Castle of Lies

by Kiersi Burkhart

  Wails echo in the courtyard, and the courtiers gasp and murmur. Many seats down, Daddy’s face is drawn. Morgaun looks . . . ecstatic.

  “The long ears present a grave threat,” the King shouts over the escalating anguish. “So I will address it at once.” The crowd starts to undulate, stretching and expanding, with fury. I find my hand in Parsifal’s, our fingers clenched so hard I worry they might fall off. “Tomorrow, the greatest force ever launched by the Holy Kingdom departs for war. I have entrusted my loyal ward, Bayled Vasha, to lead our assault against the elven force.” Bayled and Nul se Lan appear at the King’s side. The Southerner’s face is stiff and pale—how recently did he learn his father is dead? “My daughter’s fiancé, Nul se Lan, will take my place among our men riding into battle. Though he is not crowned prince yet, my daughter will welcome home a hero.”

  A few tenuous cheers. Bayled’s smile is forced and strained.

  “We will meet them on the Low Road!” The King’s face is so red, it looks like he may pass out. “And we will stop them!” The crowd surges, roaring like a single beast that wants only blood. “Meanwhile, I invite everyone in Melidihan to find refuge in the walls of Four Halls. Should a siege come, we must all stand together!”

  This can’t be possible. The castle will be overrun, with unwashed commoners filling every crevice, nook, and corner. And with the nobility of Melidihan abandoning their estates . . .

  Parsifal’s flesh gives under my fingernails, but he doesn’t object. “Morgaun,” is all I can say. I can’t decide who I fear more: him, or the flesh-ripping elves.

  Parsifal

  The moment the King leaves his balcony, it’s a stampede. The common people swarm the platform with a deafening noise; I can’t even see my parents’ faces through the mass. “Theels, we have to get inside before we’re trampled.”

  I don’t need to tell her twice. Shoving people out of the way, Thelia leads us to the edge of the platform. She leaps off without hesitation, landing in the mud a dozen feet below. I slide off after and follow her toward the main doors. When a big guy blocks our way, she punches him in the jaw and pushes past as he stumbles.

  The guards have barred the doors, trying to keep the frantic populace out. “Let us in,” Thelia snarls. “I’m the Princess’s cousin.”

  “We can’t. If we open these doors—”

  Thelia shoves her face right in his, teeth bared, droplets of her spit landing on his nose. “Let. Me. IN.”

  “But we have orders to—” Her hands leap to his throat. She yanks his face down to her level and he squeals soundlessly, face lighting up like a torch.

  “I will rip your head off your neck if you don’t let us in right now.”

  The seething masses back away, forming a wary semicircle around us. The other guard rushes to open the doors, and Thelia releases her victim. He gags and collapses to his knees as we slip in through the opening, and the door slams behind us.

  I lean against the cold stone wall, gasping. Done with being a brute, Thelia looks like she’s about to fleg. I usher her into the banquet room and snatch a half-empty glass of wine off the table for her.

  “They’re coming,” she mutters, mostly to herself. “It’s real.”

  “This will be over soon.” I try to sound upbeat. “In a few days we’ll get a smoke message saying Bayled crushed the long ears—then back to our old lives again.”

  She levels a dead-eyed stare on me. “Stop lying to protect my feelings. You think I’m going to fall on the floor sobbing again.”

  Maybe I do. “I’m just as upset as you are.” I pick up another abandoned glass and suck it down. “Trapped with the filthy horde.”

  “They’re not the only ones. Morgaun and Daddy won’t be leaving now.”

  “It’ll be like old times,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Before you left your father’s estate. You, me, Morgaun, our parents, all cozy—”

  Thelia’s arm shoots out and two of her fingers strike my armpit. It lands like a bull’s charge to my pectoral. I scream as a shockwave runs through me, throat to ankles. I’m disconnected from my own body, which collapses to the floor in a tangle of limbs. I can’t move any of them.

  “Do you know how hard I worked to escape Morgaun?” she snarls. “I will never live with him again.”

