by Olive Creed
Raevyn Aliki ran over, long legs eating up the distance, her frizzy pink braids thumping against her shoulders and the battle axe strapped to her braid. She scooped Briley up in a hug that lifted her off the ground. “Are you all right? When the conjaros reported what ‘ad ‘appened I came as quickly as I could. Were you ‘urt?”
“No, I wasn’t hurt. Put me down before I spill this.” She exhaled when her best friend set her back on the ground. “I promise I will explain everything that happened, but right now I have to get this to King Torrin as soon as possible.”
Zeno sat in a chair, flipping through one of his books. Torrin lay on her bed, moaning and turning his head weakly.
Briley bent over him, pressed her hand against his forehead, and grimaced. His skin was like fire and slick with sweat. “I have the liquid sun, Zeno. I’m going to give it to him.”
He stood up quickly, dropping the book in the chair and stepping over beside her. “It’s real? How did you find it so quickly?"
Briley glanced at him, smiling softly. "Um... God's grace?"
"That and ‘er wonderful arguing skills?" Raevyn braced her hands against the foot of her bed.
Zeno yelped at the sight of Raevyn, backing up a step.
Briley rolled her eyes. "I'm not a good arguer and you know it."
"I don’t think he’ll be able to fight it, but just in case.” Zeno moved around the pallet and gently grabbed Torrin’s wrists, holding his arms down.
Briley took a deep breath and slid her hand underneath Torrin’s head, carefully lifting him up and pouring a tiny amount of liquid into his mouth.
He coughed and wheezed, a bit of golden liquid and blood dribbling down his cheek. A tear worked its way out from between his tightly closed eyelids and soaked into the bandage.
Briley repeated the process a few more times, until they were satisfied with the amount he’d gotten in him. She set the jar on her nightstand and wiped his cheek with a rag. “I can watch him. You get some sleep.” He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and shoulders drooped.
Zeno hesitated before nodding, grabbing a quilt and lying down on the floor.
Briley settled herself in a chair, tugged off her muddy boots, and tucked her legs underneath herself, watching as the young king’s chest rose and fell in an irregular pattern.
“So this is the King of Elyndia.” Raevyn glanced over him. “Kinda small, ain’t ‘e.”
“We’re Elyndians,” Briley said softly. “We’re all small.”
“I know, but ‘e’s small. I bet ‘e’s barely over five feet.” She sat down at the foot of the bed, turning to Briley. “You can’t stay ‘ere, you know.”
“I know. I was going to Zaraya when I found him here.”
Raevyn grinned, glancing over as Briley’s old black and white cat ran over and jumped onto her lap. “Good. We’ll welcome you. And the little king. Pepa and Mema will let ‘im in, regardless of what the others say.”
Briley nodded slowly. “Then, as soon as he’s stable or... y’know... we’ll leave.”
And then she’d have to figure out some way of getting her grandparents out of Everdon.
Cyprian trudged up the narrow hotel stairs. He’d spent all night interrogating—first the men who’d gone into the sheriff’s office, then the people they’d interacted with. When that had turned nothing up—probably because they couldn’t understand him—he’d searched the jailhouse for clues.
Whoever it was had picked the locks. That ruled out the soldier, Milo. He couldn’t pick a lock to save his life. Cyprian knew that firsthand. He wasn’t sure about Roscoe, though. He typically avoided him as much as possible. The only thing he knew for certain about Roscoe was that, somehow, he was Peter’s closest friend.
He paused outside his and Peter’s shared hotel room, leaning his head against the door. If it was Roscoe, how could he turn him over to King Corynth? Cyprian would rather break every bone in his body than hurt Peter. But if it is Roscoe, he’s betraying them all.
Ignoring the little voice in his head reminding him that he was planning on betraying his king, he put his hand on the handle. A quiet murmur reached his ears. He paused, frowning, and pressed his ear against the door.
“...for you.” That was Peter, his voice low, as if afraid someone would hear them.
“I know. But there’s no way they’ll trace it back to us.” Roscoe’s high-pitched voice betrayed his confident words. “They haven’t before.”
