by M. L. Greye
Stunned, the Purple cried out, dropping one sword to clutch her now gushing side. He sneered and swung at her chest, a wicked gleam in his eye – but froze mid-swing. He roared as if in pain, and his blades fell to the clay.
“I said spar,” a heavyset, tanned Ruby hissed, stepping onto the round. Another one dropped down beside the Purple who was now huddled on the clay. “Can’t you follow simple instructions, Rand?” The heavyset Ruby snapped into the Gray’s face.
For the briefest of moments – so short Declan wondered if he imagined it – hatred shone out of Rand’s eyes. But then it was gone, and he snorted, “It’s not my fault you keep pitting me against the weaklings.”
The Ruby swore and turned his back to Rand, eyeing the Purple. “How long until she recovers?” He asked the other Ruby.
“She’s out the rest of the day.”
The heavyset Ruby whirled back to Rand, who now had his hands at his side. He gave Rand a dark look. “You’ll pay for injuring her against my orders. Let’s go find Havarti to play with you.”
Rand only bowed in an overdramatized way and waved a hand. “Lead the way, my Main.”
The thicker Ruby stepped off the round and headed around Declan. As he passed Kearns, he brushed one finger along her jaw. She grinned, but it wasn’t pleasant. It was wolfish and ravenous.
Declan grimaced and turned back to Rand just as his shoulder smacked into Declan’s, causing him to stumble backwards a step. Rand didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at him. He just swaggered after the Ruby. He’d hit Declan on purpose. Declan frowned at him and rubbed his now throbbing shoulder with one hand.
“You and you,” Kearns pointed to Declan and the Anexian girl from the night before, “pick your blades and face off.”
Now frowning because of Kearns, Declan stepped up to a table that had been brought up next to the round. It was covered with smooth-edged Heerth swords, similar to Enlennd ones, but without the serrated edges he was used to. He weighed a few in his hands before settling on two – one for each hand as he usually did.
He turned around and realized the girl was no fighter. This might have been the first time she’d ever held a weapon. She’d picked a longer sword that was meant for a tall man and held it with both her hands. Declan would knock away her sword in one swipe.
Kearns noticed as well. “Stop!” She barked. Then, to a passing Pink with dark skin and blond hair tied in a bun at the nape of his neck, she said, “Semrez, humble my new Teal.”
Semrez threw a quick glance at Declan with a grimace. The girl stepped off the round. He yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side of the round and grabbed two blades from the table. Without waiting for Declan to drop into a fighting stance, Semrez flung himself forward. Declan blocked the man’s blows – tapping into his Teal speed.
“No abilities!” Kearns ordered. “This is not the place. I want to see your skill with a blade.”
Declan allowed himself to slow down. He didn’t really need it in this match anyway. Even though Semrez attacked again and again, Declan’s blades were there to stop him each time. Semrez was decent, but sloppy.
“You’re boring me, Teal,” Kearns drawled from the sideline. “If Semrez is inferior, bring him to his knees. I’ll give you breakfast for it.”
A reward of food. As much as he hated it, Declan was famished and an extra meal that day clanged inside his empty stomach. He could bring Semrez down as Kearns wished easily. Clenching his jaw, Declan spun and slid his blade along Semrez’s right shoulder. It should have drawn blood, but not so much as a scratch could be seen.
Pink eyes had to do with the body, rebirth – Semrez had impenetrable skin. His abilities manifested in his skin. Declan tried running his blades along other parts of Semrez’s body, looking for weak spots. Nothing worked – not even his face. He wondered how strong Semrez’s skin truly was.
With a flick of his wrist, Declan thrust a sword into Semrez’s chest, tip first.
“Enough!” Kearns commanded.
Declan’s muscles seized – freezing him in place. He’d been mid-thrust so it felt like hitting a wall – the power in his strike bounced backward into himself, absorbing the blow he’d flung toward Semrez. It was like getting kicked in the gut. Declan gasped but noticed just the very tip of his blade had managed to slide in between Semrez’s ribs. A line of blood dribbled out of the shallow puncture. Semrez frowned as Declan realized what he’d done. For food.
