Crown of Chaos

by Sarah E. Burr

  “Ziri, are you aware of any other entrances to the grand hall?” she asked as an idea came to her.

  “Not that the Knights of Grace were ever made aware of, Duquessa.”

  An unsettling thought rolled around in Jax’s head. Just because the Knights hadn’t been made aware didn’t mean another entrance didn’t exist. Why, every throne room or great hall she knew of boasted some kind of secret exit as an added security measure. And with Fort Vyndheim once having been a great stronghold during the War for the Rebirth, surely the rebels had taken similar precautions. Ziri had said earlier that the Knights had thoroughly searched the blocked quarry mines the fort had been built over, but maybe there were other hidden ways to navigate Fort Vyndheim. I wonder if Darian knows more about the secrets of this fortress than he willingly shared with the Knights. She needed to speak with her uncle once they were through questioning the other sovereigns.

  If Jax hadn’t been so angered by Crepsta’s abandoning their alliance, she would have felt terrible forcing Henrik from his bed in such a startling manner. His stooped figure greeted them with hesitance when he pulled open his bedchamber door, his regal gaze meeting hers with regret. “Jacqueline, is everything all right?”

  Henrik’s weighted question brought a snarky laugh to her lips.

  Ziri offered her apologies for waking the elderly man. “Duke Crepsta, I’m afraid to report there was an attack on one of the sovereigns earlier in the night.”

  Henrik’s eyes widened, bleary and red. “What? Who?”

  “Duke Hestes was found slain in the grand hall. We’re trying to find his assailant before they strike again.”

  The Duke’s lips quivered as he grappled with the news. “Virtues! Florian, you say?” He shook his head. “How can I be of help?” He leaned heavily on his cane.

  “We believe Florian managed to wound his attacker.” Jax kept her voice level, not wanting her former ally to know just how much it hurt her to look upon him now. Yet, as she met his crinkle-eyed gaze, her throat tightened. Goodness, how could Henrik turn his back on her?

  “Wound them?” Henrik looked puzzled. He stood in front of the trio in a boxy white night shirt, its hem skimming the stone floor. “Well, I suppose Duke Pettraud can assess this bag of bones. I know I don’t hold much favor with you anymore, Jacqueline, but I’d like to retain the last of whatever dignity is left.”

  His kindly features tugged at her heart before anger at his betrayal ripped through her. “Perry, would you mind examining the Duke?”

  Her husband looked like he wanted to do anything but. With a sigh and a dejected glare Jax’s way, he disappeared inside Henrik’s room, leaving the door open a crack.

  Perry came back out into the hall not a minute later. “Nothing.”

  Jax pressed her lips together. She should have guessed as much. Henrik could hardly take two steps without becoming winded. No way could he have disarmed Florian and slit his throat.

  She didn’t bother wishing Duke Crepsta goodnight, leaving the task to Ziri. To his credit, Henrik simply hung his head in resignation at her dismissal and retreated inside his room.

  Ziri led them a few doors down before stopping. “Duchess Kwatalar’s chamber.” She pointed down the hallway. “Your grandfather and Duke Lysandeir are quartered near Delphinia’s room in the northeast wing, should you want to question them once we are done here.”

  While Jax had a hard time picturing either man assaulting Florian so violently, even though Hestes had turned his back on their alliance, she supposed she should be thorough and question her grandfather and Landon if they learned nothing further from Amyra. “Let’s hope that won’t be necessary. Both Florian and Amyra were persuaded by Savant to join the Coalition of Right around the same time. Maybe she can tell us what he offered them in return for their allegiance. My gut is telling me that whatever brought Florian into the folds of the Coalition led to his death.”

  With a nod, Ziri inserted the master key into the brass lock and turned it with a reverberating click. Raising her fist in a tight ball, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

  As the knocking echoes died out, all that greeted them was silence.

  “Duchess Kwatalar.” Ziri banged on the door again. “Please, open up.”

  Jax joined Ziri at the door, pressing her ear against the wood. “I can’t hear a thing.”

