Monarch (War of the Princes Book 3)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  That was it. I'd had it with him. “Goodnight, Dylan,” I snapped, and swung the door open.

  Before I could close the door, he finally answered my question. “People say face your fears. That must be the place to start with memories too. If you figure it all out, be sure to let me know.”

  * * *

  The following morning, I didn't sleep on the sunbaked deck of the Flying Fish the way I usually would. I had a purpose. Crossing the main level of the ship and climbing the stairs to the aft deck, I ignored the chill on my bare arms. I needed them free of the constriction of clothing. I wore a sleeveless white top with a pair of dusty brown pants and boots that laced up to my calves. My hair flowed freely down my back, and my orange scarf was the only thing to hide the scars on my chest.

  Bright of sky and smooth of water, the world that surrounded our brassy ship was sapphire blue. The barest brush of land lay ahead in the distance with no more detail than a smudge of charcoal on colored paper.

  Rune stood near the rail, making peculiar motions with a weapon in hand. Curious, I raised an eyebrow. When I got closer, I realized that he wasn't holding a weapon at all. He was fishing off the back of the ship.

  His dark clothes were formfitting, and as usual, they were equipped with pockets, buckles, straps and sheathes. I had no doubt in my mind that he was hiding a great many weapons in those folds of cloth and leather.

  Hefting the straps of two long cases over my back, I approached him. My heart hammered harder with each step I took. He heard me coming, and glanced over his shoulder. Without even saying hello, he turned back to the water.

  I withered on the inside. “Aren't we going a little too fast for you to catch anything?”

  The fishing pole whizzed as he reeled up the line. “Watch out,” he said. “I'm terrible at this.”

  I scooted away from him as he cast the line. He swung the pole like it was a broadsword. The hook hit the deck behind us, swung around to skim the top of the railing, and then lashed out over the water. Lifting his thumb from the reel, he gave enough slack for the sinker to hit the surface.

  I winced. His was by far the worst form in fishing that I'd ever seen. “What's your bait?”

  “Ham sandwich.” The rest of it was sitting discarded on the railing.

  Fishing was a common sport in Haven, and even I'd caught one or two in Rivermarch. I didn't know where to begin correcting him, or whether I should at all. His father had been a fisherman by trade. “Um,” was all that I managed to say.

  His face was as stoic as any Dragoon's while he eyed the water for signs of a catch. Getting the cold shoulder from him was a familiar sensation that I didn't particularly enjoy.

  What was I supposed to do, stand here all day and feel awkward while he fished in the most ridiculous conceivable manner? No, I was following Dylan's advice. I was going to face my fears and confront them head-on.

  I bolstered my determination and said it. “I want to fight you.”

  Rune's blue eyes widened. To my everlasting shock, his line suddenly pulled taut, the reel spun out, and unprepared, he let the entire rod fly out of his hands.

  We both stood by, watching it soar through the air before slapping down on the water’s surface, far below. The fins of a large fish thrashed near the surface before dipping back into the depths. Unhooked, the fishing pole floated off on its own. Frozen with surprise, we stared until it was out of sight. I was impressed.

  Rune blinked, turning to look at me, and belatedly asked, “What?”

  Distracted by the stolen fishing pole, I had to remind myself why I'd come to find him. I pressed my lips together, lowered my black brows, and swung the two canvas cases down from my shoulder.

  “Teach me to fight,” I told him. “Like you did with Ruby.”

  He looked at me with apprehension. “If that's what you want.”

  “It is.” I scooped up the strap from one of the long cases and handed it to him. “And I want to use these.”

  Rune unsnapped the top of the case, reached in, and pulled out a silver bastard sword. The hilt was simple, with a slim, curving knuckle-guard. I produced its twin from the other case.

  “They're combat-ready,” he protested.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “They're metal.”

  “That was the idea.”

  He was emphatic in his warning. “They're not for training.”

  “I know.” A hard smile formed on my lips. “Teach me.”

  “But,” he stammered. “That day...”

