Monarch (War of the Princes Book 3)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  I didn't think I could be glad to return to this place. The air was so close and thick, even sounds refused to travel far distances. When I spoke it was like I was talking into a pillow. It may have been unsettling, but at least it was consistent. The world didn't grow or melt or twist with the dying. It was alive. It was peaceful. Raserion was proud of this place. He wanted to protect it. I didn't believe that he'd harm me here, but that was barely enough to calm me down.

  “Now that you know the truth, perhaps you will rally to my cause for more reason than sparing your own people.”

  In the center of the field, Prince Raserion sat elevated upon a peculiar throne. His seat was an array of black wings from a dozen different species of birds. If not for the smoky gray fog that caressed his back, I would not have been able to differentiate the prince's silhouette from the shadow throne itself.

  Beyond him, stretching magnificently against the sky was the King's palace.

  Prince Raserion looked down at me with true silver eyes. “My brother has not shown his face to me in battle for a decade. He hides in his cities like an animal, resurrecting my own dead soldiers to fight against me. I've done what I have because I must. My father is dead, and killing my brother won’t bring him back to life– but it will bring me the only kind of peace I will accept. Become my ally, and you will have what you want. I'll even let you keep the Cormorant Dragoon that you've stolen from my army. Has not this war gone on long enough? Have we not all suffered? Help me find him. Help me end it.”

  Alarms were ringing in my mind and body. I was caught in a web, trapped in a dream. After everything I'd seen, I couldn't bring myself to trust this prince. Does tragedy justify tragedy? I'd seen how he ruled, how ruthless he was, the way he affected his people and subjected them to a tortuous half-life. It was terrible, what happened to that King. He sounded like an excellent leader. Would he have wanted his sons locked in battle to the ruin of his own kingdom? I doubted that. No good person would.

  If Raserion had told the truth, if he was forced to become a cruel tyrant simply in order to survive against an even more devious brother, was he at fault? If Varion had the chance to take the throne, what would happen to the kingdom? Were there worse things than Commanders and Margraves? Would Raserion free his people once his brother was dead and gone? My brain began to throb with the effort of speculation. I couldn't know. I was in way over my head.

  Before I had the chance to give myself a splitting headache, I realized that he was all too right about two very important things. I wanted to be free of this place, and I wanted him to stay out of Haven.

  I forced myself not to wring my hands out of nervous habit. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Investigate. Search for him at Caraway, the capital of the North. Use any and all Abilities necessary. Get close, as close as you can. When you see him with your own eyes, simply trace the engraving of this medallion in the shadows and cast it at his feet.” He pointed down at my shoes. Settled there in the inky grass was a round, flat object, half the size of the palm of my hand. With a single chain and clip, it looked like a pocket watch, only there was no face. No clock. Instead, there were markings carved into the brassy surface. I picked it up, studying the carved etching on its center. The lines were crescent upon crescent, like the shell of a snail, with two points jutting out from the bottom.

  “What will happen?”

  He leaned back in the throne. “An unstoppable force will bring him here to me, and your task will be complete.”

  I didn't enjoy speaking with the prince, but there was something I needed to know. “If they find out what I am, will they kill me?”

  “Varion's people do not search for Lodestones. The Monarch technology is mine alone. His people may not even remember the existence of your kind. My brother does not prize history as I do. No, this viper has fangs of its own. I have tried every avenue to bring him to justice, but I have never employed one such as yourself. Perhaps this will be the end at last. Tell me now, do we have an accord?”

  His question hung in the air. I needed to give him an answer before he’d change his mind on what to do with me.

  “Yes,” I said, not recognizing my own voice. I'd done it, I agreed to serve Prince Raserion, but I hadn't made the deal out of innocence or a sense of safety. I did it to get free, to buy time. I said it knowing that I may have just told a lie to the most powerful killer in the known world. “I will.”

  “The other side of that medallion, trace it, and you will call a warhorse to you. I cannot equip you with anything more.”