  Ziri’s frown increased. “She couldn’t have left her chambers. The door’s been locked since we last came through here, and the key hasn’t left my sight.”

  “What if she wasn’t inside her room to begin with?” Perry pointed out.

  Ziri shook her head. “I specifically remember seeing the Duchess in her bed when we locked everyone in their rooms. I made sure everyone was accounted for.”

  The acolyte’s confirmation was enough for Jax, as she too, remembered seeing the outline of the Duchess’s figure. “Something must be wrong.” She grasped the brass handle and pushed the door inward. “Amyra? Amyra, are you here? It’s Jacqueline.” She waved Ziri and Perry inside the small chamber, eager for the torchlight in Perry’s hand to illuminate the area.

  Her stomach plummeted as the waning shadows of night were replaced by light.

  Duchess Amyra Kwatalar still lay unresponsively in her bed, but it hadn’t been sleep that had claimed her. A huge, bloody hole in her chest had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We can’t wait for the Knights to finish bringing down the gate.” George eyed the burning rooftops of Fort Vyndheim’s outer buildings. “It’s only a matter of time before the smoke starts to overwhelm the fortress. That can be just as deadly as any blaze.” The horses they’d secured in the back wouldn’t be able to survive long with plumes of smoke rolling across the estate, caged by the massive barrier wall surrounding the fort. Feeling helpless, George scanned the immediate, fiery surroundings, his fists balled at his side. He needed to get Jax out of this hellhole.

  Captain Leopold of the Cetachi Ducal Guard nodded his agreement. “Cragmire Cavern is but a ten-minute ride away. We can evacuate everyone and make camp there until the Fort Uhstal reinforcements arrive to escort the sovereigns to safety.”

  “Then we must leave now to secure the cavern.” George turned to Ivan. “Gather the horses. I’ll retrieve our weapons.”

  Leopold grabbed George’s arm. “Prelate Brath was under strict orders from Duke Fangard to withhold and guard our weapons until the conclusion of the War Council. He was given permission to use violent force, if necessary.”

  George snarled, motioning his free hand at the madness blazing all around them. “I think it’s safe to ascertain the War Council is about to conclude prematurely.” He pulled free of the man’s grip and went in search of the prelate.

  He lifted a soiled piece of linen he’d torn from his nightshirt to cover his mouth, hoping to prevent breathing in the heavy, ashen air. As he feared, the wind had picked up before the fire could be fully contained, spreading the raging flames to nearly every outer building within the fort’s compound. Only the main fortress remained untouched, shielded completely by its moonstone exterior. However, smoke already blanketed the air, and it was only a matter of time before it began to filter in and overwhelm those inside the tower.

  George spotted the prelate among a group of Knights lugging a large battering ram across the chaotic courtyard. “Brath!” His voice rang out in the waning night.

  The prelate glanced around for the source of the voice as George ran toward him. “We’ll have it down soon,” he said, referring to their plan to bring down the gate.

  “Before you do, I need two things.” George arrived at the man’s side, his lungs on fire with smoky debris. “Ivan, Leopold, and I need our weapons returned to us, and I need you to force open the gate so we can pass.”

  Brath’s bushy eyebrows knitted together. “Captain, I can’t guarantee the gate won’t simply collapse if we open it now. Poor Malloy nearly got his arm sawed off by a falling beam when I sent him off to alert Uhstal.”<
br />
  At least the man wasn’t going to challenge him about returning their weapons. “It’s a chance we have to take,” George said with resignation. “We need to evacuate the leaders as soon as possible. There’s a cave a little over a mile away from here that we can fortify until aid from Fort Uhstal arrives. Let the three of us out to scout ahead, then focus on bringing down the gate and clearing a path so the sovereigns can pass through it safely.”

  The prelate bowed his chin in agreement. With a whistle, he motioned for one of the other Knights to show George where the ducal escorts’ weapons were being stored.

