Ember

by Anna Holmes

  So why does the wound feel a week old? Partially healed, partially raw. Slowly, I turn to look at Alain. It's a special sort of exhaustion that has him. I've seen it before, when he asks too much of himself, but it seems that he's lost all the weight he put on, and the circles under his eyes have never been darker. "Tressa," I start. "What the devils happened?"

  "We're still trying to figure that one out," she says, rubbing at her head.

  "He didn't…"

  "He did."

  "He couldn't have. Not even the king's magicians could cause a wound to heal." I know. They talked about it, wondering if they could remove the ember from my arm. The consensus was that they could never make it whole again. What did this scrawny, wonderful boy have that years of study and practice couldn't give them?

  "Your hostage," she says, a hint of a smile playing about her mouth, "is the strangest magician anyone's ever seen."

  I remember now. He asked to be let in. I did what I could, but there was no getting around my family's heritage. Wasn't there?

  I let my head settle back to the pillow and push out a breath, grasping at my shoulder again, trying to see. "And it's not going to suddenly get worse?"

  "As far as the medics were able to tell, no." She folds her hands in front of her, twirling her thumbs around each other a few times. "There are still traces of the poison in you. That's why it hurts even though there's much improvement."

  "Oh." Maybe that's why it feels like my mind isn't exactly catching up with everything. "Is that a problem?"

  "You'll need rest, but it should fade."

  "Bah."

  She frowns at me, but offers little more in the way of a fight. For now. I can practically see her shelving the issue. It's about now that I remember that someone put that poison into me, and that that someone had come with a whole host of other someones. "Rye," I start.

  "In a cell down the hall, along with the sergeant with the dagger. It seems that firing the first shot into the person promising prisoners forgiveness is no way to earn their favor."

  "They fought back?"

  "There wasn't much to the fight. As soon as Alain was out, they unfroze and rose up without us even having to do anything. It was over in minutes."

  "Where are they now?"

  She pats the ring of keys attached to her belt. "In their chambers for now."

  "Tressa, that's not how this was supposed to go. If I promise forgiveness…"

  She holds up her hand. "Just for now. Until we can suss out who did what. Alain's right. Not everyone is perfectly innocent."

  I close my eyes and try to think. My head pounds, the weight of too much sleep and not enough rest pressing down on it. I can feel my pulse raging in my shoulder. I push a finger into the bridge of my nose and take a stab at concentration. "How quickly can we get them reviewed?"

  "Sergeant Stone is looking into it now. I suspect she'll have a report later."

  "She's all right, then?"

  "The medics were able to clear her wound of the stunning elixir that coated the dagger. Her lieutenant was not as fortunate."

  I cradle my forehead in my hand. Casualties, Kelvin always said, are inevitable. It doesn't make their weight any lighter. "What of Sole?"

  Tressa grits her teeth. "I can't get her to bloody step down. The most we can charge her with is disobedience."

  "And even so, she's right. She answers to Kelvin, not me." That will have to change. "Is she cooperating?"

  "She wants Alain flogged for sending her to sleep. But not many of the guards are listening to her, so it's like she's blustering at an empty room. Still, you can bet that the report she's drafting will be vicious."

  Kelvin. My other headache. All Kings' Day should be three days from now, if it’s really only been a day. The first order of business is dealing with that wedding. After that, reorganization of my cabinet. After that…I look at Alain again. I sigh. "I can't make him come back with me."

  "Try and stop him."

  "Kelvin will toss him in the dungeon. Or worse."

  "Are you the princess or aren't you?"

  "Partially." I shake my head, unable to take my eyes from Alain. For all of the other tolls that his feats here have taken, he finally seems peaceful. "Even if he doesn't wind up in irons again, he won't escape his Legion days."

  "All this can wait," Tressa says, patting my hand. "You just need some rest and then you can think about it, hmm?"

  I nod, pressing my lips together and tracing the folds in my blanket with my eyes to give myself something else to focus on. It's hard to lie to Tressa. I have no intention of resting. There's not enough time for that. I just don't have the energy for that argument right now. Casually, I ask, "Is Navigator all right?"