  From all around, the shadow creatures gathered behind Prince Raserion. Not only the horses and shadow chasers, but shadow dogs, three headed warhorses, and humanoids stretched tall. I counted six Voices of the Prince, but with all of the onyx shapes crowded so near one another, all of them with round white eyes, it was difficult to discern one from another. I thought I saw something different move behind them all. Something big.

  The prince raised a single palm up. He didn't wave it, or move his fingers, he just held it there. My hair stood on end and my skin prickled with goose bumps. I fought back a violent shudder. All of this, everything that Prince Raserion was and had created, was not enough to stop his brother.

  I squeezed the medallion into my palm. “Wait! The King, your father– he sounded like he had the most powerful Abilities ever. If Prince Varion could drain him and survive, what will he do to me if he catches me spying?”

  “Do not allow him to catch you, and we'll never need know.”

  Fantastic.

  “Lodestone,” he called out to me as my vision grew dark again. “Long ago, a kestrel was a bird of prey. Small, light– a delicate creature, but a falcon nonetheless, and all falcons are fierce. A man could train this bird to make a kill and return loyally to his leather-guarded arm. True kestrels have been dead for hundreds of years, killed by the plague and reduced to myth, like so much else. You have my word that they existed, as surely as you do now. So fly, Kestrel. Fly, and show me our prey.”

  Chapter 8: A Poor Attempt At Denial

  I can't say that I noticed the change in scenery when I opened my eyes because, well, my eyes had been open the entire time. The most accurate description would be that the darkness poured off of me, pooled in the shadow of the bench to my left, and sank into the floor.

  Lying there, beside the refreshments in the guest wing hallway, I was at a complete loss. Part of me wanted to shriek my head off for an hour at the very least. Another part urged me to run around telling every single person I knew what had just happened to me… and maybe run home to my dad. Mostly, I was desperately trying to deny that anything had happened at all. I fell. Concussion. Bad dream. The back of my head did hurt where it'd struck the hard tile floor. My elbows and back did too.

  Sadly, it was a pitifully weak internal argument to have whilst watching the crooked shape of a shadow-being dip away into the darkness right before my eyes.

  As soon as it was no longer in view, I made a stronger push for denial.

  Nothing's there. You imagined it. Five seconds ago.

  I lay perfectly still a while longer, hoping that if I stayed where I was, I could convince myself that I'd simply suffered a mind-altering accident. With each passing minute, the concept seemed more and more likely.

  “Kat?” Carmine's pretty face peered down at me, hedged by her dangling shoulder-length brown hair. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  I was so happy to see her, I wanted to fling myself at her for a death-grip hug. Instead, I blushed. I must have looked like such an idiot lying there.

  She blinked. “Are you alright?”

  “Fell down,” I told her triumphantly.

  She eyed me speculatively, and offered me a hand.

  I nearly reached up with my right, but noticed I was holding something. A pocket watch without a face. A medallion with two inscriptions, one on either side.

  Crap.

  While I stared at it with dismay, the chain
slipped out of my loose grip, swung down, and hit me in the eye.

  “Ow,” I whined and recoiled.

  “Are you injured?” Carmine asked, justifiably worried about my health... and sanity.

  “I am now,” I groaned, extending my other hand, and accepted her help. My head swam with the kind of dizziness caused by standing up too quickly. I reeled, catching onto Carmine's shoulder for support. “I'm fine. I'm fine. Just bumped my head, that's all.”

  She didn't look at all convinced. “I hope it's not serious. We're to meet with Common-Lord Axton within the hour.”

  “But that was supposed to be at sunrise!”

  Carmine was dressed in brown suede breeches with a white pressed shirt and a slim tailored coat. She was already prepared for our meeting. “Yes, and it's nearly time. Go wash up, love, and clear your head,” she said, detaching my hand from her shoulder, and striding away down the hall.

