Creatures of Light, Book 3

by Emily B. Martin

  I was holding my tears back, making the world blurry. I couldn’t make myself speak the words aloud, I couldn’t make myself remind him that there was no going back, there was no chance at being together again. That even if we’d come to an understanding of his title, Mona and her allies still would require atonement for the things we’d wrought in our wake. For him—prison, alone. For me—the throne, alone. Those days along the canyon, those nights murmuring in bed of all the things we could accomplish—so many dreams, so many ideas, ready to be watered and grown and spread through the country—those things were gone now.

  There was a nudge at my hand, his fingers brushing mine. I knew he wanted me to turn my hand over, to accept his, but I found I couldn’t. He laid his palm gently over the back of it instead. I couldn’t make my mind focus on just one thing—it swirled from thought to thought as quickly as they came. The new lines of the Prophecy, Lumeni work chanties, cicada resonance, a kiss under the stars, two hands linked on a cold stone floor . . .

  Somewhere outside, the distant sound of thunder split the air.

  I froze, trying to believe what I’d just heard. As the report died away, I whipped my head around. My widened eyes locked with Celeno’s.

  “Oh Light,” he breathed. “They’re here.”

  “I thought we had more time,” I said, knowing that voicing that thought meant nothing. “I thought we had . . .”

  The next boom echoed across the lake, accompanied by the sound of grinding rock. Somewhere out on the palace grounds, a trumpet blasted an alarm call, shrill and fast.

  I scrambled off the bed and dashed across the room to the patio door. I flung it open to the bite of frigid air and ran out to the rail. The morning sky was streaked with pale pink and gold, a perfect sunrise. The Beacon was shining with the strength of the sun. But marring the air by the river’s mouth was a thick plume of black smoke. The first in the line of ships was making a hard tack to starboard—bearing not for the little peninsula on Perch Island, but up the shoreline.

  For Blackshell.

  “They’re coming here first,” I said aloud. “Oh, Light.” A glut of fire spewed into the air, the sound reaching me half a heartbeat later. I streaked back to the patio door. “They’re releasing incendiaries on the shore!”

  Celeno was hopping on one foot, trying to draw on his calf-high boot. “Go find Mona! Go find Ellamae—have them meet me in the front hall!”

  “Where are you going?”

  He stamped his foot to shove his boot the rest of the way on. “To stop them, of course.”

  “I thought we’d be hailing them at the mouth of the river!” I said. I ducked instinctively as the next blast rent the air—much closer, it seemed, than the previous one. “I didn’t plan on approaching them while they’re actively firing!”

  He swung his traveling cloak around his shoulders. “We can stop them before they make it here. We can stop them before they get out to the islands.” Seeing my incredulous look, he smiled—by the Light, I hadn’t seen him smile in months. It flooded through me, the ringing shock of recognizing a long-lost friend.

  “I may not be the fulfillment of the Prophecy,” he said. “But I’m still the seventh king of Alcoro. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

  He dashed to the door, flung it open, and ran into the hall beyond. My feet started moving a half-second later. I charged out after him, only to jump out of my skin when a door banged open behind me. Rou came stumbling out of his room, wrenching his arms through the sleeves of his vest, his face wide.

  “Rou . . .”

  “Did you see?” he said hoarsely. “They’re lobbing Lyle’s grenades. Those things won’t douse with water—it’ll only make them spread. The Lumeni soldiers have to know or they’ll burn the place to the ground—where’s Mona?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he streaked after Celeno, his boots slapping the hardwood floor. Hitching up my skirt, I took off after them both, following the hem of Celeno’s cloak as it whipped around the corner of the guest wing.

  The palace was in chaos. Armed soldiers ran in one direction, night-clad servants fled in the other, towing children, shoving those who had just been roused from sleep. Folk called out; horns blared. The entrance hall was a crush of people all fleeing through the open doors, the gusting wind dousing the lanterns and making the embroidered hangings weave and snap.

