The Kingdom of Liars

by Nick Martell

  “Once we’ve secured your spot, I’ll tell you the plan. I don’t want to tempt fate.”

  “Give me something. I won’t keep stumbling into these events blind.”

  It was a half-truth. I needed more information if I was to find the gun that killed Davey Hollow as well—and I hoped the king might keep it in the same spot as his memories. Given that the Archmage stored a record of his life in the Hollow Library, it wasn’t impossible to think the king might not keep everything in the same place.

  Domet took a sip from his glass. “A record of his memories is most likely to be in his study in the Royal Tower, where he keeps everything that is precious to him. It’ll be hard to get to, but we’ll face that challenge once we’re there.”

  That sounded promising. “Any idea how he might record his memories?”

  “Most likely a journal. He may have used tattoos for the more intimate details, but no more. What kind of king wants to look in a mirror every morning and see the mistakes of his reign on his body?”

  “A competent king wouldn’t have many mistakes.”

  Domet finished his drink in a single gulp and rose from his seat. “There is no such thing as a competent king.” He drew his jacket close to his body. “Are you ready, Michael? Tonight we secure your invitation, and tomorrow we steal the truth from the king. Redemption is close.”

  MUSICIANS

  Shortly after arriving, Domet and I parted ways, each going to our respective parts of the theater to wait for the show to begin. We were late, which suited me fine, since I wouldn’t have to listen to the nobles talk about the rebellion, the assassin who had attempted to kill the prince, or the emperor. I’d heard enough after the hunt. Especially since the nobility’s primary concern was how they were going to divide up the city of Naverre and the land around it once the rebellion was over, and cared little of what had happened to the Militia Quarter or how many innocent people had been killed. They only cared about the noble deaths, and even then, only because it affected their precious lives.

  Instead of waiting in the entrance to see Kai or the girl in red and risk becoming engrossed in noble bullshit, I went straight to Alexander Ryder’s box, pulling at my collar and thinking what a waste formal wear was. People only ever wore these clothes to funerals, weddings, trials, or when they were pretending to be something they weren’t. I was ashamed that this time it was the latter option for me.

  Naomi plopped down in the plush seat next to me and smoothed her dress. I hated the way she snuck up on me, as if she could move soundlessly.

  “Stop picking at your clothes,” she said, feigning annoyance. “You look fine.”

  “I’d rather be able to breathe,” I said, tugging again at my collar.

  “You’re complaining about a collar to someone in a corset?”

  I stopped fidgeting and watched as other nobles filed into the seats below and gradually populated the other boxes. “How did seducing the prince go?”

  “Quite excellently. He played the charming and attentive prince very well and only attempted to kiss my cheek after we had spent the party together. He probably found a whore for the night, but I don’t care.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Whores? No, never. Whores don’t sit on thrones and bastards don’t inherit.”

  “What about love?”

  “What about it?” she asked sincerely. “No one with power marries for love. Not sure I’d want to be in love anyway. I’ve seen what it can do to people.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  “So is a broken heart.”

  Our conversation ended there as Ambassador Zain and his friends entered the box. As usual, Zain was the only one of the three who talked. They took their seats in the row behind us. Zain massaged my shoulders playfully as he said, “Michael! My friend, how have you been? I heard of your exploits in the hunt and wish I had been at your side. I’ve always wanted to see the legendary Kingman family in action.”

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t very glamorous, Ambassador.”

  “Death is rarely glamorous, my friend,” Zain said. “That’s why we have events like these: to balance out our bloodlust. Have you seen the star performer, Red, before?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve never even heard of her before. Everyone seems to be excited, though. Who is she?”

  Naomi said, “No one knows. She wears a gorgeous mask during all her performances and brings her own staff to wait on her. There are endless rumors about her identity. And the name? Well, that’s kind of obvious once you see her.”

  Ambassador Zain leaned toward us, elbows resting on the backs of the seats. “My favorite theory is that she’s a bastard born from the Hewitt Clan on the Gold Coast who defied her clan and ran away to Hollow in search of a better life. Now she wears a mask for her own safety in case one of the Hewitts ever wants to eliminate the blight on their holy clan.”