  * * *

  Returning to our empty rooms, I changed into a set of clean clothes: a buttoned white shirt, a gray cloth vest with corset stitching, black stockings for warmth, and a charcoal and black pin-stripe skirt with a coat to match. The skirt was calf-length, clipped and bunched so that it was slightly shorter in the front. It may have seemed a bit on the frilly side of outerwear, but the clothes were durable, comfortable, and when paired with my sturdy flat boots and ragged orange scarf, the ensemble was quite warm. The only discomfort I felt was the constriction of buttoning my blouse all the way to the collar. It was a little too tight, but it hid the circle of scars that Stakes had branded me with when he attempted to drain and murder me.

  Following Carmine's suggestion, I took a few minutes to wash my face. The water was cool, soothing, and helped me concentrate on my mantra that all I'd experienced was a bad dream. Even so, the faceless watch was clipped to my vest and rested snug in the pocket at my waist. I hoped that someone had lost it, or given it to me after I'd fallen, but I knew the truth all along. I just wasn't sure I could face it.

  I looked at my reflection. My mother's freckles were a stain across my cheeks. She was everything that my father wasn't: power hungry, cold. Most of all she was a liar. I could never forgive her for attempting to use me and my rare Ability to get to the Outside World.

  If I'd gone with her team, would she have explained herself and justified her actions to me? I doubted that I'd get an apology. I was nothing more than a means to an end to her, a resource to be used. Nothing is wasted.

  Suddenly, I saw myself in parallel to the late Margrave Hest, and it was her black hair that flowed down my back. All she wanted was to be special, appreciated, and useful. I wanted to be those things too. How different was I from the woman who'd killed Sterling?

  If I'd gone with my mother instead of out on my own, Sterling would still... Sterling... would...

  Something in my mind skipped before the heartache began to burn too deeply. I splashed ice-cold water over my eyes and used my wet hands to pull my wavy hair tightly back into a ponytail. Lifting my fingers to my chest, I ran them over the circle of scars that lay hidden beneath my clothes. My memory of the crushing pain that had nearly killed me came howling back. I remembered how it felt to nearly be drained, and my heart began to beat harder and faster. Gasping for breath, I struggled not to hyperventilate.

  I gripped the sink with both hands, and stared up into my own silver eyes. After everything that had happened, I was still alive.

  “You are not your mother, and you are not Lauren Hest,” I growled at the mirror. Holding up the palm of my left hand, I searched inward, summoning that extension of myself that lay in rest. I felt the strength bubbling up through my core, tingling within my limbs. The electricity climbed from my hand and twined into the shape of a ball. I felt the lightning as though it was simply a part of me, bright, prickly, quick. Focusing, I straightened up and smiled. The ball peeled from the center, layers falling down in the shape of a blooming flower. “You're Katelyn Kestrel, and you're not afraid of the Prince of Shadows.”

  * * *

  Soft yellow light trickled into the tall windows of Breakwater Keep. Far below the third story corridor, the surf played tug of war with the current against the stone, brick and mortar foundation. After spending so much time at the keep, I was beginning not to hear it anymore. As I walked down the broad, vaulted passage toward Lord Brendon's meeting rooms, my mind filled with twisting threads of thought centralized around Prince Raserion. I'd forgotten about the ocean entirely.

  I stepped into a pool of sunlight beside one elegant narrow window, and my stride fell short. The sea spread out below me, and with a flash of clarity, I appreciated its vast expanse and restless beauty. Until my first trek out of Haven, I'd only read about such large bodies of water. Despite everything that I had just been through, looking out at a seascape that stretched beyond the visible horizon, I wondered if there were other lands away from wars and princes.

  Raserion had suggested that much. A world had existed beyond Haven all along, and now I knew that at one time or another, a world had existed beyond the Outside as well. According to the prince, it was dead, destroyed by the plague. But just imagining the scope and limitless possibilities of other faraway lands made me feel small, humble. I liked that. It made my future momentarily less intimidating.