  Across the melee, I saw Celeno’s cloak again, toiling through the current of panicked Lake-folk. But they were all trying to get to the same place, scores of folk all pressing through the double doors, and he was caught in the teeming crowd. I struggled toward him, trying not to quail under the sound of the latest grenade blast, so close it shook masonry dust over the terrified crowd below.

  To my right, a figure appeared on the wide sweeping stairway—Mona, dressed in a long tunic and trousers, surrounded by a swirling knot of guards that bristled with naked swords and swerving shields. She swept her gaze once over the bedlam before her, missing me in the crowd, before her eyes flew to the distant window over the doors to the grounds. I knew instantly what had pulled her attention. She was looking out over the snowy lawns and gardens, past the perimeter wall and the village beyond, out to the prison. She wouldn’t be able to see it from here. Her fists were clenched by her sides.

  I knew because my thoughts were there, too.

  I put my head down and pushed forward until I was within reach of Celeno. I lunged through the crowd, snatched a handful of his cloak, and hauled him backward with as much strength as I could muster. He staggered under my pull, his panicked gaze locking with mine.

  “Gemma!” he exclaimed. “I can’t get through this damned crowd!”

  “We can’t just run out into the streets!” I pulled him up the first few steps of the staircase, one flight below Mona, who was occupied with her knot of guards. “Not without some kind of plan. We need to think . . .”

  “There’s no time, Gemma . . .”

  “Mona! Mona!”

  Ellamae’s shout cut through the ambient screaming, and we turned to see her darting through the throng. She had a painted flatbow in one hand and a fistful of arrows in the other, and the silver pins gleamed against the dark green of her Woodwalker uniform.

  “Pull your folk back!” she called, joining us on the steps as Mona hurriedly descended. “Alcoro is setting up to blow the perimeter wall!”

  Mona’s eyes flashed. “What?”

  “They sent a contingent of foot soldiers up to blow the gate—I’m sure they mean to trap folk here in Blackshell while their ships fire from the water . . .”

  Celeno grabbed Ellamae’s wrist. “They’re here, on the ground?”

  “There’s a phalanx forming outside the wall—it doesn’t look deep, but it’s enough to repel civilians. We need to send a contingent out to . . . oh no you don’t.”

  She seized Celeno’s sleeve as he started to move past her. “No sir, I did not spend a week nannying you so could run out and get shot by friendly fire.”

  He pushed her hand off his arm. “If I can just get in front of our folk, I can stop this—I can stand our folk down.”

  “There’s no way you can get to the gate and up on the wall without running into crossfire—they’re already lobbing flash grenades willy-nilly over the ramparts. Arlen’s setting up his javelins by the courtyard—you’ll be caught in the middle even before they break through.”

  “Get us to the terrace,” I said suddenly. I looked up at Mona. “We can’t get through the wall—and stopping the ground attack won’t stop the ships. The flagship is heading straight for Blackshell—if we can get to the terrace, we may be able to hail it before they start a siege. They can signal a ceasefire for the foot soldiers.”

  “The terrace—yes!” Celeno swept his gaze over the packed entrance hall. “Which is the quickest way?”

  “You’ll be running right into range of their trebuchets!” Ellamae protested. “The ships—”

  “Get me something white,” I said.
“Something we can signal a parley with.”

  I looked expectantly at Mona, waiting for her reply. Her gaze flicked from me to Celeno, and finally to Ellamae, who let out a growl of frustration.

  “It’s a terrible plan,” Ellamae said, shaking her head.

  “What else can we do?” I asked her.

  She tossed up her free hand. “I don’t know. If we wait any longer, we’ll all be trapped within firing range of the ships.”

  Mona’s face was pale and tight. “Arlen’s in the courtyard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s Valien?”

  “On the grounds somewhere—he has a contingent of swords,” Ellamae replied.

  “Bows?”

  “No bows.”

  “Where’s Rou?”

  We all shared a breathless silence.

  “I last saw him in the guest wing,” I said. “He was running to warn the soldiers about Lyle’s grenades.”

  Her face gave the slightest spasm, the barest twitch of anguish, but she didn’t hesitate any longer. She turned to one of her guards. “Go to the courtyard and tell Arlen we’re attempting a parley on the terrace.” As the soldier ran off, she beckoned to us. “This way—the fastest path from here will be off my patio.”

