RED PALACE FINAL Kobo

by Sarah Dalton

  I slow until all I can hear is my own breathing and the snapping of twigs. Where am I? I could be close to the deadly fog, or the vines that suck blood, or the Nymph. I could be anywhere. I press on, shifting obstacles out of my way as I search for my one true friend.

  A low moan. So low and tired that it frightens me.

  With trembling fingers, I part the branches of a bush and push through the foliage. It’s there that I see him, nestled in the fallen leaves. I drop to my knees at his side, my insides turned to water from fear. Fear of losing him. I forget the visions in that moment. It is only me, and my one true friend, a pure innocent being who should never be hurt like this. Anta’s breath exhales, warm and foggy into my hand. He nickers to me. And then I feel the warmth of his blood. It’s everywhere, seeping into the muddy floor of the forest, spreading thick and fast over his coat. I can’t find the wound, but I know deep down in my heart that he is badly injured, that he could…

  Chapter Eight – The Little Prince

  Anta.

  Before I even have time to cry his name, I’m sucked into the king’s chamber. The smell of the king’s cologne mixed with ink and leather filters through my nostrils. The ground is hard beneath me, and my palms tingle with a spreading soreness. Allerton’s voice seems faraway, like a whispering ghost.

  I sit up straight. Anta. What happened to him? I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Why did I find him alone and bloodied on the floor of the forest. That isn’t what happened after I met Cas and took him to Halts-Walden. Later that night he had been hurt, but only by a stray arrow; never hurt to the extreme I saw in the vision.

  Had the Nix included my own fears into Cas’s vision? It made no sense.

  “Mae? Are you all right?”

  I stare at him, and then I stare down at my sore hands.

  “Nettle stings. That must mean it’s real. It’s real!” I rush to my feet. Allerton regards me with eyes wide with panic.

  “What is the matter, Mae?” He implores me with arm gestures.

  “I have to get to Anta.” I move towards the door to the King’s room and begin working on the brass ring. It’s no use; I don’t know the combination.

  “Mae, what are you doing? You can’t go out there, the Nix—”

  “He has Anta!”

  “Calm down and tell me what you saw in the vision this time? You know that you cannot trust anything shown to you by the Nix, you know that.”

  I ignore him and hurry back towards the open passageway. But then I think better of it and shake my head. It would take too long to travel back to the queen’s chamber, and if I try to find an exit elsewhere I run the risk of getting lost within the twists and turns.

  “He must have a clue somewhere.” I carry on going through the King’s belongings, no longer caring whether he will find out I have been in his room. I pull the papers and books to the floor, rifling through them with manic ferocity.

  “What are you looking for?” Allerton demands. He stands by me with his mouth hanging open.

  “Anything I can find to help me end this. The Nix wants something and if I find it I can finish this once and for all.”

  “Mae, you need to tell me what you saw in the vision. Take a deep breath, and talk to me,” he says.

  But the panic has taken me and I can’t see straight. I hear the riddles going around and around in my mind, feel Anta’s blood on my hands, see Cas’s silver eyes staring at me. That memory has taken me straight back to the girl I once was, has torn open a wound I thought had healed. There are tears burning behind my eyes.

  “Mae,” Allerton says. His voice rises in frustration. “Stop ignoring me. I must know what has happened. Why are you panicked? Are you letting the Nix in? Are you letting it rile you?”

  “No,” I reply, moving around the room, tipping papers and clothes to the floor.

  “You’re lying. You need to focus.”

  “No, I need to help the people who need me.”

  He stands and watches me as I try to avoid his amber eyes. He is powerless and we both know it. Without a corporeal form he cannot force me to do anything.

  “I’m not sure I can be your Protector,” he says after a pause.

  I stop what I’m doing and turn to him. “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t help you. There is too much bad blood between us and I will not gain your trust in the short time we have to kill the Nix. I feel that I am hindering your ability to progress. You cannot open up while I am here. Look at you, clearly terrified by something you have seen, and yet unable to talk to me. I cannot get through to you.”