  I scrabble on the floor, blubbering out half-words. Every finger and toe roars with pain. Sighing, Thelia reaches down to help me back to my feet.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I stumble a few steps back from her, into a chair. “Melidia be damned. I didn’t realize your kroga was so good.” I rub my chest bitterly.

  This isn’t Thelia. This is the child that’s still locked inside her—the anxious, restless girl whose mother made her practice her hand-to-hand until she was dead on her feet, less a child than a lump of tempered steel. I’m not angry with Thelia. I’m angry with my horrid Aunt Delia for making her daughter this way.

  “Attacking me won’t help,” I slur, because my mouth still isn’t working right. “We’re in this together.”

  Her laugh comes out a growl. “How do you see this playing out? A happy little family hugging and laughing over honey-roasted ham?” She leans closer, trying to intimidate me like she did the guard. My pity vanishes. “The cooks already butchered all the animals for the wedding feast. I saw the empty pens. What’ll we eat after these people swarm into the castle and gorge themselves?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. There’s still time for me to ride back to my family’s estate and collect supplies—but how long would they last? Not long enough.

  “I know you don’t care if the kingdom sticks around or not, so this is all a great joke for you.” Thelia drops her empty wine glass to the table, shattering it. She makes no note of the broken glass. “Can’t say I expected more of a foreigner who acts so superior, mocks us whenever possible, but still lives off our coin. Don’t worry. You’ll care when you start starving like everyone else.”

  As she leaves the banquet hall, I reach for another half-finished drink. Why did I ever feel sorry for her in the first place? She’s just like her mother. Thelia Finegarden may be beautiful, but she has no heart left.

  Sapphire

  We travel steadily northeast, the sun always beating at our backs. Tree leaves glitter yellow and orange, like a thousand tiny sunsets. Our small troop avoids the main road—we don’t want anyone to get wind of our arrival until the time is right.

  The frail edifices of human activity appear on the horizon. Endless hilly grassland dotted with squat domiciles, leagues upon leagues of fences marking which territory belongs to whom. What arrogance to lay down ownership of a living thing such as land, with its own needs and desires.

  They cannot see the beauty that lies in front of them, so they destroy it. Their homes and fences and guard towers are built from corpses. What incredible pride does it require to grant yourself dominion over all things?

  That pride is why we arrive at the front gates to a new human city, walls constructed with freshly quarried stone, guard huts of young wood, and a lit fortress at the center. The Jaguars approach the gates, Commander Valya in the lead. Guards spot us from the towers and light a fire atop the roof. I tense, placing one hand on my sword. Do no harm, that is what we strive for. But we have not dealt with southern humans in centuries—and I would rather be cautious than dead.

  Two humans appear on the other side of the iron gate. They are frail, small, with flat faces and flat ears. They look as dull-witted as giants. The gate opens, and they step out to meet us.

  First comes an ancient man with sunken eye sockets and calloused hands, larger than I expected. The woman has yellow hair mostly gone gray, but her blue eyes shine like beacons. They are both crisscrossed with scars.

  “Chief Lan.” It is alien and strange to hear human language out of the Commander’s mouth. Like all The People, I studied every human language to basic fluency—but it’s been decades since I used any of them.

  The old man nods. “
Commander Valya.”

  The Commander steps forward to greet him, and the old woman draws a sword. I reach for my weapon, and the air between our two parties turns hot.

  The Commander stops mid-step and holds out his hand as an offering. It is an unusual gesture, but the Chief recognizes it immediately. He joins his hand with the Commander’s.

  “It is good to put a face to the missives at last,” Commander Valya says. “I did not quite know what to expect.”

  Releasing the handshake, the Chief nods. “I understand. As instructed, we have sent a smoke message to Four Halls detailing your . . . attack.”

  A rare smile crosses the Commander’s face. “I know how much it will please the High Seer to place a reasonable man upon the Holy Kingdom’s throne.”

  Ferah sends a message back to the rest of our contingent: we have safe passage. It does not take them long to arrive.

