The Battle for Astodia

by Maryam Durrani

  “I am not,” a voice said from behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Don’t spread lies.”

  Lance took the seat beside Charlotte, directly in front of me, his green eyes meeting mine.

  “Have you finished the book yet?”

  I shook my head, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

  “I’m never going to finish it. I might as well tell Esmeralda I don’t want the job.”

  Lance grinned, his voice teasing. “Fine, I’ll do just that. At least now I’ll have peace and quiet down there.”

  “Kristina,” Darren whispered near my ear, “Why is Demetria staring at you?” I turned to catch her eye and smiled, waving. Her face turned a dark shade of red. She looked remorseful.

  “She’s the one that did this to her,” Lance pointed at my face. I reached out, lowering his hand.

  “It wasn’t her.”

  “Didn’t you beat her during training a couple of days ago?” Aland asked, digging into an omelet on his plate.

  “Yes. She staged her revenge last night.” Lance was practically fuming.

  “Thank you for speaking for me, kind sir,” I acknowledged him and all three of them began to laugh. “But leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything.”

  No more conflict.

  For breakfast, there was milk, eggs, bread, butter, and jam. After we were done, we were all patting our stomachs.

  “This is the best time of the day,” Darren sighed.

  “I actually find myself agreeing,” Charlotte said, and suddenly, Aland burped. Charlotte shrieked, and Darren slapped the table, laughing. I looked at Lance with a smile.

  You’ll love it here, he mouthed. Just you wait.

  I smiled and looked away, but I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t have much time left—I had to get out of here. For Xavier . . . For myself.

  The scars on my back began to burn again as if reminding me that they were still there.

  Xavier needed me. The king trusted me.

  That night after eating dinner with the same trio and Lance, I read the rulebook and lay back, pulling my covers up to my chest.

  Lance was nowhere to be found the rest of the day, and I was terribly bored. Turning to the side, I blew out the candle. How long had I been here?

  Four, five days?

  I imagined Xavier suffering. His pale face, slick with sweat as he gasped his final breaths. He said he’d hold on for me, but who knew how long that would last?

  I clutched my stomach, tucking my knees up to my chest, suddenly aware of the pain in my fists and the bruises on my face.

  I had nightmares last night after a very, very long time. I was sick, and Xavier promised he’d return to save me, but he never came back, and I suffered alone until the end. In another dream, I was falling.

  Endlessly falling.

  I sat up abruptly, jumping out of bed. Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the wooden wardrobe. When I pulled it back, my knuckles were split and bleeding. The pain only made me angrier. I turned around and kicked the wardrobe as hard as I could, cracking the back leg. I paused, breathing heavily, when something caught my eye.

  A small paper flitted to the floor. It seemed to have been jammed between the two doors, and upon punching it, it came loose and slipped out.

  I reached down and picked it up, opening it, blood smearing the page.

  When I read what it said, I nearly screamed and broke my fists against the wall again.

  No more threats.

  There is no more time. Kill all who are a threat to your identity. Don’t risk it. And that means everyone.

  Burn this letter.

  It was from the king.

  There is no more time.

  Was Xavier . . . dead? Horrified, I stared down at the paper in my hands.

  “Lance, remember the tour you gave me?” I asked. “Where’s the weapon room? I need some things to protect myself, just in case I run into Demetria again.” It was a rusty lie, but he bought it, agreeing with me. I felt a weird feeling in my stomach.

  This is what they call guilt, isn’t it? You’re betraying a friend.

  Friend? I scoffed at myself. He’s not your friend. He doesn’t even know who you really are. Imagine his reaction when you tell him you’re an assassin that’s here as a spy and planning to kidnap Lorelle. Do your job and get that antidote to save Xavier.

  If he wasn’t dead already.

  I reached out to touch his shoulder while he was talking to Aland about keys to a new room. He looked at my hand and I,

  quickly realizing my mistake, yanked it back.

  “What happened to your hand?” he asked, grabbing it before I could hide it.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Then you don’t know me very well, do you?”

  “I know that your hand is bandaged.” He turned my hand in his. The soft spots of blood around the knuckle area were visible. “Did you have another fight?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Aland peered intently over his shoulder.

  “You broke your hands?” he asked. I scowled, pulling my hands back.

  “They’re not broken.”

  “Well,” Lance sighed, running a hand through his brown hair, “I guess we’ll be taking more trips to the infirmary than I’d realized.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I retorted.

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. Defeated, he changed the topic.

  “You want to see the weapons room?” he asked, lifting my hand in his again, rubbing my bandaged knuckles with his thumb.

  I nodded, pulling my hand back, trying not to blush furiously. “A knife big enough to chop a wrist will do,” I muttered.

  He grinned and put an arm around Aland’s neck, him in a headlock. “I don’t see why not.”

  Two knives. Lance only saw me pick two. One more stuck in

  my boot.