  I open my mouth, feeling as though I should say something to contradict this. I have nothing. He’s right.

  “I should leave,” he says. “Let you figure this out on your own.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re leaving me alone?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re never alone. I will be watching you. I will be there if you need me.”

  “But you said that you’re not my protector.”

  “I can still watch over you,” he says mysteriously.

  “Will I be alone here?”

  Allerton doesn’t answer. Instead, he fades.

  “Wait,” I say. “I…” I know I should tell him to come back.

  “Goodbye, Mae, I’m sorry,” he says, slowly fading away.

  I watch him dissipate from the room like wafted smoke, with a heavy feeling pulling at my heart. I should shout that I didn’t mean what I said, but part of me wonders if he is right. How will it ever work as guardian and craft-born if I cannot trust him? I run my hands over my bare forearms, rubbing the warmth back into them. The empty room has caused the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

  The last vision frightened me more than any of the others. I don’t know whether it is because it concerned the people closest to me, whether it is because it brought me so close to the home I once had, or whether it is because the Nix has worn me down, but my mind is more fractured than ever. I am desperate for this to end.

  I have to concentrate on getting Anta back. I’d assumed him safe and well outside the castle in the King’s stables. Now I know that no one is safe. I can’t stay locked away from the Nix forever. I have to stop hiding in the royal quarters. It’s time to face my own fears.

  I examine the King’s desk for clues. The queen had her combination hidden within the mirror in her bathroom. The king might have a similar code. His desk seems to be the main focus of the room. I imagine that he loves this desk and loves the sense of power it gives him. It is very much like him: flashy and brutish. I run my fingers over the surface before trying underneath, feeling the lip of the wood for any clues. It’s smooth.

  But when I pull out the drawer, I notice that it doesn’t seem quite as deep as it should be. It’s there that I notice a tiny version of Beardsley’s brass locks, but this time without as many combinations. Can I be lucky enough to guess the combination? I finger the brass ring, hidden at the back of the drawer under a pile of papers. A man like the king must have many hidden compartments, all locked away by Beardsley’s locks. There’s no way he could remember so many combinations. I pull out the drawer below and feel along the edge. Yes! There! Just like with the queen’s mirror, the king has had subtle notches carved into the wood. This time I am taking no chances. I might one day need the combinations. I take a piece of paper from the drawer and begin to write down all the combinations to the doors I know in the castle, before folding it and placing it in my britches pocket.

  Opening the secret compartment is easy now. When the fake bottom of the drawer pulls out, I find only one item hidden away: a small notebook, approximately the size of the holy books in Halts-Walden, thick and chunky, but only around the size of your hand. I lift it out and flip open the first page.

  I am in despair.

  It appears to be a journal penned by the king. It begins with those morbid words. This is not what I expected at all.
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  I need Beardsley to rid me of this fear once and for all.

  I refrain from reading further. Aside from it feeling too personal, it’s strange, to the point where I wonder if he is in his right mind at all. I don’t need to know the mad ramblings of a despot king. What I need is the combination to his chamber so I can leave. I thumb quickly through the pages and come across the jackpot on the inside flap of the final page. The king has listed a number of secret combinations to doors inside the Red Palace. I place the notebook in my pocket and grab a new sword from the wall. It is lighter than the last sword, and when I test it against my forearm, it is sharper too.

  With my new tool, opening the door of the king’s chamber is simple. Soon enough, the last notch falls into place and the mechanism clicks open. I grip the handle of the door and hesitate, the weight of being alone settling on my shoulders. I never thought I would miss Allerton. Yet I do. I roll those aching shoulders, check the wound in my side—a dull background pain now—and examine my red hands. I cannot keep falling through these visions. One of them will kill me. No. Enough is enough. I am going to face the Nix head on and end this once and for all.

