Lincoln

by Christina Bauer

  Father’s wink wasn’t lost on Mother. He’s had a hundred years of marriage with the Queen of the Poker Face, and yet Father still hasn’t learned how to hide a single emotion. Mother purses her lips. “Don’t bother playing games with me.” She frowns. “Lincoln was dancing overmuch with Adair, as you well know.”

  Father plunks into a chair and bites into his roll. “I don’t think one dance is overmuch.”

  “We should reinforce that emotion has no place in royal marriages.” Mother primly smooths back her hair. “Don’t you agree?”

  Father finishes another honey roll and licks the sticky sugar off his fingers. “Please. Our son isn’t some addlebrained fool about to fall in love. That’s right, Lincoln, isn’t it?”

  “Obviously.” Once more, I slip my way closer to the exit. “While I appreciate your collective concern for my emotional well-being, I promised Zachary some pointers on how to keep a good watch.”

  Father taps his lips. “Zachary?”

  “Ormand’s son.” Mother rattles off facts on her fingertips. “The boy’s lineage is three-fourths Rixa, one quarter Gurith. He has the heart of a warrior.” Gurith is Mother’s house. She openly favors anyone with their bloodline.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Father rubs his whiskered chin. “The lad is eight now, I believe. A little flighty, isn’t that so? Draws pictures, too.”

  I take another step toward the door. Not far now. “Flightiness goes along with being young and new to training.” All thrax warriors start their training at eight. “And a talent for drawing doesn’t mean he won’t be a fine warrior one day, either. If you’ll excuse me.” I wrap my fingers around the wooden handle.

  So close.

  That’s when Father clears his throat. My chest tightens.

  No good conversation ever started with Father clearing his throat.

  “One more thing,” says Father.

  I slowly turn around. “Yes?”

  “Aldred tells me you’ve been snooping around his archives.”

  And there it is. The fact that leads to my secret schemes to keep Aldred from killing his own people. Once again, I keep my demeanor calm. “I may become heir to his house; I should get to know its history.”

  “Snooping in archives?” Mother straightens her back, and that’s another warning sign if I ever saw one. “My spy network told me no such thing.”

  “Even your network has limits, Octavia.” Father returns his attention to me. “You took some books, I hear.”

  “On history.” And other things.

  “Does that history have anything to do with Aldred and his demon patrols, my boy?”

  Damn.

  Of course, the books I took cover the topic of demon patrol. I won’t reveal that to Father, though. Demon patrols are a thrax way of life. Each thrax house takes turns policing the Earth’s surface. We ensure that humans are safe and unaware of the many kinds of evil that walk among them. In general, I run all of these missions, except for those led by Acca. Technically, it’s during those patrols that Aldred has the right to send his warriors into unnecessary battle.

  For now, he does.

  I grip my hands behind my back. “I thought we were discussing my impending marriage to Adair.”

  “Nope, I’ve changed topics,” counters Father. “I don’t know what books you stole, but it seems Aldred knows you’re concerned about the warriors who perish on his patrols. He’s the only Earl who is allowed to lead his troops personally. That’s a right he’ll protect forever, and it won’t change with any marriage contract.” The lines of Father’s face tighten. “He let me know that if anyone threatens that right—anyone at all—then the law says Aldred can execute them.”

  “I’m aware.” And I’m willing to take the risk.

  “Please be careful,” says Mother. “Aldred is positively insane when it comes to his rights over demon patrol. Avoid the topic like the plague. We simply can’t lose you.”

  “And you won’t lose me. Ever.” Behind my back, I tighten my grip on the handle so hard I’m surprised I don’t yank it off the door. “Is there nothing else?”

  Mother gives me another classic from her collection of soul-searing looks. “There is, but I’ll have to suss it out on my own, it seems.” She reseats herself at the table and lifts her teacup.

  “Good day to you both.” With that, I quickly leave the feasting hall without any further interruptions.

  Thank Heaven.

  Walking at full speed, I rush off to meet young Zachary in the stables. With every step across the yellowing grasses, my resolve hardens.