He’d mindlessly fought a man. Had Kearns not stopped him, Declan would have sliced through Semrez’s ribs. It was exactly what Kearns had wanted from him.
“Semrez, go get yourself cleaned up,” Kearns told him. To Declan, “Go grab yourself some breakfast in that building. The mess hall.” She pointed to the smaller of the two brick structures. “Tell them Kearns sent you. Meet me back here in thirty minutes.”
As Semrez stepped off the round without a word, replacing his blades on the table, Declan did the same. He headed away to the indicated building, unable to meet Semrez’s eyes. For food, Declan had almost seriously injured the man. He was disgusted with himself. Disgusted at what he’d done. Disgusted at his own desperation to eat. Disgusted at this place.
Yet, his disgust didn’t fill his belly. What was done was done, and he was starving. Pushing back the guilt, Declan made his way to the mess hall.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What have you been doing to keep busy in my absence? I mean, other than shopping for peacocks.” Emry grinned at Trezim, spinning her staff in front of her with one hand. They were at the Ranga Pit, taking a break off to one side. After Trez had whined about her incessant need to keep going and going until she dropped.
It’d been a few days since the wedding. Neither one of them had brought up Emry’s loss of control since then. Instead, Trez simply acted as if nothing had happened at all that night. As for Emry … for now, she was willing to do the same.
Trez laughed. “I think you’d be surprised. I’ve been quite responsible.”
“No,” Emry widened her eyes, faking a stunned look, “you did something responsible? Impossible.”
“Funny.” He grunted. “Anyway, I’ve been spending a lot of time in Prythius, actually.”
“Doing what?”
“Investigative work, mostly,” he replied, shifting his gaze to the people on the round in front of them. Since it was the middle of the day, there weren’t many people in the Ranga Pit. “I’ve been helping Sabine.”
Emry blinked. “What does Sabine need help with?”
“Our people are still going missing.” He blew a breath out in a rush. “We’re trying to discover where they’ve gone.”
That was right. People in Prythius had been disappearing. Emry recalled that conversation back in the Acoba market. She frowned at the memory. “Have you had any leads?”
He winced. “Yes, but we can’t do much about it at the moment without starting a war.”
“Why?” Emry lowered her staff, resting one tip of it on the floor.
“Because if my father’s spies were correct, our missing people were taken to North Quirl,” Trez muttered, his voice low. It angered him.
“Quirl?” Emry repeated. “Why? For what reason?”
“That, I’m not sure.” Trezim twisted his hands over his own staff. “The spies couldn’t track them fully because of weather. My father is in the process of sending delegates to Quirl, to try to barter for our people, but,” he paused, “I fear we may never get our Stolen back.”
“Stolen?”
“Yes, that’s what we’ve been referring to them as.” He nodded.
A thought struck her. “You’re sending delegates? Is the king of Quirl aware of these Stolen?”
King Ruffus Tomas Randor had attended the wedding. He was staying within Emry’s own home. The man had never seemed particularly cruel to Emry. He’d always been very polite with her and Citrine. She’d even danced with him during the wedding celebration – had told him she was sad Ryde hadn�
�t been able to join them as well. The idea of Ruffus knowing these people had been taken from their homes and brought to Quirl while he did nothing didn’t sit well with Emry.
“I hope not,” Trez replied. “But I’m not certain about that, either.”
She frowned. “So, Sabine asked for your help?”
He let out a short laugh. “No. She would never ask for my help. I went because my father told me to go.”
“Ever the faithful son,” Emry mused.
“Sure. We can go with that,” he said dryly. “I was sent to enforce precautions, in an attempt to avoid future captures, and aid Sabine in her research. Ever since Sabine’s wedding, she’s been indisposed. Apparently, pregnancy doesn’t agree with her.”
“Poor Sabine.” Emry shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s odd that Quirl has chosen to plague you.”
Trez raised an eyebrow. “But not odd for Enlennd?”
