Destroy: (The Blades of Acktar 3.5)

by Tricia Mingerink

  Penelope sighed and grimaced. “It was an awful, stinking mess, though. They didn’t know who’d done it, but they had Mama and a few of us maids clean it up. Not fun at all.”

  Mama shrugged. “It kept them occupied while Captain Stewart sneaked most of the soldiers loyal to the Eirdons out of Nalgar before they could be executed. Lord Felix was furious.”

  Something in Mama’s tone told Addie that someone had paid for that stunt. Probably with their life.

  “And then, Papa was asked to carve this crossed daggers symbol into the doors in the dungeon tower—the Blades have taken it over—and Papa made sure he did it really loudly at odd hours of the morning when all the Blades were still trying to recover.” Samuel added.

  Addie glanced at Papa. He stood with his feet braced a foot apart, his shoulders straight. When he caught her looking, he gave a nod and a smile. Still, something in his stance, the tightness to his eyes and mouth, stabbed at her chest. She never would’ve recognized it if she hadn’t seen it so many times on Prince Keevan’s face.

  Pain.

  What had Lord Felix done to her papa as punishment? She shot a glance at Frank, Papa’s apprentice. He looked away, not meeting her gaze. Whatever had happened, Frank, Patrick, and Brennen knew, but the other siblings didn’t.

  That’s what these past weeks had done to all of them. It gave them secrets.

  Still, her family had been…brave. Much braver than she’d been.

  Lord Alistair strolled in their direction. When he reached them, he held out his hand to Papa. “Welcome to Walden. You must be Addie’s father. While I can’t tell you all the details, you have every reason to be proud of your daughter.”

  Papa met her gaze. “I know.”

  Warmth settled into her chest and fingers. Her papa was proud of her. She’d always known it, but hearing him say it out loud in front of all her brothers, sisters, Mama, and Lord Alistair meant something more. Especially after what they’d all been through.

  Lord Alistair waved toward the manor. “I’ll have a set of rooms readied for all of you. Come with me, and my wife will show you to where you can rest and clean up after your journey.”

  Addie’s papa and mama fell into step behind him, though they cast glances at Addie, as if wondering what she’d done to merit the lord and lady of Walden personally seeing to their needs and giving them rooms in the manor house itself while most of the refugees were being housed in the town or guard barracks.

  Addie hung back. She couldn’t explain. She’d helped save Prince Keevan’s life, and now she was one of the few who knew he was alive. And that placed her family in danger if Lord Felix ever suspected anything.

  As he moved to walk past, Addie grabbed Frank’s arm. “What really happened at Nalgar? I’m not like Samuel and Juliana. You don’t have to shield me from the truth.”

  Frank glanced between her and their parents’ retreating forms, their siblings trailing behind them. He lowered his voice. “He was beaten and whipped. I would’ve been too, except that Papa told them I was a stablehand like Patrick and Brennen, not his apprentice. Mama and the other cooks weren’t able to get their hands on poison, but they tried to make Lord Felix, his Blades, and as many of his soldiers as possible get sick. The head cook and two of the scullery maids were executed for it. Mama might have too, if she hadn’t volunteered to see to the mess in the Tower.”

  Beatings. Whippings. Random executions. Stuff like that happened in other countries. Not Acktar. Not her home.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her yet another hug. “It was bad that night, not knowing where you were. Mama and Papa were in a panic. I offered to look for you, but there was too much chaos and fighting. It was hours before Captain Stewart told us you were safe.”

  “I’m sorry.” Addie wrapped her arms around her brother’s strong, solid waist. She couldn’t change the events of that night. Even if she could go back, she wouldn’t do anything differently. Prince Keevan’s life would still be more important than letting her family know she was safe.

  Frank pulled away, though he kept his arm resting on her shoulders. “We’d better catch up with the others. Mama hasn’t let any of us out of her sight in over a week.”

  As they turned toward the manor’s front doors, Addie spotted a group of riders cresting the southern hill. A banner streamed over their heads. It took her a moment to pick out the black upright sword against a white background.

  Lord Laurence Faythe had arrived.

