by Audrey Grey
Another punch to the back forces me to the railing. Why am I here and not in a cell? I find the stars, twinkling bits of glass, and suddenly, more than anything in the world, I want my mother. Is she here somewhere?
“Looking for someone, dear?” the Emperor asks.
I grit my teeth and stare at my hands.
The Archduchess’s long fingernails gouge my chin as she forces me to look at the fountain. “Watch, worm. It’s about to begin.”
I wriggle my head from her claws. “You can’t force me to watch the show.”
The Archduchess and the Emperor both chuckle at the same time, as if they share some private joke.
They know. Somehow, somehow they know. My eyes fall over the tight mass of people circling the water, so close to the bomb. Too close. Why aren’t they warning them?
“Order them back, away from the fountain,” I say.
Folding his arms behind his back, the Emperor gazes out over the lawn. “Did you know I held pieces of my daughter in my palm? The most precious thing in my life reduced to jagged, oozing chunks of meat and bone.” When he turns to me, his eyes are shiny and demented. “I can play that event over and over to the empire, but until the air shimmers with blood, until they feel it still warm on their cheeks and smell it in their clothes, they’ll never truly understand why we have our rules. Why we have to be ruthless.”
There’s a scuffle, and the doors burst open. Caspian fights his way to me, throwing a Gold Cloak to the ground, sidestepping another. They’ve dressed him in his military finery, and his medals jangle off the sword strapped to his shoulder belt. Another sword glints at his waist.
Finally, two manage to capture him. Dried blood smears his chin, his right eye swollen nearly shut. His eyes search me out. Then they rest on the Emperor in unspoken challenge.
“Release her, Father.” His voice carries an arrogant, commanding tone that would make anyone else tremble in fear.
Ignoring him, the Emperor motions and the guards force Caspian to the Emperor’s side. “My son wasn’t alive for the bombings that killed his mother and baby sister,” he says, talking to me. “He’s weak, full of naïve ideas, like that the daughter of a Bronze traitor could be trusted.”
“She was trying to help us,” Caspian spits, straining against his captors. “To help our people!”
The Emperor laughs at his son. “This worm was manipulating you to find the weapon the Fienian Rebels would use to wipe us out. And she preyed on you because you are soft, a sympathizing fool who almost gave our enemy the means to wipe us out.”
“That’s a lie.” But his voice isn’t as sure as before.
“Wait and see for yourself then.”
Heart racing, I scan the crowd, searching for one of the others. My eyes blur with desperation as I realize there’s no way they can get to the Emperor now. He’ll have Centurions waiting for them after the bomb goes off.
They will all be killed.
I fling myself forward, nearly toppling over the railing. “It’s a trap!”
But the din of the crowd swallows my words. Sharp pain lances my side. Crying out, I grip the railing to keep from falling to my knees and clutch the deep ache just above my hip where the Archduchess stabbed me.
“That’s for defiling the Emperor,” she purrs, wiping my blood from her hatpin in the same reverent manner she wiped down the Emperor.
I look to Caspian, but by now he has realized I’m not what I seem, perhaps I tricked him, and his eyes have gone cold. The muscles in his neck cord as he slowly looks away.
Suddenly a giant rift screen appears over the fountain. An image of the Emperor solidifies, sitting on his throne, his hands clasped. He opens his mouth to deliver a message to the revelers, but then something changes. Black eats away at his body. From the darkness bursts a flaming scorpion, burning brightly as it wraps around a shriveling phoenix. People scream as its fiery stinger pierces the phoenix, over and over. Each thrust a warning, a reminder.
The Emperor and all his Golds bleed too.
The crowd mutters with shock as another image appears. A crooked, hunched man appears wearing a red cloak that hoods his crudely carved red mask, the mouth twisted into a leer that stirs something in me close to fear. Even without seeing his ruined face, I know it’s Nicolai.
What have we done?
But as I glance at the Emperor and see that same uneasy dread creeping over him, I feel a purl of satisfaction too. He wasn’t expecting this.