“No, but there’s always a first time,” Peter warned. A bed creaked and footsteps thumped against the floor, drawing closer to the door. “Just stay low. Don’t try any more rescue missions for a while, alright?” The door opened.
Peter jumped when he saw Cyprian standing there. He quickly recovered, grinning sideways. “You look beat, kid. Stay up all night?”
Cyprian stormed inside and slammed the door. He jabbed a finger at Roscoe and glared at them both.
Roscoe paled. Peter sighed, raking a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “You heard, didn’t you?”
“I’m dead!” Roscoe jumped to his feet; eyes wide and face so pale Cyprian thought he’d pass out. “He’ll tell the king. I’ll be thrown to the swamp devils.”
Cyprian sneered. Should have thought of that before you freed all the captives, idiot.
Peter gripped Roscoe’s shoulders. Roscoe flinched and he let his hands fall to his side. “He won’t say anything, right?” Peter glanced at Cyprian, eyebrows raised.
Cyprian heaved a sigh and pretended to think it over, just to make Roscoe sweat. He nodded slowly, frowning at Peter, and raised his arms in a shrug and tilted his head to the side. Cyprian pointed out the window towards the castle, then at the top of his head. He drew his dagger, slashed it though the air in front of his throat, and pointed at Roscoe.
Peter frowned. “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “And you don’t want to fail this assignment.”
Even though Cyprian knew Peter was talking to himself, he shook his head vehemently. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the scars on his back pull tight. He hadn’t failed to carry out the king’s orders since completing his training. And the only orders he planned on disobeying now were the ones that would prohibit King Torrin from taking over. He didn’t relish the idea of once again being on the wrong side of the whip.
A tiny voice in his head whispered that King Torrin could just flee. Elyndians were peaceful people. He might prefer to abandon his countrymen than try and take back his crown.
No. Cyprian wouldn’t let that happen. He’d put King Torrin on the throne against his will. Do whatever it took. Just as long as he was able to get out of the Shadows.
Peter looked sideways at Roscoe. “Looks like you’re just gonna have to leave, gamio.”
Roscoe gaped at him. “You do know what happens to deserters, right? I’d be hunted down and thrown into Jorgon Prison.”
“But they gotta catch you first.” Peter checked down the hallway to make sure nobody was near. “One of us could take you to the southeast side of Kyrnia and you could catch a ship and sail to Satyareen, and from there make your way to the borderlands. By the time King Corynth found out, you’d be well on your way and he wouldn’t be able to touch you.”
Cyprian raised his hands and backed away, shaking his head. He wasn’t getting involved any more than he had to. And he certainly wasn’t traveling with a coward.
“Legally touch me.” Roscoe crossed his arms. “And when has the king ever stuck to the rules?”
...He had a point there.
“Besides, you should know better than anyone that his Shadows aren’t bound by any law but his. They could easily follow me to Satyareen and kill me, and the law there wouldn’t be able to prosecute them.”
Unless they hired a bounty hunter, Cyprian thought. But most law-abiding folks avoided the bounty hunters like the plague. He didn’t blame them. Bounty hunters were shady backstabbers. He knew that better than anyone.
“I could go to Zaraya,” Roscoe
blurted. “I’ll be safer there. I’ve helped them before, some of them know me. The king wouldn’t think to look for me there.”
Cyprian’s jaw dropped. Roscoe was mixed up with the Anathemans? Either he was stupid or not as cowardly as he thought. Peter glanced at him and Cyprian shook his head, crossing his arms. There was no way in Elyndia he’d go to Zaraya. Not even with an army of Shadows and their dragons.
“I’ll just... lay low for a while,” Roscoe mumbled after a moment. “Maybe the king won’t find out. If something does turn up, then, well, I’ll figure something out then.”
The moment Peter and Roscoe stepped out, Cyprian dropped into his bed. But as tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. If the king found out, Roscoe wouldn’t have time to figure out an escape plan before he was either killed or sold into slavery himself.
Cyprian stared up at the ceiling. Peter was guilty as well, because he knew what Roscoe had done and didn’t turn him in. And Cyprian was guilty because he wasn’t turning them in.