  His confidence in their plan faltered as they came upon a burning storehouse. Fire danced along the wood slats of the roof, but at least the walls of this shack had been constructed from moonstone. The ceiling might collapse at any moment, but George found some small relief that the walls would remain standing.

  The Knight quickly unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  George placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder in response. “Thank you, I’ve got it from here. You’re needed out front.”

  The warrior’s face was a mask of soot, but it did not hide his hesitation at leaving George alone in a burning storehouse full of weapons. However, the threat of the fire won out and he saluted George before returning to his post.

  With a steeling breath, George covered his mouth and nose with his scrap of cloth once more and dove into the darkness of the small structure. The savage flames wreaking havoc on the roof above him cast flickering devilish light across four long tables lining the room. George easily found his prized sword waiting patiently for him, the gold and silver artisan hilt shimmering in the fiery light. Locating the silver and emerald scabbard of Ivan’s trusted weapon as quickly as he’d found his own, George turned his attention to the remaining blades lining the tables. He realized he had no idea what colors or symbols the Cetachi Ducal Guard had adopted, so he made his guess by process of elimination. He grabbed a simple iron sword, the only blade not laden with elaborate and regal designs. Even if the sword was not Leopold’s, its sharp steel would get the job done.

  George ducked out of the arsenal just as the timbers overhead gave way and the roof caved in. The Virtues appear to be with us, for now. He wiped a line of sweat off his forehead. Swords in hand, he hurried to the center of the courtyard, spying Ivan and Leopold with three nervous horses.

  As he approached, he noted his own mare was not one of them. Instead, Mortimer danced skittishly on the ground.

  Ivan answered his unasked query. “A few of the horses have already been overcome by smoke. We grabbed those who seemed strong enough to make the ride.”

  George’s jaw clenched in response. They at least needed enough mounts to carry the sovereigns to safety. “I’ve asked Brath to open the gate for us. Once we’re clear, he can bring it down in its entirety and stabilize the area.”

  Leopold accepted the sword George held out for him. “Let us pray we can get clear.”

  With a lead line as his only tack, George hoisted himself onto Mortimer’s sweaty back, giving the stallion a comforting pat. “Once the gate is open, make haste,” he said to his companions.

  Ivan swung himself onto his horse. “Ready when you are.”

  George waited for Leopold to situate himself atop his mount before spurring Mortimer forward.

  Prelate Brath and his Knights swarmed the gate, the battering ram in position. George’s jaw tightened as he assessed the entrance. When he had asked Brath to open the gate, this was not what he meant.

  “The right hinge collapsed when we went to open it.” The prelate appeared before George and Mortimer, his expression grim.

  The right iron door of the gate hung at a broken angle, propped up by the left side. However, a small gap had been made. If George laid flat along Mortimer’s back, they just might be able to squeeze through.

  George glanced over his shoulder at Ivan and Leopold. Trepidation lined both their hardened features, but so did resolve. “Bring it down as soon as you can. We need to get everyone out of here.”

  Prelate Brath saluted, ushering his men to clear the way for George and the other Ducal Guard Captains.

  George said a silent prayer to the Virtues, asking them to watch over Jax before he urged Mortimer toward the slim opening. Heat seared his skin as they neared the roaring flames, and George felt Mortimer trembling beneath him.

  “Good boy,” he reassured the steed, rubbing his neck with encouragement.

  A sudden gust of wind fueled the fire around them, causing Mortimer to panic and bolt through the opening. George felt the cool breeze of the approaching dawn whip at his cheeks as the horse galloped away from the shadows of the imposing ramparts. Only when they were a safe distance away did George slow down, turning with the hope he would see his comrades close behind.

  Both men trailed in his wake, Ivan hurriedly patting the smoldering sleeve of his tunic. “Seemed like some of the flames wanted to come along for a ride,” he joked.

  George praised the Pettraudian Captain’s ability to exude grace under fire. He hadn’t always thought highly of Ivan, as he’d believed the man’s rank in the Ducal Guard to be a product of nepotism, but Ivan had proved himself time and time again, both as a soldier and as a friend.