Nicolai’s bizarre, frightening voice erupts over the land, echoing off the valleys and trees. It rattles my teeth, my skull. “Emperor Laevus, King of murders and swine, this is a message from the nameless, the afflicted, the persecuted, and orphaned. You are no longer safe within your palace of greed. There is no place our tentacles cannot reach. We are everywhere, we are everyone, and we do not forgive.” A raspy, rattling pause as Nicolai inhales. “Let the reckoning begin.”
I crumple to the ground, the deep red folds of my dress masking the blood pouring from my wound. My throat chokes down a bizarre, horrified laugh. Soon it will be a dress of blood. I rest my head against the rough slats of the railing in defeat. The bombs will go off any second. I want to close my eyes, but I force them open, peering through the opening between two slats.
Watch what you have done, Maia. All the people who will die because of you. All for nothing.
My gaze falls upon a hooded figure just below. From my angle, I can see only his head, but it’s obvious he is kneeling. Warning bells alarm inside my head. He should be watching the fountain like the others, curious to see what happens next. I trail the figure with my eyes as he quickly lopes away, into the crowd. Something so familiar about his gait . . .
I turn my head as the doors grate open to the balcony. O enters, looking radiant in a pale pink gossamer gown. Miniature white roses adorn her hair. She is beaming. She obviously didn’t see the message on the rift screen.
Something about the hooded man calls back my attention. He’s flickering through the crowd like a shadow now, nearly invisible.
Only one person I know moves like that.
Almost as if he can feel my stare, Riser turns around. Grunting with pain, I force myself to a stand, arms held high so he can see my binds. I can only hope if he sees I’m a prisoner of the Emperor, he’ll know it’s a trap.
I meant for him to see me and go the other way, toward safety, but now he’s running toward me instead. Toward the danger I was trying to save him from. Smashing through Golds, his hood fallen back, screaming. Screaming like I never imagined Riser could, desperation and fear twisting his face.
My hands clench the railing.
And then I know what he was doing below and why he’s screaming and why he’s coming back.
I turn, to run, escape, but O stands in front of me. “Lady March, you’re bleeding.”
Oh God no. “You have to leave!” I beg her.
O’s big, sweet eyes brim with concern. “You’re hurt. Please, let me help you—”
“There’s another bomb!” My voice cracks. “This entire balcony is going to—”
But the roar cuts me off.
Chapter Forty-One
Time congeals into a silent, underwater scene of chaos. Stars churn above me; I am on my back. Sliding. My binds have been blown apart. Half of the balcony is now a gaping hole. O’s face comes into view, haloed by black smoke. Her mouth splits in a silent scream. Somehow our hands lock together, and then the hole swallows us.
It seems like an eternity waiting to hit the ground. O’s hand slips from mine. The miniature roses in her hair become floating stars . . .
I awaken to a sideways hell. Black fingers of smoke and debris and nanos reach up and tear off pieces of the sky. A staccato of bombs rattle the heap of rubble under my cheek. Stones as large as carriages become comets in the heavens. I watch in surreal fascination as a pale marble hand from the fountain bounces off the ground near my head.
A small moan escapes me. I feel strange,
hollow, as if part of me has been spilled from my body. Screams haunt the air. The tang of smoke and blood and charred flesh floods my nose and conjures bile.
Riser. I search my sideways world for him, but all I see is death.
Mangled bodies.
Screaming bodies.
Dying bodies.
Get up, Maia. Pushing off my elbows, I use fragmented chunks of stone to leverage to my knees, but when I try to put weight on my right leg, I scream out. Broken. A few of my ribs ache when I try to breathe, so they’re probably broken too. Others are getting up, the ones who can anyway. The shredders were more than efficient.
I catch sight of a mob of people running. Are they trying to get away from the bombs? But then I see they are dressed poorly, many emaciated and stumbling. They hold Royalist weapons. Swords. Sabers. Crossbows and pistols. A few shoot wildly into the crowd.
Nicolai and the Fienian Rebels have armed the people at the gate. This realization leads to another. This wasn’t an assassination attempt.
This was a coup.
More yells, more screams, as the makeshift army swarms the injured, but they amble aimlessly, seemingly confused, their weapons awkward in their untrained hands. Who are they supposed to be fighting? Where are the Centurions? The Royal Guard?