  When I opened the double doors that led to the antechamber of Lord Brendon's meeting room, I found Ruby and Rune fighting with a pair of yardsticks. She was swinging at him as though wielding a sword, her artificial candy-apple red hair splaying out around her with every twist of her body. Rune sidestepped her clumsy assault, and Ruby lost her balance, nearly tumbling to the ground.

  Rune was all in black and brown. He wore a trim, high-collar coat adorned with enough buttons, belts and buckles to appear as cavalier as it did militant. Just seeing him sent a breathless thrill through me and set some of my worries at ease.

  Love can be like that.

  “Mind your feet,” he told her. “You’re overemphasizing every motion with your body before you strike. Continue this way, and your opponent will anticipate your every move and you’ll be exhausted. You need to keep your stance wide, shoulders relaxed.”

  Ruby sighed. She had always been passive, bookish, and unless I dragged her along, she tended to avoid physical activities in general. Watching her engaged in combat training, with Rune of all people, was the last thing I expected to see.

  “I'm no good at this,” she sighed.

  “Do you want to stop?”

  Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “No.”

  Carmine was lounging on a day bed beside a bay window, flipping through a newspaper. “You're wasting your time, soldier. She isn't the fighting kind.”

  Ruby dropped her sword arm.

  “As much as I hate to disagree with you,” Kyle said, perusing a bookshelf, “You've never tried to steal her journal. It's all in the nails.”

  “I didn't hurt you,” Ruby said defensively. “And I might not be good at this stuff, but I'm not going to get any better at it if I don't try at all.”

  “And who is it you desire to fight?” Carmine persisted.

  I slipped through the door, trying to close it quietly behind me.

  “Prince Raserion,” Ruby said.

  Uh oh.

  My hand slipped from the handle and suctioned by the morning breeze, the door slammed behind me. Everyone turned to stare. Rune's expression softened upon seeing me.

  “Oh. Morning,” Kyle said.

  “Good, you're here.” Carmine folded her newspaper closed. “Feeling better?”

  “What happened?” Ruby asked, instantly concerned.

  I nearly panicked.

  Oh, nothing. I've only agreed to ally myself with the bloodthirsty tyrant that is ultimately responsible for the murder of your boyfriend. Yeah, and I might have dreamed the entire thing, except that I didn't.

  The color washed out of my face as the internal monologue played through my head, and I fumbled for an explanation. “Nothing, not
hing. I fell… by the refreshment table. Slipped. Hit my head really, really hard, but I'm fine.”

  It wasn't the right time to tell them.

  Carmine was watching me closely. She had the most cause to be worried or suspicious of my strange behavior. I waited for more questions, but our pilot only smiled. “You should probably put some ice on it. There'll be no mission north without you.”

  “I'm okay,” I said under my breath.

  Kyle smirked, casually resting an elbow on the bookshelf. “Kat knocks her head all the time. She's immune to blunt force trauma.”

  I scowled at him. “I might be, but you aren't, and you're lucky you're standing way over there.”

  “I've asked Rune to teach me to fight,” Ruby said with more zeal than I'd ever seen alive in her. Cheeks shiny, and eyelids puffy, she looked as though she'd spent the night crying again, but now there was fire behind her eyes. “I've decided that I'm never going to be anyone's victim. I want to know how to defend myself and how to protect us.”

  Ruby's pain was evident. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her again how sorry I was, but I wouldn't undermine her moment of bravery. Instead, I marveled at her strength.

  “I want to be like you,” she said to Rune with reverence.

  “No,” Rune said, stopping that thought dead in its tracks. He put the long ruler down, resting it against an end table. “You don't.”

  Ruby plowed past his comment. “I never want anyone to be hurt by this Prince ever again, and whether I'm good at it or not, I want to learn to fight.”

  “And everyone has that capacity,” Rune told her and Carmine both. “Some might have more natural talent than others, but that doesn't make training impossible. I've seen aggressive students turn to cowards in their first real battle. I've seen passive and uncoordinated students become brave and even heroic when life and death was on the line.”