by S. M. Boyce
In her childhood years, Fairhaven had been a loud place full of shops and the clinking tinkle of denni changing hands. There had been laughter, and as a little girl she had run through the streets with her elfin friends every weekend on the way to the sweets shops.
But now her beautiful city lay in ruins. Boards covered most windows, and she hadn’t seen an open store in over a week. Luak just stole what he needed, so most commerce had stopped completely. He was starving the people to weaken their resolve while he took over every inch of the city.
Not if she could help it.
Regina had played Luak’s game. She had feigned flattery at his advances, blaming her traditional upbringing for her aloofness and need to take any relationship slowly. And it had worked—until now. Luak would soon grow impatient and Regina would have to choose: Fairhaven or Luak.
She would always choose Fairhaven, even if it meant her death.
Someone knocked on her door, and she snapped her fingers to open it. No door could be locked any more—at least not in the castle—and she knew better than to try to deny entry to any of Luak’s guards. Every time someone knocked on her door, she could only pray it wasn’t Luak.
Thankfully, a stranger stood at her door—an elf dressed in the black armor of the palace mercenaries.
She stood, waiting for him to speak.
“All council members are to report to the throne room, Lady Spry,” the elf said with a gesture toward the hallway.
She nodded and obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to walk ahead of her. It took everything in her power not to panic, but this was it—the final overt show of power. No one had been in the throne room since King Bornt disappeared, since the only reason to go would be to speak with the king.
Or in this case, the new king.
Luak would declare himself ruler of Fairhaven, the final blow to the city’s freedom.
As the mercenary walked ahead of her, Regina tapped her sleeve. Lori slid out of the robe and flew off in the opposite direction, keeping close to the ceiling to avoid detection.
There would be no better moment than this to rescue Fyrn. Luak would be decently distracted, and she would congratulate him afterward to ensure he remained unaware of the rescue attempt beneath his nose for as long as possible.
A wave of nausea burned in her throat at the thought of congratulating the murderer on his ascension to the throne, but she calmly reminded herself of the game. She would play Luak for everything he was worth, and then she would replace him with someone far superior.
Victoria.
If anyone could save Fairhaven and return it to greatness, it was the Rhazdon host who had won the hearts of so many citizens. They loved her, and Victoria had just sworn to protect the city on pain of death—a promise she had made without batting an eye, Regina had noted quite happily.
Yes, Victoria was perfect. She wouldn’t want the job, of course, but that was what would make her the perfect queen.
Chapter 7
Luak waited in a wing of the throne room as noblemen filled the space. There weren’t enough to fill the room entirely, but he would bring in soldiers to fill the rest.
After all, he needed a full house for his coronation.
He grinned and ran his finger over the gold crown resting on a purple pillow on a nearby windowsill. The glittering light from the crystal overhead illuminated its brilliance, and the rubies glimmered as if full of fire.
How appropriate.
As the murmur in the hall faded, he straightened his back and walked into the throne room as though he owned it—because now, technically, he did.
The ornate golden throne sat in the middle of a raised platform, facing the hundreds of chairs that had been placed in the hall for his coronation. He loved that none of them knew what was about to happen, and he got to watch the slow march of horror across each face when the realization set in.
Luak sank into the thick red cushion on the throne’s seat and placed his hands on the armrests. Chin lifted, he let his gaze linger on every face in the hall, relishing the blended expressions of terror and acceptance.
When he reached Lady Spry, however, he couldn’t quite read her face. The expression seemed to be one of mild pride, and he nodded once to her. Her smile widened at his attention. Once this whole war business was over and Victoria’s Rhazdon Artifact was his, he would finally have the time to enjoy himself—and his new kingdom’s citizens—fully.
He could hardly wait.
One of his mercenaries carried the pillow with the crown from the wings and stopped before Luak, kneeling as he offered it. The gold shone even more brightly in the light radiating through the domed glass ceiling above, and Luak couldn’t help himself.