  "Yes. He and Maribelle are in the stable now."

  Oh, Tressa. So reliable. I hate the fact that she'll be ruing that she told me this. In a deliberately small voice, I ask, "Do you think you might find me some paper and a pen? I need to collect my thoughts."

  "Don't you think you might feel better after some more rest?"

  "You know how thoughts get in the way of that," I tell her.

  At last, she nods. "I'll be a moment."

  In the fresh quiet after the sound of her hoofbeats fade in the hall, I can hear the short rushes of Alain's breaths. His cloak is tossed over the back of the chair, his shirt positively filthy with dirt and something darker. My blood, I realize. His face and hands are clean, though. I flinch through the pain and sit up high enough to reach out and touch his face, my fingertips moving over the thin bluish white whirl of his ear.

  I didn't expect to elicit a response, but he jolts awake. His eyes catch mine, and he relaxes into relief. "You're all right," he says, for both our benefits.

  It's stupid. It's completely, totally stupid, and decidedly un-princess like, but something about hearing his voice, thin and sick-sounding, causes me to burst into tears. He bends and presses his forehead to mine, his hand moving over my head. "I'm not sure about that," I sob.

  "You will be all right." He places a kiss on my forehead and straightens, wiping at my face.

  "Then why am I—?"

  "Because even the bravest princesses get hurt sometimes." His eyelids are drooping again, and he leans heavily on the arm of the chair with his elbow. "And sometimes, they’re allowed to be frightened."

  "How did you…?" I drag my arm across my face viciously.

  "I don't know," he says, and the weariness of the question is evident. Obviously he's been asked and asking it of himself several times by now.

  I leave it alone. "Well, thank you," I say.

  "It was entirely selfish," he tells me. "I didn't want to lose you after I just…"

  I laugh slightly. "After you just got me."

  "Caelin, I've been awake about five minutes at a time. My question answerer is still very much asleep."

  "It's a fine answer." And it makes my eyes sting again, because he is about to lose me. He just doesn't know it.

  He thinks I'm still in shock, so I let him. Maybe I am. He lets his lips brush mine briefly, and though he fights it, he drifts back to sleep again.

  Tressa knocks at the door and lets herself back in. There's still a question I haven't asked. "What happened to the archer?"

  She fixes the ground with a particularly frightening stare. "She and her instigator fled. We're searching for them now."

  Something tells me they won't be found unless they want to be. I nod slightly. "As expected."

  "We do have Cole, though."

  "Cole?" I search through the hazy remnants of yesterday, but other than his surprise at Rye's entry, I can't remember him. "Was it his poison?"

  "Yes, but…" She goes quiet. "Oh. You aren’t aware."

  "Of?"

  "Gavroth saw Fiora and attempted to stop her. Cole—stopped him."

  My insides run cold even as my shoulder continues to burn. "No."

  "He's stunned. A similar draft to what harmed Sergeant Stone. He's been administered an
antidote, but…" She shakes her head. "It does not look good."

  I slam my good fist into the cot. Alain wakes for a second, but soon droops again. Tressa holds out a hand to placate me. "I'm sorry. I should not have said anything."

  "You damn well should have." I shake my head. "He tried to stop her? Why would he…?" I pause. August is the only reason I draw breath, according to Gavroth. I thought our time training together was brief and over, but I’d best see to it that it continues.

  "You need to rest," Tressa says.

  I remember my act and nod submissively, even though I haven't felt like swinging a sword around like this since learning of my father's real fate. She hands me the paper and a tray and says, "I'll check in with Stone and Sole. If you need anything…"

  I smile at her, and this time, I mean it. "Thank you, Tressa. You've been a wonderful friend."

  She looks to the ground again. "Yes, well…"

  "I won't forget it."

  "You can thank me when you're better." She gives me a smile and lets the door swing shut.

