Keepers of the Crown

by Lydia Redwine

  magic had worn off completely now. The dove took flight,

  spreading its wings and swooping into an alleyway. Peter took hardly any notice of the journey through the

  forgotten city. His eyes remained focused on the dove which flew

  before him, leading him through the maze of narrow streets

  under a pale sky. The sky was stretching, a lighter tint to it than

  it had held before. Dawn was approaching, even in this valley.

  Peter’s steps slowed, his one leg limping behind. “Have I been

  here all night?”

  In one way, the time had passed like lightning with all

  that had happened. In another diverging way, Peter felt as

  though he had spent two lifetimes at the lake alone. “My own

  and my father’s…” Peter’s ears still rang with the soft voice of

  the dying siren. The words she emitted were becoming clearer as

  he reached thinner air. His mind began to piece them together

  into strings of sentences.

  The memory reached full clarity and was displayed in his

  mind. This recollection did not penetrate him and fill his chest

  daggers. Cole’s voice and kind face warmed him, filled his veins

  with honey. And perhaps Peter would have moved faster if it

  weren’t for his wounded leg. But this was disregarded at the

  delight of the song sang in his mind. His lips parted and the

  words flowed softly from his mouth. At times, he forgot a line or

  two but after a pause, the memory returned and presently, the

  song was completed.

  The air around him warmed but not to smolder him. “Elyon is near.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Thesong in its full length plummeted into Cam’s mind. Her

  mind exploded with its tune, its memory, warmth, and words. Though parts of the recollection remained hazy, her stomach stilled its churning, and her skin began to thaw with its presence.

  Cold had chilled the bones of all those except Silva who stood overlooking the city. Cam had ceased shivering when dawn approached and now stood numb, her eyes compelled to stay open. Silva released a yawn and went to cover her mouth. “Just dramatic effect,” Cam told herself.

  “Ifheisn’t herenow, I doubt heis to return.” Silva’s voice iced the air even further. “Victory to myself and my warrior in our second round.” She gave a shrill, trilling laugh that felt like a sharp slap across Cam’s chafed cheeks.

  “No,” was all Cam’s numb mind could think to say. To scream. “No!” Everything inside her rose in a fury. “He can’t be...he’scomingback!” Cam was gripped ruthlessly from behind. She thrashed against him, a scream now tearing from her throat and past stiff, cold lips. Her eyes strained to remain trained upon the city entrance a hundred feet below.

  Silva only smirked. She had received just the reaction she desired.

  All remained still and foreboding as it had been for the past several hours. White flickered in a vision for a brief instant and though the city lay far below her, Cam could distinguish for a moment the figure of a small, soaring dove flying from the spiked gate. She gasped. “A sign,” she whispered under her own breath. She was hurtled headlong like a bundle of rags into the cell minutes later. Pain surged through her skull as her head crashed into stone. Cam could not restrain the cry that escaped her lips. The cry came from physical pain but also from dread. “Peter will not return,” she told herself. Sobs racked up her throat, choking her as she attempted to bring herself to a sitting position.

  Her vision was slowly clearing from the tears, for they spilled over her cheeks. She found that her cell had shrunk and that she had been left alone. “I’m going mad,” she gasped. But she was not going entirely insane. She had indeed been thrown in her own cell as were the others. “Why now?” she wondered. But she knew. She knew Silva too well by now. Knew the schemes of the queen. “Keeping us separated means keeping us from planning against her.”

  Cam curled into a tight ball in an effort to warm herself to some degree. Shaking with anger and dread, she scooted into a corner and buried her head in her hands. Her nostrils caught the scent of dirt and sweat. She felt filthy. She was filthy. “Why did I ever come here?” Sobs racked from her lips, and she felt no shame in the noise she was creating. All those in neighboring cells were quiet except for an occasional shuffle or murmur.

  Her eyes were blurred when she lifted her head, but still, she saw it. The hand infested with scales reaching through the bars, an amber bottle in hand. “No!” she screamed. But her body was surging forward. Cam wrenched the bottle from the Shadow Bearer’s grasp and sent it flying at the wall.