  Avoid it like the plague, indeed.

  Dozens of thrax perish every week due to Aldred’s incompetence.

  I’m fighting him with everything I’ve got.

  2

  Here in Purgatory, the stables are arguably the finest building in the thrax compound. Mostly, thrax life in Purgatory takes place in a network of small and rustic cabins. Not so for our horses. Our stables in Purgatory are a long, low, and rectangular structure made from solid oak. A grassy fields leads up to the building’s front gates. Behind the structure, there stretches a relatively lush forest. Even the stable’s arched roof is lined with carved filigree.

  We thrax love our horses.

  I steal across the grounds to the main entrance, careful to open the gated doors without making a sound. Young Zachary is supposed to be on watch up in the hayloft. We’ve seen some minor demonic activity here, so cadets like Zachary have been placed on watch. It makes for a good training exercise.

  Moving silently, I close the gates behind me. Zachary makes no sound, either, which means he’s either silently peering at me through the slats of wood above my head or he’s taking a nap.

  Light snores sound from above me.

  Taking a nap it is.

  I don’t blame him for falling asleep. We put our lads through a tough training schedule. When you’re eight years old, it isn’t easy to focus for six minutes, let alone stay on watch for six hours. But the shifts are necessary parts of their training. One day, this boy will be a man who fights demons. We set high standards to keep him alive. This is one of the main differences between Acca and Rixa.

  I move to stand at the ladder leading up to the loft and clear my throat. The snoring continues. Cupping my hand by my mouth, I state in a loud voice: “Report out, warrior.”

  That gets a far different reaction.

  A chorus of gasps and shuffles come from the hayloft. Within seconds, Zachary has scaled down the ladder and stands before me. He’s a tiny and lanky kid in his light leather body armor. All I see are knees, elbows, and big mismatched eyes. He’s panting with panic.

  “My prince, I’m so sorry. About four hours ago, there were Doxy demons in the stable.”

  “What class?”

  “Green bodies, big heads, and spiky bat wings. These are minor Doxies, so they’re a…” Zachary screws up his tongue as he thinks things through. “Class F?”

  “Quite right.” We thrax rank our demons by letter. Class A’s are the toughest. “And what did you do?”

  “Since it was Class F, I just observed.”

  “Right again.” So long these are only Class F demons, then we’ve asked the boys not to fight or send out an alarm. Their mission is merely to observe. You don’t get to know your enemy if you kill them within minutes of seeing them. Observing demons is an important part of training, so long as they aren’t a threat. Even then, thrax don’t kill an enemy unless directly attacked. “What did you do then?”

  “I watched them, just like the commander told me to. Plus, I drew some pictures of what I saw. I got so excited and then, I just fell asleep. I’m so, so sorry. You can punish me now.” He scrubs his oversize hands down his thin face. This boy will be a tall one someday. “I should never have fallen asleep.”

  The child is doing such a great job at beating himself up, I can’t add in to the mix. “You fell asleep because of the adrenaline crash. It’s natural.”

&nb
sp; “No, it’s not natural. It’s me. I’m not like the other kids. The watch is really hard for me.”

  I know what Zachary is talking about. The child is a bundle of energy when he’s awake, the kind of kid whose attention flits from one thing to the next. “Some things are harder for you. I understand.”

  “There’s no way I can stand still. I want to be a fighter.” His voice cracks when he says this part. “It’s not in me, though.”

  In my army, there’s always a place for this kind of passion for service, and I know just how to explain it to this child. I kneel down so I can look him straight on. “When I was your age, do you know what was hard for me?”

  Zachary’s eyes widen. “Something was hard for you?”

  “Surely. For me, it was moving quickly in battle.”

  “But they say you’re so fast, you could catch lighting.”

  My heart goes out to the lad. About ten years ago, I stood in a stable not so different from this one and had a similar conversation with my father.

