Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  Creatures of the Afterlight

  Afterlighters. I have heard them called this before. Warlocks, fae, demons, all things that have gone extinct or have been pushed from our world. Known as Afterlighters because they only seemed to come out at night. I’m surprised these books can even be found in the royal library. Yes, it is a part of our history, but I wouldn’t have imagined the Cruel King cared.

  The tips of my fingers skim over the worn cover, eyes catching on a dogeared page of the ancient text. With one quick glance around the room, I open the book, finding the page that has been dogeared. Well, actually, there are several dogeared pages, but one in particular has been folded over many times, the crease in the corner of the page almost severing it from the whole.

  A chill snakes over me when I look down at the text. The pages are just as old as the cover is and some of the ink has been smeared. My heart lurches treacherously in my chest as I scan over the page. Quay taught us very little of the Afterlighters and their magic but he taught us enough to know that they were powerful. I suppose I just didn’t know how many kinds of Afterlighters there are.

  Trolls.

  Imps.

  Kelpies.

  Erlkings.

  Keepers.

  Risers.

  I stop my scanning when my gaze trips over that one word. It seems to be out of place on the page. No, not because it seems to be more sinister — because when were trolls considered friendly? — but rather because it is the last in the long line of Afterlighters … and has been underlined multiple times.

  Risers? I muse. Quay never mentioned anything about a Riser. Then again, he has never mentioned imps or keepers, either. By this point I should have grown accustomed to surprises.

  I flip through the pages, trying to see if the following or previous sections provide any further information on the topic but come up empty. I feel a frustrated twitch in my stomach. It would figure now that I have the information in front of me I can’t seem to find anything useful.

  Laying beside the two books centered on magic is the open book, pages glowing from the embers of the nearby fire. Before I have even taken a good look at it, a single name on the page steals my attention.

  Azmar Quay.

  I quickly the candlestick closer to this side of the table and flip the cover of the book over, seeing the title — The Cannon: Order of Assassins. I knew this library had to have something on the Cannon. I turn back to the page the scholar left it on.

  The assassins’ leader, Azmar Quay, was one of the Evrallonic King Cress’ closest advisors. No one knows for sure who trained him but speculation is that his father trained him from a young age.

  According to our sources, Azmar Quay does the enlisting. He handpicks most of the assassins used. He has no known weaknesses, no children, no remaining family, apart from his young protégé, Aerietta Elony, otherwise known as the Queen of Crimson [See page 103].

  I’m sure I stare at the page for quite a long time. I suppose I expected them to have information regarding the Cannon but an entire encyclopedia with the order of assassins as the subject? I begin to flip to page 103 to read what this book has on me but stop when a voice fills the room behind me

  “Curious badger, aren’t we?”

  My spine straightens but I manage to casually set the book back down on the table before turning around. Before me stands a young man, about twenty years old. He has blond hair and amber eyes that glow in the dim firelight. He wears evening clothes that are adorned with silvers and gold but the detail that catches my attention is the amethyst pin on his chest. It does not take me long to recognize the young man as the charming prince of the Belaroux Empire.

  “Your Highness, I presume?” I inquire.

  The blond-haired man shakes his head, a curious look in his eyes. “Not here. Here I am merely Finn.”

  I raise a suspicious brow. “Quite the regal name.”

  The prince shrugs simply. “It’s short for Finnegan.” he replies. “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance. You certainly weren’t at the banquet hall; I would have remembered your face.” His eyes travel up and down my body. “And your scant attire.”

  I feel my cheeks redden but the assassin in me angrily shoves the blush away. “My name is Evodine. I am a guest of the king’s.” As he processes this, I wonder what he would look like if I told him that I was Aerietta Elony, and I was here to assassinate someone for the king. He’d probably run from the room, call for help at the very least.

  “Evodine,” He rolls the name around on his tongue, as if tasting it. Then he shakes his head. “No. You do not look like an Evodine.”

  “No?” I persist, trying to ignore the flutter in my pulse. Imagining him knowing my identity is one thing, and though I may have no interest in keeping the Swordmaster happy, I know his concerns about my identity being known are valid. “And then what do I look like?”

  Prince Finnegan chuckles, a smile that would cause even the most heartless to swoon elegantly spread on his face. “I’m not sure, but not an Evodine, of that I am certain.” His attention turns to the books behind me. “I see you found my reading pile. If something interests you, I would be happy to share.”

  I shake my head. “Thank you, but I should be returning to my quarters.” I say, beginning to step away. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince Finnegan.”

  “Please, Finn will suffice, as long as I may call you Evodine.” says the prince. I see something flicker in his eyes and I’m not sure I like it.

  I smile briefly but don’t make the prince any promises. Wishing Finn goodnight, I hurry from the library, leaving my candlestick on his desk. When I get out of the library, I turn and head for the kitchens, hoping Drimra left some more food out. As I walk I wonder what Prince Finnegan Atwood would have been doing with books like that. Researching the Cannon’s order of assassins and the magical creatures of old seems like an odd way to spend your nights, especially for a prince who has no needs for such tedious education.