  I hid another in my sleeve and slid one into my belt.

  Then I picked a small crossbow and fell in love immediately. “I need this.”

  “You may take it,” Lance said, and I realized he’d snuck up behind me because he was too close for comfort—again. There was something about Lance and lack of personal space. I slid away from him, fighting the furious blush creeping up my neck.

  Charlotte and Darren walked into the room, Charlotte grinning when she saw Lance on the floor, tinkering with a weapon, legs crossed, brows furrowed in concentration.

  I weighed a short knife in my palm, a feeling of comfort washing over me. What a beautiful object, created for such an ugly purpose.

  “Finished?” Aland asked.

  “Mhm.” I nudged Lance with the toe of my boot. “Get up.”

  He looked up and put the weapon aside. “I’ll fix it later.” he looked like such a boy, I felt my heart warming towards him.

  Lorelle was nowhere to be found.

  I thought about the king’s orders to kill all the threats. Even though Lorelle was the child of a leader, I wondered if his orders included her.

  Killing her would be better than letting her suffer through the torture if I brought her back as a hostage.

  After I’d worked with Esmeralda a little and she asked me questions about the book I partially read, I knew where the poisons were located.

  “Esmeralda, why are you showing me where the poisons are?”

  “I’m showing you where everything is,” she said without turning to me.

  “But I have no use for poisons. Aren’t we supposed to be healing?” She locked the poisons in the cupboard and slipped the key in her pocket.

  “Yes.”

  “You can only kill with poisons,” I pressed, following her around the room.

  “And so, I’ll teach you the names and which ones are used for what and their symptoms,” she replied, not understanding what I was trying to get it.

  I nodded, letting my shoulders slump in defeat.

  “But if you’
re so keen on learning them,” she said, finally facing me, “I’ll teach you the poisons names and symptoms right now.”

  “Alright.” That’s not at all what I had in mind. I already knew most of the poisons in the world. It was a part of my training, and by the time we were done with just one shelf I was bored to death. Shelf after shelf and I pretended I’d never heard of any of them before. One of them made a person hallucinate before driving him to kill himself. Another caused a person pain and hell for twenty-four hours and later death, and of course, the main one; instant death as it traveled through their veins and right to their heart.

  After we were done, I said, “Esmeralda, I’ll never be able to remember all these.” That was a lie.

  “I figured,” she sighed. “You know what? Take this key; I always have a spare. Lance has the other one.” She tossed it in my hand. “Just come back and check them from time to time. And beware; I always know when something is missing,” she warned. I nodded and left, pushing the keys into my pocket, feeling triumphant. My heart was beating rapidly with excitement.

  I was so close.

  “I want to show you something,” Lance said, smiling.

  “What?” I groaned. “It’s the middle of the night.” I pulled the covers over my head.

  “Come with me,” he whispered, shaking me.

  “I’m tired,” I complained groggily.

  “You’ll love this. Trust me.”

  I rolled my eyes and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “This better be good.”

  He pulled me out of the room and told me to follow him up another set of stairs. At the top, there was a window. Lance slid it open, a burst of cool air whooshing through my hair. I shivered.

  He stepped through and motioned for me to follow him. He began to climb the wall, placing his boots on the window ledges, using all the strength in his arms to pull him up. He was heading towards the roof.

  I followed him.

  “This is my favorite place in the world,” he said as he looked over the ledge, pulling me up. “I’m not allowed to be out here because I can be seen easily,” he explained, “But I come here at night.”

  “It’s high.”

  “I know. I can see everything from here. Look over the edge.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, I’ll hold you back.”

  I swallowed, giving in.

  Lance’s grip was still tight on my arm, but as I relaxed he loosened his hold. I was clutching the edge of the roof, a sinking sensation in my stomach.

  “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.”

  After a few minutes, the sinking feeling fluttered away, though the butterflies stayed.

  “You okay?” Lance’s voice came, not so far away, and I realized he wasn’t touching me anymore. In a sudden flash, I jumped back and smacked into his chest. “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.” I sat up straight.

  He laughed, falling back onto his elbows to give me space.

  “Come. Look up at the stars,” he said, laying on his back.

  Slowly, I lowered myself onto my back and looked at the sky. Lance had his arm out as a cushion under my head.

  Stars were like happiness in a sea of darkness. Like the light at the end of a tunnel. Here they were, showing me light on a different friend. I swallowed. There were many, scattered like snowflakes across a dark street. So far away.

  Stunning.

  “They’re beautiful,” I whispered. “Yes,” he nodded in agreement, turning his head to the side to look at me. “They really are.”

  The girl ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

  She was running and tripping, scraping her arms and legs and scarring her knees but she didn’t stop. She had to get away, get away from everyone. Her lungs were running out of breath, her stomach heaved, but she didn’t stop until her legs couldn’t move anymore. She finally took shelter under a tree; a tree that would hold so many memories that she’d remember

  it until her final breath.