I can’t let King Corynth find out. He could frame someone else and let them take the punishment, but he couldn’t very well betray men he’d trained with, no matter how much he didn’t like some of them. That was dishonorable and Peter would have his hide.
Besides, it’s bad enough I’m gonna put the Elyndian king back on his throne and risk the Shadows getting killed in the process.
He rose up on his elbows. Nothing to do but get Roscoe out of Everdon. Then he could tell the king that he’d traced the crime back to Roscoe but had been forced to kill him. That was believable. Everybody knew he didn’t like him.
He rolled out of bed. Might as well go ahead and get it done. Why drag it out and risk someone else finding out the truth?
He tracked Roscoe down to one of the livery stables that the Achians had turned into a dragon barn. Roscoe was crouching on the floor, holding a fish in front of his purple dragon. “Come on, princess, this is the best fish I could find.”
Catnip squeaked and turned her nose up.
Roscoe growled and stood up. “Fine, you snooty dragon. I’ve had it. You can either eat it or starve.” After a moment, his eyebrows tipped upwards and he bent back over to hold the fish out. “Please eat it.”
Cyprian snickered quietly, easing behind him and drawing his dagger. He lightly pressed the tip against the back of Roscoe’s neck, who yelped, spinning away. Catnip made a series of squeaky sounds that might have been a laugh.
Roscoe scowled at Cyprian, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you want?”
He pointed between them, at himself, and then out the door before waving his hand for Roscoe to follow. He stared at Cyprian in confusion.
Cyprian groaned, rubbing at his face. How can I explain to this dimwit that I needed him to follow me? He settled for grabbing Roscoe’s sleeve and dragging him out the barn. Catnip bounded after them, nipping at the fish dangling from Roscoe’s hand.
Roscoe pulled free, backing up a step. “What are you doing? How do I know that you won’t drag me off to the woods somewhere and kill me?”
Oh, the irony. Cyprian rolled his eyes and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Catnip launched herself on him, sinking her claws into his shoulders and snarling in his face.
Roscoe yanked her off, holding her close. “Sorry, I guess she thought you were going to attack me.”
Cyprian straightened his shirt with a huff. Good thing Fury wasn’t here. She’d have swallowed Catnip whole.
He drummed his fingers against his hip. Actually, Fury could just carry Roscoe into the forest.
Roscoe swallowed. “Peter, um, he was sent on a mission. One of the soldiers sent to the pass reported that they’ve had supplies and horses stolen. King Corynth sent him to investigate, try and track the thieves down. He went alone.”
The thieves could be Yaki. Cyprian rubbed his chin. If that were the case, Peter would be in serious trouble if he ran into them.
Roscoe shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but the soldier insisted that they were not Yaki. Said they rode dragons.”
That ruled out the Elyndians and Kyrnians as well, then. Pirates had dragons, but they didn’t travel very far inland. That left the Anathemans. If Peter was going to be tracking down Anathemans, that could be even worse than Yaki.
“Peter, uh... he left this for you.” Roscoe handed him a piece of paper. “He didn’t want to disturb you, since he thought you’d be sleeping.”
Cyprian scowled as he read it. Peter wanted him to cooperate with Roscoe, to not terrorize him. And that Roscoe was going to be looking out for him. Cyprian glanced at him in disgust. Judging by the look on Roscoe’s face, the feeling was mutual.
“I don’t like it either,” he muttered, stroking his dragon. “But for Peter’s sake, we gotta at least try.”
Look out for that coward and his snotty, prissy dragon? Keep the other soldiers from picking on him? Cyprian crossed his arms and looked away. At least if he got Roscoe out of Everdon, then he wouldn’t have to worry about him. Cyprian almost smiled. He’d kill two birds with one stone by doing that.
Mind made up, he whistled sharply for his dragon. A few minutes later, she came flying in, carrying a mound of torn flesh that might’ve once been a pig. She landed, wiggling her butt and glancing between Cyprian and her breakfast. He waved for her to finish and crossed his arms to wait. Fury could eat everything in Elyndia and still be hungry.
