Shadow Crown

by Kristen Martin

  RYDAN HELSTROM

  WHEN RYDAN WAKES, he can’t tell whether or not it actually stormed the night prior. The boat seems to be rocking less, almost as if they’d already arrived—as if Barlow had docked it. With no sense of time, Rydan swings his feet over the bottom bunk, careful to make as little noise as possible as he makes his way to the stairs. Overhead, he can hear Arden’s light snoring.

  He stops in his tracks and holds his breath as a mason jar appears out of nowhere and rolls across the floor. It lodges itself next to the crate Arden used to hop onto her bunk the night before. He stays still for a minute, cursing under his breath and praying she won’t stir. When she doesn’t move, he looses his breath and quietly tiptoes up the stairs to the main deck.

  Dawn is breaking, a subdued canvas of yellow, blue, and orange, and Barlow is nowhere in sight, but Rydan finds that his assumption is correct in that the ship is indeed docked. “It must be 0400 hours,” he murmurs to himself.

  His stomach rumbles as he begins to search the ship for food, grunting irritably when he comes up empty-handed. Not willing to wait for Barlow to reappear, Rydan sneaks back down the stairs to the mid-cabin and throws on a pair of boots. He sweeps the room once more, checking the other bunks to see if Barlow perhaps decided to get some rest after all, but the beds are empty.

  With Arden still fast asleep, Rydan hurries back up the steps to the main deck and walks over to the side of the ship. He places his hands on the sturdy wood and hops up to sit on the ledge, then swings his legs over. The dock is further away than it looks, but he braves it and pushes himself off the edge of the ship. With surprising ease, he lands on both feet. Feeling proud of himself, he fluffs the collar of his tunic and begins his walk toward the village of Lonia.

  This early in the morning, Lonia is a complete ghost town, but the sights before him are absolutely breathtaking. Stone blocks with intricate carvings make up the majority of the residents and shops. The town is enclosed by a massive mountain and, at the very back, is the largest waterfall Rydan has ever laid eyes on. The water flows into separate canals that lead into the village along the stone pathways. Bridges crisscross up the mountain, and Rydan realizes that each bridge leads to a sort of enclosure. Temples, perhaps? Hundreds of them line the sides of the mountain, beckoning him to enter.

  His curiosity dissipates as a low growl erupts from his stomach. The streets are completely empty except for a fresh fruit cart off in the distance. He squints, noticing a faint shadow standing behind the cart. Succumbing to the pangs in his stomach, he eagerly picks up the pace. When he finally reaches the cart, his eyes glaze over. Vibrant red, green, and yellow apples stare him in the face. They are separated by dividers, as are the bananas, oranges, and pears. So consumed by his need for food, Rydan doesn’t even acknowledge the figure standing behind the cart, until he asks, “How much for a banana and an apple?”

  “That depends on the color of the apple.”

  The voice stuns him, light and airy, a woman’s. He snaps his gaze from the fruit to the source of the voice. The mystery woman is wearing a hood, her face entirely shadowed, but even still, it’s hard to miss those glowing violet eyes. Never in his life has Rydan seen someone with such a captivating eye color. “Red,” he says softly, sounding somewhat uncertain of his choice.

  “One banana and one red apple,” the woman says breathily as she picks each one from its section of the cart. “That will be six riyals.”

  Rydan nods his head and turns to the side as he sifts through his pocket. Different currencies of the many villages he’s passed through over the years glide across his fingertips. Finally, he pulls out six amber-colored coins and places them on the cart. “Six riyals, per your request.”

  To his surprise, the woman brings her hands to the sides of her hood and slowly lowers it. Midnight-black hair, somehow darker than his, falls in long waves around her shoulders. The stark contrast of her eyes against her dark hair and skin makes the violet stand out even more. An innocent smile touches her full lips. “Your business is much appreciated.”

  Too stunned to speak, Rydan just nods his head again and gathers the food. He turns to walk away from her, but only walks a few steps before turning back around. His face falls as his eyes search the street. It’s as if she’s vanished into thin air. Gone. Like a ghost.

