A Dirge for Princes

by Morgan Rice

  Endi looked around for Sophia, and she was already moving forward, a knife in her hand. This wasn’t a delicate knife like the one Rika had used. This was longer, and obviously designed for killing. Endi hadn’t expected that. He’d thought that she was the sister who wasn’t interested in fighting. He’d thought that this would be easy.

  “Careful,” he yelled, although he wasn’t sure who he was warning. His eyes found Rika as she lay on the ground, stiller than she should have been, a gash on her head spilling blood onto the earth around her.

  Both Bjornen and Sophia seemed to react to his warning, although the soldier moved first. He swung his axe at Sophia again, and again, she barely managed to dodge. The cat, Sienne, leapt into the gap, tearing at Bjornen’s legs so that the big man cried out.

  Endi drew his sword. It was a long, slender thing that he was sure Hans would have laughed at, especially since he’d seen Endi trying to use it on the training grounds. Even so, Endi advanced.

  It would only take one thrust to end this, plunging it deep into the forest cat, or even just driving it through Sophia’s throat. If he did that, this would be done with, and the threat Sophia represented to Ishjemme would be gone. He would be able to contact his friend across the water, and he had no doubt that she would be grateful.

  Endi started to pad forward, waiting for his moment. He would have to do this quickly and cleanly, before Sophia could use her power to shout for her sister. Put like that, it was obvious that he would have to kill her and hope that Bjornen could hold off the forest cat long enough. He crept around behind Sophia, looking for the best angle from which to strike.

  Then he heard the groan, and saw Rika raise her head. It was both brave and incredibly inconvenient, all at once. It was bad enough that his sister was watching a member of Ishjemme’s army attacking Sophia. That could be put down to the dukedom’s many factions. If Rika saw Endi strike Sophia down, there would be no disguising his role in this. There would only be one option, and Endi had no wish to murder his sister. He wouldn’t do it.

  Perhaps he could delay? No one thought he was a great fighter. Maybe if he left Bjornen alone, the big man might be able to finish this, in spite of the fact that Sophia was holding her own in the fight, with the aid of her cat. Even as Endi watched, she stabbed Bjornen again, but she still had to scramble back as he struck at her once more.

  Then Endi heard the one sound he’d been hoping to avoid in this.

  “Don’t worry, Sophia, I’m coming!”

  Jan charged into view like some avenging knight from legend. Endi found himself wondering what his brother was doing there at all. Maybe Oli had told him that Sophia was going for a walk and he had thought to join them. Maybe he was even jealous that Endi was spending time around Sophia. Endi might have laughed at that, except that Jan was a decent fighter, and his presence narrowed the options down considerably.

  Endi stepped forward and stabbed Bjornen through the chest. The lunge was clumsy, but the point was sharp, going in through the lung easily enough. Bjornen turned to Endi, looking at him with a mixture of anger and betrayal that Endi would have found faintly amusing if it hadn’t all been so serious.

  “But why?” he began. “You said that—”

  Endi pulled out the sword and cut his throat before he could say more. The big man seemed even more shocked by that than he had by the thrust to the chest. He stared at Endi for a second or two before toppling forward like a falling tree.

  In the seconds that followed, things were chaotic. The forest cat was still growling and hissing, while Sophia was trying to calm it. Endi could have killed her then, if it wouldn’t have meant having to kill his siblings too. Jan seemed faintly disappointed, as if Endi had stolen his big moment by finishing off the would-be assassin before he could get there. Rika got to her feet unsteadily, the wound on her head still bleeding.

  “We need to get you to a healer,” Sophia said. “Maybe my sister could do something.”

  The best thing they both could have done was die before they got there. As it was, Endi had just wasted his best opportunity to finish this. He would need to find another, or this was only going to get worse. As it was, Milady d’Angelica was not going to be pleased.