  Keevan didn’t bother opening his eyes when he woke from yet another nap. There never seemed a reason to. Confined to bed and this room, he was trapped inside four blank walls and silence. So much silence.

  He’d tried reading, but the silent words did nothing to fill the emptiness inside him.

  Even the tiny window offered a view of little besides the eaves and empty prairie.

  Only Addie managed to break the silence. She’d spend hours reading out loud to him or talking while he held up his side of the conversation with scribbled words. But he couldn’t keep her here forever. She needed space to breathe and think. Last time she’d left—minutes ago or hours, he really didn’t know and didn’t care—he’d nearly clutched at her like a drowning man reaching for air and sky.

  But another girl’s tear-streaked face had stopped him. It would be too easy to force Addie to stay, and forcing her to stay here against her wishes was only a step removed from repeating his past.

  He’d always let her go, even if the silence and emptiness drove him mad.

  Sighing, he peeled his eyes open. Time to face more silence, more boredom.

  Except, he wasn’t alone. Uncle Laurence slouched in the seat next to the bed, his head in his hands so all Keevan could see was his short-cropped, red-blond hair.

  Keevan’s chest tightened, sending shafts of cold into his stomach. Would Uncle Laurence be disappointed that Keevan was the one to live? Was he still angry?

  He must’ve made some noise or the bed rustled because Uncle Laurence slowly raised his head. Lines cut across his slim forehead and around his eyes, eyes that held nothing but a deep sorrow. “Keevan. I’m so sorry.”

  Keevan blinked and turned his face away. The events of the last afternoon he’d seen his uncle flooded through his mind. Uncle Laurence’s steely anger. His words warning Keevan’s father that the country wouldn’t stand to see him let his sons run wild.

  A new pain shot through Keevan. Had Keevan helped cause this? With his drinking and flirting and wildness, had he helped cause this insurrection and his family’s deaths?

  His hand shook as he reached for the ink and paper. This is all my fault.

  “No, Keevan. No.” Uncle Laurence gripped Keevan’s shoulder, his grip just as firm as it had been nearly a year ago. “If anything, it’s mine.”

  Keevan tried to comprehend the expression on Uncle Laurence’s face. Guilt. Sorrow. Grief. A deep, down weariness.

  “I knew many in the country were unhappy. I knew your father was struggling to hold everything together. Yet, in my own anger, I withdrew my support right when my king and my brother-in-law needed it most.”

  Had it only been two weeks ago that Aengus had explained what it had meant for Uncle Laurence to delay showing up to the Gathering of Nobles their father had called? And why Lord Lorraine and a few others had also done the same?

  Strange how that delay was the reason Uncle Laurence and the others were alive now.

  My father wasn’t a good king, was he? Keevan wasn’t sure what made him write the question. Did he really want to know the answer?

  Uncle Laurence heaved a sigh. His sharply blue eyes focused on Keevan. “Your father would’ve made a good lord or perhaps a good farmer. But ruling the whole country was too much for him, and, worse, he refused to share the burden. But he did his best. Remember that. No matter what anyone else tells you, your father did his best. It just wasn’t enough.”

  The weight of those words settled onto Keevan’s chest. Uncle Laurence a
nd Lord Alistair would expect him to step into his father’s place. To reclaim the throne. To become something he never should’ve been.

  But what if it wasn’t enough? What if he wasn’t enough?

  There wasn’t any if about it. He wasn’t enough. He was a failure. And Uncle Laurence knew exactly how much of a failure he was.

  “Keevan.”

  Uncle Laurence’s soft, but firm tone drew Keevan to meet his gaze again, as much as the shamed part of him didn’t want to.

  “We both can learn from our mistakes.”

  Then, as if to make sure Keevan couldn’t miss the meaning of those words, Uncle Laurence hugged him.

  Maybe it was the hug, the first he’d gotten since his parents had died. Maybe it was the gentle, choked tone in Uncle Laurence’s voice and knowing for the first time in a year Uncle Laurence had forgiven him. Or perhaps, it was seeing Uncle Laurence and knowing he, Aunt Annita, Renna, and Brandi were the only family Keevan had left.

