Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  Satisfied with my calling card, I take off through the tunnels, dashing over fallen debris and dodging the crumbling rocks that fall from the ceiling. This corridor is far more dim than the last and the closer I get to the end of the hall, the darker it gets. Soon, though, the corridor begins to glow from the light of the moonlight that streams through the mist of the crashing waves beneath. I can almost see the end of the corridor when I hear shouts from the Evrallonic men. They’re following, but of course they are. Fine. Let them follow. Not one of them will dare the jump I am about to make.

  My feet gain traction on the ground yet no sound comes from my footsteps. My normally ash blond hair turns silver the moment I step into the moonlight. I see the sea beyond, catch a glimpse of the moon rising overhead. The briny smell of the ocean wafts up and the spray from the cresting waves washes up. I’m damp by the time I pull to a stop, looking over the edge of the corridor.

  White waves crash beneath but otherwise the sea is an inky black. The light of the moon is small, thanks to the sliver we’ve been given for tonight. That was probably Evrallon’s plan — strike when the moon is at its smallest and it will be more difficult for our troops to fight. Little do they know that assassins work better in the dark.

  The craggy rocks beneath are not promising but I’ve made this jump twice before on training exercises, and my men have already jumped, but the sea is especially restless tonight, as if it knows enemy troops are on its shore and in its waters. Black and white waves twist and writhe, smacking into the Cliffs of Mordrid with all their might. If sniveling Cicero and Sebastien can make it, then so can I.

  Footsteps approach. The first of the Evrallonic squad has arrived. I hear nothing but the creak of wood from a bow when the footsteps end some seventy feet behind me. I spin on my heel and catch the arrow in my hand just before it can plunge into my back. The archer at the end of the hall is a young man, eyes wide with shock that I just caught his arrow. Rolling my eyes, I throw it to the ground and say nothing before I leap off the Cliffs of Mordrid.

  Seaspray and wind catch up in my hair and clothes just before I splash into the freezing waters. The moment I touch the surface, an icy feeling snakes over my entire body. The water is so cold it feels like knives boring into my skin. But I don’t skim the water. Thanks to the height of my fall, I drop deep. I flatten out before I reach the bottom and begin swimming upward, holding my breath. My lungs already burn and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold the air in my lungs thanks to the frigid sea. Dark shadows move all around me in the water but I ignore them.

  I surface slowly, taking in a deep, cautious breath and don’t look up to see if the Evrallonic soldiers have arrived with the archer. Instead, I swim silently towards the rock-covered bank. When I reach it, I pull myself out of the water and wring the salt from my clothes. The air seems to have dropped thirty degrees now that I am soaked.

  My gaze finds the outpost that is meant to be our rendezvous point. It is approximately three miles from where I stand now, and separating me from the outpost is a small fishing community that is under siege. The community is technically apart of Lydovier’s capital city, Luster, but while most of Luster is comprised of well-off nobles and dignitaries, this fishing community consists of families, and Evrallon has laid waste to it. Screams color the night and even from here, a quarter of a mile away from the community, I can tell there is blood covering the buildings. The Cruel King sanctioned this — the murder of the masses.

  I take off towards the community, drawing my blades as I run. I can see the difference between the fishing community families and the Evrallonic soldiers at once. The soldiers are adorned in ironclad suits of armor with hints of red all on them, the color of Evrallon and its Cruel King. The families are the ones screaming, running frantically. While I may not have a duty to my fallen king, I have a duty to my people, and not one Evrallonic soldier will leave the community alive tonight.

  When I reach the community, I slip into the shadows and disappear from sight. The night is filled with intermittent panicked shouts and pained wails, followed by the occasional laughter of an Evrallonic soldier. Fury warms me and I don’t feel the bite of the wintry air anymore, but I control my rage, filter and focus it, so that when two soldiers run past me, chasing after a young boy, I am able to act swiftly.