  Maybe she was having better luck when it came to containing this situation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Emeline stood tied against the iron post, trying not to show any of the terror that she felt. She didn’t struggle and throw herself against the ropes, but that was only because she could feel how tight they were, and she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Beside her, Cora wasn’t so stoic about it. She wrenched at the ropes, as if she might break free; as if she might suddenly have a way through the mass of the villagers who had gathered to watch.

  Emeline’s approach was simpler: in her mind she shouted with all the strength of her power, throwing it out into the world and hoping that there would be someone there to listen.

  Help us, please! They’re going to burn us!

  “You are evil things,” the priestess who had condemned them said as she stood before them. “And you must be purified of that evil, but the Masked Goddess is not without mercy. Repent your sins, beg for forgiveness, and it will be the strangling rope for you rather than the fire.”

  A part of Emeline wanted to do it. Death by fire was the most horrific way to lose a life she could think of. Just the thought of it made her want to scream and beg. She could see the faces in the crowd though. Parents had brought their children to watch the “witches” burn. Villagers had gathered in numbers Emeline could barely count.

  “You want that, don’t you?” Emeline said. “You want me to tell you that what you’re doing is right. You want me to tell everyone watching that I’m an evil thing. Well, I’m not. I’m just a person like all of you, and you’re about to…” Her voice caught. “You’re about to burn me to death.”

  The priestess nodded. “So be it.”

  Please, if you can hear, they’re going to burn us!

  Emeline threw the words out again as the villagers around them started to stack wood around her feet. Kindling at the edges, bigger pieces toward the center, moving with a surety that said they’d done this before. There was something ritualistic about it, the same reverence there that might have been present for a marriage, or a funeral.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Cora called out to the people there. “You’re standing by and watching while they murder us!”

  Emeline admired her bravery, but her own focus was on her power. She knew the townsfolk weren’t going to stop, weren’t going to change their minds about those with talents. All she could do was call out in ways that went beyond silence, hoping that Stonehome was truly as close as people thought.

  And that they cared.

  What if they didn’t? What if they heard and they were too afraid to come, or too callous? What if they saw no need to help a stranger? Even as Emeline watched, one of the villagers stepped forward with a burning taper, touching it to the edge of the kindling the others had stacked there.

  “Please don’t,” Emeline found herself saying. She could feel the tears stinging her eyes now, and though she wanted to pretend that it was the smoke rising up from the not quite dry wood, she knew that wasn’t the truth.

  “It will be all right,” Cora called over to her. “It will be all right, Emeline.”

  It sounded as though she was trying to convince herself as much as Emeline. Emeline didn’t need her powers to feel the fear there. She could hear it in every syllable as the flames started to catch.

  The crowd was jeering now, the pretense of reverence or seriousness long gone. They were enjoying this, reveling in Emeline’s and Cora’s terror as the first flickers of orange caught on the wood, and grew, building around the edges.

  “Praise the Masked Goddess!” the priestess called out. “Who gives us the power to fight against the tainted and the impure! Who gave these into our hands!”

  Smoke was rising faster now fro
m the pyre, growing in billowing clouds that made Emeline cough and want to retch as it invaded her lungs. Would the smoke be enough to kill her? Emeline had heard of it happening, when houses had burned back in the city, and once when a butcher had been trapped in his own smokehouse. Smoke took away the space that air needed, it took away the senses…

  Maybe it would even be better to die like that. Better a quick fall into unconsciousness than the slow agony of the fire. Even so, Emeline fought to breathe, fought to keep crying out with her powers, fought for any chance at life.

  “Help us!” she called out, not even bothering with silence now. “Please!”

  She could feel heat building behind her, the iron post heating like a lump of metal in a blacksmith’s forge. The heat started as simple warmth, then built into something uncomfortable, and continued to grow.

  Beside Emeline, she heard Cora start to whimper with the pain, then cry with it. She cried out herself, the heat too great to do anything else, the ropes leaving no way to get away. She strained to their fullest extent, and still the heat was too much. Worse, the flames were getting closer.