  I slide out of bed and take stock. I'm still wearing my pants. Somehow, I'm going to need to get my vest back on. My boots and my cloak sit in the corner on another chair, my sword lain gently across a desk. I move the pen and paper there and try desperately to tug my boots on one-handed while making as little noise as possible. Alain stirs again, and I freeze in place. Go back to sleep, I plead silently. I fear that if he asks me to stay, I will.

  At last, he settles back down, and I manage to cram my foot all the way into the boot. Now it's just a matter of the vest.

  There's nothing for it. I’m going to have to get my arm through the hole somehow. I take the pen and bite down hard on it. In the same moment, I pull my arm from the sling and force my arm up. The pain nearly sends me retching, but my arm's through the hole now. New tears pool in the corners of my eyes, but they abate once I fasten the vest and settle the arm back into the sling. Thank gods it's my left and not my right. I sit on the edge of the chair and uncap the pen and scribble out two notes, both for Alain.

  I'm crying yet again, but there isn't time for that. I set them on the unkempt bed, grab hold of my sword and slide my cloak to the crook of my arm. My gorget sits open on the empty chair in the corner. Troublesome armor. It's not its fault, I think, that its owner couldn't remember to cover the neck it was supposed to protect, but I still can't help but feel a little resentment towards it. I set the sword down once more and lift the fairly light armor, testing how it feels against the wound. It's uncomfortable, to be sure, but I'm not about to present anyone with the opportunity to attack the already damaged part of me. Negotiating the closures with the opposite arm alone is difficult, but at last I manage.

  I pause on my way to the door behind Alain's chair. I ease open the pouch on his hip and pull out a few coins. He doesn't so much as mumble in his sleep. After I refasten the pouch, I debate placing a kiss into his dark hair, even messier than usual. I consider it, but I can't risk waking him, not even to satisfy the sentimental part of me that wants one last kiss. I smile at him, but mostly to keep my lower lip from trembling. I’d worried once about whether I was safe with him, but now the question is whether he’d be safe with me. In the end, I tuck the gold into my own belt pouch, balance my sheathed sword in the crook of my arm, and whisper, "Please don't hate me."

  And with that, I'm gone.

  The fortress is a different place. I keep my hood up and my face down as I pass a few people who pay me little mind until I am well away. The alarm will probably be sounded soon, so I have to hurry.

  Hurrying is not easy. I’m not exactly sure where the stables are, but I can have a guess. I huff up the ramp to the spot where I argued with Sole for far too long and flung the keys off the railing. The path we took in is the only one from the main road, so it stands to reason that the horses are nearby. Right?

  I start to question myself after a few doors don't open to reveal horses or don't open at all. I only have one more option on this level, and I doubt that I am going to be left alone long. I yank it open. I've never been more ecstatic to smell livestock in my life. There in the far corner by the exit is Navigator. He whuffs when he sees me, like this is any other day, and I hold onto his large face for just a moment. "Ready to run?" I ask him.

  There's no way I can fasten my sword to my waist with one hand, but there are saddles on the rack here with sheath hooks. I grasp one and hoist it up. This was poorly thought out. I stagger, but I manage to hold onto it and wrestle it over to Navigator, who looks at it questioningly. "I know, it's not yours," I mutter. "You're going to have to be less picky today."

  "Lieutenant?"

  Unwittingly, I turn and the saddle falls to the ground. Behind me is August, red and blotchy through the face and eyes. In his hair, bits of straw stick out, and his sword is in his hand. He stares at me, face mottled red in fury. "You're running away?"

  "No!" He glares, and I have to admit, "Well, sort of. I have to get back to the royal city. If Sole's report gets there before I do, things are going to be difficult."

  "And you're supposed to get married."

  "And that."

  "He's dying because of you," he accuses.

  "I am sorry, August." I lean against Navigator's broad shoulder for support. "I wish it hadn't happened. I really do."

  "He said you were the best possible future."

  That sounds unlikely, but the boy would know. I have under and overestimated Gavroth time and again. "That's…"

  "And you're running away."

