Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  “It would be easier to infiltrate your walls, King, than to capture Quay.”

  King Dryden chuckles. “Not your former master. I require someone else.” The king levels his gaze on me, the smile that earned him the name Cruel King glittering on his face. “Dominik Giovani.”

  V

  “The best men are not consistent in good — why should the worst men be consistent in evil?”

  — Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White

  The king’s words seep in slowly. I hear them, register them moments later.

  My services are being enlisted by the Cruel King of Evrallon. And my assignment is to track down my former compeer, Dominik Giovani. Immediately the king seems more friend than foe. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, is it not? I only have one hesitation. The Cruel King is no enemy to Dominik.

  “Why would I need to find him for you?” I demand. “It was upon your orders that I was betrayed. So, do tell me, why was I captured when you had Dominik in your hands already?”

  The king lets out a breath, pushing up from his throne and strolling down the steps of his stage. Haraya watches him, a note of confusion on her face.

  “I was not entirely truthful with Dominik. You see, I needed you to find someone for me. Someone who, at the moment, is not my priority. You were not captured to locate Dominik; you were captured to locate the missing Princess Cress.”

  The king’s words cause my breath to catch in my throat but before I can stumble over my words or give any sign of recognition or fear, I declare, “Princess Cress is long dead.”

  The king chuckles, shaking his head as he walks closer to me. “That is not what my sources have told me. I have heard she still lives, and she is a threat to me. As long as the princess lives, she may regain her crown in Lydovier. I needed her dead. But then I learned Dominik Giovani’s identity. He fled, obviously.” the king says gravely. “It is far more important that I find him than the lost Lydovier princess.”

  I frown. “I have known Dominik my entire life. Who else could he be other than the assassin?”

  The king laughs with disdain. “You know so little of your own assassins, Miss Elony.” He steps up to me so that we are standing eye-to-eye. The king is a mere inch taller than me. Short, I would say, for a king. Liam towers over him as much as he does me. I wonder if the king often stands on a stool when around Lyom to keep from appearing short.

  “But,” the king says, shrugging his shoulders and turning away from me. “does it truly matter who Dominik is? I would have expected you to be thrilled about my offer.” He turns to face me again, his expression more filled with life than it was a moment before. “Consider it, Aerietta. I am offering for you to kill the person that betrayed you. Is that not what you want?”

  My humanity flinches but the darker half of me whispers that this is exactly what I’ve wanted — for Dominik, Laderic, and Cicero to pay for what they did. Then my killing would end — forever. Without the Cannon to work under and Quay to give me assignments, I have no place within the assassin world. Once all is right, I can disappear, never to be heard from again.

  “And what happens to me after I kill Dominik?” I inquire.

  The king smirks as if I have already sworn my loyalty to him. “Swordmaster,” he encourages.

  I turn to see the Swordmaster’s jaw work before he answers, not looking at me. His face is like ivory stone, flawless, unmovable, and dead. “You will be granted full pardon for your crimes and released into another kingdom.”

  I watch the king’s expression, waiting to catch him in a lie. Because full pardon would be too good to be true. Never again would I have to look over my shoulder, expecting to see a battalion of Evrallonic or Adaaian soldiers after me. The only thing I will have to fear will be my own mind.

  “Full pardon?” I can hear the question in my voice, the unrestrained hope.

  The king inclines his head. “Full pardon. Until you depart, and for the time you are here upon your return, you will be given all the privileges that my own daughter has and, in return, will kill Dominik for me.” The king straightens the red robe draped elegantly over his shoulders. “But if you should fail or betray me, we have the right to kill you … however we see fit. Have the conditions of your employment been made clear?”

  I lift my chin. “Where will I be released? Lydovier?”

  King Dryden chokes on a chuckle. “Lydovier is now under the rule of Evrallon, so no. You’ll have the choice of being released into Adaai or Belaroux. They’re all close enough to transport you without much expense.” he explains. “So, name your preferred kingdom and let’s get on with it. Shall we say … Belaroux?”