As he placed the crown on his head, he sneered.
“There is a new law in Fairhaven,” he said, voice booming in the magnificent throne room. “Mine.”
“Bow before your king!” the mercenary ordered.
To Luak’s delight, the surviving senators and noblemen slowly obeyed. One by one, they bowed before him.
Luak could taste victory. Once the girl was dead, nothing would stand in his way.
***
Victoria pressed her back against the wall, craning her neck to share a peephole with Diesel as they surveyed the dungeons.
The little pixie Lori had arrived mere moments ago while she, Audrey, and Diesel had paced the tunnel that would take them to the dungeons. Victoria flexed her fingers, itching for a fight. They had no time to spare.
“I’ve got the three on the left,” Diesel said with a nod to the ogres along that wall.
“Then I’ll take those,” Victoria said with a nod to the four elves and two ogres along the opposite wall.
“Showoff,” Diesel said with a grin.
She smirked.
“What about me?” Audrey asked, one foot propped against the wall as she leaned against it.
“Take out anyone who surprises us,” Victoria suggested.
“Think there will be a lot of surprises?”
Diesel shrugged. “According to Lady Spry’s intel Fyrn is in the high-risk cells, and those are difficult to break into. I’ll be able to take down the charms, but it will take time before we can open the cell. You’ll need to stave off any attacks and, by some miracle, get us back in here.”
“There’s no closer secret passage?” Victoria asked.
“Afraid not, my love,” Diesel said.
Victoria rolled her eyes. “Will you give it up?”
“Guys, come on,” Audrey said with a gesture toward the peephole.
Victoria sighed. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Audrey said with a shrug.
Victoria laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
With a snap of Diesel’s fingers, the secret door slid open. As stone grated against stone, Victoria leapt into the dungeon and summoned her sword. A hail of white and blue spells flew around her, and in seconds the dungeon had become a war zone.
Bodies fell. Men groaned in pain. Swords clashed. Victoria ducked every blow that came her way, and each sword was a second too late when the mercenaries tried to gut her. One ogre charged her, and for fun she merely held her ground. He hit her as though she were a brick wall and crumpled at her feet, no match for the strength in her bear figurine.
Her allotted six guards taken care of, Victoria charged in the direction Diesel had suspected Fyrn’s cell lay while Audrey and Diesel handled the remaining soldiers. A few more funneled in from the hallway to see what the commotion was about, but none of them made it back out.
In the rearmost cells there was no light except for the thin beams of daylight that filtered through the narrow window at the top of each cell. It was hardly enough to see by, so Victoria found herself squinting into the shadows of every cell in the hunt for her mentor. The longer she walked, the less she heard the commotion from the front of the dungeons. Back here, there was little noise besides a steady drip of water somewhere in the depths and the occasional coug
h of a prisoner.
“Fyrn!” she hissed, panic again rising in her chest.
She passed several more cells, and only a few strangers approached the bars. No one spoke, and they watched her with wary eyes. It seemed as though they wondered if this was a trick, something Luak had planned to test their loyalties. Covered in dirt, they kept mostly to the shadows, and she couldn’t make out any faces.
“Fyrn! Damn it, where are you?” she asked the darkness.
“Victoria?” an old man’s voice replied.
“Fyrn!” She hurried toward the voice and found a heap of clothes lying on the stone floor, chest just barely moving with a steady rhythm. It took her a moment to realize it was a body covered in rags, too weak to move.
“Fyrn!”
“Victoria, you must…you must run, child. Run!” he said weakly.
Fuck. That.
Victoria grabbed the bars with her hands. Jolts of electricity burned through her, but she gritted through the pain and allowed her first Rhazdon Artifact to heal her even as the magic cooked her skin. It was painful, but she wouldn’t die.
Using all the strength she could muster from the bear figurine, she pulled on the metal door. The hinges groaned, the lock splintered, the bars began to bend, and the entire door slowly yielded to her newfound strength.
