Ember

by Anna Holmes

  "I did, actually. I was only with the Legion a year, six months of those as a prince. It would explain my elevation pretty well." I lean forward, balance my elbows on my knees, and watch Caelin engage August, him still wielding her sword, she using his. "I knew what I was getting into, though. I wonder if he might be better off with schoolmates his age and away from all of this."

  "I do, too, but I can't afford the fees. Only enlisted him so I could keep an eye on him. I’m sure they arrest anyone with dealings with the Legion, anyhow."

  "If that were the case, Elyssia would have half as many inhabitants."

  "Maybe so. I worry—I may have ruined him. Watching his brother do everything the Legion told him…"

  "He seems all right," I say, watching him duck Caelin's slow swing over his head. "Keep him out of the fight and I think he'll be fine."

  "I worry that the fight is stuck in him," he reflects. "Every spare moment with that sword. The boy has some natural talent and plenty of drive, to be sure, but what use is a sword during times of peace?"

  Caelin laughs and helps August to his feet. He's tripped over an upturned root. "I think that's enough for tonight," she says, sheathing her sword and presenting his back to him. "Nicely done. I see improvement.”

  He beams, and they join us. "Eat," Gavroth urges. "I won't have you missing another meal on account of that sword."

  Caelin settles next to me, giving me a quizzical look. I give her leg a quick pat and rise. "You should eat something as well."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To think," I call over my shoulder.

  "Try not to think in motion, please."

  "No promises." She makes a face, and I give her a smile as I wander away. The quiet is a nice change. I do somewhat miss that about traveling with just Caelin. Sometimes she'd let me slip into quiet, and I didn't feel obligated to fill it. I can't speak for her, but she seemed comfortable enough with the silence. There's enough noise in my head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Caelin

  I can't stand the silence. Gavroth has turned over for the night, and August stares up at the stars peeking through the tree branches, hands folded behind his head and his sword still buckled to his side. Tressa dozes against a tree. Fiora sits sharpening her arrows, Cole snores gently, and somewhere, Alain is on watch.

  He can take care of himself, I know. But I am starting to worry. Sleep has not come easily to him for the past few nights, and it's taking a toll. I watched him limp through a few moments earlier, grasping onto nearby trees for support, and I swear that that leg of his is not going to hold up to his thinking.

  I'm about to go relieve him when, literally at the corner of my eye, a gold shimmer flares into existence. Alain must have fallen asleep. Panic jolts through me, but I don’t have time for it. As quickly as I'm able, I tuck the hair away, pull my cloak over my undisguised skin, and stand. Thankfully, my back is to Fiora and August, and the last time I saw Alain, he was on a downward slope, taking me out of view.

  As I reach the bottom of the hill, I see he’s slumped against the trunk of a tree. I bend down to touch his shoulder, but instead I watch his chest rise and fall. He's deep asleep. I may as well stay awake. I settle to the grass next to him and listen to the ocean push in and out against the shore below. My home has almost always been in the center of the island, but I'd always felt a connection with the ocean. It's nice to visit again, even for a moment.

  We'll reach the slave colony tomorrow afternoon, if we keep our pace. From there, I don't know. If it were just Navigator and me, we could cover half the island in the few days I have. With all these others and delicate Maribelle…I don’t know.

  I glance to Alain, chin tucked into his chest. He must be tired of running now. But would he find peace at the castle?

  I already know what whispers will wind their way around the halls. Any words out of his mouth will be dissected, searched for treason, and put back together like they were never his to begin with. Then those whispers will work their way around, and the circle starts again. A miserable existence.

  "Would you want that?" I ask quietly.

  He mutters something in his sleep and shifts, adjusting the angle of his head against the tree. "As transparent as usual," I tell him.

  He starts now, eyes bleary. "Where'd you come from?"

  "Go back to sleep," I say.

  "Gods," he says, looking at my skin. "Did anyone see? I’m sorry, I just sat down for a second."

