The Kingdom of Liars

by Nick Martell

  “For?”

  “For everything. I’m sorry I don’t remember you and therefore didn’t contact you at all for all those years.”

  She folded her arms, clearly expecting more.

  “It’s been a struggle to survive since my father died. My life was destroyed in a day; everyone seemed to turn against us—especially after the riots in Kingman Keep. It never occurred to me to think anyone else that didn’t share a last name with me was affected—that anyone was worried about us or wanted to find us. I know that doesn’t explain why I don’t remember anything about you… but I’m willing to start over if you are. I’m not sure you’ll like who I am or can be around someone you thought a friend when they can’t remember you, but if you’re up for it, so am I.”

  Her expression changed; she blushed and avoided my gaze. “I… I think I owe you an apology, too. I shouldn’t have hit you. Your comments caught me off guard and I reacted badly. I thought time had healed those wounds, but in the end I was once again an insecure eight-year-old girl who thought she had been abandoned. I am very embarrassed, to say the least.”

  “We all have our moments.”

  “Yes, we do.” The girl in red hit her cheeks lightly, regaining some of her composure. “Anyway, would you like to go somewhere more private and begin anew? My duties here are nearly over, and there’s a lot to talk about after ten years.”

  “I would love to, but after what just happened with Trey, I—”

  “Oh my God, I am such a selfish prick. I completely forgot, and—”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Really. But I need to go deal with things. We’ll talk another time.”

  “Yes. Go. Another time.”

  After giving me a quick, awkward hug, she left me and returned to the Fabricator auction. It was only after she was out of sight that I realized I never got her name or really had any idea who she was. Just like the rebel woman.

  It was beginning to become clear to me that something had happened to my memories. But why was I only noticing it now? Had it happened recently? Or had it happened a long time ago? Or was I just being conned by someone? Two in one day couldn’t be coincidence… could it?

  I didn’t know.

  Regardless of how much my heart ached for Trey, there was nothing I could do to help him until he had time to grieve. But there was something I could do, and it meant not squandering an opportunity Jamal had always been envious of.

  It was time I paid Gwen and High Noble Charles Domet a visit in the asylum.

  THE REGRETFUL MAN

  “You need a bath,” Gwen said. “I could save the water for you if you want.”

  I shook my head as I stood in the door to one of the inmates’ rooms, watching my sister wash a fully grown man with a sponge and a bucket of water. The man was sitting in the middle of a ring of candles, focused on making sure no drops of water put the flames out. Which seemed unnecessary, as there were candles on every surface of the room, from the floor to the desk to the bed. And where there was no candle, dried wax was in its place.

  “It’s been a long day,” I said.

  “Who was it this time? Advocators? Wardens? Evokers?” Gwen looked down at her patient. “Blackwell, raise your arm, please.”

  The man did exactly as he was told, eyes fixed on his candles.

  “Rebels,” I said.

  She looked up at me, sponge in one hand, holding Blackwell’s with the other. “Rebels? Where?”

  “They attacked the Militia Quarter. Jamal and I got caught in the cross fire. I’d tell you which cuts and bruises were from last night and which were from today, but I don’t really know… Jamal is dead. They killed him.”

  In shock, Gwen dropped Blackwell’s hand and it fell into the water. The splash extinguished a few of the candles and sent the man into a panic. “My light! Oh, God. They’ll come for me if it’s dark.” With no warning, his hands became gauntlets of fire, making Gwen swear and jump back as he lifted one shaking hand and held it over the wick of each candle in turn until it ignited.

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” Gwen muttered as she dried and dressed Blackwell. After she was out of the room and the door was locked behind her, she had a flurry of questions: “Rebels? Is that what that black smoke across the river is from? My employer said the noble they were executing for Kingman Day got out and had caused a scene. Are you well? Are Lyon, Angelo, and Trey safe? Did you see the rebels in person? Did you fight them? Wait. You went to Kingman Day! What were you thinking after what happened last year?”