  I swing the door open wide and step into the corridor.

  It is silent.

  Whether I expected the great, slithering bug to be waiting for me, I’m not sure. But I pull in a deep breath of relief and say a silent prayer that I did not come face to face with my enemy before I am prepared.

  I calm my pounding heart by pulling in a few deep breaths and then slink around the corner, holding the sword aloft. I know Allerton says I should use my powers, but there is reassurance in the chilled steel. It is heavy in my hands, but I like that reminder. The engraved hilt reminds me of Cas and my heart tugs. I would love him to be by my side asking stupid questions. I miss the sound of his voice.

  A thick silence hangs in the air. I hear no tell-tale signs of the Nix. In the Waerg Woods the Nix scuttled through the paths with its large, slug like body, and the plates of its back clicking together. That noise is the one thing that slips into my dreams at night. It is the one thing that has been left to me from the Waerg Woods. The only other image that comes close to haunting me is the thought of Finn struck through the chest by the prophetess.

  I gulp.

  Where am I going?

  I move swiftly through the castle, walking on the balls of my feet, placing them softly against the stone slabs. Somewhere a door creaks. Could it be caught in a breeze? Or is it the Nix catching up with me? Perhaps I have made a mistake. The last vision has messed with my mind, forced me into making mistakes. I shake the doubts out of my mind and move on.

  It’s time to decide on how to act. I need to hunt the Nix once and for all. I have to make sure we all survive this. Fear niggles at my stomach. I haven’t mastered fire. According to Allerton it is the one thing the Nix is afraid of. But he’s gone. He’s left me, and I must do things my way.

  The stairs disappear beneath my feet. My breath begins to pant as I pass the kitchens and head for the engines in the cellars. I know this place all too well, now.

  As I lift an arm to wipe the sweat from my forehead, the familiar sucking sensation rips me from the corridor.

  “No,” I whisper. “Not now. No!”

  I devour hearts.

  I am in your worst fears.

  I am in your brothers and sisters.

  I am in you.

  Have you solved my riddles yet, craft-born? Or is the uneducated peasant girl struggling with the big words? You need guidance. Let me guide you. Let me lead you…

  I’m back in the queen’s chambers. In my hand is a needle and thread. In the other is a swatch of material, embroidered into a delicate pattern of roses. The sun is shining outside. I rest on the window sill with my knees up. I am balanced against the barred window, staring out at the city before me. It’s a beautiful sight. The tall shop buildings are brightly painted, pastels and reds and brown, dotted with signs and slogans. Beyond that I see the ploughed fields of the farms. Some are patterned with crops, other are still dirt brown. Further still stretches the green fields of Aegunlund, merging in with the darker green of the long forests. The north is famous for its green pastures, and so it should be, they are magnificent.

  Back I go to my humming. I work the needle in and out, in and out of the material, building the soft pastel greens of the leaves. This will be a fine addition to my collection, perhaps the most perfect of them all. I’ve learned an abundance of skill since the days when mother would chastise me for my poor technique. I take in a long breath, remembering Mother is a difficult task. My heart twists both out of love and grief, and bitterness and hatred. She was a cruel woman, obsessed with her daughter’s success yet jealous of it at the same time. Alas, my corset is too tight to allow me that sigh.

  “Mummy, Mummy, look what I can do.”

  I turn my head to the sound of the voice. The sight of his sand coloured hair always fills my broken heart with such joy. Casimir plays on the wall of the opposite side of the castle. At once I drop my embroidery to the floor and get to my feet. He is high above on the ramparts.

  “Casimir, stop that at once. Climb in through the window!” I wring my hands, agonised at the sight of my child in such a precarious position. “You must stop!”

  “But Mummy, Lyndon said you would be pleased.”

  At six and four, Casimir, despite being the oldest, is by far the most naïve of the two. Lyndon seemed to come out of the womb a calculating old man. He was a longer baby than Casimir, and a greedier baby, too, and he remained taller than Casimir as he grew.

