The men around us leapt from the trenches to face their enemy head on. A shadow glided overhead and plunged onto the field to meet our attackers. It was Margrave Hest. She'd leaped the trench astride her warhorse, her plume of black hair trailing behind her. She led the charge and met the enemy troop before her soldiers. Her first opponent used his own sword to kill himself. The second fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He screamed where he lay, twitching.
“Lets go!” Dylan said, giving my arm a tug.
My heart was battering against my ribs and my hands were shaking violently, but I followed him. We climbed from the opposite end of the trench, shambling at our greatest speed to escape the battlefield. Catching my breath behind a dead and broken tree, I looked back at the fight. Everything had changed. It wasn't one–sided anymore. Lights flashed where the two forces met, boulders burst from the soil, icy spears pelted down, bodies were flung from the ground, gunfire rattled the air, and a plume of blue fire licked the white sky.
I took in a slow breath. Hope bloomed in my chest, forcing my perception of time to slow. The drab colors of the land suddenly seemed brighter, my aching head hurt less, and the thought of the nearly impossible task to save my mother and Haven was a sure and simple thing.
“Lets go,” Dylan said, holding the reins of the horses. He dropped Florian's lead and swung up into the saddle of his bay. “This fight can still go either way. Hurry!”
A stray bullet sank into the tree I was hiding behind, and I jolted, making for Florian and launching into my saddle. I lingered, knowing it was the stupidest thing I could do.
The battle was getting closer. Florian spun around nervously, and I loosened the length of his reins, squeezing his sides with my heels. My silver gray gelding plunged into action, carrying me away. Frustration raked down to my bones. That blue fire belonged to Rune. It was him. It had to be.
C hapter 20: Shadows of Ourselves
In leaving Rune behind, my bulletproof confidence faded as suddenly as it had appeared. The world was dull again, my mother was gone, Ruby was taken, and I was a frail insurgent in what was likely a futile attempt at saving my coveted home.
I slouched in my saddle, wishing beyond all other wishes that I could see him again. Reality is never as kind as we hope. There was a chance that it wasn't even him on the battlefield. I fought within myself for an answer. In this world of turmoil and violence, what were the chances that I would ever again see the person who meant the world to me? The young soldier with blue eyes and brown skin who had nearly given his life to save mine, the boy with the secret heart of an artist who kissed me in a broken tower. My Dragoon.
“Just be alive,” I whispered to myself. “Just be alive.” If life could grant me that one favor, I would do the rest. I'd find him somehow, some day.
“What?” Dylan asked from the seat of his saddle, just beside me.
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“I can't believe they had cannons!” he repeated for the third time.
“I can't believe anyone makes guns that big.” Until that day, I hadn't known what a cannon was.
“How did they haul them through the forest? There must have been more of them than what we saw today. I didn't see horses. Did you see horses?”
“Nope,” I responded hollowly.
“Elephants, maybe, but where do you hide an elephant?” he chattered on.
This time, I didn’t say anything at all.
“What's wrong with you?” he asked in a tone that was much kinder than his choice of words.
“It doesn't matter.”
“You've never seen death before,” he mused.
“I've seen it,” I said shooting him a dark look.
I’d seen other deaths, but I was thinking of Leila March in particular. She was a Dragoon that I had befriended during my imprisonment in Breakwater. I hadn’t seen her killed, but March was the woman Dylan had drained to make himself a Commander. According to him, he’d been forced to steal her life by my late adversary, Commander Stakes. It was a raw subject, and one that frequently made me want to see Dylan to an early grave.
He clenched his jaw, and looked away. I thought he'd defend himself or tell me that it was my fault, but he didn't. For once, he was silent.