  “Angelo is safe—frantic but safe. Haven’t heard from Lyon, but Angelo said he was worried but well. Trey is… I don’t know how he is. I told him what had happened and he… he… he snapped.” The tears wouldn’t come. No matter how much they ought to have. “I failed him. I should have protected Jamal from them… As for why they did it or what they were after… I have no idea. It seemed like they just wanted to kill people.”

  Gwen drew her scarf up over her mouth, a habit she’d had for years, muffling every word that followed. “I didn’t expect them to attack the city. I thought the king would’ve dealt with them by now.”

  “He’s had seven years to deal with them after they annexed Naverre. Their numbers are increasing and they’re running wild in the countryside. I’m not surprised they got into Hollow. I just didn’t think it would be today.”

  “Do you…,” she began, hesitating. “Do you think Scales will start a conscription?”

  “After one attack on the East Side? Doubtful. They don’t know enough about them: not who the Rebel Emperor is, how many of them there are, where they’re located aside from Naverre and the encampment near the walls, or even what their goals are. It would be too soon for a conscription.”

  She let out a deep breath in relief. “Good. Good. So, not that I question your brotherly affection, but why are you here?”

  “Charles Domet.”

  A raised eyebrow. “What about him?”

  “I want the job.”

  “No fucking way. You actually want the job?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yes.”

  She was shocked, beyond being able to hide it on her face. After a few heartbeats her shock turned into acceptance… and I had the cold shock of realizing I knew nothing about this job except for the pay—and that I hoped Domet might teach me to use Fabrications.

  “Then you should talk to him about it.” She looked me up and down again. “Maybe tomorrow, after you’ve had—”

  “No. I should do this tonight.”

  “Why?” she asked. “You must be exhausted after what happened. Don’t you need to rest?”

  I didn’t know how to tell her the truth. That what had happened in the Militia Quarter and graveyard had changed me. That I was scared more people I cared about would get hurt. That I wouldn’t be able to rest until I knew I could protect my family. I had already lost Jamal, and maybe Trey; I couldn’t lose anyone else. No matter how badly my body screamed for a reprieve, I had to keep moving forward. So I lied.

  “I need something to focus on,” I said. “The worst thing I can do is sit in my room alone thinking about Jamal. It’ll only make his death… his death harder to accept. This way I’m productive.”

  “Michael, I don’t—”

  I put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I’m fine, I promise.”

  I didn’t lie to Gwen, and she didn’t lie to me. It had been that way since our father was executed. So, despite the obvious signs that should have shown her I was anything but fine, she accepted my truth.

  Love was blinding sometimes.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him tonight,” she conceded. “His paperwork would have to be completed before he left anyway. You would be able to rest while that was filled out.”

  “Then there’s no harm.” I made a sweeping gesture. “Lead the way.”

  The asylum was one of my least favorite places. I hated how the walls seemed to close in on us the further we made our way i
nward, twisting and contorting as the slabs of stone it was built around became more and more distorted. It was like being in an underground dungeon. The eerie scratching didn’t help either. When my mother had come here, I’d thought an asylum would be filled with moaning or screaming or noise. But this one wasn’t, and it always made me more paranoid to be in it—as if one of the doors would open and I’d be dragged into a room and be a silent prisoner here forever.

  It wasn’t long before Gwen stopped in front of a metal door with the number 27 engraved on it.

  “First,” she said, and she emphasized each point by holding up a finger, “you know Domet is rich. No one knows how or why. Almost all of the nobility have debts to him, and if they don’t currently, they did in the past. Second, being here has had no effect on his social power or presence in the Hollow Court. Someone will likely host a party for him when he’s released. Lastly, he’s an alcoholic. You can’t stop him from drinking—just make sure he doesn’t die.”

  “Is that why he’s in here?” I asked. “I didn’t think the asylum dealt with addiction.”

  “It doesn’t. But it’s the only explanation I ever found for his stay.”

