Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  The double doors crafted of bronze at the end of the hall are pushed open and a grand throne room is revealed. Walls of gold and bronze highlight the murals of ancient emperors and empresses. Statues made of pure metals shine from their pedestals beneath the murals and floors of dark gems reflect the light from the chandelier of glass overhead.

  At the end of the great hall sits a throne made of beautiful woods with gems set deep in the grains. Sitting on the throne is Emperor Yanlin. This is the first I have seen of the young emperor. He only recently acquired the throne, having inherited it from his father. At the age of twenty-two, he is among the youngest emperors to rule Adaai. His two older brothers died in battle before they could claim the throne. Yanlin, the people say, was chosen by Yaran to be the next ruler of Adaai. Looking at the scrawny young man now, I find that hard to believe.

  I’m cast before the throne of Yanlin, a gangly kid that barely has a shadow across his jaw. Eyes of hazel stare down disapprovingly and from the tilt of his jaw I would assume he is not fond of me. He is better than his father, I suppose. His father would have taken one look at me to be sure I was, in fact, the Queen of Crimson, and then have me beheaded. His son won’t know my transgressions and will only see a poor young girl being cast at his feet. I decide to use his youth and innocence against him.

  Staring down at me with confused contempt, Yanlin says, “Rise, prisoner.”

  I’m a little surprised by his strong voice. I’d have expected such a gaunt young man to have a weak one.

  I draw up to my feet, adjusting the shackles around my wrists. There is nothing I hate worse than shackles. They chafe my wrists, prevent me from wielding more than one dagger at a time, and are cumbersome in battle, not to mention they signify captivity.

  Yanlin tilts his head to the side, examining me. He has a sort of air about him that I instantly do not like. He is incredibly haughty, taking on an air of superiority. I suppose he can, considering he is the emperor of Adaai.

  “My advisors say you are the Queen of Crimson, someone to be harshly dealt with.” says Yanlin, looking down his nose in disdain. I inwardly roll my eyes at his attempt to appear more sovereign and majestic. It would take a miracle to make this whelp look regal.

  “They tell me you have plagued our land for some time, along with an accomplice of yours. I have a list of crimes here.” Yanlin says, lifting a scroll and waving it about childishly in the air. “Shall I read from it?”

  I clearly have no say in the matter because Yanlin unravels the scroll and clears his throat, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings.

  “Five years ago was the first time you reared your head in Adaai, according to our accounts.” begins Yanlin.

  Incorrect. I first came on assignment to Adaai when I was eleven; six years ago, nearly seven. Of course, I refrain from mentioning such to His Royal Highness.

  Yanlin continues. “You were young at the time yet you killed one of the Suzerains of my father’s council, Kahtel Loc Hagret. Then, one year later, you returned, only to kill a member of my father’s council!” He waves a hand at the scroll. “It does not mention the member’s name here; he must have been insignificant.” Yanlin raises both brows at me and smiles. “Shall I go on?”

  I put on my best innocent look. “Your Majesty, I have never heard of a Queen of Crimson. I am a simple woman hailing from Abunuaid to celebrate the Feast of Yaran with my betrothed. Your guards —”

  The doors on the left side of the hall open and Lyom struts in. It takes me a long second to recognize what’s going on and to realize that he’s completely free. His wrists are not shackled and neither are his feet. Not even a serviceman watches him. He is dressed in the garb he wore upon entering Adaai — Evrallonic attire. In Emperor Yanlin’s court.

  I gape at Lyom. “You must be jesting.”

  Yanlin seems to enjoy my confusion. Lyom goes to stand a good distance from the emperor, which the guards appreciate.

  Yanlin tilts his head to the side. “Yes, I daresay we do have the correct girl, gentlemen.”

  I turn to look at Lyom, raising a curious brow, which he completely ignores.

  “So, not only are you an assassin that has killed plenty of people in my father’s empire, but you travel with Evrallonic soldiers!” Yanlin pronounces and I suddenly realize that we are all done for. I look again to Lyom, wondering why he isn’t bound in chains like I am. Does Yanlin not know he stands next to the Swordmaster of King Dryden? Has Lyom convinced Yanlin he is someone other than Evrallon’s Blight?

