Fatal Heir

by L. C. Ireland

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Vala is the power of life,” Rath explained. “Vala is what allows a seer to live so long. To heal the sick. To see the future. Vala is what binds me to your father’s wish.”

  “And sys?”

  “Sys is the opposite of vala,” Rath said, “Sys is the power of the reapers, the power of death. I don’t imagine most people with your ability live very long.” Rath traced a circle around the drawing of Seraph Alaudrin over and over again. “Your mother had sys. I could never get anywhere near her. When you were born, I knew right away that you had her gift. Our gifts — vala and sys — repel each other. That’s why you and I feel pain when we come in contact. You were lucky, though. You got less of your mother’s sys than your sister did.”

  “What happened to my sister?” I asked.

  “The sys was too much for her. It killed her.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled.

  “Losing Aunyssa changed your father. He was abroad when she died, and he blamed himself for her death and for leaving your mother alone to cope with the loss. He always thought that he might have saved her if only he was near.” Rath laughed sadly. “He wouldn’t have made any difference, but he always assumed he could. That’s what made him such a great man.”

  “That’s why saving me was more important to him than saving himself.”

  “Yes.” Rath’s voice sounded tight. I sensed an edge of anger. I could hardly blame him for being mad. He could have saved his dearest friend, but instead, he was forced to protect Willian’s ungrateful child.

  “Rath,” I said.

  “Yes, Izzy?”

  “Thank you.”

  Rath finally looked up from the drawing of Seraph Alaudrin. He looked at me with a furrowed brow. “What for?”

  “For protecting me. I know you don’t want to, but you do anyway. So thank you. I would be dead now if not for you. And I know I haven’t always been grateful. When I was young, I thought it was all just a game. I used to put myself in danger on purpose just so I could see you.”

  Rath turned his head away from me and said nothing. I thought I might have offended him. I stared at the fire and tried not to squirm in the awkward silence.

  “No one has ever thanked me for granting a wish,” Rath said at last. “Everyone assumes I’m happy with this life of forced servitude.”

  “Well, I’m not like everyone,” I said.

  “No.” Rath looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re not.”

  I watched him draw yet another circle around Seraph Alaudrin. I had lost count of how many circles he had drawn. Round and round the stick went, digging a little groove into the ground. After a moment, Rath noticed my watching and set the stick aside.

  “Izzy?” He asked after a moment, “Do you believe in destiny?”

  “Well…” I shifted my position, tucking my hands between my arms and my sides to keep them warm. I was as close to the fire as I was willing to get. “So far, destiny hasn’t been very kind to me,” I said.

  “Mmm,” Rath murmured. “I don’t think destiny is meant to be kind. It is a cruel master. It’s a voice that gets into your head, into your soul, and whispers, ‘You don’t belong here.’”

  I watched Rath’s face as he spoke. For just a moment, he looked lost and vulnerable like a child separated from his parents.

  “Where do you think you belong?” I asked.

  Rath had a faraway look in his eyes. “When the Insurgent betrayed the seraphim,” he said, “he killed them off, all but one. He didn’t have the power to destroy Alaudrin. The last of his kind, Alaudrin was too powerful and too clever. Since he could not kill him, the Insurgent sealed Alaudrin away where he could no longer aid humanity. My people guard that seal. For hundreds of winters, we have protected the man who once protected us, and we have waited — waited for him to return and set everything right in this dying world. There were no haunts or beasts or deadmen when seraphim were around. Now there is nothing but chaos and death. And that tiny bit of hope trapped behind that seal. If I could, I would break that seal open and set Alaudrin free.” Rath shook his head, chuckled at himself, and smudged the drawings on the ground. “But it isn’t that simple. Life took me far away from Alaudrin’s seal, and I can never return to it. But it still pulses inside me and haunts my dreams. I could save this world. And yet, I can’t.” Rath patted the stump that had once been his leg. “Isn’t it funny how dangerous even the tiniest bit of hope can be?”