  “Cragmire Cavern is this way.” Leopold wasted no time leading them toward the forest to the south.

  Mortimer’s hooves pounded against the volcanic rock that spread across the barren fields surrounding Fort Vyndheim. The forest quickly came into view, although George didn’t know if ‘forest’ was the proper way to describe what he saw. While their path ahead was barred by acres of trees, they all seemed barren and dead.

  “We call this Deadwood Grove,” Leopold called back over his shoulder. His words were stilted, broken up by the galloping of his horse. “During the Rebirth…volcano erupted…strange fumes…killed trees…hardened them to stone.”

  As they neared, George made sense of Leopold’s explanation. The trunks of the trees had somehow been fossilized by the volcanic activity in the region, their bark turned to hard, gray rock. It made for a haunting sight.

  True to Leopold’s assessment, the trio arrived at Cragmire Cavern not ten minutes later. The cave had been naturally formed in the underside of a craggy hilltop, the long tunnel entrance sloping downward into the belly of the earth.

  “Is there another access point into the cave?” George had already been trapped in a place with only one exit. He wasn’t about to send Jax into another hole with no way out.

  Leopold pointed over the crest of the hill. “Five hundred feet to the south. It’s a much smaller opening. Only one or two people could pass through it at a time.”

  George weighed his options. It would have to be good enough for now. “I’m going to check it out.” He dropped to the hard ground, giving Mortimer a grateful pat.

  With his palm resting on his sword hilt, George hurried along the base of the hill, scanning the area for any signs of a threat. With dead trees looming all around him, George couldn’t shake the sinister feeling coiled in the base of his gut. Maybe bringing Jax out here wasn’t such a good idea…but then again, what choice did he have with Fort Vyndheim being consumed by fire?

  The cave’s second entrance was just where Leopold had described, yet a minor cave-in had barely made the entryway accessible.

  George rubbed at the tension building in his neck. He needed to get Jax out of Fort Vyndheim before the smoke became too smothering. Yet, he didn’t know if the risk in remaining out in the open and riding directly to Fort Uhstal was any greater than retreating to this hole in the ground.

  His dark eyes surveyed Deadwood Grove, the first light of day beginning to reveal what the shadows of night had hidden. In the sunlight, it didn’t seem quite so menacing. Perhaps he was overreacting. Moving the sovereigns to the cave was the safest option. Once the messenger Brath had sent reached Fort Uhstal, it would only be a matter of time before further aid arrived.

  A
few hundred feet to the south, a lumpy form lying at the base of a fossilized tree caught his attention. In a fluid sweep, George’s sword sang in the morning breeze as he released it from his scabbard. Inching his way forward, George used the surrounding trees for cover, assessing the threat level before him.

  Roughly ten feet away, he realized his silent approach was all for naught. “Virtues, what’s going on here?” George’s teeth ground together in anger as he hurried to the crumpled body of the Knight of Grace Prelate Brath had sent to Fort Uhstal. The warrior’s armor had been pierced by a sturdy arrow, its steel point protruding from the man’s back. Judging by the look of his pale skin, he’d been dead at least two or three hours.

  George sank back on his heels, the stark reality of the situation slamming into him. The hopes they’d had of receiving aid from Fort Uhstal had died with this man. They were on their own.

  Once the sovereigns are secure in the cavern, we’ll have to send someone else onto Fort Uhstal for reinforcements. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do for now.

  The echoing snap of a twig diverted his attention. The sound hadn’t come from the hill where George had left Ivan and Leopold, but rather, from farther south.

  After asking the Virtues to protect the fallen Knight in death, George abandoned the man’s body, remaining crouched as he navigated through the maze of Deadwood Grove. Evacuating the ducal leaders would have to wait for the moment. An even greater worry tore through him. Someone had loosed an arrow into that poor man’s chest. Gripping his sword tightly, George intended to find out who.

  ‡

  As he wove his way through the trees, the snapping of twigs quickly morphed into the chopping of wood, and murmuring voices began to penetrate the air all around.