A War for Truth

by M. Lynn

“Shadows,” the woman beside her mumbled. “That’s right. Dangers in the dark.”

  “Ma,” Lorelai whispered. “It’s all right.”

  The woman turned her vacant eyes on Davi. “Nothing is all right.”

  “Davi,” Lorelai said. “This is my mother.”

  The woman smiled and released a sigh. “Nephew. Where have you been?”

  Davi looked to Lorelai who only shrugged.

  He lowered his voice. “I was kidnapped.”

  “That’s right.” She stepped forward and patted the side of his face. “Our lost prince has returned to us.” She held her palm against his cheek. “Hmmm, it seems not all of you has returned.”

  “Ma,” Lorelai snapped, brushing her mother’s hand away. “Quit it.” She looked apologetically at her cousin. “She has the sight as well and…” She glanced at her mother. The older woman was no longer paying attention to them as she started to walk down the hall. Lorelai lowered her voice. “It’s taken a lot from her. I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “Wait,” Davi called after her.

  She turned.

  “I have no idea how to get back to my rooms.”

  Her lips stretched into a smile. “Take this corridor until it dead ends at the door to the training yard. Turn right and go straight until you see something familiar.” Her eyes dipped sadly. “I will help you, Davion. This is your home now. You have a family. And we have awaited your return for too long. Just give us time.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and chased after her mother, leaving Davi to his empty mind. Images flashed in the blank spaces, but he couldn’t figure them out. The only thing left to do was trust in what he knew. His father saved his life. Dreach-Dhoun was his realm. And he had to do whatever he must to earn the title of prince, the designation as son. If he couldn’t remember who he’d been, he must decide who he would become.

  Davi managed to find his way back to the rooms he’d been given without much trouble. The palace was surprisingly easy to navigate once he found his bearings. The halls ran continuous in a square around the main hall and throne room that sat in the very center.

  Stone and steel statues marked each corner, guiding the way. There was very little adorning the walls of the corridors, but his rooms were another story. He ran his hand along the soft tapestry near the door. It depicted three symbols he couldn’t decipher. His fingers traced the inverted triangle of the first one. Was it important?

  He moved on, walking towards the fire to warm his chilled hands near the wolves carved into the wood on the mantle. Everywhere he looked reminded him of the generosity of his father. He’d provided the best linens, plush rugs, and clothing fit for a prince.

  He sat on the corner of the bed and unbuttoned the collar of his jacket before removing the tie from his hair and shaking it down over his shoulders. Solitude brought peace to his addled mind, but it didn’t last long. A knock sounded at his door.

  He stood slowly and crossed the room to greet the servant who stood on the other side. The older woman curtsied. “His Majesty requests your presence.”

  Davi refastened the loose buttons and followed her out the door. “Where are we going?”

  “He’s in the South tower, your Highness.”

  “Did he demand you escort me?”

  She smiled sympathetically. “He did not, but servants talk, your Highness. We couldn’t have you getting lost again, could we?”

  He reached up to rub the tension from the back of his neck. Losing his way had been a daily occurrence. Heat crept up his neck, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. “Thank you.”

  She touched his arm. “It’s okay, your Highness. What happened to you was horrible and we will help you as much as we can.”

  He finally met her gaze. “What’s your name?”

  “Clara.”

  “Okay, Clara, you can call me Davi.”

  She gasped. “That is not the proper way of things.”

  “Just in private, then. My father won’t have to know.” Desperation for some sort of normalcy clung to him. But what was normal? He didn’t think of himself as a prince. His name was the only thing he had that was still truly his.

  “The king knows all.” They’d reach the door to the passage that would take him into the tower, but she stopped walking. “You’d do well to remember that, your Highness. I think you can find your way from here.”

  He sighed and pushed through the door. A staircase spiraled up into the darkness. Torches hung along the wall of the bottom landing so he took one from its bracket and began to climb the stairs. Each landing of the stark tower had multiple rooms, but none of them contained his father so he continued upward. His steps echoed through the narrow space, foretelling of his coming.