  Tears gathered in Keevan’s throat, hot and sharp as the green-eyed assassin’s knife. He tried to swallow them back. Tried to reclaim the emptiness.

  It did no good. Keevan sobbed. Short, hard sobs, noiseless except for a choking whine in his throat.

  More arms wrapped around him, and he heard Aunt Annita’s voice and felt her touch against his hair. But he couldn’t raise his head from Uncle Laurence’s shoulder and couldn’t stop his keening.

  His family was dead. His voice was gone. The country was in shambles. And the weight of all of it rested on Keevan’s shoulders.

  And just like his father, he would never be enough.

  Keevan’s room had never been so crowded. It almost made him wish for the silence and emptiness again.

  He sat on the bed, legs dangling over the edge. Aunt Annita perched on the bed next to him while Uncle Laurence stood next to her. Across the room, Lady Lorraine sat ramrod straight in the chair, her blond hair braided and coiled about her head. Lord Lorraine paced back and forth, his tall, straight form casting skinny shadows against the wall from the light of the lamps.

  Captain Stewart leaned against the wall a few feet away from Lord Lorraine. Lines dragged across the captain’s face, as if he hadn’t slept the entire two weeks he’d remained behind at Nalgar Castle.

  Lord Alistair leaned against the door, probably to feel his son Shadrach’s knock to warn them of trouble. With the amount of guards crawling around Walden, it should be the safest place in all of Acktar.

  Then again, Nalgar Castle should’ve been safe, yet those black-clothed Blades had gotten through anyway.

  Keevan shifted and tried to pay attention as Lord Lorraine and Lord Alistair debated whether or not Flayin Falls should be added to their list of potential allies.

  Keevan should’ve been the leader here. He should’ve been stepping up and making a place for himself as the future king. Instead, he was a child staying up past his bedtime. The lords and ladies assembled in this room were perfectly capable of making wise decisions for the country without his help. Keevan had nothing to contribute besides his name and bloodline.

  Honestly, they should make Uncle Laurence king and be done with it. Uncle Laurence and Aunt Annita would make a good king and queen. They would rule fairly and wisely.

  It’d be better than placing an inexperienced, worthless boy on the throne.

  “Should we tell them Keevan is alive?”

  Keevan jerked his head up at Lord Lorraine’s question.

  Uncle Laurence was already shaking his head. “No, too risky.”

  “We’ll have to tell them something. They won’t rally behind a leaderless cause, especially if they don’t know an heir to the throne exists.” Lord Lorraine paused his pacing long enough to rest a hand on Lady Lorraine’s shoulder.

  Aunt Annita set aside the pen and paper she’d been using to create the lists of allies and enemies. “You may have forgotten, but I am an Eirdon and I was a princess. It’s a little unusual for succession to skip over to a sister, but, somehow, I don’t think anyone will argue too much, especially when the alternative is a rebel lord leading a bunch of Blade assassin boys or whatever they’re called.”

  Lord Lorraine shifted, like he had forgotten.

  A smirk touched the corner of Aunt Annita’s mouth and sparkled in her eyes.

  Uncle Laurence glanced at Aunt Annita, and a hint of a smile crossed his face. But the smile faded just as quickly as it had come. “We need a leader. That’s what we’ll call him. The Leader. The other lords and ladies will assume that leader is me, and, if Respen suspects anything, his attention will also be drawn to me, not Keevan.”

  At the look Uncle Laurence and Aunt Annita shared, Keevan stifled a shudder. Uncle Laurence was purposefully, knowingly stepping into the center of danger to protect Keevan.

  It was too much sacrifice. Keevan shouldn’t ask it of them. Not for him. He didn’t want a crown on his head, especially not with that kind of cost.

  The Leader. It was so fake. He wasn’t their leader. Uncle Laurence was.

  Lord Alistair stroked his close-cropped beard. “I say we go one step further. Unless we are personally with His Highness, we should never use his name or his title, even among ourselves. Even to us, he will simply be the Leader.”

  “A wise precaution.” Lady Lorraine nodded. “But, I fear we have already drawn too much attention to Walden as it is by meeting here. All it will take is one thorough search of the manor by the Blades, and our Leader’s secret will no longer be a secret. The Blades are distracted now rooting out dissent at Nalgar, but it won’t be long before the traitor Respen sends them to our towns.”

