Crown of Bones: Book Four - Crown of Death Saga

by Keary Taylor

  And I didn’t even once think to protect them.

  “I’m so sorry,” I breathe, looking back at Matthias. “I…”

  “You should take a good look at yourself, Queen Sevan,” Matthias spits. “You say you’re fighting this war to protect the humans, to keep the world from being destroyed. But are you really that different from Lorenzo? From Moab? Do you really care about the human population that founded this earth? Because right now, your actions speak louder than your words.”

  With a disgusted look on his face, he turns and heads toward the doors. He pauses there, and looks back at Dorian and Malachi. “Our deal is done,” he says gravely. “If I can, I’m taking my men and we’re leaving. Don’t come calling again.”

  My stomach sinks all the further.

  Dorian and Malachi called in huge favors to help me. They did this because I asked them to.

  And now they’ve both lost major allies.

  “I don’t know what you’re waiting for,” Mina speaks through the weighted silence at Matthias’ departure. “There is a very quick, very easy way to end this.”

  All remaining eyes flick to her.

  “Roter Himmel may be old in most ways,” she says, fishing into her pocket. She produces something that looks like a small remote control. “But we have certainly kept up on modern weaponry.”

  I know what she’s holding now. It’s a detonator for a bomb.

  “You drop it over the center of that encampment,” she says, twirling it between her fingers. “You take every one of them out all at once. No lives even lost.”

  “Do you know what bombs do, Mina?” Cyrus asks, fixing her with a cold, hard stare.

  This is a woman who has served her king for some time. I can tell when her eyes drop and she shifts half a step back from him.

  Cyrus suddenly darts forward, snatching the detonator from her fingers with one hand, and fisting his hand in her jacket with the other. He shoves her back, smacking her head against the wall.

  “They make noise,” Cyrus says. “They shake the ground. They set off Richter scales.” His face is in hers, seething through his teeth. “They draw a lot of attention.”

  “Cyrus,” I snap. My fingers curl into fists. “That’s enough.”

  Instantly, he releases her. Mina tries to hold her expression steady, but I see in her eyes, the fear and the shock. She straightens her jacket, and awkwardly, without a word, she turns and leaves the office.

  “She was only trying to help,” I chide Cyrus.

  Cyrus lets out a long breath through his nostrils as he turns from me, facing the map that spreads out on the wall. But he does not apologize.

  I follow his line of sight. It’s a map of the entire world. And marked with small knives buried into the wall behind the map, are all the Houses.

  “We cannot rely on the human army now,” Malachi says. I’d forgotten my grandsons were still in the room. “We’re outnumbered by far without them.”

  “I’m afraid it’s time,” Dorian chimes in. “We need to call on the Houses for aid.”

  I step forward, picking up the phone resting on Cyrus’ desk. I consider for a moment.

  Who first?

  Who do I drag into this mess?

  Who do I dare risk in this war?

  I’m a terrible person. Because the first House I call isn’t the House of Marshalls. It isn’t the House of Conrath.

  After five rings, the line connects.

  “How may I be of service?” Edmond Valdez’ voice comes through from across the world.

  * * *

  When we should be marching across the valley, through the canyon, and slaughtering the mutiny army, we’re on the phone, making dozens of calls.

  It takes us more than five hours to get in touch with every single House in the world. With all four of us making the phone calls.

  In the end, I let Dorian make the call to the House of Conrath and Cyrus calls the House of Marshalls.

  We explain everything. The situation with Lorenzo. The legend of Moab and his dedication to the Blood Father. How they’ve rallied and are preparing to attack at any moment.

  We ask for them to come. To help defend Roter Himmel.

  We ask them to make a stand for their way of life.

  We’re met with hesitation. While they all live comfortable lives because the Crown supports them, we’re asking them to uproot their lives and come join a war. A war. Most of them have never had to fight a war. Sure, they’ve all settled small skirmishes, or fought small battles to keep their region in check.

  But this will be a war.

  They know what will happen if they do not come to the aid of the crown.

  Cyrus will strip them of their titles. He’ll exile them. They’ll never hold the title of Royal again.

  That is, if we come out on top of this the victors.

  I hang up from my last phone call, to the House in Brazil.

  I look over at Cyrus, and then Dorian and Malachi.

  I have no idea what to expect. With our phone calls, the entire world now knows that our way of life is in upheaval. That there’s a revolution attempting to start. Now they all have the idea planted in their heads that maybe there is another way, different from the way it’s been done for thousands of years.

  In the end, we may have just hurried along our demise.

  Why are you fighting this battle? a little voice asks in the back of my brain. No matter what, things will never be the same. Your world is forever changed. Why are you fighting? What are you fighting for?

  My jaw hardens as I look at the map of the Houses.

  I’m fighting because I’m not a damn coward. I won’t go running.

  I’m fighting because this is the world I helped create. This is what I worked tirelessly for in creating Roter Himmel.

  I’ll fight for peace. I’ll fight for safety. I’ll fight for my family.