  "I know. It's all right." I lean into his shoulder. "As long as you're up…"

  His head bows and his eyes sink closed even as he answers, "Mmm."

  "What do you think of the royal city?" I ask cautiously.

  "It's lovely. Very well designed. Can we talk about it tomorrow?"

  "What do you think about living there?"

  "Oh." He's slightly more awake now, sitting up and stretching his leg out in front of him. He rubs at his dark hairline and blinks in the direction of the ocean. "Well, it would be awkward, considering I was commissioned to capture it."

  "You'd already know all the little crannies," I suggest helpfully.

  He looks down. "Why don't you ask what you mean to ask?"

  "Because it's a difficult question."

  "Then I'll ask it. How on earth are you going to explain me?"

  "That's not…" It isn’t exactly what I was going to ask, but now I realize that that is the problem at the base of it. "Well…yeah."

  "It was easier when I was a hostage." I shoot him a look, and he laughs. "It's funny, Caelin. I find it funny."

  "Well, I don't."

  "All right." He sobers. "As long as you visit me in prison."

  "I told you it isn't funny."

  "This isn't." He reaches for my hand. "I understand very well what my position in the Legion means. I won't be trusted by anyone. Legion and Resurgents alike. I suppose your cabinet will be absolutely thrilled to see me."

  "They'll trust whomever I tell them to trust. In fact—must we tell anyone at all?"

  He hangs his head slightly and laughs again. "I am turning you into a liar. And what if my past comes to light? There's no lying that one away. No matter what, it ends in a cell. I am a war criminal, am I not?"

  "I don't…"

  "I planned a siege that resulted in…" He shakes his head. "An enormous loss of life. I was exclusively assigned to the technical aspects—very little to do with troop movement aside from the initial push, and I believed somehow that that absolved me from any losses we might sustain or cause. I believed that up until the moment we got there. You know how when you go to bed at night and you think about the strangest things? For me, it's that moment. Every night."

  "You were ordered to."

  "And I did it."

  "Well, when are you going to forgive yourself that?"

  "Never," he answers me completely seriously.

  I lean my head against his sharp shoulder. Perhaps it's me, but I think I may see a little more meat on his bones these days. "The only difference between you and me," I say heavily, "Is that we won."

  "Caelin, I don't—"

  "The Battle of North Shore was mine," I confess.

  He goes completely still, completely silent. I don't think he even breathes. I know he's reliving it, watching the ships burn. They may have been his father's. My eyes dampen a little, and I lift my head and wipe at them with my wrist. "Were you there?" he asks, his voice utterly flat.

  "No. I was to ride out, but Kelvin had other ideas. He sent me to take the Royal City. So you see, we besieged the exact same city nearly a year apart. Only while I was enacting mine, my other plan went completely…" I shake my head. "I am sorry, Alain. I am so, so sorry. The fire was not my orders, but I did send troops there."

  He laughs again, but this time, there isn't a shred of humor about him. "It was a tactical advantage. Of course you would have been interested."

  "So you followed your orders, but mine were of my own making. You were right, those
first days. The burden of the war is mine. Your enslavement is my responsibility, though I knew nothing of it. And I am sorry, but it will never be repaired—not with idle words. Your sins are nothing next to mine, and I am sorry."

  Alain says nothing for a moment, his sharp, dark eyes moving over the reedy grass. At last he looks up. "You were meant to be queen after all," he says.

  "I wish I were as sure of that as I used to be."

  "You convinced me."

  "And you’ve undone my conviction." I shake my head. "No, I can’t pin that on you. I’ve undone it having met you.You showed me things I should have seen on my own."

  "All you needed was someone to shout loud enough that you couldn't help but hear." He smiles and gives my hand a squeeze. "I happen to be good at that."

  "So does this mean never?" I ask. "We just part ways?"

  "I don't think so," he says. "I think it means it might be longer off than we’d like. You will visit me?"

  "I—"

  There's a crunch behind us, and I'm on my feet, my sword out. Gavroth stands, his expression twisted and ugly in the light of my skin. "You," he says.