  A crash. Then the color of dread staining the wall.

  But then it was in her mouth. The liquid seeping between her lips. Another bottle clenched in her hand.

  And Cam felt herself fading.

  “Noone is in this one.” The voice was a hiss from beneath a

  cloak just outside of Cam’s cell. It brought her to full consciousness. “I’m in here,” she thought with glum disdain. Then, realizing her position in a dark corner, she came to find that hardly anyone could see her unless they peered very closely.

  Her head was throbbing, a drumbeat of dread against her temples. Glass was shattered where she sat. A key was inserted in the rusty lock, and the creaking cell door swung open. The guards’ companion, a burly, enormous figure, helda someoneby the collar of its tunic. The prisoner was hurled in, landing on a small pile of molding damp straw. The guards did not hesitate in slamming the cell door shut and rotating the key in the lock. They then proceeded to depart from the cell entrances and stationed themselves at the entrance of the dungeon.

  Cam peered through a curtain of tangled hair at the stirring figure sprawled on the ground. He groaned. “Peter!” she gasped, scrambling forward. But her limbs were heavy and numb. She could barely feel them. Though still conscious, it took Peter a full moment to recognize Cam. “You survived,” she breathed, her shaking fingers coming to touch his bruised and battered face.

  Peter’s smile was weak and strained. “I came back for you.” He attempted to sit up and winced in the process. Cam withdrew from him to examine his wounds. Cuts ran over his lips, cheek, and brow. An enormous bruise formed beneath his right eye.

  “You’re soaking,” Cam observed.

  “And freezing,” Peter added, yanking his plastered tunic over his head. “Keep me warm?” Though he wouldn’t have normally asked such a question, his pale form begged otherwise. Cam scooted close to him, resting her head on his chest and encircling her arms around him. He released shuddering breaths, and shivers racked his body. Cam squeezed him tight and heat began to radiate between them.

  Cam’s eyes roved over his body, searching for injuries. She sat up in one swift movement. “Peter, your leg!”

  “I know. It hurts like hell, and I had to walk miles on it.”

  “Whatever happened?”

  Cam glanced at Peter whose eyes were shut as he shook his head. “I’d rather not recount it quite yet.”

  “Do you still have the Medulla? We can use it for your…”

  Peter snagged at Cam’s wrist and silenced her with both the opening of his eyes and the look he gave her. “No. And you will not use it. There is more to come and…”

  Cam placed a finger on his lips. “You’re alive. You won, didn’t you? You defeated whatever it was.”

  Again, Peter shook his head. And...he smiled, the light at his lips reaching his eyes. “Elyon did. He sent lightning from Caelae, Cam and struck it down.”

  “What was it?” she whispered.

  Peter’s gaze held hers with a knowing look. “Do you remember Leviathan? The Shadow Bearer who came to Imber Fel? Hell, what am I saying? Of course, you do. He”

  “Held a blade to my throat,” Cam finished. Her body had gone still, her hand frozen on Peter’s arm. Her eyes were unblink
ing as thoughts coursed through her mind. “And I made a deal with him...a deal involving you. And maybe that’s why he was here. Because he knew I would bring you here…”

  The thought hadn't occurred to Cam since Silva had fully come into the picture. The thought that perhaps Leviathan would become an obstacle or worse, a greater enemy. “And you...he’s gone?” Cam stammered.

  Peter shifted, his fingers absently fidgeting with Cam’s sleeve that he had still clutched in his hand. “I-I defeated something different. A part of my past no longer haunts me. As much anyway.” Peter’s gazemet Cam’s. A gazethat was wavering as he swallowed.

  Cam’s brow knit together, and she remembered what ColehadsaidaboutPeter’s search foranswers. “Notnow. Iwon’t ask anything now,” she decided and curled next to him again. And anyway, her eyes were drifting shut. To stay awake was a challenge greater than any other right now. And her head was still thrumming with pain. And for the past hour or two everything had been a blur.

  A dank smell hit her. One which had been present for a while. Urine. She must have gone several times. “The dove led me from the city,” Peter said, his low voice dissipating her thoughts.

