I hummed. “That was the name of his first horse. When it died, he created shadow versions of Mimic, and they became the shadow-warhorses we see today.”
“That is an impressive piece of lore,” Rune said appraisingly. “I doubt that more than three people alive even know such a thing. Raserion might be manipulative, but the tale of his life was likely true. Our prince is obsessed with history. You should write down what he told you. Information from an immortal is priceless.”
Even if he is a murderous psychopath?
“Then I will,” I promised. “But, you were saying? About the shadow creatures?”
“Well, warhorses, chasers, even Gatelings, must return to Shadows within Shadows when their work here is done. As I understand it, it's where they rest and regenerate. Also, all of them must be summoned by tracing a unique symbol.” He rolled up one dark sleeve to expose the brand on the inside of his forearm. “Like this one, and like the mark of the Shadow Chasers. They cannot leave Shadows within Shadows without it.”
I remembered the towering humanoid shadow that had forced me to speak with Raserion in Cape Hill. I knew there was more than one of them, and it was a terrifying concept, considering Raserion could use them like a pair of binoculars. “What about the Voices of the Prince?”
“They are probably one of the most complex of his creations, and thankfully, they're the only creatures whose eyes he can see through. If the Shadow Chasers were designed the same way, this war would have been over centuries ago. The Margraves summon the Voices of the Prince at designated intervals, and most Margraves have access to a Gateling. You saw the difference in how they operate.”
“And you're sure he can't see through them?”
He nodded. “They're just entities with orders. Their only real ability is in being a courier to Shadows within Shadows. I saw the old Margrave step out of one once. Commanders all compete with one another at the chance to be Margrave, not only for the power, but the closeness to the Prince.”
“So that means someone summoned this Gateling.”
“Exactly.” Rune steepled his fingers. “And its orders have been to follow you.”
“Hest,” I said, the revelation illuminating my mind. “She probably summoned it and gave it the order before she died. It's been on the ship with us ever since. That's how Raserion knows about you, me, the children, Breakwater, even our mission.”
He nodded. “My thoughts exactly. He can't see through a Gateling, or Command through them, but it must be able to report to him somehow.”
“And since its task has been to follow me–”
Rune leaned back in his chair. “It probably only returns partially to the shadow realm, just long enough to feed him information.”
“How do we stop it?”
“I don't know. We can't exactly force a shadow to do anything. If I observed accurately, it has to be visible to function. So, it can't watch us all the time. Then, there's always the chance that I have no idea what I'm talking about. What are the experiences of one Dragoon beside a force like the Prince? There are things I might not know.”
I sighed. “No, it makes perfect sense.”
Rune watched me from the corner of his eye. “All of this– is it why you've been avoiding me?”
The question caught me off guard and I looked up at him like a startled deer. Eventually, I nodded in shame. “I never meant to. It's just I–”
“You don't need to explain yourself. I'm just glad you told me.”
The hum of the Flying Fish's engines and Sadie's delicate snoring were the only sounds in the kitchen for a short while.
I wondered where his thoughts rested. Would he succumb to his Dragoon training and retreat to that cold, unfeeling place? Or did his natural sense of loyalty and family prevail? “Are you worried about Breakwater?”
The white noise of the ship swallowed my question.
“Of course,” he said lowly. “But it changes nothing. We must hurry north and seek Varion's aid, or we must serve him to Raserion, but either way, time is of the essence just as it was before.”
“I guess you're right.” Looking at it that way just might have saved me from a nervous breakdown. “I guess now we only wait.”
“Not only,” he said, standing. “We eat too.”
“Can you really think about food at a time like this?”
“Yeah.”
“You're that used to being in life-threatening situations?”
He shrugged. “Strength cannot be maintained on an empty stomach.”
“If you say so. I guess I could use a bite. Were you cooking something?” I said, sniffing appreciatively at the air the way Sadie had before she fell asleep beneath a table.