“I’ll just be going..." Roscoe tightened his grip on his dragon and turned to walk again. He froze at the sound of Cyprian’s dagger being drawn and glanced back. Cyprian held the weapon pinched between two fingers, one eyebrow raised. Roscoe swallowed hard and turned back around. “Guess I won’t,” he mumbled quietly.
As soon as Fury finished her pig, Cyprian swung onto her neck. Fury twisted her head around, peering up at him. He pointed at Roscoe, who started backing away again.
Fury shot forward, grabbing Roscoe around the waist as she rose into the air. To his credit, Roscoe didn’t scream. Of course, he could have passed out. He was yellow enough to.
It took him two hours to get back to the cabin, flying in circles and doing everything possible to ensure he wasn’t being tracked.
Finally, Fury dropped Roscoe onto the ground and landed in front of the cabin. A stout, pink-and-purple dragon ambled over to greet them.
Cyprian mentally swore, sending Fury off to hide in the trees and scrambling up onto the roof, hoping nobody inside had seen them.
The woman from before stepped out, frowning a little. “... Roscoe?”
They know each other? Cyprian shook his head. She’d probably been one of the captives he’d set free. He eased off the roof, staying away from windows, and motioned for the trees.
The woman and Roscoe exchanged glances before walking over to join him in the safety the forest provided from prying eyes.
The moment the woman saw him, she gasped, taking a step back.
Cyprian glanced down at his lightweight, black armor and two daggers strapped to his waist. He supposed he did look a little scary to a woman. And Fury certainly wouldn’t help things.
Catnip wiggled out of Roscoe’s grip and flew over to her, landing on her shoulder and rubbing her face against hers, purring.
“Do you care to explain why you brought me here?” Roscoe demanded, crossing his arms. He rubbed the back of his neck, peering at the woman. “And why’d you stick around? I thought you were going to Zaraya.”
She pressed her lips together, as if unsure what to say to him.
Cyprian took a deep breath. “I-I rescued King, King Torrin. And he, and he is staying in her c-cabin.” He cringed, avoiding looking at Roscoe’s shocked expression.
“You what? Cyprian, you know what that—oh, gosh, why?” Roscoe raked both hands through his hair. “That’s treason! Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Like y-you have room, room to talk,” Cyprian snapped back. “Help, helping captives es-escape! I was just smart enough, enough to not
get P-Peter involved.”
“Yeah..." He’d flinched at Cyprian’s tone, but his shoulders dropped and he sighed. “So what do we do? And what does she have to do with this?” He nodded towards the woman and paused. “I never did get your name.”
“Briley.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’m currently caring for King Torrin. Well, kind of,” she added quickly. “I found Cyprian with him hours after the battle was over. I assumed you were one of our soldiers,” she said to Cyprian. “Since you’re Elyndian.”
Cyprian shrugged. Assuming things was stupid and a good way to die.
“So, why in the world did you help your enemy?” Roscoe crossed his arms. “You don’t do things without reason.”
“I want out, out of the Shadows.” Cyprian held up a hand to stop Briley’s questions. “And, and the only w-way that will happen is, is if King Torrin de-dethrones King Corynth. So, I-I... I took him to the c-cabin and I’m going, going to make s-sure King Corynth doesn’t, doesn’t find um, him.”
“But what does that have to do with..." Briley trailed off, glancing at Roscoe.
“Roscoe, ma’am.”
“What does this have to do with Roscoe?”
“I think I have an idea.” He rubbed his chin. “This has to do with the king wanting you to find out who set the captives free, doesn’t it?” When Cyprian nodded, he smiled grimly. “Thought so. So, you’re going to tell King Corynth that you figured out it was me, and had to kill me?” Again, Cyprian nodded.
Briley glanced between the two. “Can someone fill me in, please? I have no idea what’s going on.”
Catnip huffed, as if in agreement.
“I’ll explain everything later,” Roscoe promised. “But, right now, it might be safer if we went to the cabin—”
Cyprian shook his head, slicing his hand across his throat. Roscoe clamped his mouth shut. Cyprian sighed and rolled his eyes at his misinterpretation. “The l-less people know, know about this, the better. I w-want him to, um, to, to stay with you.”
