Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  “Zenith will likely be inside. If not, I can easily visit her residence.” I tell him.

  Lyom’s scowl informs me that his trust for me has not been strengthened — not that I had expected it to. “We shall go with you.”

  “Absolutely not.” I say adamantly. “Your presence will only disturb the peace.”

  “And yours will not?” Lyom counters.

  “I am accustomed to blending into the background.” I argue, my eyes skimming the Swordmaster quickly but pointedly to make my meaning clear. “You seem to only be able to draw attention to yourself.” Lyom is like the sun; all eyes gravitate towards it, but it is too hot to touch, too bright to look at. Lyom’s presence would ruin everything.

  Lyom seems to know this and his chest raises slightly as if he is telling me that though I have made this decision, he is still in charge. I roll my eyes as I turn to walk away but hesitate before entering the Cask, where already I can hear noise from within.

  “Oh,” I begin, walking back to Lyom. “And I will need a weapon.”

  “What?” Lyom demands.

  I frown. “Don’t make a scene, Swordmaster. I require a weapon in case Zenith should attack me. You know how hard hand-to-hand combat can be.”

  Glaring, Lyom pulls out a dagger and catches it in his hand, turning the hilt to me. I gladly take it from him and slip it into the belt around my waist, concealing it with my blood red cloak.

  “Much obliged.” I say before strolling into the Cask.

  This alehouse is far tamer than it was the last time I was in Helmfirth, though when I had visited the Cask before, it was on a holiday and after dark. Now, in the early morning, it is only occupied by the inebriated and fool young men that are attempting to look more grown by “drinking their sorrows away,” as if such young boys could know sorrow.

  I take care to notice which of the locals are truly drunk and stumbling about and which are somewhat sober and lacking the bleary eyes of others. The bartender is a woman, surprisingly. She has white hair, far blonder than mine, and her form is slight. She has blue eyes that glisten like sapphires and skin that is nearly as pale as her hair. She does not watch me as I enter but continues to shine the glasses at the counter, setting them aside and pushing them down the bar where a woman identical to her places them on the shelf behind the two women.

  It takes me little time to find Zenith, who is among the twenty men and women that remain in the Cask. Zenith stands at the back of the Cask, deep red hair pulled up in graceful wisps behind her head, tendrils flowing around her pale face that is powdered with fine dusts. Her muted green eyes sparkle as she speaks in hushed tones to one of the locals at the back, conducting business, I’m sure. Zenith has always enjoyed the Cask and its secrecy — none of the inebriates will ever overhear her conversations and check into her story. Far more work in the trading business can be done under the cover of ale.

  “Zenith.” I call as I approach her, hoping that she will run; the chase is the only part of being an assassin that I really enjoy. It supplies me with adrenaline, something I need if I’m going to complete an assignment and kill someone — often times an innocent. But to my great disappointment, Zenith only looks up, bats her eyelashes, and smiles incredibly wide, shooing her business partner along.

  “Aerietta, darling,” Zenith coos. “So good to see you.”

  I roll my eyes. Zenith has never liked me. I grab her by the shoulder and attempt to discreetly push her into the washroom, which is occupied by a man splashing water on his face. The man glares at us when we enter.

  “Hey. Wait your turn.” he spits.

  I take my knife out and throw it at the man’s head, allowing my blade to miss by a centimeter, skimming the left side of his beard off. That is all the persuasion he needs to leave the washroom in a rush. When Lyom sees him race out of the tavern I am sure he will be annoyed with me for causing a scene when I made him stay outside.

  I grab my knife and lock the washroom door. Zenith just laughs, waving a hand flippantly at me. She is ten, almost eleven years older than me, nearly twenty-eight years old, yet she looks like she could be my age. She just has a young face. By the time she is forty, people will still believe she is twenty. I envy her for that.

  “Oh, please, Aerietta. Are you really going to threaten me?” she asks.

  “I only have a question for you.” I reply. “I need to know where Dominik is.”