“I was,” he said, leading me into the kitchen interior. “You came at the right time. It should be ready.”
“What'd you make?” I asked, feeling my stomach rumble in anticipation.
He turned and produced a bowl brimming with a hearty soup that smelled so good my mouth began to water. “Fish stew with potatoes and vegetables. Some garlic, onions, pepper and lemon for seasoning.”
“That sounds perfect for a rainy night,” I said, excited for the first time that evening.
Rune straightened his back with pride and presented me with a spoon. “Even insurgents on deadly missions need to eat.”
I accepted it, and scooped up a nice big bite of white fish, carrot, tomato, potato, and a broth swirling with onion. The smell was incredible, and I slurped the whole spoon-full down.
The stew caught in my mouth. I fought back the urge to gag up the concoction. The garlic had been raw, the potatoes were nearly uncooked, and there was so much salt and lemon, it made my jaw hurt. I faced the battle of a lifetime, getting myself to swallow the stuff.
Easy, Kat, you can do this. For Rune!
I sniffled and gulped, feeling it travel down my throat like a heavy stone. I had a harder time keeping the tears from my eyes now than I did when I thought I'd be guilty for the neglectful destruction of Breakwater.
I rasped, “You've never cooked a thing in your life, have you.” It wasn't really a question.
His blue eyes were twinkling. “Not bad for a first time, huh?”
Not bad– despairingly awful.
Seeing him so happy, I just couldn't let him down. “Yeah. It's really something,” I nearly choked. “Aren't you going to have some?”
He shrugged with casual finesse. “No thanks, I already ate.” A smirk crept to his lips.
“You!” I held a finger up and accused him. “You knew how bad it was!”
Rune tried to hold back his guilty grin and failed. “I can't believe you ate that. It looked awful.”
“You jerk!” I flew at him, swatting at him with the spoon. “Are you trying to kill me?”
He dodged my assault, laughing. “Don't be so dramatic. I'd never kill you. Poison you maybe...”
I spun around and dove at the soup, spoon held high. “It's your turn! Eat it!” I cried. “For the sake of balance and justice!”
“Oh no,” he caught me before I could get to the bowl. “Not this time, Kestrel.”
Before I knew it, I was tangled in his arms with the warmth of him at my back. I could feel his every breath and the rumble of his laughter in his chest. The strangest thing was, I was smiling. Not the ready grin I presented the world with even on my darkest days, but a true smile. I felt like the girl I'd been in Rivermarch, before the punishment of my curiosity changed me into something else. It seemed wrong, even knowing the things I did about the Princes and what we faced, I was happy.
Time slowed and my heartbeat quickened.
He let me break free to turn and face him, and I saw in his eyes what I felt in mine.
“I will have my revenge, Thayer,” I told him ever so sweetly.
Leaning against the counter, he stooped and lowered his cheek to mine. “You'll never get the chance,” he whispered, and his gentle breath sent a tingle down my spine.
“We'll see ab
out–”
With only a simple tilt of his head, he brought his lips to hover over my own. So close. The scent of him, the nearness, the way his muscular body felt against mine, it was enough to send me into a haze. I felt myself drift into the timeless intoxication of passionate affection. Love, there's no feeling like it.
Gravity prevailed over the knife wedged in the table. Light reflected off of the blade, catching my eye as it fell.
SNAP!
It struck the ground, and memories plunged into my mind, immobilizing me as easily as the Gateling had.
Cape Hill. I saw Rune's face, twisted with horror. I saw the sword in his hands. I saw it cut through the air and slice into my leg. Skin and muscle parted. Blood poured free. I heard my own scream.
Gasping, I went rigid, and he let me go.
Rune followed my gaze down to the cleaver on the floor and I could see the understanding settle in on his features. He broke away from me to kick the thing across the floor, out of my line of sight. “Katelyn–”
Consciously, I'd forgiven him for what he'd been Commanded to do. My subconscious was proving to be far more difficult to convince. Rune meant everything to me, but the memory was relentless. I couldn't control the timing in which it would assail me, just as I couldn't control my reaction to it.