The forest of dead trees was far behind us now. The fog had burned off, and the late afternoon sky was beginning to fade to a soft blue. We'd found a back road that curved through gently rolling golden pastures. A breeze brushed the grain and sent it rippling like water. My attention was momentarily stolen by a herd of elephants clustered in the shade of a single tree. Even from a distance, they were an incredible sight. Ahead of us, peeking above the horizon, I could see the telltale shape of a city. Judging by the steady rate in which it grew, we'd arrive before dark.
“If it was up to me, things would be how they were,” Dylan said, staring ahead. “None of this would be happening. No one would fight. No one would kill each other. I wouldn't have to live with this sickness in my chest, like a poison, ripping me apart from the inside. It would be simple. The streets of Breakwater would always be safe. Parties every week. Men singing in the bars and ladies smiling, always smiling. The biggest problems would be humorously trivial.”
“I know a place like that,” I said feeling a tug of sentiment.
He kept his eyes carefully trained on the city.
“Sometimes I dream that I don't hate you,” his words were a cup, brimming with honesty and pain. “Then I wake up. It all comes back. I remember how putrid life is.”
Seeing regret plain on his face, I wholeheartedly believed for the first time that he had told me the truth; that he'd been abducted and tortured, and that Stakes really had forced him to kill March. He was never an agent in Breakwater's coup de tat. My first instinct was to comfort him, to apologize that any of it happened to him, but one fact remained. In his fear, he'd handed me to my worst enemy. There was no reason for me to think, then or now, that if I'd brought him home, in his panic he wouldn't have given Haven's location away.
No, I couldn't honestly tell Dylan that I forgave him. Learning that a snake was afraid when it bit didn't mean it would never bite again. Dylan and I were a broken pair, and we both knew it.
“I miss how things were too,” I admitted, barely able to get the words out. It was something I scarcely acknowledged to myself.
There was the faintest hint of fondness when he turned in his saddle to look at me. “Well, we have that. At least for today.”
“For today,” I agreed, and we smiled, for an instant, seeming very much like the people we once were. It was a strange moment that few would understand. I wouldn't expect anyone to.
* * *
Sunset drenched the world in tangerine, and Cape Hill rose up around us in sprawling grandeur. It was a true city, easily four times larger than Breakwater, and at least twice the size of Haven's capital, Pinebrook. The outskirts were impoverished, but as we rode further in, the dwellings changed from hovels to shanties to cottages to houses. All were constructed in a mixture of stone and clay, with brown tile roofs. Vendors hocked wares from carts that were scattered throughout narrow streets and alleyways, wherever there was space. Watchtowers spiked up between structures like thorns, each within shouting distance of the other. Their long shadows striped the lower city. Soldiers were posted in twos on every street intersection.
The bustling populace took no notice of us. Most people moved about on foot or by bicycle. Few on the street were mounted as we were, and fewer still drove by in those shoddy mechanical car contraptions. They spoke to one another nervously or focused on their work, frowns painted on their mouths and lines of stress crowding their faces. These people were terrified. All of them.
“Are they always like this?” I asked Dylan as quietly as I could.
He didn't seem concerned. “We're not among the privileged yet. Not every leader is interested in seeing their people happy. Lord and Lady Hibbern are old, out of touch, and greedy. Brendon hates them, but the
y have their uses. All of Breakwater's exports are sold here.”
Pillars of smoke poured into the sky from massive factory buildings. From the cavernous entrances to warehouses and workshops, I saw all manner of things being constructed, from tools, ship parts, and engines, to whole automobiles and trains. Laborers and mechanics wore as much sweat, grease and oil as they did protective clothing. Some buildings were swarming with army guards. No doubt, much of the industrial production had been repurposed for the war effort. I wondered what Kyle would think, seeing such a place.