  Zenith laughs. “You and me, both, Darlin’.” says Zenith in a disgusted tone. “He came looking for me days ago and vanished in the night.”

  I let out an annoyed breath. “He was here?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did he depart? Where did he go?”

  Zenith sighs, taking a pin out of her red hair and letting it fall to her shoulders. Her hair is probably six inches shorter than it was when last I saw her, only falling to an inch below her shoulders, which are adorned in green fabrics, keeping her warm in the winter months.

  “I regret to inform you that Dominik does not trust me anymore. I suppose I did something to make him believe I was one to kiss and tell.” Zenith rolls her eyes. “He came here looking for you. I was just a pleasant distraction for him.”

  My jaw works. Good to know Dominik already believes I have escaped. Perhaps he knows I will come looking for him and is attempting to kill me before I can kill him. Could he be tracking me down? Little does he know that I am being commissioned by the king, his former employer, to kill him.

  For a brief moment I allow myself to wonder what made Dominik change his mind about the Cannon. When did the switch happen? How long has he been planning this? Even his swift departure seems … organized. Somehow he knew I would not be deterred by the king, or perhaps he assumed I never went to the rendezvous. Either way, he has predicted my coming after him, and has slipped into the shadows or is planning his attack, one.

  “When did he depart, Zenith?” I ask.

  Zenith, deciding her helpfulness is at its end, replies with, “Did you ride in with the Swordmaster?” she inquires. “That little elf I was speaking to in the tavern said he’d just seen a company of soldiers and the king’s Swordmaster ride up to Helmfirth, though they did not come through the city gates.”

  I glare at her. “Elves do not exist anymore.” I snap, deciding to disregard her true question.

  Ignoring my comment just as well, Zenith smiles. “What is the Swordmaster like? I hear he is almost as cruel as you. Heartless, they say. Or was it soulless? It is so easy to get your reputations mixed up.”

  “Zenith,” I try again, my tone bordering on hostility.

  “So you have finally decided to change sides, hmm? And it only took your kingdom falling to its knees to have the change of heart.” Zenith winks, testing my patience. “Word travels fast in Evrallon, sweetheart.”

  I try to compose myself. “Dominik switched sides before I did.” I say, then realize how childish it comes across.

  Zenith laughs. “Did he? Good for him. So lucrative.” she shrugs girlishly. “I would know.”

  I roll my eyes. Zenith does not need to die. She would only be an unfortunate casualty, one I can avoid. There is no guarantee that she will ever aid me again but if I am ever in need of a good exporter, I always know where to find her. Letting out a pent up breath, I say, “So you haven’t the faintest as to where he would go?” I inquire, though I already know where I would go if I were him.

  Zenith smirks. “If he knows you are looking for him and bringing all of Evrallon’s soldiers with you, he will be headed for the hills.”

  “Wondrous.” I comment. “Thank you for your helpful information.” I say sarcastically before turning and leaving the room.

  “I hear the Swordmaster is also looking for someone else.” Zenith calls to my back.

  I hesitate before taking another step out of the washroom, then glance around the tavern to see if any local inebriates are observing our conversation. I look at Zenith, daring her to continue.

  Zenith rais
es a snarky brow. “As if you wouldn’t know. You have heard the rumors about him, have you not?”

  A feel the smallest trickle of fear drain into my blood. I reluctantly return to the washroom and close the door, giving Zenith my attention. I loathe the power she now wields over me but if she knows something of Princess Cress — of me — then I must know it. But something else she’s said snags my attention.

  “What rumors?”

  Zenith lifts a shoulder in an effortless shrug. I stand perfectly still as she elegantly goes to examine her fingernails. “Oh, you know, just gossip really.”

  Knowing that Zenith’s forthcoming attitude will only last so long, I take to another topic. “The Swordmaster searches for Dominik. He is wanted by the king.”

  Zenith laughs, shaking her hair out. “Don’t play dense; you know who else the Swordmaster searches for.” Zenith leans in close, greenish-yellow eyes narrowing. “The princess of your fallen kingdom. Rumored to be the next Girl, though the kingdoms would have us believe the Afterlighters died out. She even has a Jezdah on her back.” Zenith’s eyes open in mock surprise. “A Jezdah like yours, perhaps?”

