by Alex Shobe
“We’ve received word from sister villages.” His voice bellows in the hall. He glances down at me before turning his eyes to the group. “They’re eager to join us on our mission.”
I close my eyes for a moment and exhale a breath. Colton nudges my arm with a grin that can’t be contained. Others in the room voice their satisfaction.
“However,” he continues, and they fall silent, “our neighbors in the north, in Apsyn and Oerdin, have written to inform us that guards have begun recollecting men and boys in those villages for the arena.”
The crowd’s murmurs grow louder. At the other end of the table, my eyes find Aiden as he reaches up and rubs the back of his neck.
“So, they’re coming for us again?” someone asks.
“I ain’t going back!”
Angered voices fill the air. Kaleo raises his hands to calm the group. “My brothers, please.” The men quiet down to let him finish. “Yes, there’s a good chance that guards will be coming for us. In light of that,” he looks at me, “I’m proposing we seek shelter elsewhere.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Mount Grae.”
He says the words, but I don’t truly comprehend them. “You want to hide on the mountain?”
He smiles, bringing a gentleness to his roughened face. “No, Your Majesty, not on the mountain—in it.”
I’ve never heard of the inside of Mount Grae being accessible, so his answer only confuses me further. Regardless, I nod my head and hope that my ignorance goes unnoticed. “Will the others meet us there?”
The room is quiet as the group awaits his answer. The glow of the torches highlights the shadows under many of the men’s eyes.
“Yes. We’ll leave at first light. Guards usually don’t patrol during the night, and even on horseback, it’d take them half a day to get here if they left at dawn as well.”
My shoulders feel lighter at this news. We’re hours away from putting our plan into action. “So, first light then.”
“First light,” he echoes.
Colton
The wind turns cooler as the night goes on. The village has gentled. Most people are at home getting much needed rest before our journey in a few hours. Aiden and I are awake keeping watch. Since Crary, we haven’t seen any sign of guards or other assassins, but Kaleo insists that we remain vigilant. I agree. The shift in the country’s dynamics is too extreme to leave our village further exposed. Luckily, our hour-long shift is almost over.
We sit on empty wooden barrels near the entrance of Maburh. Aiden’s legs swing absentmindedly over the edge as he looks up into the stars. They stare back at him, blinking sporadically, as they study each other.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He takes a moment then responds. “Huh?”
I grin. “I said, what’s wrong? You’re looking awfully hard at the sky.”
He rubs his hands over his face. Puffy bags have formed under his eyes. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Well, don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself.”
With a smile, he picks up a stray chunk of wood from the barrel and tosses it at me. It bounces off my leg and tumbles to the ground.
“I was remembering something someone had told me long ago.” Aiden turns his gaze back to the stars.
I look up as well. “Could you be any more cryptic?”
Aiden shuffles and I look over as he digs something out of his pocket. A small parchment message. He lobs it to me.
My eyebrow raises. “What’s this?” I unroll the message.
To Mister Aiden Hastings,
I hope this message finds you well. I’m writing to inform you of Mister Bandyn Chagell’s passing. He succumbed to his terminal illness nearly a week ago. As his most loyal friend, I also want to inform you of his wish to pass the shop down to you. I know the moment is bittersweet, but when you’re ready, please come see me.
Mister Garret Lenore
I hold the parchment back out to him. “Who’s Bandyn Chagell?”
“He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”
There’s pain in his eyes that lets me know this man meant a great deal to him. “I’m sorry.”
He nods once and slips the message back into his pocket. He finds another chunk of wood and begins toying with it between his fingers. He’s shutting down again. Most of what I’ve learn about Aiden has come from observing what he isn’t saying. There’s silence between us, and for once, I’m content to let him have a moment.
“Soon after we arrived here,” Aiden says, pursuing the conversation on his own, “I sent him a falcon to let him know that I was alive. I guess Garret has been tending to the manor.” Aiden slides off the barrel.
I slide off mine as well. “What terminal illness was he talking about?”
“His lungs. There was something wrong with them.” Aiden looks skyward as though he’s recalling past moments. “He was always out of breath, coughing up blood.” He looks me in my eyes. “It was bad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And I am. Whoever that man was, Aiden no longer has him in his life. From what he said about his father, it doesn’t sound like he has anyone left. “So, what was the thing you were remembering from long ago? Clearly, it was something that Mister Chagell had said.”
Aiden’s eyes lift, revealing a lightness he’s trying to suppress. “I had never put much stock into the old man’s philosophical ramblings until now. He once told me to ‘love the light, for it shows me the way, and to endure the darkness, for it shows me the stars.’”
“Smart man.”
Aiden sighs. “He was.”
“And now he’s left you his shop? What—a bakery shop or something?”
Aiden laughs. It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve seen him relaxed enough to do such a gesture. “No, not a bakery.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Bladesmith.”
“Really?” I think back to the time earlier when we both dealt with the two guards. I didn’t get a good look at Aiden’s fighting form, but he did hold his own.
“Yeah,” he says, catching on to my face of disbelief. “Though, I enjoy designing blades more than I like fighting with them.”
I snap my fingers. “I knew it.”