  “No, Casimir, I am not pleased. I’m not angry, but you must turn around and move back to the window. Do it now, darling.”

  My heartbeat quickens and I place a hand over my chest. Where is Lyndon? Why has he told Casimir to do this? He may only be four years old, but there is something worldly about him. I fear it is to do with how much time he spends with the king. The man is a bad influence.

  Casimir takes small steps towards the window and my heartbeat begins to calm. When he is safe I will run to him and scoop him up and smell his hair again. The absence of him in my arms makes me ache in the bottom of my stomach, an ache that longs for another baby. That ache will go ignored. I will never bring another child into the world, not when the father of that child is the king. If I’d known then what I know now…

  With a jolt, I realise that the dark head of my second child waits for Casimir at the window. Lyndon stands, oddly tall for a four year old, waiting for his brother.

  “Lyndon, move away from the window and let Casimir back into the castle,” I shout through the bars of my own window. They are easily wide enough to let a small child like Casimir through.

  My muscles begin to clench. Lyndon has a smile on his face that lifts the hairs on the back of my arm. I send a prayer up to the Gods.

  “Lyndon, help your brother back into the palace. Lyndon, do this or Mummy will be cross.” I back away from the window, ready to sprint to the other side of the castle. If anything happens it will be too late. It is too far to dash across. “Guards! Guards! Help my son.” I know it is useless to call for the guards. There are so few of them now. “Finan! Help us, Finan!”

  Lyndon reaches his small chubby arms through the bars of the window. Casimir is crying now. He realises what he’s done and he is afraid. My heart twists at the sound of his voice. It is too much. I have to go to him.

  I turn and run through the room, turning in the direction of the crying. On the way I stop and stare out of the window. I don’t have as good a view as in my room, but here I can see Lyndon’s arms moving towards Casimir.

  “That’s it, help your brother,” I call out in my most soothing voice.

  I’m about to move away in order to continue across to the boys, when I notice Lyndon’s hands. They are not open as though to take Casimir’s hand in his, they are flat, as though he intends to push him.

  “Lyndon
!” I scream. “No!”

  The scream that leaves my body ripples through the castle like a strong gale. I collapse in on myself, my knees buckling beneath me. With one hand, I grasp uselessly onto the bar of the window, as though I can still reach out to him. I will never smell his hair again. I will never feel him in my arms again. I will always see him, falling, falling…

  Small footsteps tip tap along the castle stones. A tall child appears around the corner of the wall.

  “Why are you sad, Mummy? I will be king now. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Daddy says so.”

  I wake in a pool of sweat. Thank the Gods, it was just a dream. Still, I think I will check on the boys.

  As I plan to leave my bed, I become aware of someone else in the room.

  “Casimir?” I say. My voice is a whisper.

  “No, Mother, it’s your second choice.”

  My breath freezes in my throat. “Lyndon, my darling boy—”

  “Save it,” he says, in an ice cold voice. Lyndon has never been an affectionate child. There has always been a sense of disconnection in the way he interacts with the world, but this new tone is different. It frightens me. “I know what you think of me. I know that I am not your favourite. I don’t think you even like me. Daddy liked me. Casimir hated me. Maybe it was because I stabbed the whining boy with a sword, who knows.”

  My voice trembles. “What do you mean… hated?”

  Lyndon tosses two heads onto the bed as casually as if they were bread rolls. My second scream of the night rips from my body as though someone has reached down my throat and dragged it out. Without a second thought, I swat them off the bed and crawl up until my knees are under my chin. My son and my husband. My son. Dear Casimir. My Cas. And I swatted him away like a bug.

  He died a violent death.

  The pain is too much. I am broken.

  “I’m going to be king,” Lyndon says. “As soon as I’ve got you out of the way.” He lifts a bloodied knife and the moonlight catches the blade. A manic grin reflects in the steel.