  A memory threatens to lash to the surface of my thoughts. The Belaroux prime minister’s wife crying as her husband bleeds out in front of her. Task forces being assigned to searching the entire kingdom for one person only — the Queen of Crimson. Me, barely escaping one of the inns where Dominik was almost shot and killed.

  I’m shaking my head before I know it. “Not Belaroux.”

  A curious brow is raised, then lowered as feigned surprise wipes over the king’s expression. “Not welcome in the Kingdom of Stars, are we? Well, there’s always Adaai, then. And believe me, Miss Elony,” he continues. “you would do well to accept my offer. Adaai is far preferable to death, I’m sure.”

  I clench my jaw, teeth grinding. “You want Dominik dead.”

  The king nods. “Sight unseen. If he is in a public place, I trust you can persuade him to go elsewhere. I don’t much care how he dies and I hardly care who sees, but you are never to tell anyone that I was the one that hired you. One last assignment in exchange for the rest of your life.” The king’s head tilts to the side in a challenging way. “Does that seem fair to you?”

  My hands clench and unclench in my cuffs. Yes, that does sound fair. Dominik betrayed me and deserves what is coming his way, but so do the others.

  “Cicero and Laderic,” I say before I can reconsider. “I want them dead as well.”

  King Dryden chortles. “Laderic is all yours, Miss Elony, but Cicero is a part of my court now. It is always good to have assassins on your side.”

  Anger boils in my blood and I’m about to demand the life of Cicero as well but Lyom squeezes my arm, either a threat or a warning to keep my mouth shut. The urge to involve Cicero in the deal is strong but King Dryden’s word sounds final, nonnegotiable.

  I stand there silently for a long moment, my gaze flickering to Cicero, who smirks at the king’s words. He aligned himself so well with the king of Evrallon, but so did Sebastien, and we both remember how that worked out for him.

  “I agree to your terms.” I declare.

  The king nods. “I knew you would. There wasn’t much choice in it.” He lifts a piece of paper from the arm of his throne and waves it at me. Lyom glances from me to the contract the king waves and leaves me, walking to take the paper from the king. He brings it back along with a charcoal pencil.

  I know what this contract means, what signing it will mean. I am signing myself over to a new king, one I will have to be devoutly loyal to for the next several weeks — or however long it takes to track Dominik. We will have an agreement, and on my own word and signature I will not kill this king.

  Without hesitating, I sign my name on the paper, knowing full well that if the king should learn that I am Princess Cress, I will be killed sight unseen, like Dominik.

  But the king won’t find out. As I said, Princess Cress died long ago. No need to bring the dead back to life.

  I shove the paper back into Lyom’s hands and turn my chin up to the king. The king smirks, tilting his head to the side. Though I have seen the Cruel King from a distance numerous times, I have never been this close to him. This close, there is something different. I can sense it in the air. It is something dark, like the feeling I get when I am around Lyom.

  “Very good, Aerietta.” the Cruel King replies. “That will be all. Swordmaster,” The king’s attention turns to Lyom. “Ge
t the assassin something to eat, show her around the Keep, return her to her quarters this afternoon, and send in the chambermaids. Then you may return to your duties. You both have planning to do tomorrow.”

  Lyom nods. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  I want to laugh and call him out for bowing and scraping to the king but Dryden’s voice stops me.

  “And Aerietta?”

  I return my attention to my new king. Simply because I am employed by him does not mean I will ever respect him. He will always be the Cruel King, the man that has slaughtered millions and employs one of the most heartless men on the planet.

  The king’s eyes darken to the point where I cannot see his pupils. He tilts his chin upward and raises slightly in his chair, giving him the appearance of height. “Do not mistake my leniency for weakness. I will not tolerate disrespect from anyone, least of all you. And I will not hesitate to send you to the mines of Kinecardine. You’d do well there and we are running low on able bodies. Do not test me. Like you, I was given my sobriquet for a reason.”

