The Burning Kingdoms

by Sally Green

  “There’s nothing we can do for them,” March said. “Just run.”

  They raced through the city, out of the narrow streets and to the harbor. Edyon kept hold of March’s hand as they both leaped off the quayside into the cool water, which was crowded with people. Children and old people were there, even babies. Mothers were crying. People were searching for their families. And, above them all, the white smoke hung, moving after them, but it couldn’t get the people in the water. Licks of smoke came down, but people splashed the water and the cloud moved up higher.

  “Stand on the bottom! Here, where it’s not so deep!” Rashford shouted. “And keep splashing!”

  Everyone joined him. Thousands splashing and shouting together, and the cloud of smoke rose higher. The crowd shouted and cheered. Someone threw a wet shirt into the cloud, and it fizzed and hissed before falling back into the sea, and the cloud rose higher still, as if it had given up on them. It rose higher and higher, and then it drifted over the hills and was lost in the brightness of the sun.

  Edyon and March waded onto the beach, which was packed with people. Many wouldn’t stray far from the water’s edge, saying they’d stay there all day and all night, until they were sure the smoke wasn’t going to return.

  Edyon embraced March, and March put his head on Edyon’s shoulder. “Are we safe, do you think?” Edyon asked.

  “I’ve no idea. I think all the smoke has burned off. The entire boy army had it in them or in the bottles. They’re gone—or powerless. Just ordinary boys now.”

  “So . . . am I in charge?”

  March laughed a little against Edyon’s shoulder. “Quite possibly.”

  CATHERINE

  NORTHERN PITORIA

  Never surrender, at least never in your heart.

  Queen Valeria of Illast

  CATHERINE AND Ambrose were taken on horseback to Aloysius. The boys didn’t bother restraining them. They knew their prisoners could never outrun or outfight them. Catherine was stunned, partly from the blow she’d received and her bloody and broken nose, but also because of Ambrose.

  How was he here? He was meant to be in the demon world. He must be here to help her, but why was he talking to the boys about smoke?

  “Listen to me—you need to take the smoke from her. She may try to attack the king.” Nobody responded. “Noyes will burn with fury when he hears about my treatment,” Ambrose continued. “You’d better pray he’s in a forgiving mood.”

  “Shut it,” Gaskett replied.

  “I know you’re keen to show loyalty, boy. But I’ve just come from the demon world. My men have had great success. But something’s happening there—something big. It’s urgent.”

  “And you can tell Noyes soon enough. But for now will you just shut up?” Gaskett replied.

  Catherine’s mind was fuzzy. Why was Ambrose staring at her so meaningfully? He was trying to send her a message, that much seemed clear, but what?

  I’ve just come from the demon world . . . My men have had great success . . .

  Did that mean they had destroyed the supply of smoke? Surely not. These boys were proof that Aloysius had plenty of smoke for his boy army.

  Something’s happening there—something big . . .

  It was impossible to tell what he meant. She could see his fingers twitching, as if he wanted to sign her a message, but they were being too closely watched.

  They rode back through Catherine’s destroyed camp, the ground littered with dead white-hairs. She had a vague hope that her message to Ffyn had somehow got through, and he might come to her rescue, but from the top of the hill she saw that the main battle was raging far to the west. Ahead, the plain was clear all the way to the Brigantine army. Had Ffyn’s forces been overcome too?

  They rode on, joined by more and more boys, all heading toward Aloysius’s pennant, which was flying above a huge unit of armored horses. Catherine was relieved to see a cluster of white-haired prisoners on their knees; not all her men had been slaughtered.

  Then she saw him. Her father. And that old, cold fear swept through her.

  Aloysius was dressed in red and black with a black breast-plate. Beside him was another figure she recognized: Noyes.

  The boys pulled Catherine from her horse and took hold of her arms, as if to ensure the king saw that it was them who had caught her. As she was brought forward, her father actually smiled and Noyes clapped slowly.