  “I don’t think hope is dangerous at all,” I said, remembering the rush of emotion I had felt as I stood before the people of Hazeldown and declared myself their rightful king. “I think hope is empowering.”

  “You inherited your father’s optimism,” Rath said. “I hope that never changes.”

  “Why did—” I began, but Rath held up a hand to stop me.

  “You need rest, Izzy.”

  I scratched my arm through my torn sleeve. The fire was still blazing, feasting away on the fancy carriage. I tried not to think of what else those flames were consuming.

  “I don’t think I will ever sleep soundly again,” I said.

  Rath reached inside his coat and produced a small glass vial.

  “Drink this,” he said.

  “What does it do?” I took the bottle and shook it. No ugly floaties in this one.

  “It’s a sleeping draught,” Rath explained. “It will help keep the nightmares at bay.”

  “Is it safe?” I asked.

  Rath snorted. “Would I give you anything dangerous, Izzy? You manage to get yourself into plenty of trouble all by yourself. You don’t need any help from me.”

  I drank the nasty liquid in one quick swallow and felt it burn down my throat. I couldn’t vouch for the effectiveness of Rath’s potions, but I sure hoped they worked better than they tasted.

  I blinked three times and passed out.

  It took us several days to reach the New Capital. We all agreed it would be wise not to use Zarra’s boot around Martha, so we took the entire journey by foot. We kept to the main roads and traveled only while the sun was shining. At night, we slept in abandoned farmhouses and took turns on guard duty.

  Mel and Zarra scavenged for food, though I suspected it was less scavenging and more Stepping to the nearest market and back, and Martha cooked for us using whatever could be found in the abandoned farmhouses. When Martha was busy, I looked after Aleksander.

  I saw spirits everywhere. They constantly flickered in and out of my vision. Sometimes they touched me and sent me spiraling through their memories, leaving me shaken and disoriented. I couldn’t sleep at night without the help of Rath’s sleeping draught. I began to crave the gentleness of potion-induced sleep, where nightmares and spirits and my own twisted reality couldn’t find me. Every night, I dreamed of the circlet and the sealed doors. When I explained the dream to Rath, he said it was probably simply that: a dream.

  The capital looked much different in the daylight. It was louder and even more crowded than I remembered. The air was filled with the sound of merchants hawking their wares and people chatting and arguing. It was even harder to wind our way through the crowds because Rath insisted on using his crutch again.

  We followed him through the streets to a little shop that apparently sold fabrics and offered tailoring services. I didn’t even know fabrics could come in such bright colors. Rath led us around the back and up a flight of stairs to a door with a little sign nailed to the front that said “Apothecary.”

  “This is where you live?” Mel asked as Rath unlocked the door and opened it for us. Strong smoke filtered out, making us cough. Rath waved his hand in front of his face.

  “Yes, this is my home and my shop. Sorry about the smoke,” he coughed. “I was in the middle of a brewing the last time Izzy almost died. This rather pungent disaster has been on the fire for four days.” He floated into the shop and took the pot off the fire, setting it on a hook and opening the nearest window. “Well, this pot is ruined
,” he sighed. “You have cost me a lot of pots with all your dangerous stunts.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s a wonder the place hasn’t burned to the ground,” he muttered to himself, grabbing a wooden fan and waving the fumes out the window. “Now,” he handed Mel the fan and turned to inspect us, “I will stay here while you return Miss Martha and the child to the king.”

  “Why aren’t you coming with us?” I asked.

  He indicated himself: his grayish brown skin and eyes, his vibrant red hair, and his one leg. “I am a little conspicuous,” he said. “Besides, I will slow you down on my crutch. If you are in danger, I will appear surely enough.”

  Martha cleaned the dirt off of young Aleksander’s face and hands and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Your father will be so pleased to see you,” she told him. “After all that has happened, it will be so nice to see a happy reunion.” She carried the boy out into the sunlight.

  “Izzy,” Rath said. “Leave the pitchfork.”

  “But—” I clutched the pitchfork closer.

