by Jodi Meadows
“I wouldn’t have guards.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken. As though my words didn’t matter at all. “And it would take away from your studies with me. It’s more important than ever for you to take on your training as the heir to the Indigo Kingdom. Sending you to school, even one so close, would take away from your real duties, and that is to become a strong and capable king.”
“But my education—”
“Are your tutors unsatisfactory? Do you believe they’re neglecting something in any of your courses? I know Professor Knight tends to get off topic. Shall I have him dismissed?”
I risked a glance across the dance floor. The guests weren’t limited to lords and ladies and their families, but also included wealthy merchants and generals, a handful of other military personnel I was familiar with, and the tutors Father had hired to shove as much knowledge into me as possible. My science tutor was dancing with her husband, and my wraithland and magic tutor walked his daughter around the room. Knight was picking out his favorites from the buffet.
I liked my teachers. Truly. Mostly. They all performed their jobs admirably. None of them deserved dismissal. Father wasn’t the type of man to punish others in order to make a point to me, but still, it wasn’t worth risking. I had to stop pushing.
“No, Father.” The words came out pathetically small.
“Good. There will be no more talk on the matter.” He dug a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, then crumpled the cloth into a tight ball. “Now go greet the rest of your guests. Pay particular attention to the Corcoran family. You remember their daughter Meredith, don’t you? Well, she’s returned to Skyvale for the foreseeable future. You should spend some time with her.”
So that was it. The only thing I wanted tonight, shot down without discussion.
If my father had his way, I’d never go anywhere, do anything, or be anything other than a well-behaved prize, hidden away so I could never again be hurt.
It was no way to live.
FIVE
I WISHED THE refusal were unbelievable, but the real shock was that I hadn’t been sent home for making such a foolish request.
And in front of Father’s new favorites. He probably felt humiliated, as though his son wanting to go to school were the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
Father had gone to the Academy. His father had, too. But because of Father’s paranoia, I was going to be the first Pierce king who hadn’t had an education at Bome Boys’ Academy.
Likely there would still be some punishment I hadn’t accounted for, and it would come when I least expected.
Stoically, I performed my duties of speaking with guests and complimenting Aunt Kathleen on her home, but anger simmered in my chest. I was a good son. I’d always done what Father commanded, never asking anything for myself. Nothing that meant anything. Nothing like this.
“Your Highness.” The man’s voice was quiet, but firm.
I spun to find Lord Corcoran and his family standing near a painting of Saint Shumway teaching a group of children how to read. “My lord,” I said. “My ladies. I’m glad to see you’ve returned to Skyvale.”
They all smiled graciously.
“I hoped to reintroduce you to my daughter,” said Lord Corcoran. “On the drive here, Meredith was reminding me of the dance you two shared at your thirteenth birthday party.”
Heat rushed up my neck as I turned to Lady Meredith. “And I apologize again for stepping on your foot. I promise it won’t happen again.”
Lady Meredith blushed pink, and all at once I realized how much she’d grown since I’d last seen her. She was taller, of course, and her heart-shaped face had filled out. Even her skin tone had evened out; she and her family were so pale compared to the soft brown of everyone else, so every blemish had stood out angry and red.
But now . . .
Now I was staring.
“Lady Meredith.” Her name came out raspier than I’d intended. “It’s so good to see you again. You’re more beautiful than ever.”
She blushed again. “Thank you, Your Highness. I was happy to receive your invitation.”
We talked for a few more minutes, mostly about nothing important, but her parents seemed pleased, and when I glanced at my mother, she seemed pleased, too.
Nearby, Lady Chey ducked away from her family and made her way toward us. The Corcorans greeted her as though she were a long-lost daughter; Chey and Meredith had been close the last time the Corcorans were in Skyvale, if I recalled.
“My ladies, I can see when I risk intruding on a happy reunion.” I gave a quick bow. “I should see to the other guests.” I excused myself and moved away.
Father caught my eye and smiled.
Because I’d done what he wanted.
The anger crashed back as I continued my rounds through the party. But after another half an hour of hot betrayal running through me, I couldn’t take it any longer. I scanned the ballroom for my guards. Tall stood by the door, speaking with a pair of my father’s men. Mad was pursuing a servant with a tray of wineglasses. The other two were at the buffet filling plates enough for all of them.
Glad they were enjoying themselves.
I had to move while they were distracted. But as much as I wanted to march out of the ballroom to get some air by myself, that would definitely attract attention. Instead, I continued greeting people, and even fetched a glass of champagne for Lady Hensley, all the while edging toward the door. It was slow, and definitely the most frustrating exit I’d ever made, but unless I wanted to alert the entire ballroom to my escape, I had no choice.
Finally, I was only a few feet from one of the exits, but the guards from the buffet were on their way back, their hands piled up with plates of food. Their eyes glanced off me, then shifted back again with narrowed suspicion. I frowned—because I always frowned at my guards—and turned my attention back to Captain Chuter, who was in the middle of a rant.