He jerks his head back and grins. “Knew what?”
“I had a feeling you were a craftsman or something. You’re way too smart to be anything but.” I lightly nudge his arm. “You’ve been holding out on us, sir.”
He grins and it’s a nice sight to see him opening up more to me. I look over his shoulder as two men approach, their feet shuffling over the ground. Their eyes are sharp and ready for their shift.
“It’s time,” one of the men says.
Inside, the house is quiet. Aiden finds a spot on the floor of the sitting room to lie down. Soft snores fill the room soon after he tucks his head against his arms. He makes sleeping look so effortless.
My footsteps become rhythmic as I pace in the kitchen. I should be resting, too, but my anxiety keeps me up most nights. I thought being back in my home would calm my tangled nerves. Instead, it just puts me further on edge.
I walk through the house and pass my parents’ room. I hover in their doorway and watch for a moment as they hold each other close in their peaceful slumber. This is the same way they’ve slept for as long as I can remember. Regardless of if they got into a spat just after dinner, none of that mattered when bedtime came. Maybe that’s the key to having a fulfilling life—to understand that life is too precious to neglect the bonds you form with others. I leave them to their dreams and go farther down the hall toward my bedroom.
In my bed, a wool blanket covers Leona. It folds into the curves of her body, peaking at her hips. Her black hair falls in waves over the small pillow. My steps are slow as I enter, taking care to not disturb her with creaky floorboards.
I pull out a chair from the small wooden table at the foot of the bed. Once I sit, the achiness of my feet rushes forward, my toes numbing in my
boots. I prop my feet on the three-legged stool close to me. One foot lands with a dull thud. She stirs and shifts position, causing the blanket to reveal more of her skin. The top of her shoulders flows into a creamy complexion of tan. It runs the length of her arm until it disappears under the wool.
I’ve underestimated her. She’s not the hare-brained royal I thought she was. She’s the exception to the unwritten rule of monarchy. There’s good in her that will heal this kingdom.
A single candle burns on the windowsill. It flickers with a mind of its own, mimicking the stars outside. Love the light, for it shows you the way. Endure the darkness, for it shows you the stars. I need a little light in my life to balance against the darkness within. I stare at the flame, the bright yellow at the tip and blue rim at the base. It dances against the drafts of the walls. I yawn and my eyelids become heavy until they’re too hefty to stay open.
A constant drip of water lands on my forehead and forces me to open my eyes. I’m lying on the ground in the dark, cramped cell under the arena. Something’s different. I’m alone and the cell gate is open. I pull myself to my feet, my knees wobbling. I reach out to the wall to steady myself. When I draw my hand back, it’s wet—slick with blood that is still slightly warm. I wipe the blood onto my pants and make my way toward the gate. My hands grip the cell bars as I look up and down the corridor for the others.
“Aiden?” I call out. My voice echoes. I wait a moment for it to stop resonating.
No answer.
I put one foot out the cell, then the other. I could turn right and leave the dungeons or go left toward the arena. I glance both ways. A gust of wind tunnels through the corridor in the direction of the arena. My hair whips as my balance stumbles. The fighting grounds call me. They’re a whisper in my ears, a hiss in my mind. Their words flutter like bats until they morph into a solid figure, its slotted eyes bright and focused. The rattle on its tail shakes and grows in volume as its body coils in the space between my ears.
The wind blows once more. Come find me. I obey and walk toward the voice. One step after the other, I rise from the underground dungeon into the bright sun of the day. I lift my hands to shield my eyes, but they’re heavy, already occupied with holding two swords. My gaze runs along the blades, admiring the beauty in their sharpened edges. I see my reflection in them—a darker version of myself, the version that no one will understand.
I bring my attention back toward the arena. The stands are empty. No crowds to appease today. Good. One day, I’ll make it up there to slit all their throats. Let them cheer while blood spills from their necks, ruining the pristine quality of their high-fashion. Let them heckle with their tongues missing from their mouths.
The wind becomes more aggressive. It swirls down into the arena and picks up sand, causing a sandstorm. I squint to keep my vision safe. I plant my feet on the ground and try to avoid being taken up by the current. Finally, the sand settles and my visibility is no longer hindered.
Someone else stands on the grounds with me. He approaches, a single sword in hand. I don’t recognize him. Shaggy brown hair covers his head, a shaggy beard to match. When he comes closer, I take note of his eyes. Green eyes with a patch of red on one of the irises. Like me. Except, he can’t be me. I shake my head, hoping to rid my mind of the illusion. The tail’s rattle grows fiercer.
He takes advantage of my distraction and charges at full speed. His sword lifts above his head then comes crashing down toward me. I cross my own blades to catch his, and for a moment, we’re both suspended in time in a gridlock. His free hand whirls around and strikes my jaw. I stumble backward, releasing my hold on his sword. He flexes his wrist and the sword rotates in a circle, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.
I drop back and watch him to learn his moves. He looks so much like me, but so different in the same breath. He even moves like me—quick and calculated.
He charges again with the same move as before. This time, I’m ready for him. I dodge to the side so that he misses, and as he does, my sword draws across his side. His shirt quickly stains red. He doesn’t hesitate at the wound, though. He recovers and lunges at me again.
