The Kingdom of Liars

by Nick Martell

  “Don’t play me for a fool. People become Mercenaries for one of three reasons,” Dark said. “Money. Those are usually your retired knights or corrupt members of Scales. Respect. But people who are seeking that don’t stride up to a Mercenary with their hands up. So. You want to get away with murder.”

  “That was more obvious than I wanted it to be,” Trey said, lowering his hands.

  “Who do you want dead?”

  I held my breath, hoping Trey wouldn’t say my name.

  “The rebel who killed my brother.”

  “And they are?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t have a name? A description? Position in the army? Anything at all? Because if you haven’t realized, there are thousands of rebels outside those walls right now.”

  “I don’t have many specifics.”

  “Do you know anyone that does?” Dark asked.

  “Yes,” Trey snapped. “But I can’t ask him.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I—”

  “Do you even know what being a Mercenary’s apprentice entails? How badly do you want to kill this person that you’re willing to give up your freedom?”

  “I thought Mercenaries could do whatever they wanted.”

  “Full-fledged Mercenaries can, not apprentices. You’d have to pass an examination by Orbis Company before you’d be allowed to leave my side. And we have high standards. Can’t just have any random fool out there operating under our name.”

  Trey hesitated, fists clenched. “How long would it take until I was a proper Mercenary?”

  “Ten years if you are lucky. A lifetime if you aren’t.”

  That was a longer sentence of servitude than joining a High Noble Fabricator army.

  “Would you help me kill my target before I became your apprentice?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Dark replied. “But I don’t understand. You want to become my apprentice to kill the person who murdered your brother, yet you don’t know who was responsible. It seems bizarre for you to be coming to me before knowing… oh, who do you blame for murdering your brother?”

  Sometimes silence said more than words, so Trey didn’t respond, staring into Dark’s eyes instead.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Dark said. “You don’t want my help to kill the rebel responsible. You want to kill the Emperor and crush the rebellion as revenge. Am I right?”

  “They took my brother’s future away. It’s only fair I take theirs.”

  “You’re either extremely stupid or suicidal. Wait for the trial. I won’t take on an apprentice who’s just going to throw his life away to get revenge. I’d get nothing from you. You’d be worthless to me—”

  A blinding light exploded from Trey’s arms as he screamed, “I’m not worthless!” It was brighter than it had been in Margaux Keep. He’d been training… but how many memories had he sacrificed getting to this point?

  Dark wasn’t as impressed. “You’re a Light Fabricator. A barely trained, unrefined one. Who taught you?”

  Trey took a breath and the light evaporated from his arms like steam rising. “Self-taught. But I’ve been working with the Royal Fabricator Master for a few days.”

  “He’s an imbecile,” Dark said. “Has he even taught you how to identify when people are infected with Dark Fabrications? Or how to manifest your light into objects?”

  “Not yet. But you could. Take me on as your apprentice. Teach me. I’m a Light Fabricator, a Throne Seeker, and could be engaged to a Low Noble by the end of the week if I wanted to be. I’m valuable.”

  Dark pointed upward. Black tendrils were hanging over Trey, close enough to brush against his cheek. They squirmed like worms in the dirt. “Your position in Hollow means nothing to me, and if you didn’t even notice those Darkness Fabrications—which you have a natural advantage over—you’re useless to me,” Dark said as he turned away. “Leave.”

  “Not until you take me on as your apprentice.”

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Black tendrils grabbed Trey’s ankles, yanked him to the ground, and began to pull him away. He rolled onto his back, covered his hand in light, and punched anything within reach. They dispersed like spilled ink. But no matter how many he destroyed, more swarmed him.

  “Name your price!” Trey shouted, holding his own.

  Dark faced Trey, and the tendrils stopped dragging him away. “That’s not something you should say to a Mercenary.”

  “Name. Your. Price.”

  The darkness seemed to dance around the Mercenary, a sickening smile on his face. “Would you kill anyone I chose if I promised to help you end the rebellion?”

  Trey’s restraints faded away and he climbed to his feet. “Yes.”

  “Even your mother?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Father?”

  “Left me when I was young. No idea who he is.”

  “I’m jealous. What I wouldn’t do to be free of my own.” A pause. “What about your best friend?”

  “My brother was all I had.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Dark cracked his knuckles. “We all have bonds that tie us.”

  “Not me.”

  “Then maybe I have use for you after all. Have you ever killed someone?”

  “I… I… It wasn’t… There was no…,” he stammered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  Trey had killed someone?

  “Do you regret it?” Dark asked. The shadows around him had started to recede, and the moonlight was brighter than it was before.

  “No,” he whispered. “I did what was needed to survive.”

  “If I gave you a gun, would you hesitate to pull the trigger and kill a stranger?”

  “Not if you promised to help me get revenge.”

  “Then let’s make a deal,” Dark declared with arms wide. “You lack refinement and potential for me to take you on as an apprentice right now, but I could use an assassin—one that can’t be traced back to me. If you do what I ask, I’ll kill the Emperor for you. And if you impress me, maybe I’ll even take you on as my apprentice and welcome you into a family that will never leave you.”