  I remembered all too well. Even now the memory clawed savagely at the back of my mind. Fear. Steel. Flesh. Bone. Blood.

  “I don't care about what happened,” I said with more grit in my voice than I'd intended.

  Emotion overruled the soldier's training. Rune's brows were pinched at the middle like he was tormented by sadness or regret. “I– I can't...” he said, flexing his grip on the sword's handle.

  I knew this would be hard for both of us, but if we didn't face our fears, they would poison us. He might not have realized it, but in denying the lesson, he'd force us farther apart. I didn't want him to protect me. I wanted to bring that vision back to life so that I could destroy it, and if he couldn't initiate combat, I would.

  “Do it, Thayer!” I gripped the handle of my sword with both hands. It was heavier than I thought it'd be. Grunting, I swung it at him with all of my might, aiming for his chest.

  Horrified, he took a single step back, smoothly raising his sword arm to block my attack.

  CLANG!

  The blades met with painful resonance and sent impact vibrations through my fingers and down my arms. Powered by my force and his defense, my blade skidded down the length of his own, guided harmlessly out of the way. I lurched, nearly losing my balance.

  When I'd seen Rune fight with swords in the past, it had looked like a dance to me. Alluring, despite its violent purpose, it was graceful– beautiful. I never imagined how jarring it actually felt.

  “Katelyn...”

  I put my back into the motion and launched at him again. Rune's left hand joined his right on the hilt. He stepped forward, turning his body to the side, and parried effortlessly. The collision rattled my teeth.

  “Stop this,” he pleaded.

  The grin I gave him was wicked. “Not going to happen.” Heaving my arms over my shoulder, I slammed my blade at a downward angle.

  He caught the swipe and used the tip of his sword to flick mine away.

  “You're a soldier,” I panted. “Act like one.”

  Rune's posture straightened, his nostrils flared slightly, and a look of dark amusement flashed across his face.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  All at once, he transformed. Gone was the conflicted twenty-year-old who struggled to regain his humanity. Rune Thayer's jaw flexed and set, lips pressed together, brows angled down over those cold, cold blue eyes– he zeroed in on me. He may as well have grown another foot in height for the enormity of his presence. Taking a wide stance, he slid his left arm behind his back and aligned his sword vertically with his body. Watching the blade, studying it, he swung the sword in circles around himself, and tossed it from one hand into the other. Letting the flat part of the weapon fall onto the fingertips of his other hand, he raised it up for inspection. I didn't get the sense that he was showing off. He was studying its quality. When he was satisfied, he turned his gaze back on me.

  I wanted to shrink away from him in fear, but stubborn as ever, I just kept on grinning.

  “Left foot forward, right foot back, knees slightly bent,” he ordered, showing me with his own positioning. “You must stop throwing the sword. You're using your entire body, wasting precious energy and leaving yourself open to attack. Keep the proper stance, and make the sword work with your body instead of against it.”

  I nodded and followed his guidance. Despite the frigid air, my palms were slippery with sweat. I squeezed the hilt of my sword. The last thing I needed to do was drop i
t and make a fool out of myself.

  “Hold your sword up, like this. Keep that left elbow up– imagine that it's blocking your neck. Right shoulder back, elbow down, step in and swing across. That's your position of power with this type of sword. Slow at first, now try it like this.” He preformed the move with fluid perfection.

  I attempted to copy his movements.

  He moved his sword into a defensive position. “Left elbow needs to be higher. Good, now step and swing.”

  I stopped myself, inches from reaching his sword.

  “Let me try that again,” I said. My arms were beginning to ache but I let them burn. Returning to my original stance, I snapped into action, completing the move with my best combination of strength and speed.

  Even then, I couldn't surprise him. He was ready for me in an instant, lifting his sword hilt high, tip tilted downward to block my sweep.

  I improvised a rebound attack, but he was ready for that too. He cut around me and his blade pounded down on mine. The impact slammed my sword right out of my slippery hands, but not before my own hilt twisted my wrist painfully. My sword hit the ground and slid away, and I fell down to one knee. I let the fingertips of my left hand brush the deck to steady me. Rune loomed over me, dark as one of the Prince's shadows.