  A shudder runs down his spine. Rydan blinks a few times, wondering if maybe he didn’t get as much sleep as he’d originally thought. It’s possible he’d just fabricated their meeting in his head. But if that were the case . . .

  With purpose, he strides back over to the cart, scanning the surface for the six riyals he’d used as payment. They’re nowhere in sight. Before he can piece his thoughts together, a sharp whistle pierces his ears. He grimaces as he turns to look over his shoulder.

  Barlow stands just a short distance away with an obvious smirk on his face. He walks toward Rydan, tossing a green apple in the air along the way. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  Rydan shrugs. “I’d ask you the same question.”

  Barlow gives him a knowing look as he takes a gigantic bite of his apple. The crunch of teeth into the apple’s skin makes his stomach growl with hunger, and Rydan follows suit.

  “I see you found breakfast,” Barlow says between mouthfuls. “Come on. It’s best we get back to the ship.”

  Rydan only nods as he takes a few more bites. It takes hardly any time for him to devour the fruit, and he hastily throws the apple core to the side of the road as he follows Barlow back to the dock. It occurs to him to ask the captain about the mystery woman with violet eyes. “Hey, did you happen to get your fruit from the same cart I was standing at?”

  Barlow slows his pace, then turns around to look at him. “I believe so. Why?”

  “The woman working at the cart . . .” His voice trails off as a dark look crosses over Barlow’s face.

  “The cart was unsupervised,” Barlow says almost a little too quickly.

  Rydan gives him a questioning look. “Then how did you pay for your meal?”

  “I left the riyals on top of the cart.”

  His brash response leaves Rydan speechless. He’s tempted to ask when Barlow had gotten his meal, because the last he checked, there were no riyals sitting atop the cart, not even his own.

  Before he can pry further, Barlow whirls away from him and marches onto the dock. “You should wake Arden,” he shouts from over his shoulder. “You two have a long day ahead of you.”

  Not only is his dismissal insulting, it strikes a chord deep within Rydan. He turns to look back at the path from which they just came—back at the fruit cart. There is no shadowed figure standing behind it, nor is there a soul in the surrounding area. Could it really have just been his imagination, from lack of sleep? Or, could it be that there’s something Barlow isn’t telling him? Something he’s keeping secret?

  His gut tells him it’s the latter. And, in that moment, Rydan decides he’ll do whatever it takes to find out exactly what that something is.

  ARDEN ELIRI

  I STIR FROM my slumber feeling awake, but not rejuvenated in the slightest. A haze drifts around my head, leaving me groggy and somewhat disoriented. From what, I don’t know, but then I faintly recall that I’m on a ship. I never earned my sea legs, and it’s proving to be a problem now, more so than in the past. Bile rises in my throat and I quickly slide down the bunk to the floor, racing to the nearest barrel I can find. I release my hand from my mouth as yesterday’s breakfast surfaces. I instantly feel better. As I resume standing upright, a voice startles me.

  “I didn’t peg you as one to get seasick.”

  I turn toward Rydan and roll my eyes at him, hoping that he can’t see the red flush slowly creeping across my cheeks. “I’m fine.”

  He raises his eyebrows, then tosses me a banana. “Eat.”

  After tossing up yesterday’s breakfast, food is the last thing I want, but the realization as to how famished I am hits me like a ton of b
ricks. I hungrily peel the banana and scarf it down, then throw the shell into the barrel. How ladylike. I flatten the wrinkles out of my tunic and trousers as I search the cabin for my boots. My eyes land on Rydan’s feet.

  “You’re wearing my boots,” I say, my voice flat.

  Rydan narrows his eyes at me, then looks down at his feet. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, miss. These are my boots.”

  I give him a sideways look. “Do you really want to be caught assassinating someone in lady’s footwear?” I tease him.

  He scowls, then cocks his head toward the front end of the lower bunk. There, perched upright with the laces tied, are my boots. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they’d been polished—brand new—as if they hadn’t trudged through crimson floors and muddy roads in the past.

