by Della Roth
“Griselda? What was discussed?” His voice is neutral, but I can tell that this information catches him off guard.
“That’s the one. Strangely, not much. Elwyn paid her a pouch full of money and ordered the woman to have her team ready by tonight. After Elwyn left, a Patroxi male entered the alleyway and I presume, mostly because I couldn’t understand much of the conversation, that they agreed to Elwyn’s terms.”
Briefly, Roland closes his eyes and shakes his head like a man who isn’t thrilled with what he’s being told, but neither is he surprised.
“Well played, Jaucey. Well played.”
Eight
ROLAND SILENTLY OPENS THE door that I had earlier suspected to be the girl’s.
Elwyn looks up sharply. She sits on her bed, fully dressed—this time in darker clothing, well-made boots, and a thick, black fabriskin robe—with a small suitcase by her feet. The rest of her room is quaint, clean, and free of clutter and toys.
“Cousin Roland?” she asks in a high voice, her mouth an O, her thick eyebrows arched. She studies the scars on his face with unbridled fascination. I have to remember that he’s kept himself hidden all of these years.
Roland’s cousin is a very pretty girl, but, like her father, something about her sets my teeth on edge. I inspect her, waiting to find a defect of some sort, but other than a gut feeling that the girl isn’t what she seems, I cannot discern anything else about her.
“Going somewhere?” he asks her harshly, looking between the suitcase and her face.
The lamp next to her bed gives her a pinkish color, but really her skin tone is like a jeweled amber set beautifully against long, curly black hair. I don’t see much in the way of a family resemblance, so she must get her coloring and beauty from her mother.
Looking at her angelic face and her sweet, large brown eyes, I have a difficult time believing that she met with Griselda in that dark alleyway. It doesn’t make much sense that she would discuss her father’s plans with anyone, let alone a war broker. Not only that, but physically convince someone to do something they had no plans of ever complying with.
Elwyn opens her mouth, shuts it, opens it again, and says, “Father told me to be ready to leave in a hurry tonight.”
“He was right,” Roland says. “Let’s go.”
The girl hesitates, and then I feel her eyes on me. Studying the gash on my face, the fresh blood on my shoulder. I can tell she finds me wanting, lacking, but interesting. A small smile touches my lips, though it’s mostly due to my own amusement of it all.
“Without Father?”
“Yes.”
“Father says you renounced the throne.” Her voice is small, like that of a submissive child, but, to my ears, it sounds unconvincing. “Does this mean I’m finally Queen?”
Ah! That explains a lot. My smile gets even bigger, and the girl notices. She immediately maintains eye contact with me.
“We can discuss it on the way,” Roland states, his voice tense as he says each word like it’s its own sentence.
Elwyn crosses her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.”
I glance at Roland. He’s somewhat red in the face. None of the women in Roland’s life, save Cat Evinas, actually listen to him.
“I say we leave her here,” I mention absently, shrugging as if I don’t care either way. Roland glares at me, not enjoying my interference. “It’s not like we need a baby on our hands.”
“I am not a baby,” Elwyn says bullishly. She jumps off her bed and lands in an aggressive stance. She is so Lord Jaucey’s daughter.
I shrug again. “What are you, seven? Listen, I can help you find your baby doll before we go, okay, if that helps.”
Roland sighs loudly.
I should probably stop arguing with the girl. Her resistance is more annoying than endearing, and we really need to get back to the Palace Skyscraper.
“How dare you speak to me that way?” Elwyn proclaims. “In twenty-four hours, I will be thirteen and of age to inherit. My first order of business is to throw you—” She glares at me, “—in some dark hole of a prison—a grave will work—and forget you ever existed.”
“She’s charming, Roland!” I say to the silent man beside me. “It’s completely obvious to me now why you want to collect her and bring her back with us into a precarious situation where she’ll put our lives in danger.”
“Wait,” the girl says, backing up. “You’re taking me into Skyscraper City?”
“Now, why wouldn’t you want to go there?” I ask. Her head tilts and she seems to view me in a new light now. Yes, I think, I know what you think I know.
“Can both of you please be quiet? Elwyn, you’re coming with us. Discussion’s over.” Roland swoops in, grabs her suitcase, opens the door, and motions for us to leave. His cousin glares at me and makes a point of walking through the door first.
We leave the house the same way I entered, though in the off-kitchen room, we have to step over the dead body of the poor servant who was cleaning the dishes. On the floor, a large pool of blood intermingles with the broken dishes.
“You didn’t have to kill him, Roland,” I blurt out.
“I didn’t,” he says, and I believe him. “I thought you did. He was like this when I walked in.”
Instantly I remember my follower—the shadow—and I look around the room as if I’ll find him in a corner. Of course, other than us, the room is empty.
Elwyn watches us and our behavior closely. I can see her little mind working furiously. However, what I find interesting is that she never once asks where her father is or why he isn’t coming with us. Does she already know the real reason? Her face is void of any expression as we step outside. It’s even darker now than when I came in.
“His name was Zif and he was a terrible servant,” Elwyn says to no one in particular.
For a moment no one speaks.