A horn shreds the chaos, and I have my answer. Moonlight glances off the Centurions’ golden shields. They are on horseback, spread out in two formations, each formation in neat rows of ten, thirty rows deep. General Bloodwood sits atop a horse at the front.
The Emperor was expecting this as well.
The people from the gate don’t stand a chance. They try to run, but the two Centurion formations swoop down on them, the horses’ hooves pounding the earth. I look away.
Find Riser. If I can find him and escape . . .
We see each other at the same time. A mountain of rubble separates us; shreds of my dress get caught on the jagged slabs as I claw and scrape my way toward him. My broken leg drags behind me, throbbing with pain.
Just a little more to Riser. To safety.
I notice the flowers first. Three perfect miniature roses, tinted red from the fiery sky. They sprout from strands of hair like roses on a pale vine. I follow the silky, silvery-blond tresses to the girl crumpled in the stone, her body contorted oddly. Like a doll, a beautiful, broken doll. “No,” I whisper. “Please, no.”
Ribbons of blood trickle from O’s nose and mouth. Her eyes are half-slits gazing upon the sky.
We did this.
Riser tops the rubble. He does nothing for a moment. Just stares down at her, the innocent girl we murdered. The hell around us recedes as I focus on his face. Tell me she’s alive, Pit Boy. Make it all okay.
He falls to his knees, cradling my chin with his palm. “We need to go,” he murmurs, scooping the other hand beneath my knees as he works to lift me.
A chasm of anger splits open inside me. “Why?” Fighting from his arms, I slip a few feet down the rubble, screaming as something tears at my shattered shinbone. “Why did they do this?”
He holds out his hand. Behind him, the sound of fighting intensifies, and I recognize some of the others. Flame, a crossbow in each hand, five nano-shredders hooked to her shoulder belt. Rhydian and Blaise are fighting off Centurions with long swords. Farther off, Delphine discharges her pistol, grey smoke trickling from the muzzle as one of the fighters from the gate drops. The hulking form of Roman fights beside her.
I know Riser is right. We need to leave, but I can’t move.
“Please, Everly,” he breathes.
“We killed her. Don’t you care?”
Part of his face is in shadow, but the visible part stiffens. “You think I don’t?” His boots grate across the rubble as he closes the distance between us, his hand still out, still pleading with me. “I will never, never forgive myself for O’s death. But if I let something happen to you too . . . Well, I’d rather die than feel that pain.”
Tears blur my vision as I accept his hand, ignoring what has to be blood crusting his fingers. “Okay,” I say, grinding my teeth against the pain, “let’s go. I think I can walk but—”
The sound of a sword unsheathing draws our attention to O’s body—and the shadow above it. Caspian. Except I hardly recognize this Caspian. With the blood darkening one side of his light hair, his cloak swirling behind him, he looks like one of the gods from my book—and not the benevolent kind. His eyes lock onto Riser, murderous eyes, brimming with silent, blistering fury.
Before I can scream, Caspian leaps to meet Riser, his cloak winging behind him, sword carving the air. Riser jumps back, somehow pushing me out of the way, and Caspian’s sword clangs against the stone at our feet, shooting white sparks.
“Watch out!” I yell as Caspian’s sword swings up and toward Riser’s head.
Somehow Riser ducks, rolls sideways, and pops up, his sword glinting. His eyes promise retribution.
Caspian retrieves the second sword from his shoulder belt, twirling it in his left hand. Now he has two.
Two blades with which to kill Riser.
Two blades to exact revenge.
Something deep inside me knows this will end only when blood soaks the ground. But whose? The golden heir to the throne who genetics said was my perfect match, or the dark bastard prince who fed me and protected me in my darkest hour? Breathless with agony, my eyes follow every blade as it fights to pierce the other’s flesh, my heart jumping with every near miss.
Which prince do I cheer for?
Which prince will I mourn?
Their swords clang together, over and over as they bite into each other, rattling my teeth, my heart. They thrust and counter and parry, grunting, each blow meant to take off the other’s head.
