away. “Come, let’s get you a change of clothes and you ca
n clean up.”
Slate nodded woodenly, his face ashen. “Thank you.”
Zak curled up on the bed and tucked his knees to his chest, pressing his eyes into them. Zane, where are you? Please, be safe.
When would this nightmare be over?
Chapter Sixty-One
Slate
A week passed since the fall of the Doldras royal family. So much had been crammed in the last seven days that Slate’s mind felt like mush, everything blurring together into a waking nightmare of memories, dreams, plans, and investigations.
His mother, Elinora, had heard of the slaughter while in a port in Perennia, and she’d wasted no time loading up and returning home. She found Slate in the palace, working under Doctor Jaxton’s supervision to move the bodies and pack them under the snow until the death rites and burial ceremony.
He would never forget the look on his mother’s face when he had to confirm that her baby girl was dead. After they’d cried together, she shared a new concern: the navigational instruments were acting oddly, the closer they got to Doldra, and there was a noticeable rise in terrors. The barrier may still be up, but something was off in the attunement of it. Before, dragons avoided being too close to the keystone and barrier, and their city thrived. Now that the protection seemed to be waning, they would have to warn the citizens to be cautious of dragons.
A day after Elinora arrived, Princess Violet returned to the castle with two airships full of warriors and guards from Perennia. The additional guards worked tirelessly alongside the Doldran military to bring order to the reeling city and palace; filling guard shifts, providing extra protection for the princess, and running the investigation.
Slate confessed to being friends with Cole, and letting him in, but he lied. Slate admitted to letting Cole in through the main gate for the purpose of having a meal together. It was widely assumed at this point that Cole was a traitor and that he had somehow arranged the mob and the riot, and that he was also responsible for the weakened keystone.
To his disgruntlement, Slate was viewed with sympathy; someone who had been betrayed by a friend to the most extreme of tragic circumstances. While true, it burned Slate to know that everything had happened because of him—whether people knew the full extent of his involvement or not. Cole may have found a different way in that hadn’t involved Slate. But he had gotten in. All because of Slate. That knowledge twisted in his gut every time someone so much as looked at him with pity. He’d wanted Richard dead for the sake of protecting his family—his sister. And he’d failed.
When Cole’s possible motive was questioned, many people brought up Richard’s passive aggression against Cole after Selvage. There had to be more to it than Cole’s frustration at being demoted, but now it was too late to ask. And as much as Slate hated to let his old friend take all the fall, he knew that Cole deserved most, if not all, of it.
Even if he himself was no better.
And Slate knew that he had to let Cole take the blame. If the truth was revealed about Slate’s involvement, he would be executed, and he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his promise to Zane.
Lie if you must.
Blood-soaked memories and bitter lies proved to be too much, too soon, and Slate drowned his concerns in mead each night. Maybe the nightmares would someday fade.
As the immediate proceedings of the investigation wrapped up, airships bearing royalty and dignitaries from Perennia, Antius, Aerugo, and all the other kingdoms, arrived to observe the funeral and offer condolences, as well as to stay for Violet’s coronation.
They held the funeral on the fifth day, having found and prepared all the bodies they could. Prince Brandon’s body was still missing despite exhaustive search efforts. Princess Adeline had been declared dead, killed at the same time as Clara Benning, by a new weapon identified as a bomb. Nothing was left of her to bury. Speculation led them to believe the same fate had befallen Brandon.
Slate and Garnet agreed to let the nation believe the worst had happened for the sake of being able to protect her. Who knew if those who wanted the royal Doldras family dead still lurked in the shadows?
The procession moved slowly down to the marble crypts to lay King Rupert, Queen Victoria, Prince Richard, Lady Sapphire, and an empty casket for Princess Adeline, the mourners laden with grief and sorrow. After leaving their bodies in their respective sarcophagi, mourners left glowing crimson and yellow stones behind in memory of the missing Prince Brandon. Many clung to the false hope that they were wrong, that he was still out there somehow.
Their wishful thinking grated on Slate’s heart. He couldn’t squelch their optimism without admitting he’d been to the tower, that he’d spoken to Zane, that he knew Brandon had fallen to his death from the citadel tower. Their faith would just be one of the many burdens he’d have to shoulder on his own.