  “Davion,” his father’s voice boomed from above. “Is that you?”

  “It is,” Davi answered.

  “We’re up at the top, my boy. I have much to share with you.”

  By the time Davi reached the room at the top of the tower, his thighs burned. His father turned from his place at the window and beamed at him. Ramsey stepped into Davi’s line of sight, but something lay beneath his smile that Davi couldn’t decipher.

  The king’s smiled dropped. “Davion, when I summon you, I expect you to make yourself presentable.”

  Confusion flashed on Davi’s face.

  “Tie your hair,” his father burst out.

  “I’m… I’m sorry, father. I don’t…”

  Before he could finish, his hair flew back from his face and was tied with a knot. His eyes widened as he tentatively reached towards the top of his head.

  Ramsey cleared his throat. “Sire, the boy has no experience with magic. Maybe it’s best if we go slow.”

  “Come to the window, Davion,” his father said. “And put that torch out.”

  Ramsey took the torch and diffused the flame with a wave of his hand.

  A light formed in the room and Davi jerked his head around to find the source. Ramsey placed a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, my prince. It’s only magic.”

  Only magic. Only magic? If he hadn’t seen it with his eyes, he wouldn’t believe.

  Ramsey guided him gently to the window where Davi’s father peered out on his kingdom. The palace was a sprawling structure surrounded by barren land. A garden stood along one wall, but as his father pushed the light out onto the land, the garden’s twisting branches and dead grasses were on full display.

  “This will one day be yours, my boy.” His father put a heavy hand on his back. “Dreach-Dhoun has survived despite our enemies trying to destroy us. We have overcome great odds and will do so again.”

  He pointed into the distance. “The nearest village is there. Soon, you and I will be calling on our people to fight.”

  “To fight, sire?” Davi looked up into the dark eyes of his father. Eyes that swirled with something dangerous. He took a step to put space between them.

  “Yes, Davi. You may not remember the past fifteen years, but some of us will never forget. Or forgive. You and I are going to take everything from the Renaulds. We’re going to destroy their kingdom. Your dear cousin already began the fight when she killed their king.”

  He jerked away. Lorelai killed a king? The sweet, helpful cousin he’d come to rely on?

  “I didn’t know that,” he whispered.

  “Oh, yes.” Pride coated his father’s voice. “Lorelai is my sharpest blade.”

  Was this what haunted her eyes? Davi turned. He had to go to her. Something wasn’t right.

  “Enough about war.” His father clapped his hands. “Ramsey is going to attempt to bring some of your memories back.”

  He looked to the sorcerer sharply. “Can you do that?”

  Ramsey nodded. “I believe so.” He held out his hand palm up and the king dropped a clear crystal into it. “Your Highness, I need you to kneel.”

  Davi obeyed, eager to regain pieces of himself.

  Ramsey stepped forward and held the crystal against Davi
on’s forehead. It warmed when it touched his skin, sending jolts of power straight through him. Ramsey placed his other hand on the crown of Davi’s head and closed his eyes.

  Davi’s eyes slid shut as well and images flooded forth. At first he was just a boy with a mop of dark hair riding atop a horse in front of a guard. Rain pounded down around them. The scene played out until a hand yanked him from the horse and shoved him into a bare room. The image changed, and he was much older. It must have been recent.

  He fought a lighter man with a grim expression. “Cede or I will run you through,” the man growled.

  The memories came so quickly he couldn’t hold on to just one. Many featured a beautiful girl with fire-red hair and an unpleasant scowl directed his way. She hated him. He was below her. Her prisoner. Pain stabbed through his mind and the images disappeared, leaving behind the memories and feelings attached to them.

  For fifteen years, the Renaulds imprisoned him. They were the enemy. A scream escaped his lips, but it sounded far away.