“I mean, I feel sad for your people-” The look he gave her made her stop. She blinked. “What?”
“Do you really not know?” He asked quietly.
“Know what, Trez?” She furrowed her brow, suddenly annoyed at the pity now in his gaze.
“Heerth isn’t the only nation suffering,” he replied. “Some of the Stolen are from Enlennd.”
Horror washed through her as his words sunk in. “Does my father know?” She breathed.
“Our fathers have discussed the situation,” Trez admitted reluctantly.
“And what did my father say he’s going to do about?” Emry demanded.
“How should I know?” Trez retorted. “You should ask him yourself.”
Emry winced. He was right. If she were going to be a better ruler than her father, she needed to be courageous enough to approach a potentially confrontational conversation. For the good of her people. “Alright. I will.”
She handed Trezim her staff and spun toward the staircase that would lead her out of the Ranga Pit. From behind her, Trez groaned. “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” She tossed over her shoulder. “To talk to my father.”
“I didn’t mean right now. I wanted to go another few rounds,” he whined at her back.
“Then stay.” Emry rolled her eyes. “I can find my way home perfectly fine on my own.”
It took Emry an hour to return to the palace and find her father. She’d gone to the menagerie first, but when he wasn’t there, she sought him out in his rooms. She didn’t even bother to change out of her Heerth training clothes. If any of her father’s stuffy advisors or courtiers caught her dressed like this, then so be it. She had more important things on her mind.
She knocked once at her father’s door before entering. Onyx was straightening his jacket in the mirror above his fireplace, as if he were making a final adjustment on his way out. Emry was glad she caught him before he’d left. She shut the door at her back and asked, “Did you know our people were being taken by Quirl before the Heerths arrived?”
Onyx rotated, his eyes landing on her clothes. He raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve been spending more time with Prince Trezim.”
“You knew.” Emry stared at him. He hadn’t denied it. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“You’ve been traveling,” he replied, twisting back to the mirror.
Emry sucked in a breath as something dawned on her. “You let me go to the regions with a limited guard. What made you think I wouldn’t have been taken as well?”
Her father sighed. “Because the vast majority of the disappearances have occurred along the Anexian border. You never went there.”
It was as if he’d punched her in the stomach. Emry wrapped her arms around her middle and gawked at him. “The Stolen are mostly Anexian?”
Onyx grimaced. “Who told you that name?”
“Father, have you learned nothing from my grandfather? Isolating Anexia in their suffering will only further drive a rift between our people.” Emry began towards him, but then stopped after only a few steps. “There could be outright revolt!”
“Anexia is not the only region to have had people taken. Glavenryl and Kruth have also been affected.” Onyx sighed warily.
“But where their borders touch Anexia,” Emry finished for him.
When her father only nodded in response, she released her breath in a rush. “Alright, what are we doing about it? Is the king of Quirl even aware of what’s going on within his own nation?”
He frowned. “Yes.”
Emry wanted to sink down into the nearest chair, but she forced herself to remain upright – to hold her father’s gaze. “You’ve spoken with him on the matter?”
“Not yet.”
“Then, how are you certain he’s aware of it?” She clenched onto her practice tunic at her sides to keep her hands still. “Was it Krynto who told you?”
Onyx passed a hand over his eyes. It took him a moment to reply. “The king of Quirl sanctioned the kidnappings.”
“No.” Emry fell back a step, stunned. She reached out a hand behind her, feeling for a chair that wasn’t there to steady her. “But Ruffus was here,” she breathed. “He stayed in our home. He dined with us, laughed with us.” She stopped, remembering the celebration ball. Krynto hadn’t said a word to Ruffus the entire night. Had flat out ignored the man. Emry had thought it rude of him to slight the Quirl king. “Krynto knows.”
“He does.” Onyx nodded. “He will be joining our kings’ council regarding the matter.”
A kings’ council? Emry straightened. “I wish to attend as well.”
“No,” Onyx said flatly.