  “Who do you want dead?”

  Dark hesitated, glancing back toward me. “We’ll meet again after the Emperor’s trial. I’ll tell you then. No point in me doing anything if Hollow goes through with the execution.” Another pause. “And it’ll give you time to reconsider. Because if you join me, you’re with me for life. Is that truly what you want?”

  “I won’t reconsid—”

  “I’ll find you when it’s time,” Dark said as he snapped his fingers. “Now go away.”

  The black tendrils grabbed Trey’s back and yanked him away from Dark. There was no time for him to fight back before he was out of sight, though his curses could be heard until they faded into distant echoes.

  As soon as I knew Trey wasn’t within earshot or could see me, I slammed the door open and screamed, “What the fuck was that, Dark? How—”

  Dark put a finger gun to my forehead, his face expressionless. “Showing respect is clearly not one of your strengths, Michael.”

  “You’re about to turn one of my friends into your personal assassin.”

  “Murderer. Assassin. Two sides of the same coin.”

  “Rescind your deal with him.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Do you want to take his place? Would you kill to save him?”

  “I… I’m… Trey is… What are you truly after, Dark? Who are you scared of that you would create an assassin rather than kill them yourself?”

  Dark put his finger gun down. “Does it matter? You know what I want from you. Get it done.” He leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Or if you continue this line of questioning, maybe when I meet Trey again, I’ll put a bullet in his head. Thanks for giving me more leverage, Michael.”

  I fought back my temper and began to walk away, not wanting to provoke hi
m and put anyone else in harm’s way. I had learned more from him than I expected to, and walked away with my life. I didn’t want to test my luck any further tonight, especially when it was clear that there was still so much I didn’t know. Who would a Mercenary fear?

  Before I left the room, Dark said calmly, “And, Michael, don’t try to be clever. Do what I say.”

  I left him at that. On my way out of Kingman Keep, I wondered how I should feel about a Mercenary taking over my ancestral home… but I hadn’t called it home for years, and it didn’t truly matter if I was going to leave Hollow anyway. The thought that Trey might be so distraught he’d consider killing a stranger to get revenge was more concerning. How could I help someone that far gone—and would he even let me?

  My heart ached over lost friends, and long-lost homes all the same.

  THE REDEEMER

  I stretched back in my seat, hands interlocked, until my back and knuckles cracked. Piles of open diaries were spread across the table. I had arrived at the library early that morning to make the most of my time. I needed to figure out why Dark wanted The Journal of the Archmage, why he wanted to know about a painting my father did years ago, and why he had taken an interest in my family before we had met. My search was futile thus far, and I’d have to leave soon to see Domet before the third event began so I would have an idea what to expect.

  Gwen sat across from me, humming a lullaby to herself with her feet up on the table while she read a book about our ancestors. She had spotted me walking into the library and followed, choosing to read indoors instead of by the river as she usually did. I had tried to warn her that they wouldn’t let her in, but they did without even a question. It made me fume a little that she could slide in on my deal. She winked at me and said if only I had a little charm I’d understand.

  She’d been less smug back when all she did was cry.

  The room was silent except for the creaks in the wooden floors and Gwen’s humming. It was a peaceful serenity that I hadn’t experienced in a long time as I turned back to the entry I was reading.

  This war with New Dracon City has shown me how single-minded in medicine I was. No longer is it about sword wounds, missing limbs, or other easily treated injuries. No. Now they have bullets. Annoying little balls of iron that can kill people with a simple pull of a trigger. If they really wished to, they could arm every child in their city with these guns to repel us if we ever actually managed to get close. The way war is fought has changed, and we’re on the losing side. We stick to our beliefs as David Kingman and King Isaac develop more strategies to outmaneuver the New Dracon City guns, but if—

  “Where is the third event being held again?” Gwen asked.

  I didn’t look up. “Theater in the Upper Quarter. We’re watching a performance or something. I’m not sure.”

  Gwen nodded thoughtfully and returned to her own reading. Every time she turned a page, it sounded as if she were ripping it.

  —it weren’t for the fact we had Fabricators and they don’t—we would have already lost this war.

  Just this morning I treated a patient with a bullet lodged in her intestines. A slow, deadly injury. One of the worst places to get shot. We did what we could and removed the bullet, then cleaned and closed the wound. But I fear blood rot will—

  “Do you think the princess hates you for what our father did?”

  This time I looked up.

  She had never asked that question before. If my memory was correct, she had never mentioned the princess once since our father had been executed. “I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine, it’s not as if I’ve seen her more recently than you have. That probably answers your question. If she didn’t hate me, she would’ve reached out.”

  Another nod, as if she were in her own little world. I waited for her to ask another question, but she returned to her book and so I followed suit, returning to the journals.

  —take her, swiftly. We still don’t know what causes the infection. All our surgery tools were cleaned, so it must have been something else. Can it be the bullets themselves? There’s too much to learn and not enough time to do so amidst this war. Her name is Amanda Trask and I fear I am responsible for her death. Some days—

  “Do you think she might—”

  I snapped my book shut and put it down on the table. I was going to throw it at her if she didn’t get to her point already. “What do you really want to ask, Gwen?”