  His eyes rolled up into his head and Ramsey jerked his hands away.

  Immediately, the pain stopped. Davi hunched over, panting.

  “That’s all he can handle tonight, sire.” Ramsey wiped his brow.

  Davi clutched at his head as the empty spaces of his mind filled. His father walked towards him and bent down. He hooked one finger under Davi’s chin and turned his face so their eyes met.

  “Do you remember, my son?” he asked, hope thickening his voice.

  Davi tried to speak, but the words didn’t come. He cleared his throat and began again. “It’s all in pieces, fragments. I don’t…” His eyes darkened. “Are we going to get our revenge, father?”

  His father’s face filled with pride. “Yes, Davion. They will pay for what they’ve done to you.”

  Chapter 4

  “Trystan.” Why was Alixa’s voice so soft? There was nothing about her that was supposed to be soft. She was hardened. Angry.

  He stared wordlessly at the assembly before him. Cullenspire was in mourning for their king, and Lady Yaro wanted to put Trystan on full display. She believed he was the only one that could prevent the weight of despair from crushing all of Dreach-Sciene. The news would have been winding its way through every village and across the countryside over the past week. Marcus Renauld had been their hero king. He’d been crowned on a battlefield and never once stopped fighting for his people.

  When Trystan was a child, he had badgered his father relentlessly to regale him with stories of their warrior mother. Now he couldn’t recall much of what he’d been told, and he wished more than anything he could. Both of his parents were gone.

  Trystan was raised to be the king, but it always seemed like a far-off destiny. Now it was here. Everyone looked to him to lead, but he had nothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. These people arrived in the hall for the noonday meal hoping to hear something from their new king.

  He wasn’t crowned yet, but in the ways of Dreach-Sciene, that didn’t matter. Upon his father’s death, he held the rank of king and would be treated as such.

  It was a new world from what it had been only days ago when he was the Toha with a singular mission.

  Much to everyone’s dismay, Trystan gave up trying to speak and sat down. He took a generous gulp of wine.

  “Trystan.” Alixa rested her hand on his arm and tightened her grip.

  He shook his head. “Please don’t.”

  She smiled at him sadly and he hated it. There wasn’t a sympathetic bone in that woman’s body, yet something akin to pity shone in her eyes.

  “Where’s my sister?” he asked, scanning the long table for her bright hair.

  It was Avery who answered. “She’s been scarce, sire.”

  He scowled at Avery, wishing she’d drop the formality. It wasn’t exactly new for her, but it had intensified. Avery was close to his father and his mother before that, but she was as unruffled as ever.

  Avery stood abruptly. “I think it’s time the princess joins us.”

  “I agree.” Trystan nodded as Avery left to find his sister.

  He’d spent the entire day before searching the grounds for her, but she was a ghost. As hard as losing Davi and his father was for Trystan, he knew he’d get through it. There would always be holes in his life now, but he had to be strong.

  Rissa was different and her sudden change scared him. The holes in her life threatened to swallow her with their darkness.

  Alixa’s hand still rested on his arm and he stared at it for a moment before raising his eyes to meet hers, letting the familiarity comfort him. He’d had to talk to so many strangers offering condolences that her presence soothed him.

  She jerked back suddenly, staring at her hand as if it betrayed her by touching him. She cleared her throat. “Briggs should be well enough to travel soon.”

  “We won’t leave a moment before then.”

  She sighed. It was an argument he’d been having with Alixa and Rissa both. They thought they should be returning to the palace as soon as they could, but they were daft if they thought he’d leave Briggs behind. The Tri-Gard was still their best hope of restoring the kingdom and as much as his father’s death hurt, he refused to let it derail the mission.

  His uncle and Lord Coille would handle things until he returned. Drake had taken over every time his father had to leave the palace. The king was never alone.

  Trystan finished eating and left without another word to return to the solitude of his rooms for just a moment of respite. He sat on the edge of his bed and let the events of the past days enter his mind, taking over every thought, every emotion. Exhaustion had him slumping forward.