  Human soldiers and citizens alike stand along the sides of the road, hands around their children, as the Jaguars march past. Next come our elephants, their trunks waving to the crowd, and a few children shriek. Finally the orkuks tromp down the main road, their great footfalls shaking the roofs of the small stone houses, sending some humans fleeing.

  Ellze sighs. “I almost wish the Southerners had broken our bargain. I was looking forward to getting some blood on my blade.”

  A sense of unease runs through me. I know what he means—I have often felt the song of blood before battle against the giants—but only because it was necessary to defend our home.

  When we’ve left the hovels behind, Commander Valya selects two squadrons of soldiers to accompany us on our journey. We veer off the road, heading toward the distant crags, as the army behind us continues northward along the Low Road.

  We will see them again soon.

  Bayled

  The King’s army leaves first thing in the morning. Pages are scouring Melidihan, delivering summons to every member of the province’s militia. Meanwhile, the King calls me to his chambers. I’m not surprised to find Nul se Lan already there.

  Perhaps we’ll die together out there. Perhaps one of us will live. Whoever survives returns home to the most generous, kindhearted, beautiful woman alive.

  The King rises, setting his goblet down. “Nul se Lan, I consider you my son in spirit already. Know that your position in the kingdom is safe, and we all mourn the loss of your great father.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Nul says, bowing.

  King Hindermark looks us over. “Forgren has sent smoke messages to the sworn lords to have their forces meet you along the Low Road. I expect by the time you run into the invaders, you’ll be ten thousand strong. Should be plenty to crush those long ears.”

  I wish I’d seen what the Priestess saw through the Eye of Melidia. Ten thousand men is a massive force—perhaps even capable of taking on the Northern Republic. But what raw, ancient power are we up against?

  The King settles deep in his chair, his eyes going glassy. I want him to say something kind to me. To tell me I’m more than simply a body to hurl at these invaders like so much cannon fodder. But he says nothing else to us, so we leave him to his amusements.

  Tomorrow, we go to war.

  The castle’s alive with frantic nobles arriving from all over, carriages loaded with clothes and food and children. But when I pass into North Hall, where only royalty live, silence reigns.

  I stop before the door I know so well and knock. “Corene?”

  I have so many things to do before I leave, but this one’s the most important. It’s too late for any of Thelia’s machinations now. The plan was destined to fail from the start. Corene is too pure to fall for games. She’d have been joyful to know I’d found someone else, that I was happy.

  “Corene? Let me in, please.” I lean my ear against the door to listen. On the other side she’s sniffling, so I try the knob and the door opens.

  Corene lies curled up on her bed, knees at her chest, a burgundy nightgown pooled around her like blood. She doesn’t lift her head, but her eyes open. Her cheeks are stained with tears.

  “What?” she demands. Shocked by her own fury, she sits up and wipes her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” Always trying to make me feel better, even if she’s suffocating. I sit on the edge of her bed.

  “Corene, I—”

  “Bayled.” She reaches out to me. I gather her up in my arms. Her hands find my chest, my mouth finds her lips. Her fingers slide up the back of my neck and dig into my short, dense curls. I wrap my arms around her middle, and the strap of her gown slides off her shoulder.

  “Corene,” I whisper into her hair. “This may be the last time we lay eyes upon each other. I will not leave tomorrow morning with a single regret in my heart.”

  I’ve never spoken like this before. Right now, I am fire.

  Corene presses her face to my chest. “I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for you.”

  It’s all I’ve wanted to hear.

  “I love you,” she says, her voice fierce and strong. She puts a hand behind my neck, tugs me towards her, and kisses me.

  I fall apart. My hands wrap around her—one under her feather-soft hair, the other around her perfect waist. She presses her tongue against my lips and I accept. She tastes of everything I know. Her body presses closer, even though we are already as close as we can get. I pull her up onto my lap, and she falls even farther into me to make our shape complete.