  In an attempt to avoid Rydan’s gaze, and the all-knowing smirk that’s surely on his face, I keep my eyes trained on the floor as I walk over to my shoes. I plop down on the lower bunk and pull one onto my left foot, then the right. When I look up, Rydan still has the same look on his face I was so desperately hoping to avoid. Another wave of embarrassment washes over me, and I can feel the heat returning to my cheeks. “All right, all right, you win,” I say as I stand up and head toward the stairs.

  His smirk transforms into a full-fledged smile as he rolls his hand and bows.

  My embarrassment fades and all I can do is laugh. “Hey, do you happen to have any more fruit?”

  A strange look crosses his face before he says, “No. But I know where we can find some.”

  He leads the way by climbing up the stairs. I follow him, almost running into his back when he suddenly comes to a halt on the main deck. I bring myself next to him to see what made him stop. Barlow stands just a few feet away from us, holding two red apples in one hand and a green one in the other. I notice Rydan eye him warily.

  “You like red, right?” Barlow asks. His voice is almost taunting. I suddenly feel like I’ve missed something important.

  Rydan clenches his jaw before responding. “I already ate. Give it to Arden.”

  I stare at the apples hungrily as Barlow shrugs and tosses them over to me one at a time. I catch them with ease. Barlow bites into his green apple, then turns on his heel and strides over to the helm. I extend the spare apple to Rydan. “I know you already ate,” I start, “but you should take one anyway. You’ll need your strength. We both will.”

  I can see the reluctance in his expression, but he knows I’m right and takes the fruit from my hand. I’m not sure what I missed earlier this morning, but I’m fairly certain I won’t get any information out of Rydan anytime soon.

  

  Barlow waves at us from the ship as we make our way down the dock to the village of Lonia. My chakrams are tucked safely at my sides in the holsters of my black Cruex uniform, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Rydan’s longsword strapped securely to his back, the edge gleaming in the morning light.

  We’re silent as we walk into the village, carrying not only our weapons, but also the tremendous weight of what we’re about to do. It doesn’t bother me as much as it seems to bother Rydan, who’s continuously clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Nervous habit.

  “Barlow runs a tight ship, doesn’t he?” I say in an attempt to break the silence.

  Rydan grunts something barely audible.

  Well, if that’s how he’s going to be, then fine. “I’m taking the lead on this one.”

  He stops walking and gives me a befuddled look. “Come again?”

  “My name was called first. This should have been my mission. A solo mission,” I emphasize. “So I’ll lead.”

  Rydan shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. “Whether it was originally announced as a solo mission or not, it’s now a duel mission and classified as a category eight.” He furrows his brows at me. “We’ll do it together.”

  I know that if I try to convince him otherwise, I’ll never win. So instead, I slap on my best authentic smile and say, “I suppose you’re right. Let’s go.” It fades immediately as I turn away from him and pick up my pace toward the Soames’s household. I can feel his confusion trailing behind me, but I don’t turn to acknowledge it.

  I reach the bright red door first, the plain bronze knocker glinting in the rising sunlight. A dark cloud slowly comes into sight overhead, and I can see Rydan breathe a small sigh of relief. His preference is to complete his missions at night, for obvious reasons: not as easy to spot, and people are usually sleeping. In my honest opinion, it’s the easy way out as an assassin. But after the Langley incident . . . well, I suppose I can understand where he’s coming from.

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about what time of day it is. If I have a job that needs to be done, then I’ll get it done, day or night, rain or shine. The daylight does have its appeal, though: it’s easier to see your targets and people are less on edge, less suspecting. Because who, in their right mind, would kill someone in broad daylight and risk getting caught?

  Oh, right. I would.

  I sneak around the side of the house with Rydan on my heels. A loud banging sounds from inside, and I quickly hold up my hand, motioning for Rydan to stop moving. He doesn’t see it and bumps right into me. I lose my footing and fall into the side of the house. I exhale a quick sigh of relief as a canopy catches my fall, muffling the noise. I shoot him a menacing glare. Rydan extends his hand to me and helps me to my feet. “Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath.