“We’ve offered to send troops to Liadia, but that foolish king won’t accept. He says he doesn’t need our aid, Wraith Alliance or no. He’s got the entire kingdom convinced his barriers will work.”
“Perhaps it will.” I looked beyond the captain to the dance floor, catching James’s eye. He was dancing with Lady Chey, the two of them beginning a promenade like all the other couples, though James never danced like all the others. Most people moved reservedly, polite and proper; James flirted mercilessly, even with Chey.
He and Chey finished circling each other and James faced me once more. He lifted an eyebrow, questioning.
While Captain Chuter protested my optimism, I gave James the smallest of nods and glanced toward the exit—and the guards.
My cousin pulled away from Chey and bowed, even though the dance wasn’t nearly finished. He was too far to hear, but I could read his lips when he said, “Excuse me,” to Chey, and then repeated himself with more volume. “Excuse me!” He held up a hand as he took a measured step away from his partner, commanding everyone’s attention, including Captain Chuter’s—and my guards’. “I’d like to make a toast to my uncle.”
Servants hurried to deliver wine all around.
People glanced at my father, but as James continued, all eyes went back to him. “We all know King Terrell: ruler, husband, and father. There’s no question . . .”
As he spoke, I slipped toward the exit. No one noticed. And five seconds later, I was out the door, into the hall—and alone.
I wanted to pause and just breathe in the solitude—a whole wall between me and everyone else—but it wouldn’t be long until I was missed. I hurried through the hall, down corridors I’d learned as a child. Servants bearing trays or carts nodded at me, a few of the more familiar ones shooting secret smiles; they knew I was practically committing treason by being out on my own.
For several minutes, I simply walked, not paying attention to where I was going. But soon, I found myself in a long gallery, open windows along one wall, hollowed-out display cases a
nd smoke-stained paintings along the other. The door swung shut behind me. On the far side of the room, almost a hundred paces, another door stood slightly ajar.
This was it. This was the room where Lord Roth had died.
Aunt Kathleen had done an admirable job of hiding that.
Moonlight slanted through the windows, the long white curtains thrown wide open, fluttering faintly in the breeze. The scent of honeysuckle and a hundred burned-out beeswax candles filled the room. But I could still smell the reek of smoke lingering in the walls, though the burned paper had been removed and replaced. The rugs, too, had been pulled up, leaving bare hardwood. Given the strangeness of the fire, I didn’t see how anyone could think it had been an accident.
But it had certainly done its work in this room.
I paused under a portrait of one of the Rayner ancestors, recalling the hours my cousin and I had spent here as children.
Lord Roth had been a collector of pre-wraith artifacts; he’d shown us trinkets that flashers—radiants, then—had produced with little more than a thought. A pair of necklaces that glowed when they were close together, a pocket watch that never required winding, and devices that allowed people to communicate instantaneously over vast distances. The wonders seemed endless.
On good days, Lord Roth had allowed James and me to each pick out an item from the cases, and we’d get to hold them while he explained their histories, uses, and what kind of flashers had made them. That had been rare, though, as many of the objects were too delicate for children to handle.
Nevertheless, the first time I’d picked up a handheld loom that could weave bolts of cloth within a few hours, a sense of awe spread through me as I imagined how useful something like this would be for people in Skyvale, especially the ones in the Flags where there were a lot of deaths in the winter.
I could almost hear the question my younger self had asked: “Everyone says flashers are bad. They’re making the wraith come. How could they make such good things? And why would you keep them here?”
I remembered the tightening in my chest, the aching weight of that question. Whatever I’d expected, though, the answer hadn’t reassured me at all.
“Sometimes bad people can make good things. Or things that seem good at the time. But every single one of these artifacts contributed to the wraith problem. That’s why I keep them: to remind myself—and others—what the world was like then, and what it’s like now. The conveniences our ancestors enjoyed are killing us now. Was never winding a pocket watch worth it?” He’d shaken his head and taken the loom from my hands, almost reverent in the careful way he handled it. When it was tucked safely in its place, he locked the case with a heavy iron key he wore around his neck. “No, I don’t think so. Now my generation, and yours soon, is burdened with the task of putting a stop to the wraith. It isn’t fair that they lived in such luxurious comfort while we struggle to live at all.”
At the time, it hadn’t seemed to me like we struggled, but it wasn’t long after that discussion that tutors began teaching me about the wraithland, the fallen kingdoms, and the relentless approach of our annihilation. And then there was the argument I’d overheard about whether to hire Professor Knight, given his past with shine. When I’d later asked what that was, not only had I gotten in trouble for eavesdropping, but a lecture on why shine would send me to my untimely death, should I ever think about trying it.
In spite of all that, I’d loved coming here to see the treasure of magic and history, and listen to Lord Roth’s lectures about each piece that had earned a place in one of the dozen old display cases. Even those cases were pre-wraith, the glass doors enchanted to preserve the contents against sunlight and dust and mold.
They hadn’t protected against fire.