  "Not forever," I tell him. "Just until things settle down. I'm worried about the country. I didn't know that places like the Grove existed, and…" Why am I arguing with this child? I'm losing time.

  Because his brother is dying, and because I wish someone talked to me like I had a brain when I was his age. August stares right through me, and I lean harder into Navigator. "Listen," I tell him. "Come with me. There are plenty of alchemists in the royal city. Some of the best in the world. I'll have them work on every possible antidote until they find something."

  "You're lying," he accuses.

  "I'm not. Look at me. If I can save your brother, I will. He tried to save me, and that's something I will never forget. But I can't stay here, and they've already done what they can."

  He thinks about it, hard. I see the doubt and suspicion chasing each other around his face. "So you're the princess."

  "That's me."

  "Are you really the best possible future?" he asks, his head cocked to the side.

  I sigh and stoop to try to pick up the saddle again. "I'm trying to be."

  He sheathes his sword, bends, and helps me lift the saddle. Navigator backs away warily, but I grab his reins and let August finish saddling him. Wordlessly, he jumps up onto a nearby horse, and lets me lead him out of there. "We're going to ride fast," I tell him.

  He just nods, and I calculate in my head. It's about an afternoon’s ride to the nearest airship port. We could have made it here faster if it weren't for our companions on foot. From there, we'll be at the royal city by late tomorrow morning. Then it's a matter of sneaking back into my own castle and figuring out how exactly to call off a wedding.

  I miss Alain already.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Alain

  In light of his heroic and frankly miraculous actions on behalf of Elyssia and its princess, the crown pardons Alain Flynn, also Alain Northshore, former prince of the Rosalian Legion, of all crimes he may have committed in its name and restores to him the full rights of an Elyssian citizen.

  Caelin Aurelia Geraldine Lightholder, Princess of Elyssia

  I read and reread the words four or five times before their meaning manages to sink in. The first stumble-through I can blame on the sleep still muddling my head. The next few are disbelief, and the last—a mix of bemusement, fury, terror. It takes a few tries, but at last I manage to summon a voice gravelly from disuse. "Tressa!"

  The yelling stirs som
eone outside to movement. That someone jostles someone else, and then there’s a flurry of shuffling. I’m numb to all of it, staring down at Caelin’s large looping letters. She has to know that this pardon—this piece of paper I once might have killed for—is a hollow substitute for its author. Even the post script scribbled at the bottom.

  I’m sorry. I can’t stay here and I couldn’t ask you to come with me. Take care of Maribelle. All my love, C.

  My breath rattles shallowly in my chest even as hoofbeats thunder down the stone hallway. Tressa shoves the door open and looms in the doorway, breathless. "What is it?"

  Again I flail for words, and nothing comes out. At length, I hold out the page, the parchment rustling in time to my tremors. She snatches it up and scans it, her eyebrows lowering. "Godsdamnit," she snaps.

  "What day is it?" I manage, attempting to disentangle myself from my chair. For all I know, I’ve slept for weeks.

  "Still All Kings’ Eve," Tressa answers. She makes a grab at my elbows to steady me. I drape over her hands like particularly useless sailcloth. "Where do you think you’re going, Prince?"

  I ignore her and swipe the three vials of greenish liquid Caelin left on the nightstand into my belt pouch. Of course she did. She hadn’t been awake long enough for anyone to tell her that she needs these. And she’s riding across—

  No, wait. I pull the antidotes out of the pouch again and weigh it. There’s coin missing. My head snaps up. "She’s taking an airship."

  Tressa looks at me like I’m rambling like a toddler, reaching down to swat the mess of my hair out of my face. "How do you know that?"

  "I just—I do. Come on."

  She snags me by the arm again before I can grab my cloak from the back of the chair. "Alain," Tressa pronounces, the syllables as unwieldy as her concern. "You’re not in any sort of shape."

  "And she’s going to be in worse shape," I tell her pointedly. "Where’s the nearest port city?"

  She rolls out her neck, her jaw taut. At last, she mutters, "If I have to drag your unconscious carcass across this island, so help me gods…"