The Rage of Princes: A Portal Fantasy Adventure (The Chronicles of Otherwhere Book 2)

by Cassia Meare

  Behind him, Tinashe still followed, calling, "My prince ..."

  He heard Nyree say, "Leave him."

  What was before him looked and sounded like grief, but for whom? And what was this parting of a crowd before him, as if he were to be pitied?

  My brother, he thought. Something has happened to Delian.

  He felt Azure pick up her pace as he did, but even she didn't dare enter the tent ahead of him. When he reached it and pushed the flap aside, his knees had started to buckle in terror. He would see his brother, dead.

  That's why they pitied him and said nothing. Delian was dead.

  But he entered, he had to see, and Delian was there, standing. He stood looking at the ground, with mortal blood on him. He had killed someone, but he was alive.

  "Delian!" Nemours cried, pulling him into an embrace full of relief. "I thought something had happened to you."

  "No ..." Delian said in a whisper.

  It was like gaining new life, to know that Delian was fine. He had killed someone, done something rash, and they would have to deal with that, but he was there, he was alive. Nemours grasped Delian's chin, trying to look into his eyes, ready to start berating him. Yet Delian would not look at him; instead, he looked sideways, at the corner of his tent — at the table.

  And on the table, there was a body, covered by a cloak.

  "Who's that?" Nemours asked.

  "Ty wanted to talk peace with Ahn," Delian said in a monotone, as if he were tired, "and I went along. But I wasn't going to see her, so he climbed to Serle's castle alone. I was to meet him at an inn, and then — that girl, Sefira's friend, came in, and we got in a fight, and I killed her."

  That wasn't good. "You brought her here? Why would you do that?"

  Nemours let go of Delian and turned toward the body.

  "No," Delian said, and the word stopped Nemours. "No, I didn't bring her here. I left her there. And I imagine Sefira found her."

  Was it Sefira lying there? They'd need to wait till she put herself back together then, and she would be furious.

  Nemours kept walking, and he already knew what he didn't want to know. It wasn't Sefira. The hand which had fallen to the side, uncovered, was a hand he knew well, so well. A raven was embroidered on the cloak. He lifted it and saw Ty's face, streaked with dirt, his eyes closed, his mouth a little open, dried blood blue on his neck.

  "Ah," said Nemours, and there was a world of sorrow in the sound.

  Delian ended his tale. "And Sefira must have found Ty."

  "But he can't die," Nemours mumbled, although he knew. He knew.

  Even before he pulled Ty's doublet aside, he knew what he was going to see: an empty hole.

  "Where's his heart? Where's his heart?"

  Nemours could not help holding Ty's body by the shoulders, trying to raise a head that kept falling backwards.

  Then Delian turned, and Nemours finally noticed he had been holding a box all the while. The lid hung open, showing that it was empty — empty as Ty's chest.

  "No," Nemours said.

  There was almost a smile on Delian's face — it was a grimace of horror and agony that looked like a smile. "Sefira left the box by the body, and because I'm the idiot you've always said I am, I opened it. And the wind scattered all the ashes. The ashes of his heart."

  The words came out hard, as through a noose tightening around Nemours’ throat. "No, no, no!"

  Delian nodded. "All gone in the wind. A billion, a trillion pieces. All ash. She left it there for me to find and know I was the one who lost my brother forever. I killed Ty. I killed Ty."

  "Stop!" Nemours screamed.

  Ty's body was still lying against his, with no life left in him, no possible life anywhere. He was gone, forever. It shouldn't be like that. It has only ever been like that for that monster, Virso. Not for Ty!

  Letting his brother drop into his hands and placing his head on the table carefully, as if Ty could still be hurt, Nemours didn't cross the space to his own tent. He got there through Crossing. There was something he needed.

  Delian didn't follow. Delian was as something also devoid of life for now. Abuse, Abuse! Sefira had damned Delian forever, worse than that priest might have done.

  Taking his breastplate, Nemours ripped the leather inside and found the pouch. The red hair was easy to pick out. The one lock of red hair.