  My jaw tightens. “I do not even know what a Jezdah is, you harlot.”

  “Oh, please, Aerietta.” Zenith drawls. “I spotted it on your shoulder last year. You think you are so secretive. What do you suppose the Swordmaster would do if he saw your Jezdah?” implies Zenith, batting her eyes. “Why, he’d kill you on the spot. That is what you plan to do with Dominik, is it not?”

  I flip my dagger out and throw Zenith against the back wall, sliding my knife up throat. Zenith shrieks and tries to back away from my blade, brave until the silver of the brand is against her neck. She quickly grabs at my wrists.

  “How do you know this?” I demand. “How could you have known Swordmaster Livingstone searches for Princess Cress?”

  “I am friends with the record keeper, Lord Tere!” she reminds me. “He is within the king’s inner circle and has overheard some of his plans!”

  I press the knife deeper into her throat and she screams but I cut her voice off with my hand. “Why does the king want Princess Cress dead? Because she can claim the Lydovier throne?”

  A small, pathetic tear escapes one of Zenith’s eyes. “I’m not sure,” she cries. “The record keeper only tells me so much!” She pants quickly, trying to come up with a solution to her deteriorating situation. “Release me, Aerietta, or I will reveal your identity to the Swordmaster.”

  “Must I remind you who holds the dagger?” I ask. “I know you know more — why does he seek her?”

  Zenith laughs. “She is the Girl, for crying out loud!” she exclaims. “Rumors in Helmfirth has it that Darkness is coming to Evrallon.”

  I frown. “Darkness?”

  Continuing as if I’ve said nothing, Zenith says, “And when it comes, it will give the Children a choice.”

  Children? As in, more than one? I decide Zenith is more insane than I’d ever thought she was. She will give me no further information, and if she did, it would be as gibberish as speaking of darkness and Afterlighters. “If you say anything, I will kill you. You shall remain silent about this matter. Princess Cress is dead. Do you understand?”

  Zenith’s jaw clenches but she nods her head quickly. I release her and she clasps a hand over her neck, stopping the trickle of blood before it can stain the green satin. I begin to leave the washroom for good this time when Zenith straightens up, calling to me. I stop and barely turn, looking over my shoulder. Zenith rolls her shoulders back in a defiant way and levels me with a black look.

  “I would be careful who I surrounded myself with if I were you.” Zenith suggests. “It would seem many are seeking the dead Princess Cress.”

  I leave before Zenith can let loose another cryptic message but take her last words to heart. If there truly are others looking for the lost princess, I must be wary of who sees me at all times. And though I hate to admit it, Zenith is correct. The moment Lyom spots my Jezdah, I will be killed sight unseen, just as I am supposed to do with Dominik. No one must see the mark I was cursed with — not for as long as I am within arms length of Lyom Livingstone.

  IX

  “No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.”

  — Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

  “Dominik is not here.”

  Lyom scowls. “I thought you said he would be.”

  “I said,” I correct, “that Zenith would be able to tell us where he was. He’s not in Helmfirth.”

  Lyom glowers while Jamas lets out a disappointed breath. “Adaai?”

  “Most likely.” I reply. “I need to be certain, though. I need to speak with the record keeper.”

  “If by speak, you mean kill, I do not grant permission.” says Lyom.

  “I mean speak.” I answer in a controlled tone. “If Dominik went into Adaai he will have met with the record keeper to accumulate food and supplies to make it through the Menca Denu. He did not tell Zenith where he was going, so my guess is that he wanted to keep her out of his affairs. The record keeper, however, is far from valuable in his eyes. He will not have minded gathering supplies from him and drawing him into the mix.”

  “You want to ask the record keeper if he has seen Dominik.” Lyom concludes.

  “Yes.”

  Lyom groans in a mix between frustration and annoyance. “The record keeper is not here.”

