by Amanda Sun
“Quiet there,” he says, and turns back to the speeches. We have to get out of the crowds, I think. We have to get to the side entrance of the citadel. I jostle through the throng to leave, and my friends follow.
Jonash is speaking again as we weave through the gathering. “Rebels and Benu are to be executed on sight,” he says. “Benu can be recognized by two crescent-like gashes on their back from shoulder to hip. Rebels do not have this marking, but can be recognized by a disdain for our Monarch or the Sargon. They will speak of the Benu with reverence instead of disgust. If anyone has information about a suspected rebel or Benu and does not come forward, they, too, will be charged with treason.”
Why won’t my father speak up? They’re inciting madness. We round the base of the Phoenix statue as I approach the side doors. The crowd is thinner here, and I stop for a moment as I consider breaking through the guard. Surely this charade has gone on long enough. I look at Griffin. I wonder if he can see the flame burning in my heart. He nods, and I know he trusts me to do what I need to do. I only need to trust myself.
I take the edges of my hood in my trembling fingers and step toward the guards. “Let me pass,” I say, my throat dry and the words barely coming through.
The guards look at me, eyebrows raised, hands on the hilts of their swords.
I grasp the slippery fabric tighter and press the hood backward. It slides from the short curls of my cut hair as I lock my fierce gaze with the guards. “Let me pass,” I command.
Their eyes widen like they’ve seen a ghost, and they hesitate, stepping aside just enough that I can push through. Griffin and Elisha follow me toward Aban, Jonash and my father. My beloved father, who is looking at me in disbelief.
“Father,” I say, willing my voice not to shake too much. The crowd is watching in stunned silence. Jonash’s face is pale and frightened. “My friends and kin,” I say to the crowd. “You have been misinformed.” I glare at Jonash. “I am very much alive.”
“Kallima,” my father stammers. He holds his arms out and I long to run into them, but one thing I’ve learned from Griffin is caution around monsters, and there’s one standing beside my father now. I focus on Jonash as I stride nearer.
“What Jonash has told you are lies,” I say. “He is the one who pushed me. I stumbled upon a conversation between the lieutenant of the Elite Guard and Elder Aban about the rebellion and the truth of the floating islands. And Jonash threw me down to the earth’s surface to cover it up.”
Jonash says nothing, his face pallid and swirling with panic and embarrassment. The words are caught in his throat.
“I have been, and always will be, loyal to Ashra and her lands,” I say. “But the Benu are nothing to fear. They are our brothers and sisters, and have lived among us peacefully for three hundred years. They are the ones who fear us. We need not fear them.”
I have reached my father, his face bewildered. I hold him tightly in my arms, and feel the warmth of his hug as he embraces me. “Kallima,” he whispers. “My daughter.”
“I’m home, Father,” I tell him, and I blink back the tears, because there is still work to be done. I tilt my chin up and glare at Jonash. “I hereby arrest you for treason, son of the Sargon. You threw me from the edge of the outlands, and when there was a chance to rescue me by airship, you fired on me—your very own fiancée and future Monarch. Treason!”
“Lies!” Jonash shouts, and the sound of it almost jolts me backward. “The lies of a traitor. She has survived the fall and come back to lead the rebels. She’s not to be believed.”
“Oh, stuff it, you bag of hot air,” Griffin says. “If you truly loved her, you never would have pushed her, not for any reason.”
“And who is this gentleman?” Jonash asks, the patronizing disdain clear in his voice. He glares at Griffin as he stands beside me.
“My name, that you will know, is Bazh,” Griffin says, and it startles me. “And I lived among you once, in Ulan. Before I fell to the earth fourteen years ago.”
Bazh. The name he held before he was Griffin. One of the only memories he has of Ashra—an ancient name and chubby fingers burned by a crust of fluffy bread, hands kissed better by a mother whose fate is uncertain.
The crowds mutter, for they remember the toddler and his mother who fell. How could they not? And one of them says, “It’s in his eyes. Look! He has her eyes.” And another says, “He’s the spitting image of his mother, no mistake.”