  “I may be the fastest now, but not when I was your age.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I worked harder and longer until I became as good as anyone else. And then I worked even harder until I got better than all of them. We all have gifts and deficits. The only thing we control is how hard we work. I bet you’ll stick to it when it comes to watch. In the end, I wouldn’t be surprised if you became the best watchman in your crew.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Well, are you willing to work long and hard? I’m talking years and years now.”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  “Then I truly believe that it will come to pass.” I straighten myself to stand upright again. “Now, I’d like to see those pictures you drew of the Doxies.”

  “Well, I didn’t draw the Doxies.” He winces. “I drew the warrior.”

  “Who?”

  “The one who came in and led all the demons away.”

  My brows lift. Leading a pack of Doxies away? That would be a rather clever trick. Not many thrax would know enough arcane demon lore to pull that one off. “Do you know who it was?”

  Zachary keeps shuffling his feet. “I think it was a girl.”

  “A girl thrax warrior?” The house of Gurith has some young girls who may go into training someday, but other than that, we don’t have any active female warriors in Purgatory. It’s a point of major frustration for Mother. And for me as well, as a matter of fact. I sometimes wonder if I’d take more interest in the opposite sex if some of them knew how to fight.

  And now, Zachary has seen a girl warrior in the stables.

  I eye him carefully. “Are you sure?”

  “She was wearing ghoul robes, so it was hard to tell.”

  Purgatory is ruled by ghouls, all of whom are extraordinarily tall and wear long black robes. Around here, it’s easy enough to get your hands on a set of ghoul robes, and it would be hard to tell anyone’s identity while they were wearing some. Zachary could easily mistake a boy for a girl. Or a ghoul for a thrax, for that matter. “Are you certain this warrior wasn’t ghoul-kind?”

  “No, she was way too short.”

  Again, he seems to be convinced the fighter was a girl. “What did she look like?”

  “It was too dark to see much, but I saw a little bit. I drew a picture, too.”

  “May I see it?”

  Zachary pulls a scrap of paper from under his leather breastplate. I take it from his hands, unfold it, and see an image that takes my breath away. It’s a gorgeous girl, about my age, I’d guess. She wears ghoul robes, but the hood has partly fallen away. I can see her intelligent eyes, even features, and sly smile. Long locks of wavy hair frame her face. Something in my chest tightens.

  My breath turns short.

  The entire stables take on a hazy look, like I’ve just stepped into a dream.

  I tilt my head. Am I under some kind of magic spell? Not possible. I’m scanned for enchantments regularly. No, this feeling must be a sour stomach from that ill-cooked breakfast. People don’t simply glance at a fantasy drawing of a pretend girl from an eight-year-old boy and start having feelings for her. I start handing Zachary back the image. “Thank you,” I say. “You’re relieved from your post now. You did well.”

  Zachary starts to take the picture and stops. “You can keep it if you want.” He lowers his voice. “I saw how you looked at her. She’s really pretty.”

  I stare at the image in my hand. Perhaps I will keep the drawing, but not because the girl is gorgeous and makes my heart palpitate. More for training purposes only. “Thank you, Zachary. You’ve a very bright imagination.”

  His mouth thins. “I didn’t make her up. I swear.”

  I slip the paper under my own tunic and smile. Why am I grinning? Stomach problems don’t cause smiles. Perhaps I should go and get rechecked for enchantments. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. There are no beautiful thrax female warriors running around stables and posing for eight-year-old artists. An idea occurs. Perhaps the boy is the one who got enchanted. Some of the young wizards from the House of Striga like to play pranks like this. That’s an item to research for later.

  A low hum sounds in the air. Zachary gasps. “What’s that?”

  “That’s the hum of a ghoul portal about to open.” Ghouls are incredibly tall, pasty-skinned, and fearsome looking. In general, they aren’t too tough in battle. That said, they do have the ability to open portals: door-size holes that allow them to zap from one spot to the other. We’ve locked the ghouls out of Antrum, for obvious reasons. They could portal in a demon horde if they wanted to. And some are nasty enough to do just that. Even so, here in Purgatory, the ghouls rule the land and go where they like.

  “Is it an enemy?” asks Zachary.