  She stabbed the tree with her knife. Not once, nor twice, but as many times as she could until sap as red as blood dripped down the brown bark. The leaves ruffled as if begging for mercy, and finally tired, the girl slumped to the floor, head resting on her knees. She began to sob. She dragged the knife down the trunk, marking it permanently. Her dark hair draped onto her shoulders like a curtain hiding the infinite secrets she held so close to herself.

  She’d never cried; not this much. Not when her cat—her only family—had died, not when she’d fallen and needed stitches to sew up her wound. Not even when her parents had thrown her out of the house.

  Suddenly, she felt someone sit beside her, an arm slowly wrapping around her shoulders. She jumped away, hiding her face in embarrassment and clawing at the knife still lodged in the tree, but that only made the arm tighten around her. She was angry, no doubt about it, but the boy held on as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Let go of me,” the girl hissed.

  “Why should I? You’re crying.”

  “Am not.” She lifted her head wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. This boy was special. She didn’t know why he was here, though, because his position was so high in the royal court he’d be ashamed to be seen with her. He’d never spoken to her or given her a second look before. Why was he here now?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “None of your business.” He was three years older than her, but he was still young.

  He was smiling now, his dark hair brushing his eyes. “I

  won’t hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You can’t hurt me, even if you try,” she said but she stopped struggling.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like death.” The girl sniffed, and suddenly, she felt the tears well up in her eyes. Don’t cry, she said to herself. Don’t embarrass yourself.

  “Sometimes it’s better to cry,” the boy said quietly, reaching up to take the crown off his head. He tossed it aside as if it were a worthless scrap of metal. “It helps me when I feel sad.”

  “You cry too?” The tears stopped. The girl looked surprised.

  “Of course I do. Everyone does. I bet the king does too,” he offered a sincere smiled, and the girl found herself smiling too.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “He’s going to be very, very mad,” the girl whispered.

  “Did he tell you that?” The boy raised his eyebrows.

  “No, but I know it. I poisoned the wrong person.” The girl was crying again, much quieter now but her face was completely hidden by the dark locks of hair.

  “I doubt it.” He smiled. “He’s my father, I think I should know. And my mother would never let him.” he paused for a second, and then added, “Neither would I.”

  The girl looked up at his face with large, teary eyes, debating whether to trust him or not. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Even my parents didn’t like me as much as the queen

  does.”

  “Really? And what did your parents do?”

  She scoffed. “They didn’t care about me. They never wanted a daughter; they wanted sons to carry out their name. I would’ve died if it weren’t for the queen picking me up. She liked me too.”

  “How did she find you?” the boy asked, shuffling closer to her. It was a chilly night and the tiny girl squeezed in next to him, now trusting this boy just a little.

  “I ran in front of her carriage one day when she was coming back from Dystalphi. But can I tell you something?” she asked, her gray eyes shiny.

  “Of course,” he nodded, in amazement at this little girl. He wanted to kiss the top of her tiny head because she was such a sight. The sweetest child he’d ever seen, even though it was a silly thought for a boy who’d only lived fifteen years himself. He’d be sixteen in a couple of days, he reminded himself, but it didn’t matter.

 
; “I still like them,” she said. “I even miss them. I forgive them.”

  The boy was surprised. Amazed. It was unbelievable. She was so small, yet her heart was so big.

  “Why do you keep saying ‘like’?” he asked. “Have you ever heard of love?”

  “Of course I have,” she frowned. “But love is too big of a word. I might love my parents, but the word seems important. I can’t use it too often. But hate, on the other hand . . . I hate many people. I hate all the people I have killed, so I won’t regret killing them.”

  The boy felt sorry for her. She seemed so troubled.

  “You should love more than hate,” he pointed out.

  “If I did that, then I would miss everyone once they left

  me. Besides, no one would ever love me. And no one stays with me forever, remember? I don’t have anyone left to love.”

  “The queen,” the boy noted. “You love her.”

  The girl smiled. Her smile was like the sun appearing behind dark clouds after it had rained. “I love her so much. I know she’ll never leave me. She’s like my mother, but I think I’ll love her way more.”

  He was smiling.

  “But no one will love me,” she repeated. Her eyes were welling up again. Her nose reddened. “Not even the queen.”

  The boy’s smile disappeared. “No. No, no, no. That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, tightening his grip around her shoulders. “The queen loves you like a daughter.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Then I love her like my mother.” It was hard for the boy to see her as the assassin people tried to avoid.

  “If you love more, people will love you back,” he found it reasonable to tell her. She nodded eagerly.

  “I will,” she replied. “Do you love anyone?”

  “My parents,” he replied almost immediately. “My pets. And horses. The kingdom. Everyone.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of people,” she said, amazed. “Can I love that much?”

  “Definitely.” The boy was smiling, his eyes gleaming. Gleaming like the light at the end of the tunnel.