  I step out of the shadows and grab the first soldier by the hair, which has been left exposed after he either discarded or dropped his helmet. He opens his mouth to shout but it dies on his lips when I slit his throat, dropping him to the ground as he chokes. The soldier chasing the boy stops and turns around, drawing his sword upon seeing me. It’s the last thing he does. Before he moves an inch, I’ve thrown my dagger into his forehead. A wave of shock rolls through the soldiers body and I walk past him, snatching the blade from his skull just before he falls to the ground. The boy has disappeared but he’s none of my concern now.

  I move through the community like the wraith I’ve been labeled. Anyone wearing soldier’s attire is brought to their knees and left to die in the streets. Fishing families scurry out of my way like they know who I am and take refuge in their homes as I make my way to the other side of the community.

  An Evrallonic soldier stands on the doorstep of a home, hovering over a young woman whose blouse has been torn. The young woman is sobbing, her body trembling under the pressing soldier. The Evrallonic man is leaning towards her when I approach. He barely has time to look up before I’ve brought my knee up and connected it with his nose. The satisfying crack sounds through the air and the soldier shouts in disbelief, holding his nose. He drops his hand a moment later and unsheathes his sword, swinging a deadly strong blow at me. I sidestep and place my foot between his, easily knocking him to the ground when he trips over me. His sword spills from his hands and I snatch it up, jabbing it through the man’s chest before he can even utter a plea for mercy. When I straighten, I see the woman staring at me with a mixture of shock, relief, and horror. I’ve never felt that combination before; this is all I’ve ever known. But I know what it is like to fear, not just for your own life but for everything you have.

  “Get inside.” I tell her. “Don’t come out.”

  The woman scrambles to her feet and nearly trips as she rushes into the house. I hear the latch on the door flip to lock as I’m walking away.

  The soldiers soon realize their men are being picked off and begin looking for me instead. The night grows more quiet but it’s anything but peaceful. The occasional scream is still heard and I use those screams to find the soldiers not searching for me. I kill one soldier with his own arrow, two others with their own swords, eight I kill with my bare hands, and four are brought down by the daggers Quay gave me days before he left.

  A soldier tries to grab me from behind but he is brought down swiftly, and the last two run towards me at once, assuming that they can take me if they attack together. I easily dodge the first and grab the second by the neck, throwing him into the other. They careen into each other and collapse on the ground. I kill the first and turn to do the same to the second but he’s already behind me, one hand on the back of my head and the other resting on my chin. The death hold. One twist and my neck snaps.

  “Thought you could take us all out?” breathes the soldier. He’s out of breath but what little he has reeks of stale bread. “Think again, wench. We’ll just see what the king has to say about you.”

  I roll my eyes. I have no interest in meeting this little man’s Cruel King. I easily throw my elbows up, dropping beneath the man’s grasp. I grab behind his knee and pull up, causing him to go off balance. Before he can move an inch, I’ve heel kicked him in the temple, sending him stumbling backwards. He’ll have a major headache later; that is, if he was still alive.

  I run and jump, scissoring my legs around the soldier’s neck. With one good twist, I hear a crack and the man goes limp, his lifeless body falling to the ground like a sack of flour. I land in a crouch before standing up and surveying my progress. Every s
oldier in the community is dead.

  I let out a breath and wipe my bloodstained hands off on the soldier beneath me. Contrary to the mass assumption, one never gets accustomed to the stench of blood, no matter how much one bathes in it.

  Another boom rattles the community and I hear a few muffled shrieks from inside houses. My gaze goes to the palace atop the Cliffs of Mordrid. Light flares up and one of the great towers built into the palace collapses. They’re tearing it down, brick by brick, looking for what? The king? They’ve no doubt found him laying dead in the tunnels. Or perhaps they’ve sustained him and he is their prisoner. Either way, they have nothing to search for in the palace.

  I turn from the haunting image of the stone palace that was once my home and look to an open doorway, where a thin, disproportionate male stands, looking up at the palace in horror. I quickly approach him and when he hears me coming, he snaps his attention to me and begins to panic, closing the door. I stop it with my hand.