  Gwen reached for the key ring that hung from her belt, picked out one that resembled canine teeth, inserted it, and then opened the door with a loud crunching of tumblers. There was a flash of light, and I looked away until my eyes adjusted, and began to understand who and what Charles Domet was. His room was beyond elegant, with a plush white carpet, a large feather bed, and a cabinet stocked well enough to rival most bars in the city. The light that had caught me off guard came through a large window directly in the middle of the wall. It was the first window I’d seen in the asylum.

  Charles Domet sat in a big pink chair reading a book with a half-empty bottle of rum and a wolf’s-head cane at his side. He had the refined look of a High Noble, the build of a farmer, and a breathtakingly fierce gaze. He set his book aside with a snap. “Gwen, darling, how are you today? Who have you brought with you?”

  She curtsied to him. “I’m doing well, High Noble Domet. This is my brother Michael.”

  He grabbed his cane, levered himself up, and limped closer to us, favoring his right leg. We were of equal height, yet he seemed to overshadow me with his presence alone. “An honor, Michael Kingman. And if will you excuse my bluntness, what brings you to see me today?”

  My sister answered for me. “He’s here about being your companion once you leave the asylum, High Noble Domet.”

  “Excellent! No offense, my dearest, but I was getting quite bored of the atmosphere in here. And it’s a little cold, or is that just me?”

  “It is cold, High Noble Domet. The weather has brought greatcoats back into style.”

  Domet put a hand on my sister’s shoulder. “Much obliged for the tip. But, Gwen, my dear, they will follow my fashions. Not the reverse. Michael, let us be off. There is plenty I want to do with my newfound freedom.”

  Elegantly, Domet sidestepped us and left the room. Gwen and I followed, caught off guard by his sudden departure.

  “High Noble Domet!” my sister exclaimed. “I haven’t explained my brother’s duties yet.”

  He didn’t even glance back. “No need, my darling. I’ve done this before, I will explain on the way. He can always check with you later. Come along, Michael, we are very, very late already.”

  “What about the paperwork? Or your things? What should I do with them?”

  High Noble Domet flicked Gwen a gold sun. “Handle it for me. I’ll send the staff a crate of wine as an apology for my sudden departure. And leave the things where they are: Who knows when I’ll need another vacation?”

  I glanced at my sister. She mouthed an apology and shooed me after him, so I followed Domet out of the asylum. He threw money at anyone who questioned what he was doing, destroying the asylum’s rigorous safety procedures without care. Once we were outside, he gripped the sides of his coat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Smell that, Michael? It’s fish guts, sulfur, and bad perfume. Hollow still stinks, just as I remembered. Except for the sulfur—it wasn’t as strong when I was younger.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I had expected him to say the city smelt like freedom or berries or something nice, not to be truthful about it. From his reputation, he didn’t sound like the honest type. “Are you going to tell me what the terms of my employment are?”

  “No,” he declared, and headed for the Upper Quarter. With no other option, I followed.

  We walked in an even silence, which meant he never shut up and I never spoke. Domet found all manner of topics intriguing and was perfectly capable of carrying the conversation all by himself. He discussed politics, religion, and even how he was thinking about creating his own brand of wine. Frequently throughout the walk he would take a flask out from his jacket and drink from it until his breath turned pungently sour.

  Before we reached the Upper Quarter, he forced a flower stand to open as I waited a few paces away beside a scarred cobbler fixing a pair of shoes. Domet must have examined every single flower, asking the florist to add one type to his bouquet and then asking him to remove it moments later. It took so long I could’ve asked the cobbler to deal with my torn-up boots. I was close to falling asleep by the time Domet made his choice. He set off again with a bouquet of Moon’s Tears and morning glories—the sunrise and sunset flowers.

  “What are those for?” I asked. “Are they for a lady?”

  My question was met with a chuckle. “Not a lady, the lady.”