  Then she saw the figures rushing into the square, and she knew her mental screams for help hadn’t been in vain.

  They were as brightly colored as any circus or group of players, unrestricted by the sumptuary laws of the rest of the kingdom. They rushed and they bounded, leapt and ran, not so much an army as a charging group of individuals, no two clothed, or armed, the same way. Only their battle cry was unified, ringing out in the mind in a way that had nothing to do with mouths or air.

  For Stonehome!

  The townsfolk turned as the newcomers ran in, and Emeline heard their screams even above her own. Some screamed in terror, some in anger, more in pain as swords sliced into them, pistols fired. In a matter of seconds, the heart of Strand was in chaos, with people fighting to get clear, or trying to fight the newcomers.

  The ones who did that died.

  Some of those who charged into the square were faster or stronger than their frames might have suggested. Some seemed to be moving out of the way of blows with the kind of certainty that came from knowing what their opponent would try next. A couple seemed to be able to make their opponents turn to run, or freeze in place with confusion. They scythed into the waiting townsfolk, cutting through them as they tried to fight back.

  Cora might have felt more pity for them if she hadn’t been burning to death at their hands.

  The pain of the iron post had built into agony now, and she screamed until she was hoarse with screaming, the acrid smoke that rose from the wood filling her mouth with every breath. She couldn’t see half of what was happening now, could barely manage to keep her eyes from closing in what Emeline knew would be the last time she ever did it. She couldn’t hear Cora anymore.

  Around her, the battle continued, but Emeline was starting to suspect that their rescuers wouldn’t reach them in time. She coughed and couldn’t take the next breath because of the smoke, couldn’t even get enough air to scream.

  Have faith, sister, we’re coming for you.

  Albeit slower than we intended.

  The voices sounded in her mind, distinct in the subtle ways that only thoughts could be. The first was a woman’s, sharp-edged, but with a hint of humor to it. The second was a man’s with a sense of reassurance that cut through even the pain.

  Emeline couldn’t hold on any longer, though; she didn’t have the strength. She could feel herself slipping down toward unconsciousness, the darkness rising up to claim her…

  Then there were hands pulling her away from the pyre, fingers pulling the ropes from her. She felt her weight being taken, tried to walk, and staggered. Someone laid her down on ground that seemed almost icy cold after the agonizing heat of the fire.

  “Tabor, come here, we need a healer!” a woman’s voice called.

  “I have the other,” a man said.

  Emeline recognized them as the ones who had spoken in her mind. She felt someone pulling the back of her dress away, and she screamed with the pain of it, because it felt as though they were taking half her skin with it.

  “Cora,” she managed. “Help Cora.”

  “Cora is the one tied beside you?” the woman’s voice asked. “Don’t worry, your normal pet is safe.”

  “Asha, this isn’t the time,” the man’s voice said. “Tabor, quickly now.”

  Emeline felt hands touching her back, and she screamed at the touch, but she felt the power there. She screamed as it flowed through her, but she could feel her skin knitting beneath it, the soot and smoke in her lungs rising in the form of bile. Emeline rose to her knees, throwing up the vileness of it, managing to find the strength to look around her.

  The square was emptier now than it had been. The townsfolk were either dead or had fled into their homes. Two of the three priestesses lay dead on the ground, while the third stood held between two of the Stonehomers. Behind Emeline, the pyres were no more than embers.

  Cora was nearby, looking as weak as Emeline felt, but she was at least alive. An exhausted-looking man Emeline took to be the healer was just moving away from her. A man and a woman stood closer. The man was dark-skinned and tall, bearded but bald, broad-shouldered beneath a long coat and dark tunic. He carried a sword that looked more like a butcher’s cleaver than a fencing weapon, along with a blunderbuss that he held one-handed.