  Yanlin leans forward, propping an elbow on his knee. He shakes his head in mock contemplation. “What to do, what to do.” he muses. “You’re obviously of no use to me. I should have you killed.” He shrugs easily, sitting back in his chair. “Except that you have bought me time. If I return you to the Swordmaster, along with my permission to take back one of your prisoners that escaped to my empire, King Dryden has granted me three years of peace.”

  I continue staring at him in confusion, my gaze flitting to Lyom for confirmation. Emperor Yanlin is just going to let us walk away? For time?

  Yanlin chuckles. “A treaty. A three year treaty. I’d say that’s a fair trade.”

  I blink in confusion, gaze flitting between Lyom and Yanlin. “That’s it?”

  Yanlin nods. “Yes. Of course, I did have to send most of the servicemen back to Evrallon. It is quite the security risk to have all of you here. But I allowed Swordmaster Livingstone here to keep the vital members of his team.”

  I look to Lyom, who shakes his head. He walks down to where I stand shackled and takes the offered keys from the guards standing behind me. He grabs my chains, pulling me close enough that he can whisper in my ear while he removes my cuffs.

  “Please don’t do anything rash, Aerietta.” he pleads.

  I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck but I am hardly paying attention to the words he speaks. I am still too stunned that the emperor is letting us go. What did Dryden really offer him? A treaty hardly seems worth my life.

  The chains drop into his hands and he passes them to the guards behind him.

  Yanlin lifts his hand in an elegant gesture of farewell but it’s almost childish how he waves, smiling arrogantly as if he were the real winner here.

  “Bye now.” he calls as we turn around, walking out of the hallway.

  When the throne room doors shut behind us and we are escorted outside the temple, I turn to Lyom and ask, “What in the world is going on?

  Lyom continues to look straight forward until we have walked down the steps of the temple, back onto the streets of Adaai, where the Feast of Yaran is in full swing.

  “We needed to get you back from the emperor somehow.” Lyom explains. “We told him our situation, explained that there was a criminal that had slipped into his land, one dangerous enough that King Dryden would promise a three year treaty should we return with the criminal.”

  I glance at Lyom as we begin to walk through the streets of the festival, avoiding walking into the children who hold paper kites, waving them around in the air.

  “That isn’t true, is it?” I ask.

  Lyom frowns. “What isn’t true?”

  “That the king promised a three year treaty.”

  He politely steps out of the way of a child that tries to run between our feet, dashing into the festival. Fiddle music strings around us and the tapping of a thousand feet rings throughout the square, but so do hoarse shouts and the screams of children. The “demons,” then, preying on the weak and helpless. I’ve never understood this part of the tradition.

  “When I return to Evrallon, I will request that the king honor the word I gave Emperor Yanlin.” Lyom tells me.

  I laugh. “How very noble of you, Lyom.”

  He glowers. “It will not be noble of me if the king denies my request.”

  “He won’t.” I say before I am certain.

  He looks at me with an arched brow. I just shrug at him. “Why would he? The treaty surely would
benefit him as well. If you haven’t noticed, there is plenty of silver to go around here. Perhaps the king’s traders are being raided before the goods can be properly bartered.”

  He shrugs. “Perhaps.”

  We continue to walk through the festival, making our way into the bazaar. Where we are going I do not know but I decide just to let Lyom lead this once.

  Fireworks shoot off into the sky, momentarily startling me. At first I believe it’s gunfire. Guns are rare, especially in Adaai, but I would not put it past some of the black market criminals to procure one from an Evrallonic serviceman.

  Colors like red and orange light the path towards the inner area of Zahlemia. All the main streets are lit in bright colors, children running about, dragging behind them paper kites and balloons. The fiddles on every street play different tunes, and when one stands on the corner of two busy streets, one can hear the melodic music flowing from both fiddles.

  The buildings are made of light-colored clay and dark oakwood, pink-tinted paper lanterns hanging on the inns and homes. The roofs are made of a dark red brick, though some have been made of dark oak shingles. Everything is lively and awake, even at this time of night as the sun begins to set.