  “Do you have a horse?” I demand.

  The man blinks and tries to gather his thoughts, his gaze traveling to the blood soaking through my gray shirt and fitted pants. Even my knee-high, laced, brown boots are spattered with red.

  “N-no,” the man sputters. “but — There’s a s-stable just d-down the road.”

  I nod and turn away, running down the road to where the man pointed. Sure enough, at the end of the village there is a lean-to that could hardly be considered a stable but there are two horses inside, one a smoky gray-brown color and the other a reddish sorrel. I grab the gray-brown Grulla horse and slide a bridle over its head, fitting a bit in its mouth. When another explosion erupts and the red horse spooks but not the Grulla, I decide I’ve chosen well.

  I swing up onto the horse’s back and it dances under me, ready to go. I pull the pony’s nose in the direction of the outpost and click to him. He takes off at a gallop immediately, his stride long and powerful. We race away from the carnage of Luster and the beautiful palace that is being reduced to ash and smolder. A part of me yearns to return to the palace and fend for the people that are still inside, but the other part of me begs me to return to Dominik, Cicero, Sebastien, and Laderic, who are waiting for me at the outpost with boats ready to travel across the waters to Adaai, where we can hole up for a while. I had thought the Cruel King would at least be merciful with the people he ruled but I now believe that no one in Lydovier will be spared. Who am I to race away from the people I was born to lead?

  Quay’s warnings return to me, telling me never to give up my own life to save another. Assassins cannot be heroes. If he knew I was having second thoughts of escape, I’d surely be reprimanded if not punished. But Dominik wouldn’t have these second thoughts — won’t have second thoughts. The moment I tell him that the Cruel King has already slaughtered so many in the fishing community, he’ll want to return, and he, himself, will be killed.

  Annoyed with my options, I just shut my conscience out. I have done all I can for the people of Lydovier. My father wasn’t a much better king than the Cruel King is; maybe they’ll thrive under this new government.

  I could laugh at myself for even considering such a thing but don’t allow myself to dwell on the matter. As I approach the outpost, I examine it from the outside. It doesn’t look like anyone has been here for a while. The Lydovier soldiers inside must have gone into Luster to defend the king. It’s completely still from the outside, a stone building that is taller than it is wide. Three of the seven torches at the top of the outpost are still lit and when I slow the Grulla to a stop, I look over the top of the outpost to be sure there isn’t an Evrallonic solider keeping watch.

  I slide off the stallion’s back and drop his reins to the ground. I have no further need of him. I slowly approach the building, stepping up to the double doors that await me. I stop just before them, considering whether I should knock or not. Deciding to just open the door, I try the handle and am half relieved, half worried that it is unlocked. Dominik wouldn’t have left it unlocked — he’s too cautious.

  The inside of the outpost is dark. No shadows move but warnings shoot off in my mind anyway. I don’t bother to unsheathe a dagger because if I need it, I can draw it before an arrow could even be fired.

  I curse the floors for being stone and not dirt. I have no way of knowing if the others already came through here. Dominik wouldn’t have left me … would he? An annoying voice in my head warns that I would check the boats to see if one is already gone, or if both of them are. Dominik may not have left me, but if Cicero and Sebastien were scared enough, they may have left and Dominik and Laderic followed them to bring them back. It’s not a very strong theory but it is better than assuming that Dominik would have decided I wasn’t worth waiting and just left me here. I wouldn’t be too surprised, though. Assassins are expendable.

  My heart pounds but it isn’t fear or unease that makes it beat faster, it’s aggravation. “Dominik,” I hiss into the darkness. “Laderic,”

  No response, just silence. The only light in the outpost is that cast by the sliver of a moon through the open door behind me. I use what little light I have to go to the deck where I open the back door, looking out onto the waters to see if the boats are still tethered to the posts. I curse the moment I see that they’re gone.