The deeper into Cape Hill we traveled, the larger and more impressive the roads and houses became. We crossed a couple of brick bridges to the higher levels of the inner city, and soon the congestion of the slums lifted. There were huge manors built of rich, bright wood, topped with pointy roofs, small decorative towers, and delicately fenced areas for sitting and enjoying the view. Tiny square parks scarcely able to fit a single bench spangled the roadsides, some with manicured flowerbeds. The proud, stone buildings that comprised the multitude of shops and market places were crafted with artful masonry, but like the buildings in Breakwater, these too were stained and battered with age. Tall, glossy wood sculptures seemed to be popular, and were prominent features of many areas we passed by. Here, horses, carriages, and automobiles outnumbered bicycles twenty to one.
Judging by the dead trees of the battlefield, the spindly forest nearby, and the lack of trees since, I guessed that wood was in short supply and had become a symbol of wealth.
Even the fortunate residents of this area seemed ill at ease. Despite their finer clothing and valuable adornments, they seemed just as miserable as the people of the outer district.
On nearly every corner of the city, I saw black armor marked with red. These soldiers carried swords, and some held tall, decorative spears, etched with black writing. They wore twisted helms that covered their faces and made them look less than human. No one on the street gave them a single look. No heads ever turned their way, no eyes ever lifted up to them, none but mine.
Unmistakable in its design, a looming Installment Fortress darkened the dead center of Cape Hill. Two brown stone structures framed its sides, towering a third higher than the fortress itself. The three buildings were connected by a series of hefty stone bridges.
“The Twin Palaces. The one on the left is the Gold Palace, and the one on the right is the Silver Palace. I'm certain you know what the middle one is,” Dylan said, reining to a halt. I pulled Florian to an easy stop. The Gold and Silver Palaces weren't gold or silver. They were identical brown stone. “Well, I've gotten you to the cape. Where now?”
I was tired and it took longer than usual to hone in on Paperglass. To my misery, I had the persistent desire to ride straight to the installment fortress.
“Guess,” I said, hanging my shoulders.
“Grand,” he muttered. “Well, I hope you enjoy being a Historian. The charade continues.”
“Peachy,” I said, grimacing. “Where's the harbor?”
“Straight ahead, on the other side of the palaces, through the wharf district. The shipyard is close. The docks and piers come right up into the front of the city.”
I'd been imagining Cape Hill to be a circle, but it was really more of a crescent.
I couldn't see the water at ground level, but it was a relief to know that it wasn't far away. Inwardly, I prompted The Pull to lead me to Kyle. I was facing the right direction already, so I took that as a sign that they were on their way.
Don't take too long.
“Well,” Dylan said, taking in a deep breath and letting his cheeks puff as he exhaled. “Let's get this over with.”
No sooner than he said the words, bells began chiming. The signal rang out from the Installment Fortress triggering a chain reaction. Like a ripple of sound, other bell towers took up the signal, carrying it out to the farthest edges of the city. The clanging of the nearest tower spooked Florian enough to send him skittering to one side.
I calmed my horse, cooing to him. “What was that about?”
Dylan's face was a pale mask. “The Prince. He's moving through the city.”
Chapter 21: Twin Palace
If I'd been fleeing for my life on the battlefield, I was fleeing for my soul now. The two instances couldn’t compare in danger or gravity. To my appreciation, Dylan was no more eager to see the monarch than I was. We sped swiftly through the city, taking back roads and listening for the hundreds of soldiers' marching footsteps that followed Prince Raserion. I only glimpsed the black armor as we skirted the army.
There was something else too, and I wondered if I'd imagined it. Those few times that I did see the Prince's army, pooled together around their leader, nearby shadows seemed to move of their own volition. They grew impossibly longer, stretching as though they were drawn in the direction of the Prince. Sometimes, in the corner of my eye, I thought I'd see a pair of white eyes, blinking in the shade, or a shape move when it shouldn't have. Did they follow as we passed? I hoped that I was only being paranoid. Thankfully, the farther we moved away from the army, the fewer strange experiences I had.
Imagination, I do not currently like you. Please go away.