  Outside, his horse wasn't saddled, but it didn't matter. He climbed on it and grabbed on to its braid. People were beginning to run in his direction. He barely waited for Azure, although he wanted her with him.

  "Tyemenai vala," he said — and when the rift opened before him, he held the red lock in his fist and said, "Nu mol predo."

  Take me to this.

  Urging his horse on with a cry, he jumped through the light.

  23

  Riding, riding, riding, riding.

  Riding as fast as she could, as if that would allow her to escape her thoughts. Thoughts were fast, fast!

  Sefira gave a thick-throated scream so the horse would go faster. She wanted to run away from the image of Ty lying there, his neck almost severed by her blade. She had thought it was Delian.

  She wanted to run away from what she had done after that. Ty hadn't been dead; his wound would have closed. It would hurt, that was all. And that made her so angry, because the same would not happen for Thady.

  Unfair, unfair!

  Somehow, she was standing above Ty's body and driving her sword through his chest. Her mind kept saying: Delian will see now, what it's like. Everyone loved Ty, and Delian would know he was responsible. Forever and ever and ever.

  Aya, you take everything away from me!

  It wasn't her brother lying there; she couldn't even see his face. It was an open chest with a beating heart, and she took it, held it in her hand and shrieked at it too. Jeze scatyet! The heart went up in flames because she willed it so, and she kept her fist closed.

  There was a box in her saddlebag, with kona. The box was a present from Thady. It was made of glass, and had the picture of her native city, Murt, on it. Murt was a small eastern port, and the box showed a lighthouse and ships, and beautiful turquoise sea.

  It was a happy image, but Sefira never wanted to see the box again. And she didn't want the kona, so she threw it away.

  She let the ashes run from her fist into the box and closed it. It was perfect, like a present she would leave by the body (not her brother's body, just a body) for Delian to find. He would open it, and the wind would carry the ashes.

  You could still put together a heart, even if it were ashes. It would take a while, but it would come back. Not if it were scattered all over. There, where they were, the wind traveled a long distance in a short time. No spell could make the ashes stop or bring them back.

  Thady, Thady, Thady, Sefira thought as she rode. The horse's hooves, however, said, Ty, Ty, Ty.

  Again she shrieked, against the wind. What a place she was in ... She slowed down and looked around. She had come this way before. The Mirror, it was called. A stretch of sand running parallel to the sea but separated from it by a thicket of black trees. It was called the Mirror because even in the moonlight, even in light dimmer than now, the sand would reflect the sky. It was so packed and smooth, yet with a thin layer of water from a subterranean current, that it reflected her upside down. Sefira looked at her own face on the ground, peering from the horse.

  The horse looked scared, and she looked scared. She screamed at herself. She despised herself when she was scared. That was not how she should feel, and yet she was scared of knowing what she had done. Forever and ever, she would know. In just a while, it would hit her. It would truly hit her that she had killed Ty.

  How would she ever run away from that thought?

  Why was the thought of Thady fading already? Why was she only thinking of Ty?

  Ty was her brother, and Thady was just a mortal.

  No, no, no.

  The light flashed behind her. She did not have to look to kn
ow it was Nemours. Her face on the ground stared at her in terror. This was always meant to happen, because she had been begging to be killed all her life. And Nemours was the only one who would do it. He didn't even know it, but he would do it out of mercy.

  She turned and saw him jump through the light, and his horse didn't stop for a second. Ty, Ty, Ty said the beating of its hooves.

  Azure was with him.

  Another cry and Sefira urged her own horse on. She was scared. She had always been scared.

  Fast, fast, fast. He's after me!

  They were both fast. Looking to her left, she could watch the chase as if it were happening to others, their reflections stretching on the sand. She could see him closing in, and she yelled with all her strength, managing to create more distance.

  But then there was a sleek black shadow, faster than anything. Azure.

  Sefira felt the thud of the panther landing on the horse's rinds and had a second of pity for the animal when it screeched. The panther's claws had cut through flesh, leaving deep gashes — and that was all Sefira saw before the horse veered, tilted sideways and fell.