  Marvelous.

  How do I get to Adaai now?

  I could retrieve the horse from outside if it’s still there and ride it to the closest point where the small sea separating Lydovier from the rest of the continent becomes nothing more than a river but I doubt my Grulla could swim that, and a human certainly couldn’t with the rushing waters.

  I frown, turning around and walking back into the outpost. Evrallonic soldiers will be coming by soon to make sure everything is well at the outpost. I need to be out of here before then.

  “Aerietta,” Cicero whispers.

  I hear the sound of it bounce around the inside of the outpost but can’t tell where it came from. Relief relaxes my shoulders some.

  “Thanks the heavens,” I mutter. “I was going to be furious if you all left me.”

  Cicero finally begins to emerge from the shadows, looking around first before stepping out. His dark hair and eyes combined with his muscular, broad build make him look threatening, especially in the dark.

  “Where are the others?” I ask. “The boats are gone.”

  The doors to the outpost suddenly slam shut — the one that leads to the empty dock and the one that would lead back to the Grulla, both close with a thundering crack. I spin around, expecting to see Dominik and the others, ready to reprimand them for being so loud, when I catch the flash of red on their uniforms. No Dominik, no Laderic, but I do see Sebastien. He has closed the door that leads outside the outpost, twirling a blade in his hand as he begins to whistle. The other two men that closed the door to the dock are dressed in iron and red.

  There’s no confusion in my mind, not a moment where my thoughts stumble over one another trying to catch up to the moment. I see everything perfectly clear. Dominik and Laderic aren’t here, but Cicero and Sebastien are, and they have with them Evrallonic soldiers.

  The sound of footsteps alert me to someone’s approach behind me and I turn around, finding more soldiers walking my way. Including the two at the doorway, there are seven soldiers. Gears begin to turn in my mind.

  They can’t possibly know I am the heir. I assure myself. They are here for the assassin, not the princess, not the Child. Cicero and Sebastien have never known about my parentage, neither has Laderic or Dominic, and they have never seen my Jezdah. Quay took special precautions to be sure that I knew never to reveal it.

  “You cowards.” I accuse, turning to Cicero and Sebastien. “Where are Dominik and Laderic?” I’m sure they’re either dead or on their way to an Evrallonic prison by now and I don’t want to think of either.

  Sebastien chuckles. “You know, that kiss back there between the two of you actually was touching, but it was a complete fraud. I hope you know that
.”

  I look at Sebastien in confusion and open my mouth to speak but Cicero cuts me off. “By the stars, she didn’t know! Oh, Dominik had her so smitten that she lost her wits.”

  I glare at Cicero, refusing to show any emotion. “Quiet, unless you’d like to lose your tongue.”

  “You’re not in a position to make demands, Blondie.” Sebastien mocks.

  I turn to face him, malice in my eyes. I see a tinge of fear behind Sebastien’s calm facade and know I have him right where I want him. “You know I will kill you. I wouldn’t lie and make it a drawn out death if I were you. Where are they?”

  Sebastien smirks. “On a boat to Evrallon. Of their own will, of course. They’d planned on assisting in your capture but had cold feet at the last minute.”

  I try not to gape at Sebastien. Betrayal isn’t rare within the ranks of the military, especially when a hostile takeover is involved, but betrayal within the Cannon is more than rare — it’s unheard of. We have been trained to be unfailingly loyal to the order. One assassin may betray another, but to betray Lydovier alongside the Cannon?

  I turn so that I can see both Cicero and Sebastien, then draw out one of my daggers. I flip it up in the air and catch it by the hilt. “I will kill you both, and you know it.”

  Cicero raises a brow. “With seven guards to back us? You’re good, Aerietta, but you’re not that good.”

  I feel my jaw begin to tighten and my lips form a straight line — lips I now want to burn after having kissed Dominik. I roll my shoulders back and crack my neck once. “How would you know? You’ve never really seen me in action.”