  I tilt my head and concentrate on the sound. “No.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Each ghoul has their own tone when they create a portal, and this ghoul is my friend Walker. Remember him? I mentioned him before. He’s the warrior and artist.”

  Zachary steps backward toward the exit archway. All this talk of ghouls definitely has the lad worried. “Did you say I was excused?”

  “Ghouls look fearsome, but they’re actually rather gentle. And Walker is also the brightest engineer you’ll ever meet.”

  “Oh, I forgot he was your friend.” Zachary stops his backward walk. His little knees are visibly knocking together, though. “I’ll stay if you want me to, my prince.”

  What a brave and loyal lad. He’ll do well.

  “I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you. Your shift is over. Please head home and get some sleep.”

  Spinning about, Zachary races from the stables so quickly you’d think the place was on fire. I make a mental note to have Walker give some instructional speeches to the new lads. My young thrax warriors need to get used to ghouls in general—and Walker in particular—if they want to rise in my ranks. I trust Walker with my life. He never does anything without a purpose, and he certainly isn’t one to pop into stables unannounced for no reason. All of which means that I know one thing for certain.

  Walker isn’t transporting here for a social call. Something is very wrong indeed.

  3

  The hum grows louder. A moment later, a large door-shaped black rectangle appears in the stables. Through it steps a ghoul in long black robes. He has a brush cut, white skin, emotive eyes, and stylish sideburns. A moment after the ghoul moves inside, the door-like hole behind him vanishes.

  I grin. Walker is here. As my best friend, Walker is the only person I’ve trusted with the truth about my scheme against Aldred. In fact, he’s been tasked with spying on Acca and reporting if Aldred does anything too crazy. As a ghoul, Walker is a neutral party. He’s also exceptionally sneaky. The Earl still doesn’t suspect he’s being followed.

  “Greetings, Your Highness.” Walker scans the stables. “
Are we alone?”

  “We are.” My pulse quickens. “He’s at it again, isn’t he?”

  Walker nods. “The Earl of Acca has taken it upon himself to lead a rather large demon patrol into battle.” He lowers his voice. “The Archer’s Moon shines tonight on Earth.”

  “I should have expected this.” When the Earth’s moon is at its thinnest, it resembles a curved-out bow. Acca are masters of archery, so they call this heavenly body the Archer’s Moon. It’s a secret tradition for Acca leaders to perform great feats of battle during the Archer’s Moon. “What’s Aldred doing?”

  “He’s got a hundred thrax against a single she-demon.”

  I purse my lips. “Sounds reasonable.” For once.

  “He can’t get a read on the demon’s class.”

  A jolt of worry shoots across my shoulders. It’s a basic rule of thrax battle training—never engage an enemy until its class is clear. With most demons, you can define their class on sight. Plus, if there’s ever a question, the wizards from the House of Striga arm us with divining charms. Even the Earl of Acca can’t be so thick as to ignore those protocols. “Let me get this straight. He doesn’t know the class, and yet he’s still planning to attack?”

  “Unfortunately.” Walker has very pronounced bone structure, but I’ve never seen him look more gaunt or worried. “He’s never led this many in one charge before.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “Are you certain?” Walker knows the risks.

  “Execution threats be damned. I’m not letting even one more thrax die. We’re leaving.”

  “Shouldn’t you change into battle armor?” Walker gestures across my formal tunic.

  “No time. Can you portal us there?”

  “If you’re certain.”

  “Positive.”

  “In that case, absolutely.”

  One perk of being in Purgatory is that Walker can transport us directly to Earth. If we were in Antrum, there would be several layers of security to go through.

  I take my bright spots where I can find them.

  Walker lowers his head. Another low hum fills the air as a large door-like hole appears once again inside the stables. Stepping into a ghoul portal feels like tumbling through space. I suppose it must be what the humans enjoy about their skydiving. I find it gets the adrenaline pumping. I do need to stay connected to Walker while in the portal, though, or I’d never find a way out. Even I have my limits on adrenaline spikes.