  She had the presence of mind to break away from the stirrups and throw herself in the air, swiveling to land on her feet. Nemours was right behind her, and she unsheathed her sword as she ran.

  Death — it was all she had really wanted. She had had no taste for life, no love for it — not like Ty, or Delian. Ty was dead and Delian doomed.

  Death was all she had ever wanted, but now she was afraid. Nemours was right behind her, and she must turn.

  She did. And she finally understood that Nemours had never really fought her. Not really.

  He had leapt in the air and was coming down on her, and she raised her sword to parry his blow. She had only one second to hear the metal of her blade breaking in two before his steel cleaved her from shoulder to navel.

  24

  Later, soldiers and guards would say to a furious, humiliated Lord Serle: What could we have done?

  The Lord Protector, appearing out of nowhere on his steed — appearing out of a flash of light!

  They had never in their lives seen magic.

  The Prince of the Morning had sped through the streets, soldiers running and screaming in his wake. And with him that panther, roaring.

  Some of them had stood with open mouths, and the guards at the foot of the stairs leading to the castle had scattered, fumbling for their swords, their bows.

  Lord Serle, nothing would have stopped him, they swore later.

  Nemours had his blue sword in his hand, purest Stonemount steel, and mayhem on his face. That panther would have torn anyone to shreds — it wasn't even a contest.

  The truth was they hadn't tried shooting arrows at him as the horse flew up the steps. He was immortal. He could take those arrows, unless they found a perfect spot to pierce him, and that might only slow him down. He wouldn't have died.

  The horse kept on going all the way to the castle, and with a word Nemours blew the thick doors open and rode through them. Inside, the animal climbed the stairs to the second floor and ran the length of the corridor to the room where Ahn and Lamia accompanied Lord Serle as he and some friends dined.

  Nemours dismounted then, and Azure leapt at Serle, knocking him down when he tried to rise from his seat. The Lord Protector didn't glance at the rest of the people there. Not even at Lamia.

  His business was all with Ahn.

  "Magic, Nemours?" she asked, also trying to rise.

  Yes, magic. The wood of her chair unfurled, turning into tentacles that pulled her down and wrapped around her. The same happened to Lamia, although she had not moved. And as Ahn opened her mouth to utter an indignant protest, a small branch wrapped around her mouth, settling between her teeth. Her sister was similarly silenced.

  Ahn struggled, while Lamia looked with terrified eyes at the man looming over them.

  "Our brother is dead, Ahn."

  There was a muffled cry from Ahn as her eyes, too, widened — probably in disbelief, just as he had disbelieved it at first.

  "The little one," Nemours roared, and over her muffled screams, and Lamia's, his voice lowered and cracked as he added, "The gentle one."

  Shaking her head from side to side, Ahn struggled against the wood binding her — but she didn't dare to use her magic. Neither did Lamia, who had fallen silent, tears running down her face.

  "He came to sue for peace," Nemours continued, ignoring their reactions. "And Sefira murdered him because Delian killed her friend at an inn fight. Then Sefira burned Ty's heart, and left the ashes in a box for Delian to scatter it to the winds. Ty is gone. He's gone forever."

  Ahn had fallen still, and Lamia too, although both moaned. The whole room had, since Ty was loved by all. Their quiet prince, who had never spoken crossly to a soul.

  "You spoiled Sefira, and allowed her too much license," Nemours continued. "You wanted her heart all for you, did you not? Well, you may keep it!"

  His hand, until then hidden by his cloak, appeared holding a dagger; and at the end of that dagger there was a heart, still beating. He raised the dagger and stuck it to the table, before Ahn. The heart dripped dark blue blood on the white tablecloth as Ahn, her eyes popping now, screamed with all her might — although it didn't sound like much through the gag he had fashioned for her.

  Lamia took a second longer, but also began to scream.

  Some of the guests rose and ran out; some stayed, unable to move.