  I don’t say anything, but instead peek around the back of the house. A wooden ladder leans against the structure, so I motion to Rydan to follow me. He nods as we make our way across the back lawn, careful not to trip over the tools that are haphazardly strewn all over the place. Perhaps Mr. Soames is a blacksmith? Or maybe he’s a tradesman of sorts? I can’t be sure.

  Rydan follows my lead as I climb the rungs. Once I reach the top and peek my head over the edge, a smile stretches across my face. Just as I’d suspected, the house contains a skylight, sitting half open, as if it’s awaiting our arrival. I crawl across the top of the house and hurry over to the circular window, then press my ear against the opening. Shortly after, Rydan is crouched right next to me.

  Voices echo from within the house. It sounds like there are three people, but it’s hard to tell. A woman speaks first, her voice soft and comforting. “You’ll have no playtime, young man, until you finish your reading.”

  What sounds like a book falling onto a wooden surface sounds from downstairs. A young boy’s voice responds, probably no older than seven or eight. “Yes, Nana. Reading first.”

  I jump as a brusque voice sounds from upstairs. “Radelle! Have you seen my brown trousers?”

  The conversation continues for about ten minutes. Rydan and I sit on the rooftop in silence, ears pressed against the window, listening to every word. It sounds so normal, so everyday, that it’s hard to imagine these seemingly common folk of Lonia committing a category eight crime—a crime worthy of death by the king’s assassins. I look at Rydan and can tell he’s thinking the exact same thing. But an order is an order, and so we must uphold King Tymond’s wishes.

  Rydan holds up three fingers and I nod to confirm. Three of them, two of us. It’ll be one of the easier missions I’ve been assigned to. I lean over and pull a rope from out of the holster that’s also holding Rydan’s longsword, and deftly fashion it into a sailor’s knot. I pull myself into a crouching position and make my way around the skylight, making sure the rope is wrapped tightly around the outer rim of the window. With a final tug, and full certainty it’s secure, I pull out the chakram from my left holster. Rydan looks at me, and I give him a confident nod.

  We’re ready.

  I begin my descent down the rope, stopping once I reach the rafters in the ceiling. I tiptoe across the beams until I have a solid bird’s eye view of the kitchen. Spoons clank against bowls as the Soames family eats their breakfast. They l
ook so peaceful, so happy. A flicker of doubt crosses my mind that maybe the king is wrong, but he wouldn’t make such a grave mistake. I’ve learned that looks can be deceiving. This is the family responsible for a category eight crime. And so Rydan and I will do what has to be done.

  Before I can process what’s happening, Rydan suddenly slides down the rope, but he doesn’t stop in time. He’s much further down the rope, way past the rafters. I wave my hands in the hopes that I’ll grab his attention, but it’s no use. I hold my breath as he continues to slide down the rope, and just when I’m sure my face is about to turn blue, he lands in the living room just opposite the kitchen. Thankfully, there’s a wall between the two, so the Soames family doesn’t see him, and they mustn’t have heard him either, seeing as their conversation carries on. I let out my breath and silently curse his antics as I creep back over to the rope, knowing that I have only one option.

  To follow him.

  RYDAN HELSTROM

  RYDAN PRESSES HIMSELF against the wall that separates the Soames’s living room from the kitchen as he surveys the area before him. Arden is nowhere in sight. A wave of panic flutters in his chest, but then the rope shifts and he looks up to see his partner snaking her way down to the floor. She lands quietly on her feet, a less-than-pleasant look on her face.

  “I thought you came down before me,” he says under his breath.

  She rolls her eyes and points up to the ceiling. “The rafters, Rydan. Always hide and survey in the rafters first,” she whispers before bopping him in the side of the head.

  He’s about to scold her when chairs scrape across the kitchen floor. Arden jumps at the sound and joins him against the wall, flattening herself like a pancake. Footsteps draw near. Rydan raises his arm to his right shoulder, his hand gripping the hilt of his longsword. He glances at Arden who is armed and ready with chakrams in both hands.