  His sword shined just as it had on that day. My calf ached with a memory all its own. Breathing heavily, I waited to be crippled by the flashing visions, but they didn't come.

  My own heartbeat filled my ears.

  To my surprise, after recreating the moment as best I could, I didn't find myself reliving Rune's uncontrollable attack on me. No blood or bone or breaking skin. It was Sterling that I remembered, laying gray and empty on the cobbles, rainwater trickling through the cracks beneath him.

  My avoidance of Rune was a line of defense to keep me from reliving the moment I'd lost Sterling. It all clicked together in such a profound way, I actually began to understand myself a little better. It had been difficult to face a memory of physical pain, but near impossible for me to confront the emotional scars of losing a friend.

  An invisible sword pierced my heart and a single tear traveled from my eye, down my cheek.

  Rune still held the sword tip-down in his left hand, but his right reached out to me.

  I looked up at him, slid my hand into his and smiled. “Thank you.”

  He smiled back at me and seemed to understand. “You crossed your wrists.”

  Rising easily to my feet, I tilted my head to the side. “Is that bad?”

  “Very,” he said. “Cross your wrists and you weaken your control over your sword.”

  “Wasn't very good, was I?”

  “Better than most.”

  I laughed, not believing him for a minute.

  He slid his blade back into the travel case. “So are you going to tell Carmine, or am I?”

  “Tell her what?” I asked, confused.

  “If she wants her fishing rod back, we're going to have to turn around.”

  Chapter 18: Ghost Stories and Gray Soldiers

  In my dreams, the ocean around us was endless and the world was pale. The Flying Fish was nothing more than a dragonfly, skimming the surface of a lake.

  When I climbed from my bunk, my limbs were heavy and I moved too slowly. On some level, I knew that I wasn't awake, but that's never quite enough, is it? The cabin was dark, but a sliver of light broke through the cracked door. Someone thrashed wildly in the bed beside mine. Limbs flying and back bucking, the person screamed.

  “Kyle!” I called to him. “Kyle, you have to wake up!”

  He couldn't hear me. The mess of his curly brown hair splayed out around him, his hands clawed at the air, and his legs kicked furiously. All at once, he fell silent and burst into flames.

  “No!” I screamed.

  The blaze lit the room red, but not for long. Rain poured down through the cabin ceiling– black rain. Darkness reclaimed the bunkroom, smothered the flames and swallowed Kyle whole. A pair of round, white eyes appeared over his bed. Stretching and growing, it towered over me. Long fingers reached out.

  “Kill my brother Varion,” the shadow said in Prince Raserion's voice.

  Other pairs of eyes blinked open in all corners of the room. There were dozens of them staring at me. Their fingers tugged at my clothes and scraped like rough carbon on my skin. I twisted and pulled away from them, moving as slowly as I had in the dry water pool.

  “This way,” Rune said from the doorway. “Into the light! Prince Varion will help us.”

  I reached out to him, but my hands passed through his visage and he vanished.

  “Don't go,” I begged, but he was already gone.

  Light poured into the cabin hall like a trail, and I followed it. White shadowy eyes opened in the darkness all around me by the hundreds. Their arms dripped down from the ceiling. Claustrophobia pulled tight around me and I panicked. Throwing wide the cabin doors, I fled to the open main deck of the ship.

  Sunlight greeted me. It was warm, and bright enough to turn the deck of the ship nearly white. I turned back to see a mass of roiling shapes in the shadows. They couldn't reach me here. I was free. I was safe.

  The warmth of the sun became a burning, searing heat, and a shape emerged from the brightest pool of light. It was like the Gateling, but it was made of a burning radiance. Chills spread through my body. This thing was the opposite of a shadow, and that frightened me even more. It stood twelve feet tall, and stared down at me with bottomless black eyes.

  “Kill my brother Raserion,” the anti-shadow said in a voice that was all gravel and bass.