  “You saw Dominik?” Lyom asks as we make our way down one of the festival’s streets.

  I nod. “I saw him in the bazaar, though I didn’t realize it was him at the time.”

  I decide to leave out the part about dancing with him, followed by him kissing my forehead. It would be best for whatever pride I have left if he did not know I’d let a random stranger kiss me on the forehead before dancing off.

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Do you believe he has left? Did he recognize you?”

  “He recognized me.” I answer.

  Something Dominik says gives me pause, though. He promised not to leave me. He said no matter what, he would wait for me. What on God’s green earth does that mean?

  Lyom steps around a dancing couple in the streets and nearly steps on one of my feet. I expertly move out of the way before he can step down on me. Clearly festivities are not Lyom’s favorite pastime. Judging from his grimace, I assume he would rather be guarding at some post in the city than walking around the dancers with the assassin that has blighted Evrallon for the past six years.

  He runs a hand over his face. “Has Dominik fled?”

  I shake my head, though I remain unsure. “I don’t believe so.” I choose to withhold the source of my knowledge.

  “So we stay in Zahlemia?”

  I nod. “The festival will not be over for several more days. We have until then to apprehend and kill Dominik.”

  He nods brusquely just before something dark and gruesome jumps out from behind a building, snarling. It is a full grown man, dressed up in a horrifyingly realistic demon costume. With eyes that look like death itself and fangs reaching down to the man’s chin, he growls and flashes metal claws at us.

  I sidestep quickly just as Lyom tenses. The demon man just chortles and waddles on, moving back to prowl into the darkness again. I have to look over my shoulder the entire time to be certain he isn’t following us.

  The inn we are staying in is extravagant; of course, everything in Zahlemia is. The colors inside are of red, yellow, and orange, and the stairs are made of pure brass. Jamas and Carnahan were the only two of Lyom’s men that were considered critical members of the company and were allowed to stay. I understand Jamas, as he is Lyom’s righthand man, but Carnahan?

  I scowl at the burly man. “Couldn’t we have kept Gresham or Northam?” I huff. “At least they were useful, and they didn’t attempt to kill me around every bend. Besides, he’s injured.”

  Carnahan snarls at me. “Your doing.” he snaps, cradling his broken arm. “And I’ve yet to try to kill you.” His eyes narrow threateningly. “Don’t tempt me now.”

  Lyom glares at the two of us, a silent warning. I just smile at him while Carnahan acts like the cowering puppy he is and bows out gracefully. Lyom’s gaze returns to me.

  “Carnahan is here because he is our field physician. If we need medical care for any reason, we have him.”

  I look at Lyom. Does Jamas know about his instantaneous healing? I think back to when we were at the Badger, how only he and Carnahan were in the room while Lyom was being stitched and bandaged. Or were they just covering it so that his men continued in their illusion, believing him to be invulnerable? Either way, Jamas was present, indicating his knowledge on the subject.

  “We’re going to need a new strategy.” Jamas says as he stands by the window of the inn, overlooking the bazaar.

  Lyom shakes his head. “Dominik isn’t going to come out again, not now that he knows Aerietta is here. He can only assume she has come to kill him. What other reason would she have?”

  “He knows I’ll seek Laderic as well.” I supply. “Perhaps he is hoping to make a trade with me.”

  “What sort of trade?” Carnahan asks dully.

  “Of the information sort. Dominik will hand over Laderic’s whereabouts if I promise to leave him be for the rest of his miserable life.” I turn back to Lyom. “It is an understandable trade.”

  Lyom considers this, brows furrowing in thought. “I’m not sure Dominik would risk something like that. For all he knows he will reveal Laderic’s location to you and then be killed, himself. No offense.”

  I don’t really have the right to be offended so I smile weakly and halfheartedly wave it off. “None taken.”

  “So our strategy would be to aimlessly wander the roads of Zahlemia?” inquires Jamas. “It sounds a bit …”

  “Aimless.” Carnahan contributes.