I wanted to recover, but my mind was blank, save for the pain stinging in my memory. Humiliation reddened my cheeks.
“I'm so sorry. I have to go,” I whispered, and not knowing what else to do, I fled.
Chapter 17: Dylan's Advice
“Idiot, idiot, idiot!” I barricaded myself in the nearest bunkroom and slammed my back against the door. How was it that I could face a Commander, a Margrave, and even a Prince with more courage than I could muster for the one person I liked best in the world? Rune was finally free to express himself like a normal person and this was how I treated him?
I slid down the door like a bird that'd flown into a glass window. Sitting, I touched my calf, knowing exactly where the long silvery scar slashed across my skin. Two scars: one on my leg and one on my chest. It seemed I couldn't endure a journey in the Outside World without getting another. How many would I bear before this was over?
“You could have knocked,” Dylan said from where he lounged on the top bunk. He was fully clothed, excluding his bare feet, and held an open hardcover book in his hands.
“Oh!” Startled, I pushed myself up to stand. “Gravity, I didn't know you were there. Sorry, I'll just go.” I began to leave, but doubled back. “Wait a minute, are you wearing glasses?”
He swiped the thin silver-framed spectacles off his face. “No.”
“You were,” I insisted. I'd never seen him wear any before, but maybe I'd never caught him.
“What a ridiculous accusation,” he said defensively. “Do you barge into everyone's rooms to harass them at this time of night?”
I hung my head, deflated. “Yeah, I really think I do.”
He studied me for a moment. “Well, go do it to someone else.”
Nodding, I turned to go. My hand touched the door handle and I felt a tiny static charge zap me. I stopped where I was and contemplated a question. “Dylan, do you have memories that haunt you?”
He laughed dryly and groaned. I heard the book clap shut. “My entire life is a memory that haunts me.”
“How do you get past it?” It was a shot in the dark. I knew that he wasn't the ideal person to ask for advice, but he was there.
He sat up straighter and looked at me sharply. “Does it look like I've gotten past anything? And what gives you the right, of all people, to stand there and ask me this?”
I sure wasn't the only person aboard this ship with unresolved problems. Dylan could be a self-centered jerk but I doubted that anybody really bothered to try and sympathize with him. He had been turned into a Commander against his will, after all. I couldn't even imagine what that must be like. A part of me wanted to ask, but I had a feeling that I'd regret it. “Sorry... for what happened to you,” I said feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“I'm wealthy enough without your charity. Now, what part of 'get out' don't you understand?”
That's what I get for trying to be nice.
He'd pushed me just a little too far and I snapped. “I was just trying to talk to you, Dylan. I should have known better.”
“Last I remember, you made a point of noting that we are not friends, so don't play the wounded martyr with me.”
I wanted to shout at him about how awful he'd been. It'd be easy to make a case against his recent attitudes, but I just didn't have the energy. “I didn't come here for an argument. I'm tired of fighting. For once, I'd like a little peace. That's why I asked. I can see that it was a mistake.”
I was ready to walk out this time. I'd have been happy to leave and never speak to Dylan Axton again, but there was a change in his tone. “There is no peace, and there is no freedom from memory,” Dylan rested his head on the wall behind him. He looked up at the ceiling as he spoke. “They're mental scars, and I have them in plenty.”
“I’m sure yours are worse than anyone else’s,” I said with bitter sarcasm.
He let out a breath and didn’t look at me. “We had another brother, you know. Steffen.”
I didn't know.