  She closed her book and put it down on the table. “You won’t like it.”

  “Try me.”

  Gwen didn’t respond at first. “If you’re serious about leaving Hollow, then we should talk about the Royals.”

  “What about them?”

  “What I’m trying to say is,” she mumbled, “we’re Kingman. We should consider who we’d be leaving in charge. Whether they are fit for the role. And whether we should do something about it if they’re not.”

  “Gwen, the whole point of leaving Hollow would be to get away from the Kingman legacy. You’re talking about wading straight into it.”

  Gwen groaned, twirled her hair, and leaned back in her chair. It squeaked loudly. “Never mind.”

  After a sigh, I picked up another journal and flipped to a random page. Before I could read a word, Gwen continued: “But would you seriously be alright with leaving Hollow if there was a chance Adreann could sit on the throne? You’ve only seen a fraction of what he’s capable of, and he was no better when we were younger. People just ignored it, myself included.”

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t be. But what could we do? The only way he wouldn’t be second in line for the throne is if the princess marries and has a child and he abdicates or is proven to be illegitimate.”

  “And none of those scenarios are likely. No one has ever tried to court the Princess, Adreann’s pride would never let him abdicate, and I doubt he’s illegitimate. He has the hair of the Royals.” She paused. “There is another option, but—”

  “Are you suggesting we kill him?”

  “Yes,” she declared.

  “Get that idea out of your head,” I said. “We’re Kingman, and we do not kill Royals regardless of how we feel about them or how unfit they are to rule.”

  “What if a Royal tried to kill me or Lyon?”

  I took her hand across the table and looked into her eyes. “If anyone ever threatened our family, I would do whatever was necessary to protect us. And if that were a Royal, the Kingman legacy would end with me once and for all.”

  “Why do you get to choose when it ends?”

  “Because,” I said, releasing her hand, “I’m your older brother, and I will protect you. Even if it’s from yourself.”

  Gwen cleared her throat, looked away from me, and then said, “So, uh, who was that woman Angelo saw you with?”

  “What woman?”

  “The one who brought you home a few nights ago.”

  “Naomi?” I asked.

  A shrug. “I don’t know her name. I just heard the gossip.”

  “That’s Naomi. There’s nothing romantic between us.”

  “There’s never anything romantic between you and any women you meet. I may masquerade as a boy to work in the forge, but at least I interact with people I’m attracted to. You don’t. And before you say Becca from the bakery, she doesn’t count. You always say you’re going to ask her father for permission to court her, but you never do.”

  Considering that women usually liked me before finding out I was a Kingman and then wanted nothing to do with me, my nonexistent love life wasn’t entirely my fault.

  “How about we support Lyon and his child before we worry about my love life?”

  “Deal,” Gwen said, a smile on her face and her attitude changed. “This means you’ll have to apologize to Lyon. Last I heard, he had banned you from interacting with Kayleigh or his child.”

  “It’s on my list of things to do before we leave Hollow. Along with getting the gun and finishing the Endless Waltz.”

&
nbsp; Gwen sat back down in her seat. “Good. Now, as much as I like talking to you, shouldn’t you be off to see Domet? I’m enjoying not having him in the asylum, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Shit. You’re right,” I said as I began to put the journals back on the shelves. “Do you want to come to the Emperor’s trial with me after the Endless Waltz is over? I’ve barely seen you lately and I miss you. For some reason.”

  “I’d love to,” she said. “I don’t enjoy watching Lyon execute people, but I can make an exception for the Emperor. He’s as wicked as the Royals.”

  With that, Gwen bid me farewell from the library as she returned to reading about our family. For once, Domet wasn’t waiting for me on the steps of his house and I had to enter it. As I made my way in—Dark’s envelope tucked into a journal I’d quietly borrowed from the library—and walked down the hallway, everything seemed to be too quiet. Something about the shadows seemed odd, a little reminiscent of how they looked around Dark.

  Domet was in his main room, a bottle of vodka at his side as he stared into the roaring fire in his hearth. “Clothes are on the table,” he said. “Respectable but a touch less formal this time. Gloves, too: it’ll be cold tonight.”

  As I stepped behind a screen to change, I said, “What’s the plan for tonight?”

  “A concert arranged by the College of Music. Everyone will be separated into small groups to encourage conversation. I’ve secured you a spot with High Noble Alexander Ryder and his wife, Alecia. Naomi Dexter, Ambassador Zain, and his servants will also be there. It should be an easy night for you. Most of the nobility are in favor of your return after your performance in the garden. Me advocating for you only reinforced your position. All you have to do is not fuck it up.”

  “Don’t sound so confident in me.”

  “I do have confidence in you, Michael. If I didn’t, I’d never have hired you. And soon, through our combined efforts, we’ll be one step closer to accomplishing our goal.”

  In the middle of buttoning up my trousers, I said, “Are you ever going to tell me what the plan is once we get to the king’s party?”