  I turn to the pathetic physician. “I fail to see how your input matters in this current situation.”

  Carnahan puts his hands up in surrender. Lyom shoots me a warning look which I shrug off.

  “Will Dominik recognize us?” Jamas inquires.

  “Not you.” I say. “But he’ll recognize Lyom.”

  I look at Lyom, remembering how Quay made us memorize the faces of the royals and many of the Keep’s guards in case we were ever to need such information. Most of the artist’s depictions of the men and women were distorted, their features incorrectly shaped, but Lyom’s portrait was perfect. Of course it was. Lyom’s face is one of the most recognizable faces in all of Evrallon and even areas of neighboring kingdoms.

  Dominik will recognize him instantly. He will take one look at him and know he is the Swordmaster.

  “So we choose disguises.” Lyom orders. “Take the dress of the land and blend into the background. This will be our meeting place at the end of the night.”

  Jamas clears his throat. “With all due respect, Swordmaster, none of us know what Dominik is capable of. Perhaps we should lure him back into the Menca Denu, where the remainder of our company awaits.”

  Carnahan huffs. “The assassin’s stunt has complicated this plot more than it should have been.”

  Lyom’s electric eyes remain on Jamas. “Your concern is noted. Aerietta knows Dominik.”

  “Intimately.” I interject, intending for it to sound professional and cringing when I hear my own voice. A part of me wants to slap myself in the forehead.

  Lyom and Jamas both wince at the same time while Carnahan just laughs boisterously.

  “Right,” continues Lyom. “Aerietta knows Dominik and will be able to predict his movements. If either of you find him before the assassin does, do not engage him in combat. Notify Aerietta and she will handle the situation.”

  Jamas nods. “Of course, sir.”

  Lyom’s gaze goes to Carnahan. “Carnahan, keep your snide remarks to yourself for the evening. I don’t want to pull you and the assassin off each other like two kittens with hackles raised.”

  Carnahan straightens his posture and nods tersely. “Yes sir.”

  “If Dominik is expecting you as you believe, he will be watching you.” Lyom says, turning his eyes of blue glass to me. “You need to be out in the open where
Dominik will not feel threatened. The moment you are able to take Dominik’s life, you take it.”

  I roll my shoulders back confidently. “It won’t be an issue.”

  Lyom’s gaze is stern, serious. “Aerietta,” he says, voice softer than his expression. “I cannot afford to have you balk and lose your opportunity. When he is within your range, you take him out, no matter the witnesses.”

  I nod reassuringly. “I have this, Lyom.”

  Lyom lets out a breath I doubt he realizes he was holding. “You each have an hour to get ready. Jamas, have the innkeeper bring us Adaaian clothing.”

  Jamas nods and leaves the room. Carnahan stands as well, departing to his own room. I start to follow him out to head to the room Lyom mentioned was mine when Lyom stops me. I look over my shoulder.

  “I need to be certain you will take his life. You know what the king will do to you if you refuse to kill him.” says Lyom.

  Both angered and offended by Lyom’s lack of confidence in me, I reply, “Dominik turned his back on me. He tricked me into trusting him then turned around and stabbed me in the back, and he now flaunts his freedom. Killing him will not be difficult.”

  I quickly step out of the room and march down the stairs and across the hall to the room Lyom had pointed out when we first came into the inn earlier. Entering the room, I toss my clothes off, closing the door behind me. Inside the washroom, a pool of water has already been drawn and steam rolls over the surface. I close the door of the washroom just to be safe and grab one of the bars of soap from the counter once I have completely stripped my clothes off. I let my hair down from the braid I’d thrown it into and step into the hot pool, sinking into the waters.

  It has been days since I was allowed to be in a bath. I’d considered washing off in the pools of water we came across in the Menca Denu but it had seemed too risky, knowing my Jezdah would probably be in plain sight, let alone the fact that I would be bathing naked in the midst of Evrallonic soldiers. The only thing that came close to a bath would be Lyom dunking me into the pool after I nearly fainted from the heat, since I do not count swimming through salty seawater and crawling into a drainpipe a semblance of a bath.