  “If anyone has heard any stories about you, they will recognize you instantly if you carry that thing with you. Leave it here. I will make sure nothing happens to it.”

  With a sigh, I rested the pitchfork against the wall.

  Zarra led us through the streets. Townspeople scrambled out of our way at the sight of her soldier’s livery, making our progress toward the palace much faster than it had been when Rath was leading. When we arrived at the gates of the palace, Zarra hung back, and Martha took the lead.

  Carrying young Aleksander in her plump arms, the nursemaid approached the guards at the gate. They spoke briefly. One of the guards took the little bag of trinkets Martha had saved from Lana’s body and disappeared inside the gates.

  I was rather disappointed with the palace. I had been expecting something far grander — like the building I had seen in the seer’s vision. I had envisioned a mammoth fortress made of stone, with towers and flags. This palace was not much larger than Lord Brenden’s estate. The only thing that distinguished the palace from any other manor house was the single oversized flag mounted at the highest point.

  “Martha!” I recognized the voice that called from the other side of the gates. It was jarring to hear a voice in person that I had only heard before through someone else’s memories. It was Bernard, Lana’s husband.

  The gates opened, and the Duke strode out, accompanied by smartly dressed guards. I watched with a heavy heart as Martha broke the news to him. Duke Bernard’s face fell from confusion and worry to surprise to dismay. Even from a distance, I could see that the Duke’s hands were shaking as he reached to touch his son’s face.

  This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have come here. I didn’t want to see my enemies like this. I didn’t want to know that they were so human.

  Martha presented the princess’s handkerchief to the Duke. He accepted it with shaking hands and held it up to his cheek. His whole form shuddered as he struggled to maintain his composure. It was hard to watch.

  Then he reached out his arms for young Aleksander. He hugged his son in his arms and buried his face in the little boy’s shoulder. Aleksander, sensing his father’s emotions, began to cry. This man was the son-in-law of the king who had ordered my death by beheading. He had sent his wife and son away into the dangerous world just to be sure they were not present when I arrived. He had bragged to his wife about how he would kill me.

  And I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.

  All I saw was a stunned, heartbroken widower. As I watched, Bernard kissed his crying son on the forehead exactly like Willian had kissed me when I was a confused, terrified infant, right before he sent me away to spare my life.

  I flinched when Mel grabbed my hand. She stared straight ahead, her face a mask of her usual toughness. I swallowed the lump in my throat and squeezed her hand. I hadn’t realized until she touched me that I was trembling.

  Martha spoke again, gesturing to me and Mel. The Duke nodded and Martha waved us over. I didn’t want to go. Mel had to tug me behind her.

  It was weird to look into the face of the man who I had very memories of kissing. To date, that was one of the stranger experiences of my life.

  “Are you the safeguards who rescued my son?” Bernard asked.

  “I am,” Mel said, launching into our story. “I was escorting this man and his comrades from Porton. They were escaping the civil unrest in Hazeldown. Heard something pretty nasty is happening out there, but what do I know?”

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed. I started to sweat.

  Mel kept talking. “We found this big fancy carriage on its side. It was surrounded by bodies. Big bloated purple faces. Looked like they all got sick. We found Martha here with your boy trapped inside the carriage. It was an awful sight.” She glossed over the details of the bodies coming to life and trying to murder us and simply said, “We had to burn the bodies.”

  The Duke nuzzled his son’s hair. “You have come to request asylum?” he asked. “I am afraid we haven’t much room here. Our streets get more crowded every winter, as the outer neighborhoods fall to the deadmen.”

  “No,” I said, “I mean, we — we actually came to speak on behalf of our Lord, Brenden Murdoch.” Again, the Duke’s eyes darkened with suspicion. Mel released my hand and casually wiped the sweat on her pants leg.

  I continued. “He is a kind man and has always been good to us. We — that is — we believe his presence would do great good for returning peace to Hazeldown. It’s utter chaos without him.”

  “You seem like decent people,” Duke Bernard began, “and I wish we could grant your request.”