Dylan smiled briefly. “He was the middle one– good at math and better at joking. Same age as that Dragoon of yours out there. Those two, they were friends when we were small children. When Steffen was ten, he began to show his Ability. Our father always said it'd come early or not at all in our family. Parents couldn't have been happier. When the Commanders took him away, they were so proud. Didn't shed a single tear– how's that for patriotism? It was more difficult for Bren and me. Thayer too. Brendon became his friend to help him get over losing our brother.” He snorted. “Worked out for both of them. Rune became Brendon's replacement for Steffen, but not for me. No one can replace a brother. I promised myself that someday, I'd see Steffen again. Even if we couldn't be brothers or friends, I'd become a Dragoon and fight beside him. I'd be as strong as he was and my parents would be proud of my memory too.
“By the time I was ten, everyone expected me to follow in Steffen's footsteps, but my control of the Lift was pitiful weak. The Axton family didn't need two heirs, and I would never become a coveted Dragoon. So, beloved Mum and Dad shipped me off to a boarding school in Cape Hill. I'll never forget the look in their eyes when they sent me away. Shame. Embarrassment. They said that shipping me off would build my character, make me worldly. Every year, they sent me more money than I'd need and transferred me to a different city. I never stayed long enough to make any real friends. And while I was toiling away in the greatest schools of the West, a spy from the North had infiltrated Breakwater.” Slowly, rhythmically, he tapped his fist on the book that sat beside him. “She poisoned my mother and half the keep, and led a raid on our militia. Father took a bayonet to the chest. Not even Dragoon medics, with all of their Abilities for healing, could save him. First thing Bren did as Common-Lord was bring me home. And if you must know everything, yes, I occasionally wear spectacles when I read. Dim light, and all that.”
Stunned into silence, I took it all in. I never imagined that his early life had been so difficult, or that he'd tell me so much about it now.
When I'd first arrived in Breakwater, Brendon had taken me for a Northern spy. No wonder he was so determined to keep me locked up. “It must have been hard for Brendon to decide to ask Prince Varion for help, after one of his spies...”
“When is anything easy?” he asked, turning his hazel eyes down on me. I still saw contempt, but I wondered if it was meant for me or for the world.
“What happened to Steffen?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Dragoons are dead to us, remember? He was taken to Cape Hill for training, like all recruits. He was never stationed in Breakwater. I haven't seen him since he was ten. I wouldn't likely recognize him now. If he's alive.”
I bit
the knuckle of my pointer finger in thought. “So he and Rune are the same age? Steffen was enlisted at ten, and Rune at thirteen. They may have trained together in Cape Hill.”
“Good for them,” Dylan said spitefully.
“Rune might know what happened to Steffen. Have you ever thought about asking him?”
The idea gave Dylan pause. A glint of youthful innocence crossed his features. For a moment, I could see hope in him. But the gloom returned, pouring doubt upon him like the rains outside. “Steffen doesn't exist to me. He is a Dragoon who fights for Prince Raserion, dies in battle, drains beneath his superiors, or turns into a contemptible creature... like me.” He looked down at his collarbone, where his smooth white shirt concealed the metal growth. “Thayer's stand in Cape Hill will be smothered as easily as a cripple beneath a pillow. They are not strong enough to fight our Prince, and you won't find my brother among the foolhardy. He's not stupid enough to make an ill-conceived dash for freedom.”
“No one is quite as stupid as we are,” I mused.
Dylan smirked. “Speak for yourself, Miss Kestrel.”
I leaned back against the door. “You know, your parents may not have had the chance to show it, but Brendon cares about you a great deal.”
“Right,” he said, exhaling. It was late and he was tired. I could tell by his drooping eyelids. “So says the girl who would abandon me to Commander Stakes.”
“Don't start with that again!”
He laughed sleepily. “Why not? Want to hear a joke? I'm a disappointment to Brendon, just like I am to everyone else. The punch line is that in order to prove myself and make him proud, I have to go on suicide mission upon suicide mission. Makes me feel downright loved.”
“He's sending you with us because he believes in you.”
He believes in all of us.
“My, my, but you know him so well. Perhaps we should exchange places. You can be the sacrificial Axton, and I'll be the ever-perfect Dragoon-chasing Lodestone.”
Monarch (War of the Princes Book 3) Page 10