  Noyes spoke first. “Boys, boys, boys. You have exceeded my expectations. Two for the price of one.” He came closer, as if to check it was really them. “Sir Ambrose Norwend. And Princess Catherine.”

  “Queen Catherine.”

  Noyes chuckled. “Not for much longer.” He ran his finger from her shoulder to her wrist. “And is this the arm that killed your brother? Are you planning more mischief? Have you taken more smoke?”

  “No. But this one,” Gaskett replied, nodding at Ambrose, “says she’s got some under her armor.”

  Noyes smirked. “Indeed? Excuse me, Your Majesty.” He slipped his thin fingers beneath her breastplate and deftly slid out the small bottle of smoke. “You can release them now. She is a queen, after all.”

  Gaskett did so. “He also said he worked for you.”

  Noyes smiled again. “Yes, well, Sir Ambrose is a liar to his bones, as well as a traitor.”

  Through all this, Aloysius had stood silent; his eyes, though, hadn’t left Catherine, and she knew that she had to address him directly. She stepped past Noyes. “King Aloysius, Father, I demand that you release me and Sir Ambrose. He is my subject and this is my land. Mine and my husband’s.”

  Aloysius’s lip curled. “It may be your husband’s land now, but not for much longer. The tide of the battle is turning in our favor, and I’ve not yet unleashed my boys. But once I’ve finished with you, they’ll rip the blue-hairs apart. By this time tomorrow you won’t be my only prisoners. Tzsayn will be in chains too.”

  “I had such fun with Tzsayn last time we met,” said Noyes slyly. “I can’t wait to see him again. Has he missed me?”

  Catherine couldn’t stop herself from shouting, “You’re a fiend, Noyes. I don’t know how you’ve become so perverted to take pleasure in other people’s pain. But you will get your punishment one day.”

  “No, it’s you who will be punished,” Aloysius boomed, “you treacherous whore.”

  Catherine raised her chin. “Father, whatever you accuse me of, I am still your daughter. You sent me to this country as a decoy for your true purpose—to invade Pitoria and farm the demon smoke. I say ‘true purpose,’ but nothing about you is true. You were never a true father to me any more than you are a true king to your people. But I learned truth from good people around me—my mother, Sir Ambrose, Tzsayn, my maid Tanya, and my many good soldiers.

  “I learned, too, that truth has no limits. You murdered Sir Tarquin Norwend and Lady Anne Norwend to conceal your own lies. The truth about you and your cruelty is known across the world, but the truth about their honor will ring even louder. Your actions have consequences, Father, and you will pay one day.”

  Her father snorted. “A pretty speech from someone who killed her own brother.”

  “As you have been trying—and failing—to do for the last ten years?”

  Aloysius’s jaw tightened, and Ambrose cut in. “You’ve failed in that, and you’ll fail again in this war. The smoke is gone. It’s over. You’ve lost.”

  Catherine stared at him. What did he mean?

  “Have you heard from your forces in the demon world recently?” Ambrose continued. “Oh, wait, no—my men have killed them and taken the cavern. And the girl in there, what’s she called? Frost? The one helping you to farm the smoke? She sends her regards, Noyes. She’s off to live the good life in Illast.”

  Noyes’s face fell for a moment.

  “And she told me something else
too—the smoke is changing.”

  “Changing how?” Noyes sneered.

  “I’ll show you,” Ambrose said, jumping forward and rip-ping the cork from the tiny bottle of smoke in Noyes’s hands.

  But nothing happened. Not even a wisp of purple smoke appeared.

  Noyes snorted. “The bottle’s empty.”

  However, as he spoke, white smoke began to curl out of the bottle. This smoke was so thick it was almost like a liq-uid, and it coiled down like a snake round Noyes’s hand. He poked at it, but then shouted in pain and dropped the bottle, brushing desperately at his hand. “What is this? It’s burning!”

  But his sleeve was already on fire, his arm in flames. Aloysius shouted, “Just put it out, Noyes!”