  My heart stopped.

  We were too late. Lord Brenden had already been tried, sentenced, and executed. We hadn’t made it in time. He had died like a criminal all because I was in his cellar when Zarra kidnapped me.

  “Unfortunately, Lord Brenden never made it to the Capital.”

  “What?” Mel said. She had been holding her breath, too.

  “We received word of his arrest and expected arrival from a messenger; however, Murdoch never came. He and the troops protecting him were last reported in Aunikka. That was days ago. They have vanished.”

  “But he could still be alive,” I said.

  The Duke shook his head. “We don’t know. And we don’t have the manpower available to search him out. The majority of our troops have been called to march on Hazeldown.”

  I stiffened. “But our families are there.”

  The Duke looked at me like one might look at a crippled homeless dog. “Then perhaps you ought to return home and warn them. The king will not tolerate any attempts to secede from the nation.”

  “But—” I started. Mel grabbed my arm and dug her nails into my skin. I stopped talking, but my mind was racing. What happened in Hazeldown was no attempt to secede. It was a successful conquering by a powerful, popular, traitorous commander. What would happen if Safford sent troops to the outlands? Would Shyronn have enough support to hold them off? Would people die? Would my family be safe?

  “Thank you for returning my son to me,” the Duke said, and his voice caught. I wanted to run as far away as I could go. His sorrow confused and flustered me.

  My mind whirling, I turned to leave. The sounds of the gates closing behind the Duke had jogged something in my memory. Or rather, in Lana’s memory. I remembered the face of the Imposter, grinning up at Lana from beneath his servant’s cap. He might still be in there.

  “Wait!” I called after the Duke. He was halfway across the bridge to the manor. He turned to us. “We have to see the king,” I said.

  “Are you mad?” Mel hissed beside me. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  “We have some information for him — about the riot.” The Duke glared at me. I knew I was going to have to try harder. “I think I may know where Izayik Delaren is hiding,” I announced.

  The next thing I knew, burly gauntleted hands were grabbing
me and throwing me within the gates. An armored man who was half my size — and yet somehow strong as an ox — pinned me with a sharp elbow jab to my ribs. The Duke handed his son off to Martha and knelt before me.

  “Do not say that name on these streets,” he warned me. “What do you know?”

  I took a deep breath to replace all the air that the guard had shoved out of my lungs when he tackled me. “I think he’s here,” I said.

  “What?” Mel gasped, attempting to shove another guard off of her. “Don, what are you doing?”

  I ignored her. “I think he’s here,” I told the Duke. “Your wife was poisoned. Someone in here had access to their wine and poisoned it. He might still be here.”

  The Duke stood upright, his face pulled into an impressive scowl as he considered what I had told him. “Take them to the king,” he commanded.

  Mel and I were yanked to our feet and led inside the door of the palace, right into the home of the man who wanted me dead.

  The only comfort I felt as I walked through the large double doors of Safford’s palace was the sound of the stomp, slap stomp, slap of Zarra’s mismatched shoes behind us. She had fallen in with a couple other soldiers and come in the gate right behind us. It was good to know that she was back there, armed and ready to get Mel out of there with her enchanted boot.

  Well, okay. It wasn’t the only comfort. Knowing that Rath would appear in the blink of an eye ready to defend me at a moment’s notice armed with a crutch, enchanted armor, and all sorts of horrific face-melting potions was definitely comforting as well. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more invincible I felt.

  That overconfidence was a big, big mistake.

  The interior of the palace was as much of a disappointment as the exterior. It was all just so ordinary. I had expected grand corridors lined with millions of doors and suits of armor and giant tapestries depicting mythical battles. Instead, I found that the inside of the palace was furnished not much differently than my own home, with corridors so narrow you had to turn sideways to get past the guards stationed at the doors. And the rooms beyond those doors were also disappointing. I wanted overly large bedchambers with floor-to-ceiling windows that led to dramatic balconies. Instead, these rooms were mostly cramped offices.