“Murderer!” Caspian screams at Riser as his swords take turns slashing at Riser’s head, his shoulders.
Even with his stealthy quickness, Riser barely manages to deflect the blows.
“Bastard!” Caspian roars, his swords unrelenting as they cut and stab and cleave in perfect tandem.
Riser scrabbles onto a higher slab right before Caspian’s swords would have taken off his head. Caspian stalks Riser, unrelenting, tireless, merciless, a god awakened from his slumber. Riser’s swordsmanship is exceptional, thanks to his lightning-quick reflexes and reconstruction, but Caspian is better.
I know what it is to hate someone, to wish them dead. To imagine killing them in a thousand ways. But this hatred, this blinding, murderous rage, is something I have never experienced before, and it fills me with terror.
As if a cold shadow passes over me, my body suddenly becomes weighted with suffocating dread.
“Worm.” Caspian’s sword just misses. “Killer.” His second blade finds Riser’s shoulder and Riser grunts, blood spurting from his arm. “Murderer!”
Caspian’s sword comes down on Riser so hard I think it will cut right through him. There’s a horrible clang as part of Riser’s blade breaks away, leaving a short useless stub. Riser’s foot trips over a small rock. And then he’s falling. Grunting. Scrambling. Until a long stretch of railing traps him.
Screaming through the pain, I somehow make it closer, shards of debris scraping and cutting through my flesh. But I’m too late. Caspian’s sword seems to cleave the moon from the sky as he hikes it above his head.
Then it comes down . . .
Riser’s hand reaches out, plucks an apple-sized piece of stone from the rubble, and hurls it at Caspian’s face.
The rock makes a sickly thunk over Caspian’s left eye. Gasping, his sword slips from his hand, he drops to his knees, eyes glazed, and falls like a sack face first down the mangled rock.
“Riser!” I scream, pulling myself to the edge as Riser leaps after him, his boots crunching softly in the grass below. I say his name again, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. His movements are smooth and predatory. This is the boy from the pit. The one who scares me.
Caspian rolls to his side, groaning, his arm outstretched toward his swor
d, but Riser pins Caspian’s arm with his boot. Caspian’s free arm delivers a volley of blows to Riser’s leg, but Riser hardly seems to notice. His two hands grip his sword straight above him, shoulders trembling, sweat dripping down his temples.
Caspian pants beneath Riser, glaring up at the blade aimed for his heart, blood carving a path over his swollen eye. “Murderer.” Caspian spits blood onto Riser’s boot. “Filth. Worm.”
Somehow I’ve made it down the rubble. “Don’t do it, Riser,” I plead. “Let him live.”
Riser blinks at my voice; the sword lowers an inch. “Why? Because you were matched?” His voice catches on the last word, but he refuses to look at me. “Nicolai told me.”
“We need to go. There’s still time—but if you kill him, they will hunt you down. Us down.”
“Do you still love him?” The pain in his voice cuts me.
“No.” I try to swallow, but my mouth is full of cotton. “Maybe—I don’t know. But I know how I feel about you. So, please, Riser, please, put the sword down.”
“You know what he’s done, what his father has done.” The muscles in his jaw grind, his hands tightening on the sword grip. “Tell me one reason I should let him live.”
My voice cracks with emotion and nerves and pain. “Because you told me I made you better. So prove it to me, Pit Boy.”
Riser’s shoulders soften as the rage leaves him. Slowly, so very, very slowly, his sword lowers. He exhales, turning to flash me a rare and glorious grin. “For you, Digger Girl—”
The bloodied tip of Caspian’s sword sprouts from Riser’s chest. Riser’s eyes go wide with shock, and he staggers forward. Wobbling, Caspian props one boot on Riser’s shoulder and yanks, the blade making a sick sound as it exits his body.
Riser crumples.
The scream lodged in my throat finally escapes. My eyes cling to Riser’s body, searching for movement, willing him to rise. A black spot of blood rapidly spreads across the back of his leather doublet. Is he breathing?
“Protect the Prince!” I ignore the Gold Cloaks as they close ranks to form a wall around us.