  Guards walk the hallways to the kitchens and if I were dressed in more suitable attire I would not hesitate to just walk past them — they would probably suspect I was just a guest of the Keep up late — but because of my nightclothes I keep to the shadows, ducking in and out of rooms to avoid being seen by the palace guards. I’m sure all of them fall beneath the Swordmaster but how many of them are in his personal company? A man named Ulric, for sure, and the Moher man. Jamas is clearly apart of his company but how many more? How many of the palace guards would Lyom trust with his life and the safety of Adandyrl’s Keep?

  I spot the door to the kitchen across the hall from the room I have slipped into to avoid being caught by the careless guards. Just before I step back out into the corridor, the door opens and two men I would definitely not consider to be guards exit the room. From their fine clothing and rings adorning their fingers, I would guess they are in King Dryden’s cabinet. In their hands are small delicacies, desserts like finger cakes and other pastries.

  “Believe me,” says one of the two cabinet members. He is a tall, lanky gentleman with bleary gray eyes. His tone is superior, as if he believes himself over everyone else. “I have advised the king against this action repeatedly, but once he has something in his mind —”

  “He gets his way.” notes the other man. He is younger, shorter than the lanky man with ash blond hair but somehow seems more threatening. It’s something about his eyes that makes me suspicious of him.

  “How many members of the cabinet are aware?” asks the lanky man, beginning to walk down the hallway, about to turn the corner, out of sight and out of earshot.

  Intrigued by the conversation more than I am by the growl of my stomach, I slip out of the shadows and follow the cabinet members, keeping a good distance behind them, far enough out that I can hear their words vaguely but can’t see them. Down the hall there are no guards patrolling and I wait for the cabinet members to turn the corner before trailing behind.

  “You an
d me, only.” replies the younger gentleman. “So when the king tells the rest of you tomorrow, try to look surprised, hmm?”

  Lanky scoffs. “How can the king expect to be able to control her?”

  I lift my chin, ducking into a room when one of them glances over their shoulder. Unseen, unheard. I am wind and shadows, nothing more.

  They are talking about me. I’m not sure whether to feel prideful or despondent. It is good, I suppose. The cabinet members should fear me. They should know what I am capable of and that no one person owns me. But they should also know that I will do whatever it takes to procure my own freedom, and killing Dominik for them will be as easy as swatting down a pesky insect.

  “He is bargaining with her.” replies the more sinister of the two. “I believe the bargain has already been struck.”

  “Tell me she isn’t staying in the Keep.” frets Lanky.

  I cannot see what the other man does but it clues Lanky in and he gasps dramatically. “She could be stalking us in our sleep!”

  “Or worse.” the other answers. “Plotting the downfall of Evrallon.”

  “You’ve heard the rumors, too, I suppose.”

  I slip out of the room when their voices begin to fade into the distance and make my way down the hallway, trying to keep up with them. It would be much easier if there were rafters I could hide in. I could follow overtop with them being none the wiser. I struggle to remain in the shadows while also attempting to keep pace with them, turning the corner sharply. Whatever the other cabinet member replies with, I don’t hear it.

  More footsteps echoing down the corridor approach. I let out an annoyed sigh and cease my investigation. I spin and try the door to my left but find it locked. Frowning, I turn to the door across from it but find it bolted as well. The tiniest tendril of fear dripping into my stomach, I take off down the hallway and find a set of stairs that has a hollow beneath them. Using the dim lighting of the Keep at night to my advantage, I roll into the shadows beneath the stairs.

  The footsteps carry into the room, then overhead. They aren’t the sound of serviceman boots but rather the clicking of heels.

  Princess Haraya.

  I recognize her voice when she begins talking to someone as they walk up the stairs I am crouched beneath. She speaks softly with what would appear to be a friend. The young girl responds quickly, in a soft, cheerful voice.

  Though I may know little of Princess Haraya, I have already determined that the two of us will never get along. Even if I were a princess, like her, I would still despise the likes of her. How she carries herself, how she speaks.

  “Have you spoken with him?” asks the young princess’s friend.

  “No,” Haraya admits. “I was hardly given the time.”

  “Personally, I don’t —”

  “I know your thoughts on the matter, Onna, please refrain from repeating them.”

  I wait until Princess Haraya and her friend have long passed before stepping out of the shadows and making my way back to my quarters. I take the same route I took last time, using all my previous hiding places when servicemen walk by. I am surprised at the security inside the Keep, even at night. Does Lyom orchestrate all this? If so I am impressed with his skills in organization; I know few men that would be able to run this tight a ship at twenty-one years of age.

  When I have confirmed that the main foyer is clear of guards, apart from the serviceman that still slumbers, I take the steps two at a time, never making a sound. I make my way down the corridor silently and find my closed door. I hesitate before opening it, checking my surroundings to be certain I am alone, and then push the door open, the hinges squealing their protest the entire way.

  I’ve barely opened the door when I notice something amiss in the room. The smell of cedar and leather drifts faintly through my room and I spot the source of it in the center of my quarters. Lyom stands with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, brows lowered in annoyance, stance intimidating, and blue eyes glaring. The Swordmaster is clearly disenchanted with my disappearance but it serves him right for leaving me to my own devices for the evening.