  I lock my jaw, a tendril of fear leaking in. There are worse fates than death and I know it. Dying by Lyom’s sword would be one thing, but dying at the hands of the Cruel King’s torturers would be another entirely. I prefer to keep my flesh on my bones.

  With a respectful, curt nod, I am escorted out of the throne room by Lyom. Before the doors have even closed I hear Princess Haraya begin arguing with her father about my employment. The last thing I hear before the door is shut is King Dryden shouting back at his young daughter.

  I could try to lighten the dark mood that has fallen over both the Swordmaster and me but my thoughts are on Dominik, my new assignment. Never did I imagine that I would one day be asked to track down Dominik, nor that I would enjoy being asked to. Laderic is next, though. His betrayal hurts just as badly.

  Finding Dominik will not be easy. If he is on bad terms with the king, he will likely be headed for Adaai, or perhaps Belaroux, though he would require quite the vessel to get to the overseas kingdom. But in his hasty flight he could have made grievous mistakes. I had thought I knew Dominik well but what if the king is right and I know little about him? He could be boastful and proud for all I know. Is it impossible that he could still be in Evrallon, not even planning to flee the kingdom? Yes. Is it likely? From what I know of Dominik, no.

  Lyom brings me to the kitchen where a plump, elderly woman is cooking. Her black and gray hair is pulled up behind her head and her hands work quickly to chop the vegetables to be used in midday meal. The kitchen is large, made of brick. There are six ovens lining the wall, which is a bit excessive, and a long island in the middle where the aged woman labors. The smell of roasted meat wafts through the air to me when we step down the last stair into the kitchen. Roasted lamb, I would assume, combined with carrots and celery. My stomach growls but the Swordmaster must not hear it.

  “Drimra.” Lyom calls.

  The old cook startles, nearly tossing the carrot stick she holds in one hand. She quickly regains her composure and looks over at us, squinting despite the adequate lights of the kitchen. Half blind, I’d assume. And with the sound of boiling water over the fire and wood crackling in the hearth, I’m sure it was difficult to hear our approach, especially with her weakened hearing.

  “Blood and ashes, Swordmaster, you scared the living daylights out of me!” proclaims the elderly woman. She shakes her head and squints again at me. “And who might this bonny lass be? A new guest of the king? Or did she come with that Belaroux prince?”

  Before I can answer Lyom interjects. “A guest of the king. She will be staying with us for a while and she is famished from her long journey. She is from the southern half of the kingdom.”

  Drimra cringes. “Oh, near the Adaaian border? My deepest condolences, milady. But you’re in good hands now, aren’t you?”

  I’m surprised at how easily the lie rolls off the Swordmaster’s tongue. For someone so staunchly noble, I am shocked he even knows how to tell a lie. Of course, I must remind myself of all the legends told about him. Legends that put even my fables and stories of death to shame.

  I force myself to nod. “Yes, the best of hands.”

  Drimra looks at Lyom. “Will she not be dining with? If she has not met the prince yet perhaps she should!” Drimra’s voice loses its enthusiasm when she sees Lyom’s nose wrinkle in disgust. She stammers. “Of course, that’s none of my business.”

  I smile. “I believe I would love to meet this prince. I have waited this long for food, I supposed another hour or so won’t hurt me.”

  “No.” Lyom snaps. “You will dine here with Drimra then I will finish your tour of the Keep.”

  I scowl. Drimra takes it in stride and brings me down into the kitchen, handing me a porcelain plate with roasted lamb and vegetables on it. I try not to inhale my food, knowing that I’ll throw it up later if I eat too quickly, but I find it difficult. The more I eat, the hungrier I become. I’m given clean water to drink and more food when I am finished with the first plate, all the while being watched from the stairs by the Swordmaster who has good reason not to trust me.

  “My, my,” intones Drimra. “How long has it been since you last ate?”