  I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. Caught between the two greatest powers in the known world, I was helpless. And I was burning.

  * * *

  The moment my eyes opened, I was grateful to be awake. I pinched myself to be sure, and, lightning in hand, searched the bunkroom for any white-eyed shadows.

  Nothing.

  Stripping my sleeping clothes, I quickly dressed in an olive long-sleeved shirt, my orange scarf, a pair of ivory pants and my sturdy boots. Opening the door to the hall, I crept out. Golden luminance filtered in beneath the doors to the main deck. I took a look outside, knowing that I wouldn't find a black-eyed monster made of light waiting for me. I was greeted with a red and gold sunset.

  The Flying Fish coasted over a calm sea with a definite end. The mountains that had been so far away were much closer. The range was a foggy shelf that stretched out ahead of us. My friends weren't in immediate danger. Kyle wasn't on fire. Rune wasn't a ghost. I wasn't sandwiched between two brother princes that were ruthlessly embroiled in ending one another. Sure, there was a Gateling onboard, but it wouldn't hurt me. I had a firm enough handle on everything that was happening to me.

  We were all together in this; even Ruby, who was so far away. I wondered how she was fairing in her task. She must be home by now. Did she get Sterling's body back? Would our officials listen to her and the Professor? I wished that there were some way that I could know. She was safe, though, and that was all that mattered.

  Even with all of that, the feeling of the dream persisted, and I feared for us. I knew nothing about this Prince Varion, aside from his guilt as a murderer.

  I made my way to the helm of the ship and it was a good thing. Everyone else was already there. Chairs and a small card table had been brought in and placed along the map wall behind Carmine's post. The view out of the pointed glass nose was unobstructed, and we raced over dusky red water that mirrored the sky. The flat-headed mountains stretched out before us.

  Carmine slumped over the dials, gauges, switches and levers of the control console, her arms wrapped over the wheel, eyes peering out ahead. When had she gotten so thin? Her dark brown hair was a ragged mess, her skin was sallow, and dark circles crowded her eyes. Kyle sat in a chair at her side with a glass of water. He rubbed her back familiarly with one hand. When had that happened?

  Possibly more surprising than Carmine's state and Kyle's close
ness to her was the activity going on at the small table behind them. Rune and Dylan were playing cards! Together!

  I pinched myself a second time to make certain I wasn't dreaming. “Did I miss something?” I half expected to see Sadie sitting in Carmine's lap.

  The only aspect of normalcy that I could find was that neither Dragoon nor Commander seemed to be enjoying each other's presence. There was not even a hint of friendship wafting in the air. I was actually afraid they might knife one another at any given minute.

  Rune's expression was sober, and his posture stiff. Dylan, on the other hand, reclined in his chair with a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “I win,” he said. “Again.”

  Rune dropped his cards onto the table and stared at them like they were the enemy.

  “I could get used to this,” Dylan said, collecting the cards gingerly. “I can't ever remember winning so frequently.”

  “You used the hammer card,” Rune said. “I thought you said that you couldn't use that unless it was paired with a sword.”

  “Unless it was preceded by two tongs and a poppet. Which it was. Sorry, Defector. Better luck next time.”

  “Again.” Rune put his hands down on the table. “I want to see what you look like defeated.”

  Dylan's fierce grin broadened. “A lofty aspiration. You have my apologies in advance. I'd simply hate to disappoint you.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked, completely bewildered.

  “Learning to play cards,” Rune answered, focused on the hand Dylan was dealing.

  “Learning to lose at cards,” Dylan said, correcting him.

  “No, I mean, why is everyone up here?” I asked, walking to Carmine's other side.

  She blinked slowly, tilting her head to look at me. “I blacked out. At the wheel.” Her voice came out all scratchy.

  “She hasn't slept in days!” Kyle complained. “Or even eaten much.”

  “Why not?” I asked. Our pilot was beautiful, strong, and always presented herself with practical yet immaculate standards. I'd never seen her like this. Had I been so preoccupied the last several days that I hadn't noticed her decline?