  I step into the room and close the door, then shrug at him unapologetically. “What?”

  “Care to tell me where you’ve been?” It’s more of a demand than a question, and I don’t take kindly to demands.

  “I was hungry.” I tell him, which isn’t a lie. I am simply omitting the truth. The Swordmaster really needn’t know that I never actually visited the kitchens but had a run-in with the Prince of Belaroux, eaves dropped on two cabinet members, and was nearly caught by Princess Haraya.

  Lyom looks exceedingly annoyed, extending his hand as if waiting for something. “Hand them over.”

  “Hand what over?” I ask defiantly.

  In two strides Lyom has crossed the distance between us and pulls my hair aside, his fingertips brushing my neck as he does so. I feel a spark of electricity lick up my spine and disappear into my skull and goosebumps suddenly cover my arms. He takes the two pins from Drimra and flashes them in front of my face.

  “These.” he says, frowning as he takes a step back. He holds them in his hands when he crosses his arms back over his chest. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing, really.” I reply. “I merely grew bored after you left me to watch paint dry in my quarters.”

  Lyom’s expression hardens further — if that were even possible. “I sent Jamas with food.”

  I roll my eyes, stepping around the Swordmaster. “That was hours ago.”

  “I know you did more than nothing. What did you do?”

  Skillfully avoiding the question, I stop as if in thought, then turn around to face him. “How long did you wait in here for me, Swordmaster?” I inquire. “Surely you weren’t waiting for me for the hour I was gone, standing there in that ridiculous position.”

  “Assassin.”

  I consider telling him what really happened for only a moment then decide that it’s better to keep some things from my employers. Loyalty has its boundaries, even if Lyom would disagree.

  “I went to the library.” I admit. “I started to go to the kitchens but thought better of it and returned.”

  Lyom arches a skeptical brow. “Is that all?”

  Nodding, I say, “Yes.”

  Lyom doesn’t believe me and appears disillusioned at the prospect of leaving me alone for the rest of the night, even with my pins now in his possession. I could probably use my splinter of wood as another means of escape from the room but Lyom has no way of knowing I have it.

  “Are you going to stay here all night, Swordmaster?” I question.

  Lyom huffs, something between a laugh and an annoyed grunt. “See that you are awake when I arrive in the morning. We have much planning to do before we embark on our assignment.”

  I nod. “How many of your swordsmen will be joining us?”

  “Enough.”

  I scoff. “How do you expect me to to find a stealthy assassin with enough servicemen in tow?”

  “We will stay out of your way as much as is required. Think of us as your escort.” Lyom suggests. “The men all know the details of our mission, but outside of them no one is aware, apart from the king’s cabinet. Surely you can understand the upheaval if you were to be discovered. The lords and ladies of the court, even, have no idea you are here. You are to be known by your alias for the remainder of your time here.”

  I lift my chin. “And is Princess Haraya permitted to tell others of my new position?”

  I can tell my inquiry has aroused Lyom’s suspicions but he keeps them to himself. “No. We are attempting to keep this matter private. Only the cabinet, a select few of my trusted men, the king, and the princess know, and you are not to tell anyone else.” He levels his stare on me. “No one, not even if you befriend someone at the Keep.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “I assumed so.” Lyom says with a nod. “Be ready when I return for you in the morning. There are riding clothes in your dresser. Be dressed
in them.”

  I nod. “As you wish.”

  Still annoyed with me and my disappearance, Lyom just gives a brusque nod before leaving me. I hear the door lock and laugh to myself as I blow the candles out and climb into bed, checking to be sure the splinter is still under my pillow. I will have to hide it in my riding clothes tomorrow before Soray and Lisabet find it and report it to Lyom.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I consider what I have learned tonight. It is not the conversations I have overheard or the people I have met that keep me up, it is the fact that I have overheard conversations and met people. It would appear the Keep is full of secrets — Prince Finn and his readings, the cabinet members and their deceitfulness — and if there is one thing I about this life that I adore, it is uncovering secrets that most would say should never be uncovered.

  VII

  “There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.”

  — Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

  “Assassin.”

  My eyes open, ending my dreamless, black sleep. I remain laying down, staring up into unending seas of gunmetal blue and a full mouth turned down in a ceaseless frown.

  I sit up, unnerved that the Swordmaster was able to sidle into the room without my knowing — he even managed to get the door open without the hinges squealing me to consciousness. He must have been soundless.

  “You’re fortunate I am not in the business of killing, otherwise I would have stolen your title years ago,” imagines Lyom.

  I glare, which is only rewarded with an equally annoyed glower from Lyom. He turns away from me and walks to my dresser, glancing over it as if to ensure I have no weapons on display.

  “I told you to be ready. Be quick and dress yourself. We have a busy day ahead and you’re wasting my time.” Lyom grumbles.

  Nothing like demoralization to raise one’s spirits.

  I crawl out of the comfortable bed, slipping the splinter into my hand as I go, and then make my way to the dresser. Lyom steps aside and goes to inspect the rest of the room while I take out my riding clothes and flee to the washroom when it becomes apparent that despite his gentlemanly facade, Lyom does not intend to wait outside for me.