  Davi.

  His father.

  Who would be next?

  He rubbed his eyes, fighting back the tears. He was king now. He had to be stronger than everyone else.

  But in that moment, he didn’t want to be strong. He wanted to break down. To plead with the earth to give him back the people he loved. To take him instead.

  A tear fell, followed by more he couldn’t hold back. His back shook. He was so lost in his own grief, he didn’t hear the door open and shut. Before he saw her, two arms came around him. Alixa stepped between his legs and he buried his face in her neck without shame. Her dark skin glistened with the evidence of his weakness.

  She didn’t say a word as she held a king and let him weep.

  He didn’t know how long they stayed there—him sitting, her standing in front of him—but after a while he reined himself in and pulled back.

  She watched him intently and brushed the wetness from his cheeks. After giving him a short nod, she stepped back. “Lady Yaro wishes to speak with you. Are you ready to go be king?”

  “Yes.” He breathed out slowly.

  “Okay, good. Just know, if you tell anyone I hugged you, your title won’t stop me from coming after you.”

  He smiled, despite the weight in his heart, and raised a brow. “Treason already? My reign is only days old.”

  She tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Can you go back to being mean to me? I kind of miss it.”

  “Shut up.”

  The wind howled through the tree tops, bringing with it tiny pebbles of hail. The past two days the weather had grown harsher, but Rissa felt none of the stinging cold that bit at her cheeks and nose, turning them a most unbecoming red. She was oblivious to the frost nipping at her fingers or the ice dulling her red hair. The weather matched her soul, barren and frigid. There was no distinction.

  She’d made the small grove of trees at the back end of Cullenspire estate her escape from the others and had spent most of the past week and a half hiding out here. Fog lay low over the ground, damp and swirling around her ankles, only adding to the eeriness of the dead forest. She paid it no mind. In fact, she welcomed the quiet it seemed to bring with it. It was much preferable to Alixa’s incessant mumblings of sympathy and Trystan’s worried glanc
es. She hated the way they were treating her. Like she was some fragile china doll about to crack from the tiniest pressure. Then again, she hated everything lately. Hate filled every crevice of her heart. Hate and revenge. There was no room for any other feelings. She preferred it that way.

  She studied the thick tree trunk in front of her. The numerous gouges in the sickly, gray bark were a testament to how many times she’d struck it over the past few days. Ability to hit a mark while in motion was a useful thing to learn and since she had nothing else to occupy her time while they stupidly sat around waiting to move out, she might as well do something useful. Keeping her body in motion occupied her mind.

  Waiting. She didn’t understand the why. What the hell was Trystan waiting for? They needed to get back to Dreach-Sciene, to the castle. They needed to make haste. Instead, her brother kept insisting Briggs needed more time to recover. More time for him to make googly eyes at Alixa was more like it. That was all he did lately, stare after the girl with desire in his eyes. Pining after some traitor’s daughter while Davi was gone and their father laid stiff and cold on his funeral pyre. Even just thinking about it fueled the anger burning hot in her gut.

  She detested having to stay behind these walls, but since Trystan was the king now, he called the shots. King Trystan. King because their father had been murdered in his own home by some cowardly soldier of Dreach-Dhoun. The hatred won out over sorrow as she refused to let free the tears blocking her throat. Swallowing hard, she twirled and lunged at the tree trunk again with her sword, trying to hit the mark she’d placed there earlier. But like a hundred times before, she missed, and the blade stuck good and deep in an existing groove.

  “Dammit,” she muttered as she placed her boot against the tree and tried to pull the blade free. It refused to let go. Wrapping both hands around the hilt, she tugged harder, only to have it tear loose. Stumbling back, she landed on her backside on the marshy ground. Icy water splattered over her neck and ran down her back, but she ignored it as she stared up at her tree nemesis, narrowing her eyes with determination.