  “I heard a better one,” Naomi began. “Some say she grew up in Naverre, surviving the rebellion and the war that plagued the city. The rumors claim she was found, her hair stained with blood, singing ‘The Angels of Naverre’ until her throat was raw… years before the song was officially composed. The trauma left her unable to sing, but the moment she overcame her fears, she was reborn, and the song became her crowning achievement. Her mask is worn in memory of all those who died.”

  “Those all sound ridiculous,” I said. They were too romantic to be anything but lies.

  Zain laughed and slapped my back. “My friend! What is life without some humor and fun? I’d rather enjoy a harmless lie than live a boring truth. She’s probably an ordinary woman who fears showing her face and being dragged into the light. There are many people who don’t seek power.”

  “Many fools, that is,” Naomi muttered.

  “Few need it, and not everyone can have it, Savaii,” Zain declared, his golden eyes fixed on Naomi. Even his Skeleton and Azilian friend were staring at her. “But if you ever want more than this place can offer, let me know. You could be the most beautiful wife in Goldono and the envy of all my colleagues.”

  Excessive flattery was clearly the quickest way to Naomi’s heart. She looked steadily at the Ambassador, then said, “I’m honored, Ambassador, but regretfully I have my eyes on another.”

  “I understand, Savaii. If circumstances change, please do let me know.”

  Before Alexander Ryder and his wife joined us in the box, the flames in the lanterns around the theater were lowered, except for a few on the stage, as performers set up chairs and instruments toward the back of the stage. Two men, dressed in all black, took positions at either side of the stage, and after a flurry of preparations everyone else, bar the musicians, left the stage. A hush fell in the auditorium then as a woman in a flowing black dress and small white gloves stepped onto it. There was a ripple of delight and the audience broke into spontaneous applause. Upon her face was a scarlet mask, which flickered and glowed in the lantern light. Her auburn hair was carefully arranged to spill over the left side of her mask. Her shadow seemed to inhabit the stage as if she had been born on it. She held up a hand, and the applause died away.

  Who knew walking could excite everyone so much.

  “Welcome, distinguished members of Hollow Court and participants of the Endless Waltz,” she said, her soft voice carrying clearly throughout the theater. The men on both sides of her were mouthing words to themselves. “Thank you all for attending this performance tonight. Without all of you, this wouldn’t be possible. But enough tedious pleasantries: Let’s get to the reason you’re all here tonight.” She exhaled and it sent shivers up my spine. “ ‘The Angels of Naverre.’ ”

  She hit the first note and it was over for me. Mesmerized. She controlled the stage and held her audience absolutely rapt, counterpointing every rise and fall of the melody, sharing the pain that lingered in her voice. It wasn’t sweet or soft; rather, her voice was layered with suffering, and instead of shying away from that, she would highlight it and l
et us hear the roughness in her voice. She wasn’t trying to hide the imperfections; her talent lay in letting everyone hear her flaws and embrace them.

  Red drew us all into her song of love and hopelessness, her voice the needle that wove emotions into the tapestry of history. The audience was ensnared in her dream as Lyra, the hero of the song, found herself in her own personal nightmare, Red’s vibrato underlining her desolation as the city of Naverre crumbled around her. Capturing children who screamed, trying to shake their parents awake, and the innocent hiding underground, waiting for the explosions to end, more frightened of the silence than the noise. She belted out the chorus, oblivious to the pitch of her own voice, focusing solely on Lyra’s pain.

  As she neared the end of the song, her tone changed, becoming as limitless as the stars in the sky and as deep as darkness could be without moonlight. She sang without restraint, her passion and the roughness of her voice combining perfectly with the lyrics’ beauty and the musicians’ nimble fingers. Her auburn hair was coming unbound, strands of reddish brown escaping their careful arrangement. As she sang of the angels descending to cast their judgment on Naverre, her tone changed again, Lyra’s story began to unravel, and the audience was caught in the full awe and tragedy of the moment and Red’s soaring, astonishing finale.