  We followed her up the staircase and along the landing, the din from the entrance hall growing distant behind us. Our pounding footsteps were drowned out by another grenade blast—this one had a different sound, less resonant and much, much closer. The initial report was followed by the tumbling crash of rubble.

  “They’ve blown the wall,” Ellamae said grimly, pulling an arrow from her hip quiver.

  Mona’s voice was strained as a wound spring. “Let’s hope Arlen can hold them.”

  My chest tightened. Let’s hope we can cease fire before Arlen has to hold them.

  We flew down the corridor to her double doors and piled into the parlor beyond. The glassed doors to her patio showed a blue sky choked with ash, and the first glimpse of the flagship’s bowsprit as she neared firing range.

  Celeno raced to the doors, but Mona called after him. “Wait!”

  She rushed to cut him off and grabbed a handful of the elegant white drapery hanging over the doors. I moved forward to help, winding the expensive silk in my fists—it was meticulously stitched with repeating silver bulrushes. Celeno released the handle and added his own strength, and together we pulled with all our might. The seam fixing it to the curtain rod strained and stretched—a few pearls popped loose and leaped from their embroidery. At the next thunder of grenade fire, Ellamae clamped her arrow in her teeth, drew a knife from her belt, and with a jump, slashed the elegant fabric near the seam. The drapery ripped loose in a ragged line. Pearls rained down on us like a cloudburst.

  “Go,” I said breathlessly to Celeno, bundling the white fabric in my arms. “Go, go!”

  He didn’t need any persuading. He wrenched open the doors, and together we dashed out onto the patio and down the staircase beyond, our boots skidding on patches of ice.

  “Stay, Mona!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Ellamae was leaping down the steps after us, setting her arrow to her string. She jerked her head at Mona, who halted on the top step, still surrounded by her orbit of armed guards.

  “You stay!” she said again. “You’ll be safer up here.”

  “Mae, I should be there when—”

  “Join us when we start negotiating!” Ellamae called back. “Once we manage the ceasefire, then come down to the terrace—that’s when we’ll need you most!”

  Mona clearly didn’t like it, but she didn’t follow us down the staircase. With a wave, she motioned two of her retinue to follow us—they obediently hurried down the steps, atlatls in hand. This done, she lifted her gaze out over the lake, her face pale and grim. Breathless, I turned back around, focusing on placing my feet on the icy staircase.

  The lakeshore was a nightmare. From Blackshell down to the river, orange flames leaped freely from roof to roof, heedless of the snow. The ships were launching the incendiaries with deck-mounted trebuchets, allowing them to stay well out of reach of any bowfire from the shore. The flagship—the Splendor Firmament, the warhorse of our fleet—was making a hard tack toward the deepwater docks that led off the terrace—perhaps planning to berth and unleash more soldiers while continuing its projectile assault. I clutched the white flag to my chest, my lungs burning on my breath.

  So close. So close. So close to flagging them down, to halting the trebuchets, to ending this building catastrophe.

  We reached the final step of the staircase and veered left on the tiled walkway that wound along the water’s edge. It was narrow, bordered by the lake on one side and a waist-high retaining wall on the other, and it was rimed with ice, making each wild footstep treacherous. I set my boots as carefully as I could while keeping pace with Celeno, unable to rely on my occupied arms for balance. From the far reaches of the palace grounds, I heard the first sickening echoes of metal on metal—the two battalions of foot soldiers had met. Had Arlen’s javelin line failed? Had Valien led some kind of charge? Where was Rou? Was Colm safe in the prison? Would Mona be safe up on her patio?

  The possibilities for death were endless.

  My boots pounded the walkway, beating a repeating refrain in my head—the ship, the ship, the ship. The Splendor Firmament had reached the deepwater docks and dropped anchor with a grinding clank. The deck bristled with swords and crossbows; the great trebuchet counterweights were slowly being hauled down into position.