  The woman wore britches like a man, along with a long coat and broad-brimmed hat complete with a peacock feather in the band. She had pistols crossed in her belt, and a slender sword that seemed designed for dancing around defenses.

  “Good,” she said, “you’re back to us. Tell me, would you like to kill the bitch who hunted you?”

  Emeline shook her head. She didn’t want to kill anyone now, not even the priestess. She just wanted time and space to recover. She just wanted—

  Fast as a snake, the woman drew one of the pistols and fired, shooting the priestess while barely looking. She waited for the powder smoke to clear before she put it back in her belt.

  “Fair enough,” she said, as the priestess collapsed. “But I find that if a thing needs doing, there’s no point being squeamish. I’m Asha. This is Vincente. We heard you calling for help.”

  “Thank you,” Emeline said. She managed to push herself to her feet. “I’m Emeline. This is Cora. Thank you all so much.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Vincente said. “You’re one of us, and we help our own.”

  “We help each other,” Asha said. She looked around the wreckage of the town. “We should leave. A few townsfolk are one thing, but someone will send for a regiment eventually.”

  “They’ll wait awhile with the war,” Vincente said. “Still, I’d rather be home.”

  There were so many people there. So many people like Emeline. It was hard to believe that she’d finally found the people of Stonehome.

  “It’s time for us to go,” Asha said, taking her arm. “You’re one of us now. Welcome to the family.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Sebastian hurried through the palace, making for his rooms at top speed, determined to keep ahead of whoever his mother would send after him. He suspected that she would send servants first, or come herself, and that would at least buy him a little time before he found himself faced with guards determined to keep him there.

  Even so, he didn’t dawdle. There was no time to change clothes, only to grab a few more and throw them in a bag. No time to sort through his belongings for what he most wanted, only time to grab a sword, a pistol, coin, and a thick cloak. Even that seemed to take too much time. How long would it be before his mother ordered the doors barred?

  How long would it be before Sebastian had to fight his way to Sophia?

  That was what it would come to, if they tried to stop him. He would fight his way through, because he wasn’t going to let anything keep him from Sophia again. She was alive, and she wanted him with her, so Sebastian was going to make it to her side, wh
atever it took. If he had to fight his way through an entire regiment of the royal army, he would.

  It was better to be out of the palace before it came to that, though.

  Sebastian hurried through the halls, making it to the main entrance while around him servants stared at him, obviously trying to work out if they should try to stop him. Behind him, Sebastian heard shouts, and he looked back to see guards rushing forward from the building, moving too slowly to ever hope to stop him. Sebastian sprinted forward, down toward the city.

  A wave of cheering hit him as he did it, coming from all sides, surrounding him and almost overwhelming him. The shock of it was like the slap of the real sea, and it took Sebastian a moment to remember that there were people out there who had been waiting hours for him to emerge with his bride on his arm, ready to process in a display of royal pageantry. The royal carriage sat waiting for them, an elegantly carved thing that looked more like a table ornament than a conveyance. Sebastian ran for it, leaping into it while the carriage driver looked at him in shock.

  “Drive!” Sebastian yelled. “Get me to the docks as fast as you can, or my mother will want to know why!”

  That choice of threat would probably protect the man a little from any repercussions. After all, the Dowager expected people to follow her orders. Certainly, the carriage driver didn’t question them now. He whipped his team of horses forward, and the great carriage rumbled into motion.

  Around it, people continued to cheer, perhaps because they couldn’t see that it was just Sebastian in the carriage. Maybe that was what the monarchy was: a big colorful shell for people to cheer, and where it didn’t really matter who sat within.

  Or perhaps not, because now it seemed that there were some boos mixed in with the cheers, the rumors about what was happening traveling faster than the carriage could. Sebastian could feel people pressing up against the carriage now, wanting to get closer and see what was happening. Looking back, he thought he could see the shapes of horsemen, pushing forward, using their riding crops to force back the crowd. He made a decision.