After the royal funeral, they held a mass funeral for all the palace staff and guards, buried in a multitude of graves to the southwest of the citadel. Zane and the Monomi killed in defense of the keystone and citadel were buried in a private funeral that evening. And the corpses of the rioters burned in a mass pyre without fanfare.
Dawn of the next day, they held yet another ceremony—this one crowning Princess Violet as the new Queen of Doldra. The rite was solemn, no joyous applause and cheers, the previous day’s requiem still heavy on everyone’s hearts and minds. Succession should have passed to Princess Adeline, but with the kingdom assuming her as dead, the crown fell to an unprepared Violet.
Slate and Garnet debated long and hard whether or not to tell Violet that her niece was alive, but they ultimately decided against it. It would be better if Violet was protected from the truth, until they knew if anyone else targeted Adeline.
They met with Violet, offering condolences and help, and Violet informed them she would be seeking aide from Perennia and Aerugo to get everything in order and running again. She acknowledged that Lord Everett was now ruler of Aerugo, and as such, he offered a marriage proposal to unite their kingdoms—during the funeral, of all places. He had apparently cited that it would be a useful bond between the three kingdoms, and now that his father had unexpectedly passed as had Violet’s husband, there was no time like the present.
Violet still had time to make her decision, though. She was grateful for the three months of mourning typically allotted before the remarriage of one in sovereign leadership would even be considered.
Andre had been offered a place by Queen Violet’s side as an advisor to her, but he declined the position, taking time to grieve all he’d lost. Violet graciously accepted that and told him if he ever wanted to return, he need only ask.
Once the citadel reported that the barrier was still behaving abnormally, Queen Violet opened the palace to the families who had been living in the citadel. Since the fall, reports started trickling in that something was off, that one day a hallway would take longer than normal to traverse, that some people in one area thought only ten minutes had passed when it was actually an hour, and so rumors were starting that it was haunted. The families moved in, relieved to be away from the strangeness, and happy to help fill in the staff roster in the meantime, helping with the meals, cleaning, serving and guarding. An around-the-clock contingent of guards rotated from the palace to the citadel, never leaving the keystone alone.
Slate sighed as he mentally reviewed the week, trying to keep the days ordered despite his exhaustion. How did we cram so much in so little time?
It was a relief to leave the palace now. He wouldn’t return either, having resigned from the military just that morning. It was time to get to his mother’s shipping yards, that they could determine how best to protect Adeline.
The familiar brick building stood out in stark contrast to the pristine snow around it, and a salted path to the front door and stables proved that it had been recently visited. Smoke twisted from the chimney, and Slate dismounted, handing off his reins to a waiting stable boy. He stuffed his cold hands in his pockets and hunched against the chill
breeze as he walked to the front door. He took a deep breath before pulling down the handle and pushing it open.
Warmth rolled over him pleasantly as he shook the sticky snow off his boots in the entryway. Slate took off his thick overcoat and hung it on a hook on the wall before walking past his mother’s office to the staircase. He followed the steps up and walked further back to the private guest rooms she kept open and on hand for captains overnighting.
He knocked on the furthest door from the stairwell, pleased when Andre answered it. Even though they knew of and expected his arrival, no one was taking any chances. Andre held the door open to let Slate in.
Elinora sat on a simple-yet-elegant rocking chair, Adeline on her lap. Garnet reclined against a chest of drawers, and Andre closed the door, leaning against it, hands in his pockets. Elinora motioned and Slate skipped the chair in favor of the floor, near Garnet.
“I think we all agree that she can’t stay here.” Elinora began without preamble, her blue eyes stern and businesslike. “We don’t know if she’d be a target, or if all the murderers are gone.”
They all nodded.
Andre spoke, shifting to cross his arms and revealing some of his bandages as he thought aloud. “She shouldn’t stay in one place at all. We need to keep her moving.”
Garnet looked up at him, scandalized. “But she needs stability growing up! If she’s constantly moving around, she’s going to be forever meeting new people and not having the consistency that she needs!”
Opting to remain quiet for the moment, Slate watched his niece as she held her toes and giggled on his mother’s lap. Adeline spotted something on the floor and squirmed until Elinora set her down. Elinora scooted to a corner by Slate. He rubbed at the scruff on his face.