“I’m here to tell you that you’ve been deceived,” Griffin says. For an inexperienced speaker who hunts monsters alone, he has a surprising amount of charisma with the crowds. I swell with pride at his voice. “There’s a barrier surrounding the continents that protects those who fall. It was put in place by the rightful heirs to the floating mountains—the Benu.” The crowds mumble among themselves; he’s almost lost them. He shouts over them, “They aren’t monsters! They were and are our allies. If you’ll allow me to explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Jonash says. “It’s clear you are the one who has confused my fiancée. Kallima, we’re grateful you have returned, but I have been nothing but faithful to you and your father in your absence. This ruffian has filled your head with lies.”
“You’re wrong!” Elisha says. Aban stares, unsure what to make of it all as the crowds become uneasy. Jonash’s eyes are shifting through the crowd as if he’s looking for someone, but perhaps he’s only looking for support. None of this has gone the way he intended it.
“Daughter,” my father says quietly. “Is this true?” He looks at Griffin thoughtfully. “Are you the one who saved her?”
And then everything happens at once. Jonash shouts, “Your Majesty! Look out!” I turn to stare at the crowds, and there are two men dressed in dark cloaks and golden winged masks, like an ominous masquerade ball. And one has in his hand a crossbow, and it’s lifted toward my father’s chest.
TWENTY-THREE
I SCREAM AS the string of the bow snaps loose. I know the bolt’s in the air, and I can’t react fast enough. But Griffin is standing at my father’s right side, and he shoves him away in the quickest of movements. My father stumbles backward on the stone steps with Griffin over top of him, the bolt buried in the lean muscle of Griffin’s bare shoulder.
Elisha screams, but Griffin is already up and running toward the crowd, the two men in dark stumbling through the stunned masses. Blood streams down his arm from the lodged bolt, but adrenaline has taken over, and he’s hunting the men like a karu charging across the plains.
Elisha kneels down to tend to my father, but I can see he’s all right—Griffin took the shot that was meant for him. I spring forward before I can think, the cloak slipping from my shoulders to the courtyard stones. Why aren’t the Elite Guard chasing them? They seem more worried about crowd control.
I leap onto the platform of the Phoenix statue, the rough stone scraping against my knees and the palms of my hands. It’s the quickest way to cut through the crowd and reach the fleeing men.
Griffin’s already grabbed the first one, yanking his arm back and throwing him off balance. He’s struggling to reach the crossbow while the man elbows him in the chest. The other one is sprinting away, his black cloak billowing behind him.
I leap down from the statue as the crowd parts before me. He’s racing down the dirt path toward Lake Agur, past the landing pitch. He really hasn’t planned this getaway very well. There are only so many places to hide on Ashra, and I know all of them. I wonder if maybe he’s from Burumu, but why not plan an escape? It makes no sense.
The palm branch sandals Tash gave me pound against the ground as I chase him. I could never have run this far, this fast, without my past few weeks on the monster-ridden earth. My ribs have healed, and my breath doesn’t sting or burn. I’m near the edge of the man’s cloak and I pounce, grabbing fistfuls of the material to choke him back
ward. He stops running, pulling at the strings around his throat to untie them. The cloak falls from his shoulders, but it’s slowed him down enough that we’re side by side, and I wrap my arms around his legs to stop him from advancing.
Suddenly Griffin is beside me, tackling the man to the ground. The man grunts as he hits it hard, and struggles like a writhing worm, but we’ve got him.
“Where’s the other one?” I pant.
Griffin nods back toward the courtyard. “The Elite Guard are holding him.”
Good. They finally shaped up. We yank the man upward and back to the courtyard while more members of the Elite Guard dash forward to help us.
“Highness,” one of them says as they take the culprit from our hands. I know I hardly look like the heir of Ashra now, panting and sweating, hair cut at odd angles by an old dagger.
They march both of the masked men into the courtyard before my father. Elisha is standing with him, her hands grasped lovingly around his. He looks flustered and confused, a shell of his former self. I look to Jonash, and he’s standing there nervously, his face as white as the down of a hazu bird. He looks even more shaken than he was before I appeared, and it’s making suspicions drift around in my head. Was he so worried about my father being shot? Why does he look more worried now that the moment has passed?