His sword thrusts at me in swift succession. I dodge each attack, my own swords clanging against his in the empty arena. The sound replicates against the stone pillars surrounding us. The tip of my blade slices the skin at his chest. He doesn’t slow down. So, I speed up.
My arms move with fluidity as my swords cross over my body and drive him back. He growls. I knock his sword out of his hand, and it lands far enough away that he can’t get to it without leaving himself even more defenseless. I toss both of my weapons aside as well. He smirks.
We clash. Our bodies wrestle on the ground, agitating the sand below so it kicks up and rains down on us. I shake my head to remove the debris from my eyelashes. He pins me, and it takes all my strength to force him off. With one roll, I press him to the ground and wrap my hands around his throat. He thrashes and gnarls, but it comes out as more of a whimper as I block his airway. I gaze down into his eyes, the ones that look so much like mine.
“You’re not me,” I whisper.
His thrashing slows and he stops fighting back. Instead, his hands grab helplessly at my wrists.
“Colt! Wake up!” Aiden’s voice sounds so distant.
A hard shove to my side flings me from the bed to the floor. I press my hands against my eyes and rub the drowsiness away. When my vision adjusts, Aiden and my parents stand before me, along with Leona, who’s sitting up in the bed looking… terrified. She clutches her throat and breathes heavily.
Color drains from my face. Our eyes lock for a split moment before she turns away from me. My legs are numb—along with my heart—but I try to stand and move near her. I need her to know it was an accident.
“Come on,” Aiden says, grabbing my arms and pulling me away from her and toward the door. I try to resist but all my energy is spent. I grab at the door frame to pause and look back at her.
She keeps her gaze averted from me as Ma sits nearby and inspects the thick roped bruises around her neck. She winces at each touch.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I say, but she doesn’t look up at my words.
So, I let Aiden remove me from the room, away from the destruction I’ve caused.
Leona
The morning sun peeks over the mountains, an orange glow that makes the ridges look like they’re on fire. The sky is a mix of purples and blues as the night attempts to hang on just awhile longer.
Geneva follows me out the front door and stands with me on the porch. She ruffles her apron’s hem in her hands as she watches her son. His back is turned toward us while he helps the others load tools and weapons onto a wooden cart. Though her eyes are downturned, the blue irises they withhold have the same vibrancy as the shifting skies.
“He does have a kind soul,” she says, nodding.
My shoulders tense. I lower my eyes to the planks under my feet. My throat is still sore. I haven’t yet tested my voice, but I manage a sound that resembles skepticism.
A faint chuckle fills the space beside me. I wish I could agree with her, and before last night, perhaps I would’ve. I keep my vision focused on the tiger lilies in the ceramic pot on the porch. Hairline fractures cover the surface, the apparent result of it being mended multiple times.
“When Colton was younger,” she starts, “he shied away from other children his age.” I raise my head to look at her. Soft wrinkles settle into the corner of her eyes as her thin lips stretch into a smile. “No matter how often I sent him down to the shore to make friends, he never quite felt he belonged here.”
From the past couple of days that I’ve known Colton, timid wouldn’t be a trait I’d use to describe him. He’s been abrasive, disrespectful, and—yes—kind, at times. The different layers of his personality are rooted in elements beyond my understanding. I open my mouth to ask what she meant by not belonging here, but she continues.
“It wasn’t until he sa
w a boy struggling to fish, that he finally came out of his shell. Fishing was something Colton excelled at, and it gave him a sense of purpose to teach Henrik everything he knew. They would spend hours at the water.” She laughs a sound that fits her petite stature perfectly. Colton looks over his shoulder at his mother’s laughter and flinches when he sees me standing with her. We lock eyes for a moment before he darts his attention away. “He wouldn’t give up until Henrik caught at least one fish—even if that meant they were out there until dusk.”
She turns to me and rests her hand against my cheek. A sad smile pulls at her lips.
“Give him time, Your Majesty.” Her eyes drift to Colton once more. She drops her palm from my cheek and reaches for my hands. She squeezes them lightly then leans in as though she’s about to disclose a well-kept secret. “The past year has changed him. I can tell by the way he now carries himself. His mind is fractured, and his heart is damaged, but both will heal with time.” Her hands pull me into an embrace, a gesture that must come naturally for mothers. My eyes close, and for a moment, it is Mother who is hugging me. “Take care of each other, yes?”
I nod against her. I’m sure she means well, but I’m not yet ready to dismiss what Colton did. I can still feel his hands around my throat, his fingers gripping tighter and tighter with ease. My eyes burn at the thought and I quickly blink back the tears so she doesn’t see.
“Thank you for your hospitality.” I break away from her and offer a weak smile. “I hope for us to meet again under better circumstances.”
Geneva’s face lights up with contentment. She makes living seem effortless—everyone here does. Their lives are filled with only a fraction of the stress I’ve grown used to. Here, each morning breathes life into new possibilities.
I walk toward the village square alone. Clusters of families gather as wives and children say goodbye to their husbands and fathers. Parents bid their sons safe travels with pride beaming across their faces.