“Did you attend the celebration earlier?” I ask as we walk through the gate. Roland is strangely silent, but I can tell he’s listening intently.
“I know what you’re doing,” she hisses under her breath. “I don’t know what you think you know, but I promise you that you’re so far off base that you won’t know what hit you until you’re six feet under.”
“Is that a particular threat just for me, or to everyone in general?”
“Assume whatever you like, of course,” she answers. “I’ll only regret not seeing your ugly face as you discover it all.”
I grin at her. “Likewise.”
Trying to best her is like trying to swim in mud. Too much damn work. So I ignore her, which pretty much has the same effect. I feel her direct stares and glares, but only Roland talks to her from here on out. Once we hit the darkened road, we walk at a brisk pace.
“So I hear you have information,” Roland says conversationally.
“I know many things,” the girl says noncommittally.
“I’m sure you do. Like, for instance, tonight. What do you know about your father’s plans?”
“Since you’re no longer the prince, I’m not obligated to answer you. In fact, you should be obeying my orders.”
“We can try that in a little bit. How about as your nearest relation?”
“Doesn’t give you much standing, I’m afraid.”
“Jaucey has hated me all my life. Doesn’t surprise me you’d feel that way.”
“He didn’t hate you,” Elwyn says. “He felt that you wasted a perfectly good opportunity to rule as your father did. He only wanted to help you. I suppose it is my time to turn the tides in favor of my great-uncle’s legacy.”
Didn’t. Felt. Wanted. Past tense. She knows her father’s dead.
“Not quite,” Roland says.
She turns her head sharply toward him. “What do you mean, not quite?” Her last two words are said deadly enough that for a split second, I actually fear for Roland’s very life. She could very well have hidden a dagger. We never checked he
r. She lunges at her cousin. But instead of injuring him, she yanks her suitcase from his hands. “You’re not worthy to even carry my personal effects.”
“Well, I tried.” He raises his hands in a slight surrendering manner before dropping them to his sides. “Rahda is a Sevradan and queen,” he says matter of fact, pointing at me. Her eyes follow in my direction, almost in slow motion. “You’re not inheriting and never will, Elwyn. I’m sorry to be so blunt with you, and I wish your father told you, but there it is.”
“What!” she screams, her voice echoing. She turns on me, her face rabid. “You stole my dream, my birthright,” she seethes. “I’ll return the favor one day. I promise.”
She pivots and sprints into one of the alleys, disappearing around the first bend.
“Are you going to let her go like that?” I ask.
“She can take care of herself. Besides, she knows these alleys and this side of the mountain like the back of her hand. We would never find her. Jaucey used to take her when he conducted shady deals, so she’s seen it all.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” I clarify, “but anyone that comes into contact with her.”
“Yeah, well…” he shrugs.
“You knew she wouldn’t come with us willingly, yet you forced the issue anyway. Why?”
“I have a weakness for stubborn women.” He gives me a look. “I knew she was lying and, to be honest, I’m not all that surprised that she wanted to help her father. Don’t forget, his goal was to have his daughter as queen. As long as she thought it was still a possibility, I thought she might reveal a detail or two.”
“Not with me around.”
“She’s not fond of other females, even her own mother, who died not long after having her.”
“You can’t blame a child for its mother’s death like that.”
“I agree with you. However, Elwyn would not. In fact, she often bragged about it. At least she did a few years ago. Born a murderer, she said.”
“You know, I really can’t wait to attend your next family reunion,” I joke.
We start walking again. The palace is still a mile or more away, but we both notice it in the distance at the same time.
Fire and smoke.
We break into a run.
Nine
MY LEGS BURN ONLY after a few blocks of full-on sprinting, but I’m faster than Roland, which, in a more innocent situation, I might exploit and rib him about, but not here and not now.
A row of fire seems to be coming toward us in the distance.
Roland whistles behind me, I pull short, and realize he’s already turned into an alley without me.
Son of a bitch. My ankle turns sharply at an odd angle as I pivot around and follow Roland.
It’s an extremely narrow alley and the tall, dark-gray buildings on each side nearly touch each other in a haunted, slanted manner. My boots crunch over broken glass—all of the windows are blown out, though not from anything recently done—and I spot a warm glow in one of the buildings.
A fire torch. Just one. Someone is walking through the building, and they aren’t trying to be quiet about it. Or covert. Then the glow goes lower and then disappears altogether.
Roland, who’s only a few feet in front of me, darts into a darkened doorway that leads into the left building. I follow him up five levels of ragged and wobbly metal stairs, and we explode through a ceiling hatch that leads to the roof.
Now I understand.
We can see the Palace Skyscraper in the distance. The mountain range behind the Palace is on fire. Columns of smoke pipe skyward. So far, though, Skyscraper City appears to be fairly undisturbed. But for how long?
Turning to Roland, I find he isn’t looking toward the Palace, he’s looking at the mountain range on our right.
A massive line of fire torches march single file in the middle of the mountain on some sort of trail. Hundreds and hundreds of them. For all I know, Elwyn is with them, ready to destroy everything in her path. If it wasn’t so alarming, it would be amazing to watch the lights flicker around trees and large boulders as the travelers make their way toward Skyscraper City.