  * * *

  I feel this ticking in the back of my brain. Every single second feels critical. We’re just waiting here, sitting ducks. Every second we wait, the forces outside our borders grow bigger and stronger.

  The last count we received was 509 total Born and Royal outside the borders.

  Here we sit with only 352 of us.

  There are only 108 more Royals in the entire world.

  Even if every one of them comes, we are still outnumbered.

  Some of them will bring their Born House members with them to fight. But we can’t count on that. Because they are Born. And this is a war to change the division between the Born and the Royals.

  Even more than the desire to come out of hiding, to go into the public light, that will be our downfall. That we have oppressed the Born for all this time. That they are less-than in this world we created.

  That will be what ends us.

  We make arrangements for travelers. With the Born and Lorenzo’s children having overrun our airport, we’re forced to make arrangements with another, which is an hour away. We have two helicopters here at the castle. Our pilots make non-stop runs back and forth transporting the arriving Royals.

  Those close by arrive within hours of our phone calls. The House of Badillo, O’Rorque, and Emile are the first to arrive. Located closely in Spain, Scotland, and France, they add fifteen to our numbers.

  One of the most experienced in warfare, the House of Badillo, from Spain, takes over making sure that our numbers are armed at all times. They begin battle regimens. Training.

  I can hardly breathe. I keep looking out the windows, waiting to see a flood of half-siblings and Born wash down into the valley. They could strike at any moment. My hands hardly leave the sword slung at my side.

  Just as evening begins to descend, one of Dorian’s Houses in Russia arrives, soon followed by Malachi’s in Egypt.

  With the castle getting fuller by the moment, I go to Cyrus’ office and stare at the map on the wall.

  Who hasn’t arrived that should have?

  The House in Brazil could have been here by
now. The House of Nnamani in Guinea, Africa could have been here.

  I try not to think about what that means. If it means they just aren’t coming. If it means they’re really here, but joining Lorenzo or Moab. Or if it really is just taking some time to arrive.

  I can’t do anything to change that right now. The damage that might turn them against us was done long, long ago.

  But right now, there is something I can do.

  There is one place help is needed and I can grant it.

  Leaving the office, I head down a hall. Spotting Mina, I call to her and she turns to me, waiting for orders.

  “I need your help,” I simply say. “Go find four others who can be spared and meet me in the garage.”

  She’s gone in an instant.

  Five minutes later, the six of us sweep through the garage, evaluating the vehicles available to us.

  We have four trucks and a Hummer.

  None of us say much. Mina climbs into the Hummer with me, and carefully, we spiral our way down through the tunnel that climbs out of the belly of the castle. We’re spit out into the dark, on a quiet side road. We aim for the encampment only a mile from the mouth of the canyon.

  My stomach is roiling with guilt as we drive out across the valley.

  I’m taking a risk by coming out here, but I put that army in this situation. I have to do what I can to help.

  Throughout this entire day, Matthias has been moving his army out of the valley. They’re taking a treacherous route over the mountain, through a narrow valley, into a town thirty minutes away with a small hospital.

  As we roll up to the camp, I take a mental count. There were once 6,000 soldiers here. Now before me, I see a meager few hundred.

  They’re dying, but they’ve been taking care of themselves.

  We park the vehicle close to the tents and I climb out.

  I see Matthias, another man’s arm slung over his shoulders. He eyes me warily as he helps the man over to a vehicle, putting him in the backseat. All of his body language screams trepidation as he walks over to me.

  “We’re here to help,” I say.

  Inside, I’m screaming. Because I don’t have time to do this. At any second our world could be ripped apart as the battle begins.

  But I have to make this right. Or Matthias will be right. I’ll be no better than Lorenzo or Moab.

  Matthias only nods once and points in the direction of the sick soldiers.

  I tell him we need to pick up the pace, that we must transport as many soldiers as we can with each load. So when we set off over the mountain the first time, every vehicle has at least ten soldiers crammed in it. The army had dozens of their own vehicles, and every able-bodied soldier has been doing transport.

  I assist for six hours. Carrying men from their cots, some of them smelling like vomit. Some of them so pale white their skin is nearly translucent. I put them in vehicles. And then I drive precariously over the mountain and through the pass.

  We arrive at the overwhelmed hospital bearing more and more men and women. They’re already transporting them to another three hospitals, just trying to keep up.

  We’re being exposed already.

  The doctors have questions.

  The local authorities have questions.

  And we don’t have answers.

  In all, I make six round trips before I help load the last twenty men into the vehicles. But another vehicle comes bouncing over the terrain and parks just a few yards away.

  Out of the vehicle, steps Edmond Valdez.

  “The King needs you,” he says, eying the strange scene before him.

  I nod and then turn, catching Matthias’ eye. Wiping my hands on my pants, I cross the distance between us. “The others will stay,” I say. “They’ll help until the job is done.”

  He nods, and I can see there are words on the tip of his tongue that he just can’t quite say.

  “You did what I asked you to come here and do,” I say. “I know it evolved into something none of us expected, but without you and your soldiers, the chaos would have come more quickly. There would have been more bloodshed. The ripples would have been felt throughout the world a lot faster.”