  My hand darts down her leg, more daring than I’ve ever been before. She emits a small noise, a sound so sweet that my trousers feel much tighter. I tug the hem of her dress up, past the soft inside of her knee, until I reach the creamy curve of her thigh. She squeezes herself closer to me, her hips scraping over mine and sending sweet sparks of pleasure into my belly. I let out an undignified moan.

  Corene turns around, showing me the laced-up back of her dress. “Please.” Any other day, this is where it would’ve stopped—with kisses and touches, urgent but restrained. Tonight there’s no restraint. I could die, and I love her. I could die, and she loves me. This may be our last chance.

  I struggle with the laces, and then a string comes free. She turns back toward me and peels the dress down, revealing everything underneath that I’ve only dreamed about. Before I can spend too long marveling, she kisses me again. Her lips pull mine apart, sucking them, inflaming them, while her fingers draw patterns on my skin.

  Our bodies press together in a way that makes me tingle. Gasping, Corene unties my tunic and pulls it up and over my head. For a moment, she puts distance between us so she can look at me. I take in her fingers splayed across my bare chest, her pale freckled skin in stark contrast to my deep brown. If I come home, our children will be beautiful.

  Her other hand runs through my hair again, pulling at me. I know what she wants next, so I kiss her again and pull her flush against me with both arms. She disconnects just long enough remove her gown and shove it over the side of the bed. I untie my boots and fling them away. Then come the trousers, and she gasps at what’s underneath. I fill with embarrassment and pleasure and pride, in one swirling mass. I don’t know how long I can contain myself. I commit this moment to memory.

  We start to dance together, and I am lost to Corene.

  My Princess. My love.

  Chapter 6

  Parsifal

  I’ve made a quick trip to our estate and returned with a dozen trunks to get us through our stay at Four Halls. When I return to South Hall, I find Derk standing outside Thelia’s door. I drop the trunk.

  “I went to the Southerners’ quarters, like you asked.” His eyes are painfully wide. “Two nights now I’ve brought bread and scones. Last night, nothing. But tonight, after the announcement, I heard them speaking fast and hushed. Suspicious-like. Each of Nul se Lan’s bodyguards had three weapons at least—tucked in pants, inside boots, up a sleeve.”

  “Is that all?” I ask. It sounds suspicious, but not enough for action.

  Derk exhales shar
ply. “Well, I don’t know exactly what they’re planning, since I couldn’t understand them. But I kept hearing Vasha. Over and over.”

  Why would Nul se Lan go after Bayled? The cratertooth already has the throne. When they return from war, he’ll be King.

  I touch Derk’s cheek. “Thank you for your help,” I say, and turn to enter the suite.

  “Is that it?” Derk asks.

  “I said thank you.”

  “I risked a lot to learn this for you.”

  “You took someone bread and blended into the background. I appreciate you. You’re helping the Kingdom, titta tatta.” I shrug. “Is that what you want to hear?”

  Derk narrows his eyes at me and stalks off down the hall. Oh well. He was a good lover, but not great.

  When I finally open the door, I find Morgaun and Duke Finegarden unpacking their things in Thelia’s bedroom. With no Thelia. She must be avoiding them—unfortunate, given what I’ve just learned. I may not like that gullible trit Bayled, but I don’t relish the idea of those cratertooths offing him.

  “That’s where my shrine goes, Dad!” Morgaun roars and pushes a trunk out of his way.

  “You ungrateful child.” Duke Finegarden looms over his son. “You will talk to me with respect, or you’ll sleep in the barn with the rats.”

  That’s what my mother has always said about the Duke: He has a temper and no conscience. Morgaun’s ten spades worse.

  I pretend that I’m not listening, but I can feel Morgaun’s gaze worm into me. His hair is dark, like Thelia’s, and his bone structure is just as fine. That’s where the similarity ends. Morgaun’s eyes are ratlike and small, and his thin lips perpetually form a grimace.

  “Where’s sister?” Morgaun asks, turning to the Duke. “It’s the middle of the night. She should be here already. You know how Melidia feels about women who stay out late.”

  The Duke glances at me. “You two are always tittering about together, Parsifal,” he says. “You must know.”