  Any of my other questions after that were met with a curt response. As we passed through the gates to the Upper Quarter—the Advocators who guarded them barely noticing I was with Domet—I realized it had been years since I was last there. Unlike other parts of the city, which still showed the damage from the Gunpowder War of a quarter century ago and the scars from weekly moon-fall, the Upper Quarter was immaculate. The air tasted sweet, the buildings were uniform, and the cobblestone pathways were smooth compared to the sharp stone that filled the rest of the city. A constant reminder that they were distinct from the other parts of the city. Seemingly superior.

  As we approached the city walls, Domet led me down an alley and into a courtyard that held the shrine of Patron Victoria. Tucked away between tall buildings, it was a green and mossy nook in a stone-and-brick jungle. At the heart of it stood a patchwork temple on a small island surrounded by murky water, with a single marble walkway leading out to it. I had never seen one of her shrines so beautifully preserved before. They were usually broken-down and decrepit, much like the elderly followers Patron Victoria seemed to attract.

  Domet stopped before crossing the bridge, seeing a pair of delicate silver sandals on the marble. “It seems the Lady already has a visitor.”

  “So?”

  He glanced at me, the lines in his face deepening into a frown. “So we must wait for them to finish. It’s unlucky for both parties to interrupt another’s time with Patron Victoria.”

  “But it’s fine to take a flask into the shrine?”

  Domet took the flask out of his pocket and gulped down whatever remained. Afterward his lips were glistening. Shaking the flask, he said, “There. Done. No more.”

  “Are you ever going to explain why we’re here or what I have to do with you for this job?”

  “I suppose I should explain. You will visit me at my house in the Upper Quarter—the redbrick one opposite Conqueror Fountain with amaranth in front of it—every day for the next month and check I’ve not died with a bottle in my mouth. I’ll give you your five suns every day for that. Easy money.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  “That’s it,” he reaffirmed.

  “Why not tell me that in the asylum?”

  Domet touched his hand against his chin. “I suppose I wanted some company. You can leave if you wish.” He rummaged in his pockets until he’d pulled out five gold suns and handed them to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael Kingman.
Show up whenever, I’ll either be drinking or sleeping.”

  I weighed the coins in my hand. It was so much, and for doing so little. There must’ve been a catch. I just couldn’t see it, lost within the con he was ensnaring me in. But, tempted as I was just to walk away, I needed more than money from him. “You’re a Fabricator, right?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to learn.”

  Domet rolled his eyes. “Join one of the High Noble Fabricator armies.”

  “I can’t… I tried to join a few of them and they all rejected me,” I lied. “They all claimed the king would have their heads if they helped a Kingman learn how to use Fabrications. But you’re Charles Domet. No one tells you what to do… even the king.”

  That elicited a smile from him. “You actually tried to join some of the armies? Interesting. I didn’t quite expect that.”

  “Are you that surprised? My brother joined Scales despite being a Kingman.”

  “Yes,” Domet said, “but the nobility didn’t give him an option. They needed a dog on a chain to show the commoners no one was above justice. I would’ve thought you to be too proud to seek out help from the nobility.”

  “I do what I must.”

  “Enlighten me: Why do you want to learn? Magic isn’t quite what the stories claim, you know. One mistake, and you can become a Forgotten. The price is rarely worth the payoff, when there are so many better ways to get what you want.”

  “I’m aware,” I said. “But I don’t have any other choice. With everything that’s going on in the city, I need to know how to protect my family.” I thought of the rebel woman specifically. “Whatever the cost.”

  “Do you mean that, truly?” he said quickly. “Whatever the cost? What about attacking your adversaries before they could strike against you? Would you go that far to protect those you cared about? If so, we can make a deal, Michael. A favor for a favor.”

  My face felt flushed. I had worked so hard to ensure I was in debt to as few people as possible… and now I was considering entering an agreement with High Noble Charles Domet, a behemoth even among the other High Nobles. But I had to try for my family. And if it didn’t work, I’d have done everything I could. Jamal would be proud of me then. “What do you want?”