  “We can hide him in the Sheered Rock Hills.” Lord Alistair turned to Keevan. “I’m sorry it will probably have to be rough accommodations, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just long enough for us to gather our allies and reclaim the castle.”

  “The Blades are almost as likely to stumble across him in a cabin in the Hills as they are in a back servants’ room.” Aunt Annita huffed as she shook her head. Her long, blond curls bounced across her shoulders.

  “Not if he’s far enough in the Sheered Rock Hills.” Lord Alistair’s mouth twitched as if in a smile. “I believe you have a friend who might know just the place?”

  Aunt Annita grinned and tapped the pen on the pad of paper. “Ah, yes. He would know, if anyone does.”

  Uncle Laurence drew in a deep breath. “I’d like to send Renna and Brandi along with Keevan. If Respen’s attention is going to be focused on me and Annita, I’d rather Renna and Brandi were far away.”

  Keevan swallowed, ignoring the ache in his throat. Stuck in a cabin with his cousins? He’d tormented them last time he’d seen them, and a year probably wasn’t long enough for them to have forgiven him yet.

  “It’s decided then. We’ll gather our men and allies and reclaim Nalgar Castle.” Lord Alistair stated it with so much assurance, Keevan couldn’t help but believe it would happen.

  And that frightened him as much as reassured him. Once they took back the castle, they would all expect him to wear the crown. To rule.

  He wasn’t ready. Surely they all had to know it.

  Captain Stewart cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself for the first time. “No, it isn’t decided. Our prince hasn’t given his approval of our plan, yet.”

  The others in the room jumped and turned to Keevan as if they’d forgotten he was there.

  He shifted on the bed, unable to meet their gaze. Why did they need his approval, really? They were the planners. They were the ones who would put this plan into action. What was he besides a figurehead? He wasn’t their leader. Not really.

  He opened his mouth and tried to get a sound—any sound besides a hiss—but nothing came. All he could do was nod.

  Apparently, a nod was good enough.

  Captain Stewart crossed the room and knelt in front of Keevan. He clasped his right hand over his heart and bowed. “Your Highness, I want you to know, I pledge my loyalty to you as
the rightful Eirdon heir to the throne. I will fight to my very last breath to restore Acktar to you.”

  Keevan swallowed. He was so unworthy to be taking pledges like this. He wasn’t a king.

  When Captain Stewart stood, Lord and Lady Lorraine knelt and also gave their pledge. Lord Alistair did the same, his deep voice resonating in the small room.

  Then, Uncle Laurence and Aunt Annita got down on their knees. Uncle Laurence bowed his head. “My king.”

  Keevan wanted to tell Uncle Laurence that he of all people shouldn’t bow to him. But he couldn’t. His throat remained paralyzed.

  He couldn’t lead them. He couldn’t be their king.

  He shouldn’t even be alive.

  Gathering armies took too long.

  The snow came, filling the prairie and clogging the passes in the Sheered Rock Hills. Armies couldn’t move. Keevan, Renna, and Brandi couldn’t flee.

  Everything hushed and held its breath until spring.

  6

  Five months later…

  Sitting on his bed, Keevan tried not to watch the movement of Addie’s mouth as she read out loud from a book of old folk tales she’d found in Lord Alistair’s library.

  He tore his gaze away. She was merely a maid. He was a prince. Besides, he owed her too much to risk hurting her.

  “Are you listening?” Addie raised both eyebrows and peered over the book at him. She perched on the edge of her chair, her feet tucked beneath it. “If you aren’t going to pay attention, then I won’t waste my time reading.”

  Keevan cleared his throat, gathered a breath, and said slowly, “I’m listening. Please continue.”

  His voice rasped like two pieces of wood scraping against each other. Whatever charm his voice had once had, it was gone forever, bled out through the gash across his face and down his neck.

  Addie smiled as if those four words were magnificent accomplishments. Perhaps they were. It had taken months for his throat to heal enough for words. Even now, he couldn’t talk long without his voice giving out.