  “I watched as it flew from the gate,” Cam heard herself murmur. She clenched her eyes shut. “Just think of something else...his heartbeat. Listen…” And she listened to the steady thumping of Peter’s heart at her ear while her own fluttered in her chest.

  A pause intervened. “I heard this song, Cam. This song your father used to sing to me when I was younger.” Cam’s eyes widened, and she lifted her head ever so slightly. “What is it?” Peter asked, seeing her look.

  “The one he sang to me. Peter, sing it for me.”

  Peter hesitated for a moment before his voice carried the tune in a soft tone. And Cam realized then that she hadn't really heard him sing before. She knew the song. It had come to her just an hour before when they had been standing in the cold. But she also knew it from a distant memory. She knew it in her bones and in her soul.

  “How many are my foes, how they rise up against me. But you are the shield at my helm, the dagger in my hand,

  seer of my soul roaming realm,

  the fist of my rebellion,

  the color of my victory,

  wings of my withstanding.

  Elyon, from You, comes my deliverance, no fear shall come of the thousands as the tide,

  no fear shall come at the breaking of the starlight at the tearing of the veil of night.

  May You remain,

  evermore.

  Evermore.

  Evermore.

  May You remain evermore.

  Peter’s voice drifted in and out, the words melting into Cam’s mind as her eyelids drooped. The song was the color of hope, a flame amidst the shadow. She heard both Peter and her father’s voice. And never had she heard a song sang like that. Like it was a part of someone buried so deep that they had forgotten about it. Cam saw another face as the song stilled in her mind. A face she knew as well as her own, for it looked much like her own. But it wasn’t. Her mother. And it was she that had said where the song had come from.

  “A kingofthefollowersofElyon when hewas butaboy.” Cassia wasn’t looking at Cam but distantly at whatever lay beyond the window.

  “So long ago…” Cole murmured. Cam grasped the memory, framedit to her mind ’s core. Theonlymemory shehad left, perhaps, of her own mother. Cam’s thoughts took another turn as Peter began thesongfor asecondtime. Elyon…Thename trickled in her brain, deep into her consciousness as her mind muddled into slumber. A name too high for her to reach. Still, she reached. But found only a shadow of a thought.

  Peter was still sleeping when a Shadow Bearer came to stand

  long enough at their cell that Cam knew it was time to face Silva again. Silva was draped in fine silver silk threaded with dark greens. Her abundant hair was swept into an elegant form beneath her crown. She smirked at Cam’s lowlier appearance.

  “It is a beautiful morning, Camaria.” She fluttered her hand towards the windows. Cam allowed her gaze to drift to the high-reaching sets of glass. Through it, was a rust-colored sky. The colors could indeed be strange here. “The evening will be beautiful too,” Silva trilled. She returned her eyes to Cam who only stared determinedly ahead at nothing in particular. “A shame that your dear friend Peter will never see the beauty of the sky again.”

  Cam stood nearly numb, the only feeling inside of her a small puncture. A small flame of triumph flickered in her chest, thawing the ice Silva’s presence presented. Silva did not know of Peter’s survival. And she still didn’t know of the Savior in their midst. “I have to talk to Fiera. About Elyon...so many things,” Cam thought.

  “Ihavenowwontwo rounds. Thethird willoccur tonight. This round will be of my choosing and the next of yours. Unless ofcourse, I gain victory today,” Silva said. Cam clenchedher jaw. “Please,” Silva motionedwith her hand. “Beseated.” Cam hadno choice, for the Shadow Bearer at her back was pushing her to a plush seat across from Silva at a tiny table. This was too...intimate of a meal. The food was little and the space too small between them.

  Cam sat, chains dripping from her wrists. Silva smiled as she drank her wine and consumed a fine meal. Cam kept an icy stare upon the throne beyond her. “Tell me, Silva, how did you do it? How did you destroy our magic?”

  “That is a fine question indeed,” Silva returned, lifting a sparkling gaze to meet Cam’s. “We used our own magic, of course. We did indeed have to ask special permission from the Prince himself to access the Cities. When we did gain access, there were plenty in Mirabelle willing to aid us in capturing the magic.”