“Your Majesty,” says the soldier holding the culprit. “The traitors.” He clears his throat and averts his eyes, as if he’s apologetic. Something’s not right.
“I am grateful to your friend, Kallima,” my father says, his eyes shining at Griffin. “He’s shown more loyalty and usefulness than my own guards.”
I look at Griffin, who’s carefully pulling the crossbow bolt out of his arm. His face is one of concentration and control as he tugs the barbed tip out of his skin. The arrow clatters to the floor and blood seeps from the hole like crimson tears. I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief, and I press it to the wound for him. He looks up at me, his hazel eyes gleaming. He lives for this, I think. He’s a monster hunter first, whether the prey is on four legs or six or two. He lives to save others.
“Kali,” he says quietly, nodding at Jonash. “He motioned them, in the crowd. It’s a setup.”
I know it’s the truth the moment I hear it. The assassination attempt is part of the ruse to spark a war against the rebels. That’s why the Elite Guard were so slow to react.
I nod as he presses his hand over mine on the handkerchief. My fingers slip out from under his, and I step toward my father, who stands with Elisha and Jonash on the steps, Elder Aban a foot away from them.
“Well?” I say. “Unmask them.”
The Elite Guard look nervously at Jonash, who nods. They must be in on it, too, at least partially. After all, he’s their lieutenant now.
The golden plumed masks clatter to the stone courtyard, and two young men stare back with wild eyes. I don’t recognize either. Likely they are from Burumu, because I know everyone in Ashra quite well, as least whether they’re a familiar face or not.
“Rebels, I’m sure,” says Jonash quickly. He’s trying to cover, I think, trying to improvise on his feet. Aksel was right. He really is brainless. “I warned you all of the danger they posed.”
He’s not the only one who can think on his feet. I’ve been raised my whole life for leadership under pressure. The flame inside me flickers. “So you said,” I say, stepping toward him. “And here they are, trying to assassinate our dear Monarch.”
Jonash looks relieved, the color returning to his pallid face. “Then...you can see what I’ve said is true.”
“The rebels are a threat, as you said,” I repeat, and Jonash smiles. But here’s where I drive the sword through his treacherous heart. “And so they must be executed.”
His face is aghast. “Wh...what?”
“You said yourself,” I say, sweeping my hand to the crowd. “All rebels must be executed.” The two culprits look terrified, watching Jonash with big eyes. “Or are you not loyal to the Monarch and your own words?”
There is a long silence, as if the whole courtyard is holding its breath.
And then Jonash lowers his head. “Execute them,” he orders to the Elite Guard.
The man who held the crossbow jolts forward in the guards’ arms. “My lord!” he says, struggling. “You promised! You promised us safety!”
My father’s brow crinkles, his face filling with life. “What’s this now?” he snaps.
I look at Griffin, and we both grin. Monsters snared in their own traps. The best way to bring down a monster, he told me, is to use its own weaknesses against it. And Jonash has tangled himself in a knot of a web.
“Please, Monarch,” the other culprit pleads as he falls to his knees. “He told us to do it. He promised our families a lifetime of protection and compensation from the Sargon. My family is starving in Burumu. I had no choice.”
“As I thought,” I say. “The Benu and the rebels are not our enemies. It is the Sargon and his son who have tried to assassinate my father. Spare the boys.” I raise my hand and point at my once future fiancé. “And arrest him for treason.”
“Jonash, why?” My father’s face creases with sadness. “I treated you as a son, did I not? I offered my daughter’s hand to you, and encouraged her to see good in you that was not there. Kallima, forgive me. I’m a foolish old man, and I’m ashamed.”
But before I can say anything, it’s Griffin who speaks. “There’s no shame in seeking good in someone’s heart, Monarch,” he says. “Even when there’s none to be found.”