I turn to gauge Roland’s expression. Of course, it’s difficult not to take him all in.
He stands near the edge of the roof, feet apart, boots laced up his calves, dark cargo pants mold his body perfectly, and, on top, an untucked, sheer black slub shirt. His face is set, his mouth firm, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—are like black orbs staring down into an abyss.
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” I ask him bluntly. There’s no point in talking around the issue. “You renounced the throne knowing that you put every single citizen’s life in danger. Mortal danger, Roland!” And now it appears to be my problem to solve. It’s ironic that only three days ago, I would have gladly been on the other side.
He turns to me.
“It was going to happen regardless. So I did what I had to do. Consider it motivation for the masses.”
“Motivation?” I yell at him, closing the small gap between us. “Or cowardice?” I whisper. I feel his heat and I can almost hear his heartbeat, the very thing I would normally want to cherish for the rest of my life. But now… I want to crush it. I want to crush him. I can tell he wants to say more. Maybe even try to tell me everything will be okay as everything burns around us. But his face chisels up into stone and one of his eyebrows arches as if he means to not only not explain, but he’s trying to challenge me. Challenging me how? If he thinks I’m the Sacred Soul, does he think I can do something about all of this?
“There is a thin line between motivation and cowardice,” Roland says, watching my face as I think things through, then shrugs before turning back in the direction of the Palace Skyscraper.
“You make me sick,” I spit at him and before I can even stop myself, I rear back and punch him in the side of the throat.
His head snaps back and then he goes down, gagging and gasping for air.
Off in the distance, near the Palace Skyscraper, a boom! goes off and almost instantly, the sky illuminates brightly all around. It nearly reaches our location, but not quite, much like the way dawn approaches gradually, only we need to head into it.
I’ve already wasted too much time standing here with Roland. But I don’t know what else to do. I only know that I have to reach the Palace Skyscraper. With or without Roland. I’m not even sure it matters anymore. In this moment, right now, who am I going to be?
The solution or the problem?
I killed Lord Jaucey, but I was too late for it to be effective, though having one less brutal, dictator-like person around isn’t a bad thing.
It starts with a small step, an inadvertent step, and then I’m at the roof’s hatch.
Roland’s arm reaches out to stop me, but I’m too far from him to touch me.
“What are you doing?” he croaks, his other hand wrapped around his neck.
I say the first thing that comes to mind. “To fix what you started.”
Just before I jump down the hatch, I notice a small smile on Roland’s face.
Ten
I JAM EACH FOOT down as I descend the rickety staircase, each step one of frustration, anger, and confusion. And perhaps heartache. I’m not any more focused by the time I reach the narrow alley, but I don’t take any time to reflect upon it.
I crunch through the broken glass and run out into the main part of the street.
A familiar shadow moves.
“If you’re going to keep following me,” I yell at the shadow, “you could at least introduce yourself.”
Nothing answers me, not that I expected it to.
A certain stillness creeps into me, like everything has paused, and it occurs to me that I should hear war cries or the licking sizzling of fire, yet there is nothing.
I stop running once I enter the hover-flare-lit areas and look around. The Palace Skyscraper is still a ways away. I can see the topmost floor—Roland’s suites—as it disappears into the clouds an
d smoke above. I try not to think about how much I’d rather be there than here right now.
Off to my right, behind an array of buildings, apartments, and shoppes, the mountain glows with more fire torches moving steadily toward the inner city. Why aren’t they down in the streets yet?
“Right now, their goal is to cut off major escape routes,” a voice says behind me, as if reading my mind. I turn, though I already know it’s Roland. He’s caught up to me. “That’s why you don’t hear anything, either. No war cries. It’s the advanced guard, not soldiers, not warriors, just scary beasts with torches.”
I decide to put aside my feelings for the moment. I don’t want to fight with Roland and everyone else, too.
“To contain us in the valley?” After all, mountains rise all around us.
“Makes us easy pickings, doesn’t it?”
“Most of the continent left during the black water plague, right?”
“Right.”
Something dawns on me. “Dear Goddess, you’re brilliant, Roland,” I declare. “You made it up.”
“What did I make up?” he asks, his tone guarded, like maybe there are several things he’s made up and he’s not sure which one I’ve figured out.
“The black water plague. It never existed. You made it up to get the citizens off the continent. Which means you were correct, earlier.”
“Which part?”
“That you knew we’d be attacked tonight no matter what you did during the celebration. It takes longer than a few hours to assemble an army from Hades Rocks. So why, after so many years, did your uncle decide to attack tonight? You said so yourself that he gave you years of ultimatums.” Roland tilts his head at me as if he’s trying to decipher what I just said. “Am I wrong?” I ask.
“That’s not Jaucey’s army, Rahda.” His eyes apologize to me before the words come out of his mouth. “Ask yourself, who else is capable of doing this?”
The Grandfather.
He sees that I understand him. Then he says, “Now ask yourself, how long does it take to march up an army of beasts from Hades Rocks?”