Emry narrowed her eyes. “How will I ever become ready to be queen of Enlennd if I am not permitted to witness you navigating its issues?”
“Our world is not always a pleasant place,” he replied. “I wish to shield you from it for as long as possible.”
Onyx headed to his door, passing by Emry on his way. So that was it then. Her father was done with this conversation. Well, Emry sure wasn’t. She spun around to face him and snapped, “Did you shield Ewan, too? Was he not allowed into the councils involving our nation?”
Her father froze at the door. He didn’t respond for a minute, and Emry half feared she’d pushed him too far. Then, “Why do you think I sent him to do border control in Anexia? I tried to keep him away from the pressures of running a kingdom.” He paused and let out a low, bitter laugh. Emry wasn’t sure if she’d ever heard her father utter such a noise. “A lot of good that did him.”
She saw it then – how her father had tried in his own way to safeguard his children. He’d pushed Ewan into something that shouldn’t have been dangerous so as to distract him from wanting more responsibility. From moving into the political world before he absolutely had to. From losing his youth and innocence and freedom too young. Onyx might be far from perfect, but he loved his children and did the best he knew how.
“Ewan’s death was not your doing,” Emry whispered.
“Was it not?” Onyx glanced over his shoulder. Pain and sorrow lined his eyes. And guilt. “I rule this country. My own failings at keeping our land safe have cost your brother his life.”
Before Emry had the chance to say more, Onyx slipped out the door, shutting it behind him. Emry sank onto the braided rug beneath her and stared after him, realizing that was probably one of the very few times her father had permitted anyone to see his vulnerabilities.
It made Emry incredibly sad – for her father and the weight he carried, for herself at not knowing the words to persuade him to give her more tasks to relieve that load, and for Enlennd because she feared things for her country would have to grow worse before they could become better.
:::::
“Get up.” Kearns’s voice sounded far away.
Declan shook his head, trying to clear it. He was on one of the rounds, on his hands and knees. After his quick breakfast of eggs, toast, and apple slices, he’d returned to Kearns – if only to avoid her numbing and boiling his
insides. She’d flung a staff at him and told him to get on the round with Semrez again. Thus far, Declan had had his legs, shoulders, sides, and head bashed by Semrez’s staff. The last blow to his jaw had him spitting blood. Declan was dizzy and disoriented. Yet, still he pushed himself up, or at least tried to.
“Get up faster,” Kearns snapped.
He rallied himself to his feet. Before he could even lift his arms, Semrez popped the tip of his staff into Declan’s stomach. Declan bent in half, gasping for air.
“Enough,” Kearns said. “Go eat, Semrez.”
Declan didn’t even see Semrez go. His vision swam with stars. He felt like passing out. He knew his hands were on his knees, but he couldn’t feel them. His whole body tingled, throbbing with pain in some places and aching in others.
Kearns’s muddy boots came into his blurry line of sight. “You’re proficient in swords, but you clearly need to start at the bottom in staffs. Clean up, and then we’ll test your hand- to-hand combat.”
Her boots walked off only to be replaced by another pair. Two rough hands clutched either side of his head, and his vision cleared. The throbbing lessened. The hands must have belonged to a Ruby. A real Ruby, not a backwards one like Kearns.
The Ruby eased him sideways over the ledge of the round to the mud beside it. Declan sank down on the moist soil. The Ruby was the same man who had helped him earlier, perhaps a decade older than Declan. Was he trapped here, too? Or did he choose to be a part of this?
His hands ran along Declan’s body, barely over his clothes. Where his hands went, Declan’s aching dimmed. Soon he was breathing normally again. But the Ruby stood, finishing too quickly. Declan wasn’t completely healed.
He opened his mouth to call the Ruby back, but Kearns appeared before him with a sneer. “Time’s up. Get on the round.” Declan pushed himself up with shaking arms. He took a grand total of three steps before Kearns shouted, “I don’t like to be kept waiting!”
Declan wanted to snap back at her, but stopped when he saw who stood across from him on the round. “Genne,” he breathed.