  I shoot Lyom a pointed glare. “It feels as though it has been days,” I drawl, returning my gaze to Drimra, softening it some. This servant is not the cause of my discomfort. “But it has only been a few hours. I simply get hungry often.”

  “Oh, and your hair,” Drimra fusses, walking over behind me. I frown at her until I realize that I stepped out of the washroom without combing it at all. I probably look like a drowned rat. Most young women would be mortified to have just met with a king with their hair in a mess but I am accustomed to knots and tangles. I simply shrug my shoulders when Drimra walks around behind me, poking at it.

  “Dear girl, where did you come from?” Drimra muses aloud.

  “She is from a wealthy household.” Lyom lies. “It has just been a rough journey for her.”

  Drimra shakes her head in disapproval. “I’m sure your maids will take care of this when you return to your quarters but I could pin your hair if you would like?”

  “Oh, please.” I say gratefully.

  “No pins.” he warns.

  “Oh, come now, Swordmaster,” I say, shaking my head. “Drimra, I would love a pin.”

  Drimra, confused, glances at the Swordmaster once for approval. He says nothing, knowing that Drimra will suspect something if he is refusing me the smallest decencies. Drimra pins my hair up and pats me on the shoulder.

  “There you are, Lady …”

  “Evodine.” Lyom provides. “Evodine Darlington.”

  Darlington? I try to control my sneer. What sort of name is that? Is he trying to insult me? And why the new name? Is there something wrong with mine?

  Drimra smiles. “Such a beautiful name. Well, Lady Evodine, you are all fixed up. I best be getting back to preparing the midday meal or King Dryden’ll ‘ave my head.”

  I return her beam and stand. “Many thanks, Drimra. So good to meet you. Your cooking is wonderful. I hope to see you at supper.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lyom frowning at me. That must be all the good Swordmaster is capable of — frowning, scowling, glaring, glowering, and grimacing. If there were an award for such a thing, the Swordmaster would absolutely win. I don’t believe anyone can scowl better than he.

  I follow Lyom back up the stairs and into the corridor we entered through. Before Lyom can chastise me for committing to seeing Drimra at evening meal, I say, “Evodine Darlington?” I demand. “Is there even a man in the southern villages with the surname?”

  Lyom looks straight ahead, unwaveringly. “No.”

  “Will Drimra not look into your story?” I inquire.

  “There would be no way for her to.” Lyom replies.

  I let out a huff. “Am I to be called Evodine Darlington for my entire time here?”

  “Only when around the servants
.” Lyom replies. “You may reveal your identity around the guards and cabinet members, though I would not flaunt it. Several men in the king’s court have lost family or friends to you at one time or another. They will not be as forgiving as the king.”

  “Marvelous,” I groan. “So, you are to be my escort and —”

  “Warden.” Lyom supplies.

  I frown. “Not the word I was going to choose. I was under the impression that I was going to have more privileges.”

  “You must first earn them.” Lyom responds.

  I lift a brow. “Oh? And how do I do that?”

  “By proving yourself trustworthy.” Lyom answers. “And by completing your assignment.”

  “Calm yourself, Swordmaster, I have known Dominik all my life. Killing him will be simple.”

  Lyom turns down another hallway, this one very long and wide. On our way to the kitchens, we visited the library and servants’ quarters. I dearly hope I’ll be shown the weapons vault at some point though I doubt the Swordmaster trusts me enough.

  I glance up at said Swordmaster, appraising his young features, potent eyes, and black, tangled hair. “You know,” My voice causes Lyom to scowl at me. I’m certain he’d like to cut out my tongue to keep me from talking more. “you are awfully young to be Swordmaster to the king. Many in Lydovier wonder if a wealthy father or noteworthy uncle with connections was involved in your receiving the significant position.” I decide to omit the rumors that say that he is something otherworldly.

  “I came about my title the same way you came about yours, Assassin.” Lyom assures me.