  “Us?” Cam echoed. “Of course.” “I devised the plan, Camaria, but it was not I who destroyed it.”

  Cam’s brows rose. “So, Leviathan then.”

  Again, Silva shook her head, and Cam knew she was speaking the truth. There was no shred of deception in Silva’s countenance. No reason to keep such information from her. It didn’t matter who had destroyed it. It was gone, and Cam knew they weren’t getting it back.

  Cam remembered something her father had said before she had left Mirabelle. She lifted her elbows to the table and rest her chin on her hand. “It has been said that one day the magic of this world, that of humans, would fade to bring in new magic. One that comes directly from Elyon.” Cam kept her voice light, her gaze wandering and absent.

  She felt Silva still.

  Cam continued, this time directing her gaze on the queen. “Brought into the realm by the Crown of Caelae.” At first, Cam thought she had a flicker of fury cross Silva’s continuance. But this expression vanished in an instant, however, with the return of a slow, wicked smile. Silva drank her wine slowly, deliberately. “You, my dear, will fail, and when you do the Crown will be in my possession. I will then be rewarded.”

  “Your reward being that you will be set free?” Cam questioned. “Why were you trapped in this first place?”

  Silva’s eyes flared a boiling green. “You said it yourself, Cam, in your illconceived riddle.”

  “Revenge. Revenge trapped you here.” Cam nearly laughed aloud.

  Silva only smiled once more. “You are enacting revenge yourself at this very moment, Camaria. You may have convinced yourself that you play my games out of love for your people. But you have your own quest, dear daughter. You take the same steps that I have taken. You drift slowly into your own shadow.”

  Something inside Cam shook. Was it fury? Or fear? Both? She could not be certain. Silva leaned back in her seat. “Your quest is to have me killed. All those in your company are here for similar reasons. I have read the minds of those accompanying you. Ilea, for one. The dear girl I poisoned is out for revenge. She seeks to pay retribution for the years of enslavement under my father. She is not on your side, Camaria.” Here Silva shrugged. “Even if she did recommend the showers.”

  “The showers…” Cam thought. “Of course. She knows about the Castaways and how we can speak to them.”
And even though Cam could not find it in herself to trust Ilea entirely, she knew that the woman was more on her side than she would ever be on Silva’s.

  The queen’s expression was changing, melding into something dark and distant. Her eyes fell on the table at nothing in particular. Though Cam shookher headin denial, shecouldn’t help acknowledging deep down that what Silva was speaking held some truth. “Joel, the fine-looking young man, he seeks revenge also. How well do you know of his intentions?” Silva tilted her head. “And Caleb, has he ever told you of his past? What of Owen? Why has he troubled himself with this quest?”

  “For the same reason I do!” Cam cried out, bounding from the table. Her chains clattered on the floor.

  “Love?” Silva gave a mocking laugh. “Revenge,” she corrected. She paused, her eyes drifting over Camaria. “Revenge distorts thehumansoul. Revengecontortsgood’scommongoal.” Cam stared at Silva in stony silence as she ground her jaw. Finally, Silva rose from her seat, reached behind her into a covered container of iron twisted in intricate shapes and withdrew a small object.

  Cam stared as she recognized the object. It was two halves of a blue painted sphere bound with string. She knew what was contained between the wood. A slip of parchment with a symbol representing twice and then two letters beneath of which was drawn what appeared to be a dagger and then crossed lines. Silva placed the object carefully on the table.

  “Where did you find that?” Cam asked.

  Silva’s expression was neutral as she replied, “I took it from Fiera. Tell me, Cam, do you know what the message on that parchment means?” Cam only stared at the wooden ball as Silva leaned forward. “I noticed the day that Fiera found it that she kept it close and examined it often. I was thinking that if she is to die soon that she should at least learn the truth of that message.” Silva paused to gaze at Cam.

  “I have seen such messages before from assassins in the kingdom of Caranthia and of the desert lands to the west. The number means twice in the Caranthian tongue but stands for second here. Perhaps as the second daughter whereas the letters...initials. Terra Briar. And the knife…”