  While all eyes were on Noyes, Catherine grabbed the bottle of smoke from Gaskett’s hip, clawed out the stopper, and threw the bottle at her father’s chest. It smashed against the dark breastplate, and white smoke curled and billowed round the king’s body. Aloysius stepped back, cursing. “Get it off me!”

  But no one ran forward to help. Around Catherine, the boys were shouting, cursing, and running; all their bottles of smoke were heating up and bursting with loud cracks. Gaskett opened his mouth, but only flames and white smoke came out. Ambrose snatched the dagger from his waist and stabbed him, drawing his sword and moving to Noyes, who was still trying to remove his burning jacket.

  “You want help, Noyes?” Ambrose cried. “Here you are. You’re lucky to die so swiftly.” And he swung his sword and sliced across Noyes’s neck, severing his head. Noyes’s burning body fell. His head rolled to Ambrose’s feet.

  The white-haired prisoners had seen their opportunity and were grappling with their captors. Some, already free, were racing to Catherine’s side, snatching up weapons from the boys who were now all in flames. The boys were no longer able to fight, but the white-hairs were hugely outnumbered by the Brigantine army.

  There was only one way to win and Ambrose knew it too. He picked up a fallen spear and turned to Aloysius, who was still flailing at the flames that licked at his chest.

  “For my sister, my brother, and all those you have killed and ruined!” Ambrose shouted, thrusting at the king. But, even burning, Aloysius fought back, using his sword to deflect the attack. Ambrose struck the spear hard and fast at the king’s chest again. The point hit the breastplate and this time Ambrose drove it upward, with all his force, into the king’s neck.

  Aloysius staggered back, staring up at the sky, blood coursing from his throat. Then he collapsed, stiff and flaming, to the ground.

  Catherine stared. Her father, the king, who had seemed eternal and immovable, was lying at her feet. Part of her wanted to grab a sword and stab and cut his body, but Ambrose caught her wrist and gently pulled her back.

  “Stay away from the smoke. Don’t let it touch you.”

  “He’s really dead?”

  “He’s dead, Catherine.”

  She looked up to see that the Brigantine army was in chaos. Boys were running among the soldiers in panic, sending flames from their mouths and bodies. Some soldiers were attacking the boys, others were themselves on fire. And hanging above them all was a low white cloud that seemed to be sending down long thin wisps of smoke that set fire to anything, or anyone, it touched.

  Ambrose drew Catherine farther back and the white-hairs retreated from the Brigantines and the white cloud. Catherine stood at the head of her soldiers and watched the Brigantine army burn. The white cloud of smoke rose from the smoldering bodies, high into the sky, and drifted to the north. And there, above the Northern Plateau, was a larger cloud of white smoke. The two clouds seemed to join and then moved higher and farther north and out of sight.

  Standing with Catherine, Ambrose said, “The demon world has closed. The smoke has gone. No more demon smoke and no more boy army. And no more Aloysius. I think it’s over.”

  Catherine agreed. “The war’s over. My father’s days are over. But for us, it’s just the beginning.”

  Epilogue

  MARCH AND EDYON

  CALIA, CALIDOR

  THE EVENING sun was warm on March’s face as he walked along the terrace of Edyon’s private rooms in Calia Castle. The sky was turning red in the west and the sea was the darkest of blues. A few sails were still to be seen, but most boats had come into the safety of the harbor. The warmth of the autumn day was still with them, and wind chimes sounded in the gentle sea breeze.

  It was a month since the boy army had attacked the city, and, on the surface, most areas outside the castle appeared to have returned to normalcy—the city of Calia was bustling and clean, trade had resumed, and the market and quaysides were busy. But inside the castle, things had changed. The building itself was burned and broken in places, but the hole in government was even more obvious. Prince Thelonius had been killed, as had the chancellor and many lords. Regan, too, had of course been killed, though Edyon told March that his death had occurred not on the field of battle, but because of his own treachery. It gave March some comfort to know that even though his plan to kidnap Edyon with Holywell had been wrong, it had actually, in the long run, saved Edyon’s life.