  I gape. “What?”

  “He’s not here.” Lyom repeats.

  I blink in confusion. “If he’s not here, then where is he?”

  “He travels.” Lyom answers. “He will be in Erod.”

  Wonderful. It would figure that nothing would be easily solved. “Erod is close. If we rush, we can make it there before sundown.”

  “Is it necessary?” Lyom asks seriously.

  I consider what Zenith said about the record keeper’s eavesdropping. He knows why the king wants Princess Cress dead and perhaps knows more. What if the record keeper knows who I am? The last time I saw him, I was going under the alias Sabel Forefall, the young married woman who was not content with her new husband, Haslett Forefall — also known as Dominik Giovani. For all I know, he is now aware of my true identity and could reveal it to the king, if he is in close contact with him.

  I quickly nod my head. “Yes.” I answer. “We don’t want to ride into Adaai without knowing whether Dominik is actually there or not.”

  Thankfully, Lyom does as I have asked and we return to his men, preparing for our ride to Erod. We ride quickly and make good time, even though we stop to water our horses and break for food. The storm that rolls in through the mountains holds back just long enough for us to ride into Erod, which is far more lively than Helmfirth.

  We move as an envoy into Erod, arriving just as the storm breaks overhead. Lightning flashes and frozen rain begins to fall from the sky, yet the inebriates of Erod dance in the streets, lapping up the sleet. Shouts and guffaws ring out from all areas of the village. There is no festival or holiday this day yet Erod celebrates. Cicero and Sebastien used to frequent Erod, saying it was a happy village. Laderic and Dominik, on the other hand, saw it as a brothel town, even though Erod gets its main income from the fine dyes and jewelry made from their indigo and lapis lazuli.

  Taking shelter beneath a marquee, Lyom decides that it will be best that he find the record keeper and speak to him but I am not about to let that happen.

  “I don’t trust that you won’t accidentally kill him.” says Lyom with a frown.

  “Why would I want to kill him?” I demand.

  Lyom raises a brow. “Do you need a reason?”

  I try to pretend that Lyom’s words do not affect me. “Anik Tere’s name is not in the contracts, first of all. Second of all, may I remind you, I no longer work for Quay and King Cress. I simply want to find Dominik and get this adventure over with.”


  Lyom appears skeptical of my motives and he is wise to be. I’m not sure if he senses another intention behind my face but he does not seem particularly charmed about allowing me to meet with Helmfirth’s record keeper in private.

  “But first we must find him.” I remind Lyom. “Erod is no small village and he could have be in any inn or tavern.”

  Lyom shakes his head. “He will be with the other record keepers at Mykel Laeves’ estate.”

  I quirk a brow. “Mykel Laeves is …?”

  “Erod’s record keeper.” Jamas replies informatively. “At this time every year, a different record keeper holds a masquerade ball to discuss each village’s exports and imports. I would suspect it is Mykel Leaves’ turn to host. Swordmaster?” Jamas looks to his commander for confirmation.

  Lyom nods. “Mykel Leaves’ estate overlooks the Menca Denu.” Lyom explains in a completely even tone. “The festivities will continue for several days. Women from around Evrallon are invited to meet the record keepers and several less-than-noteworthy men join as well. The estate will be swarming with people.” continues Lyom, who shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye. “Which is why it would be best if I approached Anik Tere.”

  “It is a masquerade ball. I could dress up as anyone I wanted to and no one would be the wiser.” I argue.

  “I’m not asking.” Lyom says firmly. “I will go and question Anik Tere. He will talk, especially if he knows he has aided a traitor to the king.”

  Irked by Lyom’s commanding tone, I query, “And me? What shall I do in your absence? Twiddle my thumbs?”

  “If you wish.” Lyom answers. “You will stay with Jamas and the others until I return.”

  I practically gape at Lyom. “Are you serious?”

  “As the grave.” Lyom replies.

  I snatch hold of my composure and try not to make a fool of myself. “Lyom, what if he lies to you? How will you know? He will not lie to me.”