“Take him,” I say to the Elite Guard, but they hesitate. None of this is going the way they’d expected. My father was supposed to be dead, bleeding on the steps, while Jonash and the Sargon mourned and reigned on his behalf with the support of the Elite Guard. I don’t know how much the soldiers have been kept in the dark or brainwashed, or how much the Elders under Aban know, but I do know that the crowds are divided and confused in loyalty to their lieutenant and to me, their heir.
They step toward Jonash, and he’s looking nervously around, trying to figure out what to do. Snivel for mercy? Bolt from the courtyard? Sweet-talk his way out? He hesitates, like a monster cornered.
I turn to Griffin to smile again, but his face is grim. And that’s when I remember that he’s warned me before. There’s nothing more dangerous than a beast that’s been cornered, a monster with nothing to lose.
Jonash starts to laugh, a cold and horrible sound that makes the guards approaching him halt. He looks up at me, his blue eyes shining. “Well,” he says. “This isn’t turning out the way I’d planned at all.” There’s an edge to his voice, and it’s unsettling. “You’re back from the dead and here to curse me, is that it?”
“Jonash,” I say. “It’s over.”
He shakes his head. “It’s only just beginning.” The guards step toward him, and he throws out a hand. They stop. Griffin stands at my side, still holding the handkerchief to his shoulder. “You,” Jonash says, pointing at him. “So you’re the one they threw over the side, are you? The bastard from Ulan whose mother wouldn’t shut up about him.” He sneers, looking him up and down. “I see they’ve dressed you in clothes from Burumu, but that doesn’t make you a gentleman. I bet you roll around in the mud with the monsters, hmm?”
Griffin doesn’t flinch. He’s beyond petty words. But he can’t help taking the bait. “What do you know about my mother?”
“Oh, so now you want to make friends, do you?” Jonash laughs, full of spite. “Sorry, I’m not interested in anything but getting rid of all of you. You’re wasting my time.”
“How dare you speak to the royal family in this way,” Elder Aban snaps, stepping forward. “Surely the Sargon himself would take offense to your tone.”
A coolness flickers in Jonash’s eyes. “The Sargon is dead.”
Th
e crowds gasp; Aban steps back as if he’s been hit. “What...what have you done?”
Jonash’s face is pure darkness. “Long live his successor.”
He’s gone mad. “You think the people will bow down to a murderer?”
“They can bow or they can die,” he says. “I care not. Those who will not follow will be thrown off the continents to their deaths. Live and obey, or fall to the talons of the monsters below.”
“At least monsters know when they’re defeated,” Griffin says. “You’re a flicker wasp crushed beneath our feet, and you’re still trying to sting. Give it up.”
Jonash turns his head sharply. “What do you know of stinging? It’s impressive that you’ve survived all this time, I’ll give you that. But you’re the one who was unwanted here. Did you ever think about why you and your mother fell? When so many other Benu could keep their mouths shut and survive? Your mother was the wasp, crushed under the Monarch’s foot. She wouldn’t shut up about the truth of the Rending.”
My eyes widen. Griffin’s mother had found out the truth? Had she been the spark that ignited the rebellion? I imagine the ember, the truth smoking from its burial in ashes, the flame growing over the years. And, overcome with grief, she must have approached my father. Was she thrown away to hide what she’d discovered?
“Enough of this!” my father shouts, life flowing through him again. “Seize him now!” The guards march toward Jonash on the steps, swords drawn.
And then there’s a brilliant flash of light and the sound of fabric ripping. And Jonash isn’t on the steps anymore but in the air, suspended by a pair of fiery wings. The flames ripple up them as they flap, holding him aloft above the shocked noises of the crowds.
He’s a Benu. The Sargon and his son were both Benu, the same ones they threw off the continent. Have they been holding to the grudge against humans all this time, or is this just a personal struggle for power? There’s no time to wonder because Jonash is swooping away from the courtyard and soaring over the forests toward Lake Agur. The crowds are screaming and shouting while the Elite Guard try to maintain control. Aban’s face has gone as pale as his robe, and he whispers prayers under his breath, while my father’s face looks sunken and defeated.