With a final heave, she wrenched the door from its hinges.
As it clattered to the floor, Victoria ran into the room and lifted Fyrn’s shoulders. The old wizard didn’t protest, and as she examined his face in the low light he seemed three hundred years older. He had more wrinkles, and he couldn’t even lift his head.
“What did Luak do to you?” she whispered, horrified.
“Run. Run,” he muttered, eyes drifting closed.
Okay, they would talk later then.
Victoria lifted him, and with her enhanced strength it was as though he weighed nothing. She held him closely and ran through the hall, back to the secret passageway and the chaos waiting for her there.
As she rounded the final corner, all hell broke loose.
“Victoria, go!” Diesel shouted. He had taken cover by the stairs and was hiding behind a wall as a volley of spells were shot at him. During every break in the attack he lobbed a massive ball of white energy at them, and screams followed.
Audrey jumped into the passageway as Victoria neared, gesturing wildly for her to follow. “Come on! Come on, Victoria, move!”
Victoria leapt in just as an explosion knocked Diesel onto his back. He slid along the ground and hit his head against the wall, cursing to himself as he nursed the ache.
“Diesel, come on!” she shouted.
“Go! Take Eldrin and go!”
She frowned. “Who the fuck is Eldrin?”
“That guy,” Audrey said, nodding to an unconscious elf slumped farther down the tunnel.
Another explosion rocked the dungeon, and Diesel caught Victoria’s eye. With a snap of his fingers, the door shut in her face, sealing her in the secret tunnel.
“No!” she screamed, jamming her shoulder against the sealed passage.
The wall shook, but Audrey stepped between her and the door before she could ram it again. “Victoria, he can get out, okay? We discussed this when things went south. You and I need to get out of here, and I can’t carry this Eldrin dude, all right? I need you. Focus! Diesel will get out!”
Victoria gritted her teeth. As shouts carried through the door, she adjusted her grip on Fyrn so she could throw Eldrin over her shoulder. They ran down the hall to the tunnels, Victoria swearing that she would rip the castle apart if they imprisoned Diesel, too.
***
Victoria sat in one of the kitchen chairs, biting her lip and bouncing her knee as she stared at the basement door, waiting for Diesel to burst through.
“We have to go back,” she said.
Audrey leaned against the wall, her body as tense as Victoria felt. After a moment of silence, the Atlantean girl nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll go get my—”
The door was flung open and Diesel fell on the floor, chest heaving and blood dripping from his nose. He looked as though he had run a marathon, and clutched his side as Victoria rushed to him. “Diesel!”
He grinned through the pain and winked at her. “Were you worried about me, my love? I knew you cared.”
She ignored him and lifted his shirt to see the wound beneath his hand.
He laughed. “So frisky, my darling? Can’t wait to welcome me home?”
“Oh, for the love of God, shut up and let us heal you,” Victoria snapped, slapping away his hand so she could see the wound.
He shook his head. “I can heal myself. I merely need a moment.”
“Don’t be stubborn. We’ll—”
“Victoria,” he said gently.
She hesitated, catching his gaze. He watched her calmly, and it settled her nerves. He smiled. “I will heal myself, thank you.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded. “I think Fyrn needs you too. Bertha’s doing her best, but your magic would be helpful.”
Diesel nodded and stood, leaning on Victoria as she guided him toward Fyrn’s makeshift hospital bed in the back bedroom. She suspected Diesel didn’t need to lean on her, but she couldn’t deny how grateful she was that the asshole was okay.
When they entered Fyrn’s room, Bertha sighed with relief and stepped back. “Diesel, help him.”
Fyrn laid in the bed with the covers up to his chest, the filthy rags replaced with a clean shirt. The lines in his face cast deep shadows, and his chest rose gently as he slumbered.