  And Edyon himself had changed and blossomed. He was a leader to whom the Calidorians looked, a surprisingly stable pillar of the system—one of the few pillars left. But the other parts of the system were being replaced: most of the lords who had been killed had sons who would fill their shoes, and a new chancellor had been appointed. Rashford and Kellen had also been given jobs.

  The main problem for March was knowing where he fitted in this society. What was he? A servant? A friend? An adviser? He was definitely a lover. He was also a man. And, more than anything, March was aware that Edyon too was a man. And Edyon’s role as prince was to rule but also to provide heirs.

  “You look serious,” Edyon said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Just a little tired.”

  “Tired, but happy?”

  March nodded. Mostly.

  Edyon frowned. “I thought we’d been through this, March. We had a discussion just yesterday, and at least two nights a week for the last few weeks, about how you need to talk to me and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  March nodded again. That was true. He continually promised to do that, but old habits were hard to shake off.

  “Well?” Edyon insisted.

  “I was thinking how good this all is.”

  “And yet you manage to say that as if you’re bored with it already.”

  March frowned. “I’m not bored. Never bored with you.”

  “There’s a ‘but’ coming soon, isn’t there? I can hear it on its way, looming ever nearer. So what is it?”

  “But I still have concerns about the future. For you. And for me.”

  “You mean for us?”

  March nodded. “I mean . . . they’ll expect you to marry and have children. And I don’t want to stand in your way if that’s what you want and—”

  “Stop it. Will you please stop it? I’ve told you that’s not what I want.”

  “No. But it’s expected.”

  “I don’t care what’s expected. No one expected me to be ruler of this country. But I’ll do it as best I can for the time being. And I want you by my side all the time.” He leaned forward to March and said softly, “Only you. And no one else. I can’t do this job without you. And, what’s more, I don’t want to. I was wrong to allow you to be banished.”

  “The alternative was death, so all in all . . .”

  “I should have fought harder for you.”

  “And then I’d have been on your side in the castle. I’d have been killed there or on the ship.”

  “I was still wrong not to listen to you.”

  “I was wrong not to tell you my secret earlier.”

  “So it appears that neither of us is perfect. But together we
’re . . . well, a lot better people. I’m not sure what the future holds, but I’m going to discuss it with my cousin, Queen Catherine.”

  “Discuss us?” March was horrified. What would Edyon say?

  “Discuss my role. Our roles. Discuss who rules after I’m gone, should I not have an heir, should I not marry. Calidor always used to be part of Brigant.”

  March was even more horrified. “The Calidorians would hate to go back to that. Don’t even think it. Remember what your father told you about how they value their autonomy? The lords’ desperate fear is that to partner with any other country would lead to their loss of independence. They fought and died to keep the Brigantines out.”

  “To keep Aloysius out.”

  “And, much as Catherine is different from him, she is his daughter.”

  “I’m his nephew. Much as it repulses me to think of that.”

  March sniggered. “I’m sure Aloysius wouldn’t have enjoyed the thought either.”

  Edyon smiled and nodded. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have an idea for a way forward that I want to discuss with Catherine and Tzsayn. They are the rulers of Pitoria and Brigant, and wish to move to a system more like that of Illast, which has a government of elected officials. Tzsayn has written to me about it. He’s very supportive of new ideas. It seems to work in Illast in a manner no worse than ours. But the point is that change is possible. Change can work for us.”

  Edyon reached over the table, picked up the jug of elderflower water, and poured March a glass. “See, I am your prince and your servant too. Your partner and your lover. Your friend, who was once your enemy.”

  “And I’m changed too. Thanks to you. In . . .” And March wanted to say it but still struggled. “In my heart.”

  “Your heart?”

  “Yes, I have one. And it’s changed. It’s yours.” March blushed and looked at Edyon, then away.