  I thought that I could never feel more hated than when I first met Alain, but his hatred was nothing compared to the rage that burns in Gavroth's mottled, red face. Alain is up now, too, positioned squarely between the two of us. "No," he says simply.

  "Did you know of this?" he spits at him.

  "Yes, I did," he answers, his voice stiller than the surface of an untouched lake. "I disguised her."

  "You're no prince."

  "I was. Can we please just—" He reaches for my wrist and lowers my sword. He reaches out with his other hand. I watch Gavroth's eyelids waver.

  "No," I find myself saying. "Not like that."

  He turns to me, his concentration shaken. "He will tell the others."

  "No more tricks. Let's tell him the truth."

  "Caelin, if he…"

  I hear the words he doesn't say loudly enough. He doesn't think he'll be able to protect me if we let Gavroth free now. "I beat him once," I say, my smile crooked. "Let him go."

  Alain lowers his hand, and the focus comes back into Gavroth's features. "Why do you call him off?" Gavroth asks.

  "Because you should know. We risked your life."

  "What does it matter to you? I'm only a peasant."

  I shake my head. "You're a first class alchemist. Alain is the son of a boatwright, and every inch a prince. Who am I to take your titles?"

  He stares at me as he moves around, trying to make himself a harder target. Alain shifts, too, but I take his arm and set it at his side. He too looks at me, uncertain. He wants to know where I'm going with this. "You're playing with me," Gavroth growls. An animal cornered.

  "I know. I'm the enemy. Not to be trusted. But I won this one over, didn't I? Wasn't easy."

  Alain frowns ever so slightly, but gives me my space. He tries to gesture me out of the way, but I shake my head. If I am to do this, Gavroth needs to see that I’m not the princess Alain thought I was at first. That means staying visible, and whether he likes it or not, staying vulnerable. He doesn’t like it. "Caelin—"

  "I won't be won by pretty words and pretty faces," Gavroth snarls. "I'm not a boy anymore."

  "It wasn't the face, believe me," Alain interjects, grinning. It's my turn to frown at him, and he grows completely solemn now. "It was her arm."

  We both stare at him, and he takes hold of my hand. I shift my sword to my left and allow him to pull up my sleeve. "You know what that is, don't you," he says.

  "Alchemist's fire," Gavroth says, almost involuntarily.

  I didn't know that. I look down at the ember, too. I'd never really questioned its existence. I assumed that it had something to do with my race. The skin around it is pink and raised, a burn snarling its way down my otherwise smooth arm. "And you know for whom it was developed."

  "Please tell me," I say softly, "that this was not part of your siege."

  "Not my plan, no, but mine got away from me, too. It's Legion in origin, isn't it, Gavroth?"

  "How did this…" he starts, his eyes lifting to me. They're very blue. I don't think I've noticed that before. I’ve been too busy trying not to die at his enormous hands.

  I look at Alain. "I don't think that this…"

  "If you won't tell him, I will," he says. "She ran into the building where the blaze was set. That's the only way it could have gotten on her—if she touched the source. She ran in to save people, regardless of their allegiance. That's what made me realize that she's not a demon as we've been told."

  "Thank you," I say, pulling a face again. "The point is, Gavroth, that I am not the enemy anymore. I don't want to be. Please don't make me yours."

  "What are you really doing out here?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowed deeply in a red V.

  "We are going to the slave colony. And I'm going to free it."

  Alain's head turns. "When were you going to mention this?"

  I don't think I knew that until just now myself, but he won't like hearing it. "Are you objecting?"

  "There has to be a better approach—"

  "I’m not going to wait around for Kelvin to grow a soul and the Council to argue it out. I won't have slavery. It's counter to everything I fought for, and an insult to this country."

  "And just how do you think you're going to do that by yourself?"

  "Am I really by myself?" I ask him, eyebrows raised.

  "That's not what I meant," Alain amends. "Of course I'm not going to sit back and watch you, but you may need something more on the order of an army. I think you underestimate the size."