Diesel limped toward the old wizard and set one hand on the man’s chest. The crystal in the tip of his staff glowed, and a gentle hum filled the room.
Fyrn gasped violently, and his eyes shot open. He tried to sit up, but groaned in pain and fell back against the pillow.
“Hush, hush. Be still,” Bertha chided.
“Fyrn!” Victoria said, a relieved smile breaking across her face.
Fyrn’s shoulders rose and fell with his exaggerated breaths, and it hurt Victoria to watch him struggle.
“What did Luak do to you?” she asked.
“He’s a monster,” Fyrn said softly. “He’s far more powerful than I realized.”
“Awesome,” Audrey said from the doorway, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.
Victoria’s jaw tensed, but they had to find out what Fyrn knew. “What do you mean? Has he acquired more soldiers?”
Fyrn shook his head, unable to keep his eyes open as he spoke. “He has four Rhazdon Artifacts, Victoria. Four. He’s a master of fire, water, torture, and metal. Your two are not enough to destroy him.”
Bertha gasped, and Victoria’s hands balled into fists. After everything she had endured, after all the sacrifice…
She wasn’t enough.
Victoria gritted her teeth. “What do I have to do?”
“There isn’t time,” Fyrn said with a weak gesture toward the wall, though he had no doubt meant to gesture toward the castle. “We must attack. We must… We must…”
Fyrn’s breathing settled into a slow and steady pace and Victoria watched her mentor as he slept, utterly destroyed by whatever Luak had done. It seemed as though Fyrn wasn’t long for this world, but Victoria would do everything in her power to save him.
Chapter 8
Victoria couldn’t take it anymore. She had to check on Fyrn.
The door to his room had been closed for hours, and only Bertha or Diesel had been allowed in to check on him. Victoria had tried to train, to cook, to do anything besides worry—and while her bear figurine’s magic helped keep the nerves from overwhelming her entirely, a low level of anxiety still hummed like a fly in her ear.
The door creaked as she entered, and she pulled the chair in the corner over to his bedside. At first he continued to snooze, arms resting peacefully on his stomach as his chest rose and fell, but after a while his eyes fluttered open.
“Victoria?”
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“Hey,” she said softly. She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a nervous twitch.
“You look terrible,” he wheezed with a laugh.
She chuckled. “Can’t really sleep when I have you to worry about, can I?”
He weakly waved away her concern, though he was not strong enough to lift his hand more than a few inches. “I’m fine.”
“Hardly. You look like you had the life sucked out of you.”
Fyrn sighed and tilted his head slightly. “Something like that.”
“What did he do to you?”
“What’s missing, Victoria? What do I not have on me now that I’ve had with me every time we’ve ever spoken?”
She scanned his face, confused by the question. “You don’t have anything on you. Your hat, your robe, your staff—”
“Exactly,” he said.
“What, your staff?”
Fyrn nodded. “Victoria, what I am about to tell you is an absolute secret. You can tell no one, not even Diesel. Not even Audrey. Do you understand?”
“But—”
“Please, Victoria,” he said with a cough. His eyes fluttered closed. “Please.”
She sighed, shoulders hunched in defeat. “Fine, Fyrn. It’s our secret.”
“Good, good,” he said softly. “My staff was no ordinary weapon. Witches and wizards can use staffs in lieu of wands, yes, but mine was special.”
“What do you mean?”
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Fyrn’s mouth, twitching as it fought to spread across his tired features. “My staff was a powerful artifact fused with an even more powerful relic. Do you remember what those are?”
“I think so,” she said, a little hesitant. “An artifact is like a flashlight, and the relic is the battery, right?”
Fyrn nodded. “Just like your Rhazdon Artifact, child. You are the battery.”
She shuddered involuntarily, not entirely liking that fact.
“My staff,” Fyrn continued, “housed one of the most powerful relics known. Paired with the right artifact, it could decimate entire cities. It has immense power, Victoria, and it has kept me alive all these years.”