Many of the artifacts had survived, and were now sold or packed away. Other than James and me, not many people cared about pre-wraith objects, and it wasn’t an interest that made one very popular. Lord Roth had only managed because of his charisma and outspoken rants about the wraith, though I’d always suspected there was a deeper fascination there. The way he spoke about his collection mirrored the way I was curious about it.
Curious, and ashamed of it.
A voice beyond the far door shook me from the memories.
I held still, listening.
“Please!” That was Professor Knight. He sounded upset. No, afraid.
He needed help. I was halfway back to the door through which I’d entered—to fetch guards—when Knight’s voice rose with panic.
“Please, I’ll take care of it.” A second later, the professor screamed.
Another voice responded, too low for me to understand or identify.
Never mind finding a guard; Knight couldn’t wait. I ran through the gallery, my boots clapping the hardwood floor in loud thunks. Knight’s attacker would hear me coming; hopefully that would be enough to make him back off.
The screams grew louder and then abruptly stopped, just as I threw open the door and rushed into a small anteroom.
A broad, tall figure strode through the back door, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he left Professor Knight slumped in a corner. Knight’s head drooped forward, and he wasn’t moving. Dead?
A stinking, ozone odor poured through the room.
I knelt at Knight’s side and reached for his wrist to check for a pulse, but the black-edged hole in his sleeve made me pause. Carefully, I peeled back the layers of charred wool and silk to find a huge, blistering burn across his forearm. It was enormous, bigger than my palm—but definitely shaped like a hand, with four fingers and a thumb wrapping around.
The man who’d walked out of here—he’d used magic to hurt the professor.
Knight groaned, unconscious, but alive.
What did one do in these situations? Stay with the injured man? Run for help?
My gaze lifted to the open door; only darkness waited outside.
Surely someone would be along soon and find the professor. Someone looking for me, perhaps. And I could give them the identity of the attacker. Father would know I was useful—I could help protect someone, not just be protected.
I rose and sprinted out the door.
SIX
GUILT FOLLOWED ME into the hot, sticky night.
Professor Knight would be rescued soon. He didn’t need me sitting over him, worrying. Anyway, he was one of the few people who urged me to take charge, to do something brave, to stand up for what was right. He’d want me to do this.
I scanned the grounds outside Rayner Manor, finding only glaring streetlights, motionless trees, and more homes silhouetted against the sky. Laughter spilled from a terrace on the far side of the house, while the buzzing of crickets tried to smother the sound. Another party was happening somewhere in the east, too far for me to see more than a glow of light and hear the low rumble of life in the distance.
Where was he? Surely the attacker hadn’t had that long to get away. I hadn’t heard footfalls, so unless he was unusually light on his feet, he hadn’t run.
And it was so, so dark. How was I supposed to see anything in this heavy night?
Movement caught my attention. A figure crossed in front of a mirror, blinking out the reflection of a gas lamp. Then the light came back.
Only for a moment.
Slowly, the reflected light winked out again, and I scanned the darkness for the source of the blockage. A figure stood by a small, trickling fountain.
I sucked in a breath and sidestepped, pressing myself to the wall of the house. My heart thudded as the man scanned the area.
I was a moron, standing in the open doorway like that, silhouetted by the light. He could have spotted me the same way I’d spotted him.
My pulse pounded in my ears, waiting for him to return to the house or move on.
Seconds dripped by. Five. Ten. Thirty. At last, Knight’s attacker stepped away. The gas lamp reflected in the mirror again. He hadn’t noticed the change. I could use that to my advantage, if I could just keep
up with him.
As the attacker took off, I glanced through the door. Only Knight’s legs were visible, but he hadn’t moved. Still unconscious. I had to hurry.
I started in the direction I’d seen the attacker heading, the dark suddenly oppressive and overwhelming again; I’d killed my night vision by looking into the room.
The dark folded around me, but I didn’t stop moving. I would discover the attacker’s identity and have him arrested.
My boots clomped on the cobblestone path. Too loud. I moved onto the grass, squinting through the darkness ahead. But I couldn’t see the attacker anywhere.
Well, that would teach me to take my eyes off my target.
I kept moving in the direction the attacker had gone, closing one eye as I passed near a lamp. There were mirrors on every west-facing surface, which made them difficult to avoid. No wonder the attacker had shown up in them. I kept catching my own reflection in the corner of my eye, too.
It was so dark, in spite of Hawksbill being a fairly well-lit area. It was just, I’d never been out at night before. Not on my own. The sound of my breathing was suddenly too loud and too fast. Every step away from the house brought a chorus of questions: What was I doing out here? What did I think I could accomplish? Surely I could just find a guard or the police and point them in the direction I’d seen the attacker move.
But what if they didn’t catch him?
Not that I was having better luck.
He’d been heading toward the street, so I hurried that way, too. He could have doubled back. Or slipped off somewhere else to wait for me to pass, if he’d seen me in the doorway. Or a dozen other things I wasn’t clever enough to guess. But I kept going, because it was the only thing I could do.
Well, I could go back, but if I returned without the identity of Knight’s attacker, I wouldn’t even have that as an excuse. I’d just be in trouble. The number of guards on me at all hours might double.