  "I'm hoping that weapons will stay out of it."

  Gavroth looks at me, his mouth dangling. "They will kill you if you walk in there."

  "They might try," I say, smiling.

  Gavroth begins to walk a little circle. He looks up at me. "You realize that everyone in there belonged to the Legion."

  "Yes."

  "And you're going to…" Apparently this is too much for him to comprehend, as he worries his fingers in and out of the folds of his sleeves, his arms crossed as he fumbles for words.

  "Yes," I say.

  Alain fixes me with a look. "Caelin, no one deserves slavery, but there are some in there that don't deserve freedom. I can tell you that with absolute certainty."

  "And how can I make that distinction?" I throw my hands up, pointing to imaginary prisoners. "You go free, but you don't?"

  "I do recall some being sorted into holding cells. I was never sure why—they tended not to tell us anything."

  Gavroth angles his head toward Alain. "Us?"

  He holds out his wrists, blistered skin peeking out from under his sleeves.

  Gavroth’s eyes close, his head bowing forward. He can’t even look at the scars. I understand. I went out of my way to forbid this sort of treatment, and I was met with agreement—inhumane, they’d nodded, barbaric. And then they went out of their way to do inhumane, barbaric things to people, people like him.

  "So you lied to my uncle," he says dully. "You haven't been sent by Rosalia."

  "No," Alain answers, "but I don’t think they’re done playing with me, either." He swings his long arms absently. At once, he snaps back into the posture of a prince. "How many disciplines do you have, Gavroth?"

  "Beg your pardon?" The chuckling has stopped, and the ire begins to return. "Where do you get off, questioning me when you've been working with a Rebel? Not a Rebel. The Rebel. I should have known, with that armor."

  "I have my reasons. Now how many disciplines?"

  "Twelve," he growls.

  "How many of them for questioning orders?"

  "Eleven."

  "I have twenty six," he says. "All for that reason."

  Gavroth leans forward, his face disbelieving. "And they let you ascend?"

  "I had a notorious commander. All the same. I believe in thinking, Gavroth, and I think you believe in the same thing. I think you know t
hat the princess is telling the truth, and I think you had a much easier time coming to that conclusion than I did. Now. Tell me that she's worse than the Legion. Worse than your uncle."

  He squints at me as though he can read my character like words on my face. "I won't go back to mattering not at all to Elyssia. The king cared nothing for whether I lived or died."

  My palms grow damp in my gloves, and I'm about to shout, when Alain cuts in for me. "And you think the Legion did? I watched Rye sign your death notice today before you had even gone. They let me rot in a slave colony until I became useful again. You know as well as I do that the Legion is a package of corruption wrapped in attractive ideals."

  "And they are attractive," I interject. "My father wanted to form a council of laymen to speak for each province, like your proxies. His advisors put a stop to that right quick. Too Rosalian, they said. The Legion killed him before he had the chance to push for it. I still think it’s a fine idea."

  "And you'd listen," Gavroth says, disbelief in every part of him.

  "I am working on it," I say.

  "I'll believe it when I see it."

  "Then help me get there."

  He begins wearing a rut into the grass, kicking at tufts and working his jaw. "The only reason," he tells me, "you're still alive is what you've done for August. But I won't let you put him in danger. We'll take you as far as the camp and then you're on your own."

  I nod. "I would ask nothing more."

  He studies the ground at length. "Best…put that Plain face back on. I don't know that the others will take too kindly to this one."

  "Thank you, Gavroth."

  "I'm not saying I won't tell them."

  I nod. "Fair."

  He walks back to the campsite, leaving Alain and me in silence for a moment. I look down at the ember in my arm. "You knew what this was."

  "I suspected. He confirmed." He looks uphill toward the camp. "I don't know if he'll keep his word."

  "I think he will."

  "All the same, I don't think I'll be going back to sleep."

  "Please do," I tell him. "I'll stay awake."

  He looks at me. "I don't think that's wise."

  "You haven't been sleeping."