We halted in the shade of a corner café just long enough to watch twelve armored horses escort a massive elephant into the procession. The beast was decked in silver and gold trappings, and pulled the largest carriage I'd ever seen. Somehow, the massive wheels and oversized boxcar managed to be elegant. The whole thing was dripping with chimes and flags. The front half of the enormous coach was open, displaying the driver, and an older couple, lounging on a cushioned bench so large that it bordered absurdity. People clogged the street, following after the elephant at a safe distance. The gaudily dressed couple displaying themselves in the carriage smiled and waved as though they were familiar with everyone they saw.
We wheeled our horses around to find another way to the palace.
“You said the Prince wouldn't parade down the streets,” I hissed at Dylan.
“Well…” he cast about. “Oops.”
“Who were they?” I asked. “The people in the elephant carriage.”
“Lord and Lady Hibbern, Cape Hill's Common-Lordship. Something big must be happening if they're seeing the Prince through the city. I'd rather not find out what that might be. Come on!”
Clattering down alleyways, we wove our way to the nearby Gold Palace just in time to see the tail of the procession disappear into the body of the city. We dismounted in a courtyard built to stable horses.
Dylan cast a justifiably paranoid glance over his shoulder. “We're fine,” he told himself. “We're fine.”
A stable hand jogged up to us with a note pad in hand. “Welcome to the Gold Palace. May I have your names?” she greeted us. When Dylan turned to face her, the girl flushed and awkwardly tucked a lock of curly chestnut hair behind her ear. “O-oh. Hello.” Her professionalism was smothered out in an instant.
“Hi,” I responded, curious about the cause of her strange behavior. She barely looked in my direction. The stable hand was swooning over Dylan.
Figures.
I would have loved to tell her all the reasons that was a bad idea.
“Axton, Dylan. We'll be staying at Seabreeze House, across the way,” he said, getting ready to remove his bags from the saddle pack. He paid no attention to her fawning.
“Axton? Common-Lord Axton?” the girl asked, like he’d walked straight out of her dreams and jumped in her lap.
Now he was mildly irritated, I could tell. “Yes.”
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I’m Wilhemina.”
“Gravity,” I groaned. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. Luckily, Dylan appeared to agree.
He smiled at her, effortlessly turning on his charm, and I braced myself for the inevitable. “Oh good. You know your name. Now, if you could only do your job so that we might remove ourselves from the street.”
I winced, but the girl was so enamored with him
and the sweet tone he’d used, she missed the barb intended for her.
“Of course, yes, Common-Lord,” she said and flipped through her note pad. “You won’t need to worry about the bags. We'll bring them to your rooms.”
I was glad I'd left my satchel slung about my shoulders, and gripped the strap protectively.
“You've been put up in the palace.” The stable hand continued to look up at him with doe-eyes.
“That can’t be right. By whom?” Dylan demanded.
“By Margrave Hest, sir. She sent a courier up the channel. You'll both be staying in the east wing. Everything has been paid in full. We'll bring your belongings up shortly. Common Lord, Historian.” She bowed to us in turn, but lingered for Dylan’s benefit before reluctantly leading our horses away.
I looked at him with wide eyes.
“We're fine,” he repeated again.
* * *
Our conjoined rooms were easily as luxurious as the one Dylan had kept me in at Breakwater Keep. Crimson curtains draped around the floor-to-ceiling window on the wall opposite my bed. From the fifth floor, I had a perfect view of the expansive harbor, the arms of the cape, and the sea beyond. I didn’t care to admire the wooden sculptures, intricate rugs, elegant armchairs, and the little fireplace that spouted water instead of flame. Focused, I pulled my goggles over my eyes, ran the setting to full zoom and began searching for the Flying Fish.
“We're much too far away for that,” Dylan informed me, coming in through the door that connected our rooms. It was painted just like the wall and seemed an unnatural thing to be opened.
He was right. The night vision setting could penetrate the gathering darkness, but the distance was too great.
Dragoon (War of the Princes Book 2) Page 12