  We rounded a final corner to see the great terrace sloping away from us, the sparkling snow on its surface incongruously pristine. I sucked in a sharp breath of relief. All that separated us from the open space was a row of archways, probably home to flowering vines during the summer—now they were bare and bleak. Through the last archway, I could see the distant statue of Ama Alastaire, standing like a lone sentinel, daring her enemy to mar the water with another drop of blood.

  Celeno was several feet ahead of me and had just run under the first arch when the space between us was punctured by a flying object.

  “Down—get down!” Ellamae snatched the back of my blouse and brought me skidding to a halt as another crossbow quarrel whistled through the air—if I’d continued running it would have struck a clean shot. She shoved me below the line of the retaining wall—my boots slid in the snow, my arms tangled in the white banner.

  Piled at the corner where the Blackshell walls met the terrace were six soldiers in russet and black, their crossbow sights trained our way. Celeno didn’t stop, running at breakneck speed through the line of archways. He was windmilling his arms and shouting at the distant ship. I watched as a russet-clad soldier jammed another quarrel into their crossbow and brought it up to sight.

  “They don’t recognize him—stop!” My voice rose in a shriek. “Stop—Celeno—stop!”

  But he passed under the final arch and burst out into the open. Ellamae leaned around the side of the arch and drew her bowstring back to her cheek. One of Mona’s guards did the same with his atlatl, cocking a wicked-looking javelin back over his shoulder.

  “No—no, wait!” I struggled to my knees, freeing one hand from the banner.

  It was no use. With a twang, Ellamae’s arrow sprang from her string.

  Thump.

  The foremost soldier went down.

  “Stop! Stop!” I lunged for her tunic as she pulled another arrow from her hip quiver.

  “Get off!” she snarled. “Unless you want him spitted by your own folk!”

  “Let me get by—let me go after him!” I hefted the banner, watching as Celeno sprinted farther and farther away from me, alone, still waving, still shouting. “If I can just get to him—”

  The precious second of idleness cost us. A crossbow snapped, and the Lumeni soldier beside me staggered backward, tagged with a quarrel in his chest. His boot slipped out over open water, and with a mighty splash he tumbled off the walkway into the lake. I st
ared at the rippling waves in shock. The water wasn’t deep here—once it stilled we could see him lying immobile just under the surface, eyes open, the end of the quarrel sticking up like a bare flagpole.

  I gasped and ducked my head as another quarrel whistled overhead. Ellamae swore and dropped to her knee below the wall.

  “Gemma—they don’t recognize you!” She flinched, her hands around her ears as a third quarrel skipped off the archway. “I know it’s hard, but if you don’t let me take them out . . .”

  There was a shout and a clang. Together we lifted our heads over the wall just enough to see a pale sword cleave an arc through the five remaining Alcoran soldiers. Another fell, giving us a glimpse of green and silver—Valien. He ducked a blow from one of my folk and used their momentum to propel them face-first into the stone corner of Blackshell Palace. But it was the last clean hit he landed—the three others pounced on him en masse, the winter sky flashing off their bare blades.

  Ellamae swore like a career sailor and leaped heedlessly onto the retaining wall, wrenching her bowstring back to her ear—leaving the narrow walk before us clear. As her arrow flew, and before the other Lumeni soldier could shout or snatch my shirt, I scrambled to my feet and sprinted past them, making for the end of the stone arches.

  Celeno was in the middle of the terrace, still shouting fruitlessly at the distant ship. I raced to catch up, letting Mona’s white drapery unfurl in my arms. I lofted it over my head, letting it stream behind me like a sail. A hundred terrifying sounds muddled my head—the crashing of swords on shields, the blast of incendiary grenades, the screams riding the breeze, the roar of my own blood in my ears. But one new sound cut through the others—one that froze my bones. The release of a winch, the whrzzz of freely spinning gears. I caught a glimpse through the final arch of the Splendor Firmament, where three of the trebuchets had loosed their counterweights. I watched in horror as the massive arms arced through the air, graceful in their paths. The slings convulsed forward—one, two, three—and I opened my mouth to shout just as I reached the final archway.