  He looks over at me, but only for a moment. He still can’t find his words.

  “We’re really trying, you know,” I say. “All of this, it’s for your kind. We’re trying to keep ourselves under wraps. I know it got a lot more intense than it should have. But I don’t want you walking out of here filled with resentment. I don’t want you to hate me.”

  Matthias’ eyes flick to mine. “I don’t hate you, Sevan,” he says. He straightens, folding his arms across his chest. “I think all of this has gotten too much for you to handle, for Cyrus to handle. I think it’s a miracle you’ve kept all of this so steady and level for as long as you have. The times are shifting and changing, and I don’t know what’s going to come. But I don’t hate you, Sevan. I think in a bizarre way, I admire you.”

  The weight on my chest gets just a little lighter at his granted words. I offer him a small smile, and extend a hand.

  He takes it, shaking mine.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” I say.

  “Good luck,” he offers, and I can tell he means it, but is doubtful.

  I’m doubtful, too. But I turn, and walk back to Edmond and his vehicle. Together, we drive back to the castle.

  Chapter 8

  I twist my hair back in an elegant knot. I can’t find a smile anywhere on my lips as I carefully set my crown upon my head. A knot of dread is in my stomach as I lace up my gown.

  I’m done. I’m done.

  I’m so done.

  The words echo through my head as I numbly try not to think about everything.

  Walk away.

  Leave it all behind.

  Cyrus was right.

  He was right.

  But I fought for this.

  I didn’t know all the details of what was going on, or what was to come, but I fought for this. Now I have to see it through to the end.

  But I’m just so tired.

  Feeling empty and depleted, I step out of the bathroom and find Cyrus waiting there for me.

  He must see the heaviness in my eyes, in my expression. He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me, cradling my head against him.

  He doesn’t say anything, and I think he’s feeling the same things I am.

  Is it worth it anymore?

  What are we still fighting for?

  But I don’t have time to sit and wallow. Cyrus doesn’t have time. Our world doesn’t have time.

  I straighten. I brush Cyrus’ jacket flat again. I take his hand and I walk through the halls with him, side by side.

  The volume of the voices spilling from the Great Hall is nearly enough to rumble the castle floors. I take one more pause, one more moment, surrendering myself to Queen Sevan, before the both of us step inside.

  There are so many here. There are roughly three hundred fifty court members. More than forty of us are out scouting and spying. And then there are around two dozen familiar and non-familiar faces, Royals who came to our aide.

  The House of Valdez, with Hector and Edmond.

  I remember the members of the House of Himura, who I was last a descendant of.

  The leaders of the House of Cordero are the same.

  There are many faces I don’t recognize. Leadership has changed in the 286 years I was dead or missing.

  But they’re here.

  Many are not.

  The room is set up with four long tables, another set up at the head of the room. Every Royal sits along the tables, the room packed and full.

  I walk by Cyrus’ side, and every eye is fixed on us as we go to the head table.

  Neither of us speaks for a long moment. We both stare out, looking back at our descendants that surround us.

  I take note. Alivia has not yet arrived.

  A wicked voice in the back of my head whispers doubt. State
s that there is the possibility that she isn’t coming.

  I tell myself I don’t care if she does.

  But it’s a lie.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Cyrus says. His voice cuts through the massive space with clarity and evenness. “Sons and daughters. Sevan and I welcome you to Court and give you our deepest depths of gratitude for coming.”

  Cyrus holds my hand, and I note all the eyes that watch us. There are small smiles. Softness in certain eyes.

  I know the legends we bring with us. I know that they know the stories of my death, occurring over and over. For 286 years they’ve known the Queen was dead.

  And here I am. Here we are, Cyrus and I, together.

  “For a very long time we have lived in relatively consistent peace,” Cyrus continues. “There have been issues, small instances to be dealt with. But we have remained safe. We have stayed out of the spotlight. We have kept to ourselves.”

  The room is absolutely silent. They listen on baited breath. They wait for reassurances as to why they’re here.

  “Throughout the years there have been many who questioned why we should hide who and what we are,” Cyrus continues, his voice increasing slightly in volume. “Individuals have contested why we must live in fear, when we are so much stronger than those we once were.”

  A memory flashes through my head. Of the two of us running through the dark. Of an angry mob chasing after us with torches and pitchforks and swords. I recall placing a rag between my teeth, trying to stifle my screams in the dark so that I didn’t expose us.

  “A long, long time ago,” Cyrus says, and I know exactly where he’s headed in this moment, “I was the lone and sole vampire in this world. It was terrifying adjusting to and learning about the bloodlust that seemed to transform me into a different person. And I exposed myself. I exposed my family.”

  Cyrus squeezes my hand, an apology expressed a million times over the thousands of years. I squeeze it back, a reassurance that he was forgiven a long, long time ago.

  “Sevan and I were forced to move,” Cyrus says. “When she became what I am, when there were two of us who needed their blood, we no longer had a home.”