  "Her body is at the Mirror, for the crows to peck at and the crabs to eat. But I want you to bring her back to life, Ahn." Nemours nodded, leaning over his sister from the other side of the table. "She was mad like a beast, and you coddled her and let her run amok. And so she murdered her little brother, and so she cursed Delian to think that it's his fault for the rest of time ..."

  Drawing himself up, he added in a voice that was soft as doom. "I want you to bring her back a thousand times, and a thousand times I will kill her."

  He went around the table, slowly.

  "There will be no more suing for peace. No more conversations. There will be war." He sneered as he glanced at Serle. "Your fool of a lover can't do much, not now. So keep that priest close, Ahn — you'll need him. Get him to do your dirty work for you." Nemours bent to whisper, "Kill me, if you can. You should."

  He moved on to Lamia and cocked his head at her. "And you, sister, who fear for no one but yourself — come to my bed once again. I shall await you there, and finally I'll pay attention." His hand, smeared with Sefira’s blood, half circled her neck. "But not in a way that you'll like."

  Looking at his fingers as if he had only then noticed the blood, he wet them in a bowl of water and took a napkin, rubbing it over them.

  "There are eight princely crowns at High Hall. Remember them? I'll melt five of them, all except Ty’s, Delian's and Sibulla's, and I'll make just the one — but splendid. And then, after I entomb my brother, I'll crown myself king." He looked around and gave a crooked smile full of disdain. "King of you all."

  Turning, he walked toward the horse that still waited, its long tail twitching. Azure left Serle and joined him.

  "I don't want your obedience, your loyalty, your repentance, Ahn," Nemours said, swinging onto the saddle. "Now I want to destroy you."

  25

  "He almost split her in two," Ahn said. "Left her to be pecked at as if she were the carcass of an animal."

  Ahn hadn't cried. Her face was as dry and barren as a salt mine. Lamia had done nothing but wipe her eyes and bathe them in rose water.

  They were in Crystal Hold again. The war had not yet begun, but it was imminent. The two sides were only allowing each other a moment to grieve.

  "Sefira will recover," Lamia said. "Nemours should know. But it's horrible. And Ty—"

  "Don't," Ahn said.

  Lamia went on, "We didn't even see him. I watched him from the gallery as he stood there with Serle. I will forever see him turning in that cloak, with his little fa
ce so worried and disappointed. I'll forever—"

  The large mirror in the room exploded into pieces. Lamia turned away just in time, although she was sure shards had fallen in her hair.

  "I said, don't!" Ahn cried.

  "What's happening?" Lamia asked quietly. "What are you doing?"

  "I did nothing."

  "Have you taken powers?"

  "This is just energy," Ahn said tiredly. "Pent up or—"

  Throwing her head back, Lamia shook her hair. "I will worry when you take powers," she said, standing and moving away from the glass on tiptoes.

  Ahn's voice was raw as the lash of a wind full of sand: "How do you think we will defeat them?"

  "With our army, for example? It's greater than theirs now."

  "Armies don't necessarily decide a war," Ahn said. "So many things can influence the outcome. They have good generals — Nemours himself. Delian is a fighter. And we are no warriors."

  "Sefira is," Lamia said, joining her sister near the window. "Let's just bring her back and—"

  "Sefira was not a great warrior."

  That voice Ahn was using — dry, too.

  "She wasn't even a great fighter," Ahn said. "She was angry, and she had some skill, but she lost her head too easily and too often. We were winning, and now we've given their side more reason to be merciless because of what she did."

  "But she's lying there ..." Lamia's bracelets jangled as she motioned with a dramatic hand, probably in the wrong direction. Sefira was on a crystal slab in one of Ahn's secret chambers.

  "Where it's best that she remains until after this war," Ahn said, "for the reasons I've just given you. We don't need a wild card."

  "And what do you call your priest, then? Who killed a girl without you knowing and holds her father's mind hostage?"

  "We don't know that he did that."

  "We do know!" Lamia cried.

  The look from Ahn chilled Lamia. Ahn was grieving through fury, but Lamia didn't feel like backing down yet.

  "And he's here again," she pointed out more quietly.