  Then it was over. Red stood onstage, out of breath, her hair unbound. At some point in the finale she must have pulled out the clip. I didn’t even see it happen, lost within the world her voice created. The audience remained silent for a moment, many of them in tears. Then, as one, they came to life and surged to their feet, cheering and filling the theater with thunderous applause and sharp whistles.

  Ambassador Zain was on his feet behind me. “Bravo! Bravo! Encore! Encore!”

  Naomi wasn’t as impressed, but nonetheless she clapped for her. Slow and steady. “I’m surprised. After all that praise, I found her voice amateurish. The boy with the troupers lute I saw perform last month with my division was much better.” To no one’s surprise, the Skeleton and Azilian didn’t share their opinions, so she turned to me. “What did you think?”

  “It was fine.”

  I’m not sure why I chose to lie. Maybe my pride prevented me from admitting I’d been both transfixed and moved by her song. Maybe it was a desire to conform. Or maybe it was because the only person in the box who seemed to enjoy it as much as I did was the guy who cut out his servant’s tongue. It wasn’t the best company to have.

  “Thank you. You’re all so generous,” Red declared, a bouquet of Moon’s Tears in her hands. “I will return, but for now please enjoy the other performers from the college. They’re all remarkable individuals that I’m lucky to share a stage with.”

  As she took a final bow, the crowd overwhelmed her with one more wave of applause. Only when she was out of sight did Zain return to his seat. My skin felt hot and flushed and I tugged at the collar of my shirt. There seemed to be a haze of heat lingering over the audience.

  “I hope I enjoy the next performance more,” Naomi said.

  I had to get some air; the box was suffocating me. Or maybe it was the people in it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said, leaning toward Naomi. “I’m just going to get some fresh air.”

  After a pause, she said, “Enjoy.”

  I scooched past Naomi and out of the box, heading for an exit. The moment I stepped through the curtained doorway, I exhaled in relief. It was considerably more pleasant outside. Leaning against the stair railing, I stared up at the stars and seven major pieces of the shattered moon in the sky.

  I couldn’t help but think of my father… and of the days when he had been my hero.

  “Michael? Is that you?”

  I turned around and dread overcame me.

  Jean Lorenzo, Sirash’s dark-haired girlfriend, stood in front of me.

  THOSE WHO REMAIN

  There are these fleeting moments. Where even though I was eighteen years old, my mind regressed to that of a child, right before I was scolded by my mother. It was almost magical how certain people could do that to others. Lyon used to be a master of it, too.

  Jean Lorenzo was dressed simply, in a loose white dress that fell past her knees and simple copper studs in her ears, carrying a piccolo. “Michael? What’re you doing—”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” I stammered out.

  “What do you think it looks like?” she questioned. “Because I didn’t accuse you of anything. Where’s Sirash?”

  I felt cold. “You don’t know where he is?”

  “No,” she said. “I saw him after the Militia attack. Came to me saying he had to get him and Arjay out of there that night. Said he had a job that could get him the money he needed, but he’d need your help to do it. So, what happened, Michael? Where is he?”

  Dead. Alive. Missing. In prison. In hiding. I didn’t know which.

  All I knew was what a failure I was. I couldn’t protect anyone.

  “I have no idea,” I eventually told her when the silence became unbearable.

  “Were you not with him that night?” she asked, voice wavering.

  “I was. But Advocators found us, and I ran.”

  “You left him? What happened to the family looks after family nonsense you’ve been spouting ever since I met you?”

  “I didn’t have any other choice,” I muttered. I could feel the gaze of hundreds of eyes on me, as if my ancestors were all wondering how a child like me could ever take their place.

  Would I ever be anything but an impostor?

  Jean narrowed her eyes with one hand around her flute and another brushing against her side, ready to move if needed. “Why are you here, Michael? You came out of the Ryder family box, and the way you’re dressed…”

  “I’m a participant in the Endless Waltz.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “It’s a really long story.”

  “I’ve got time. I’m the last performer before Red sings again.”

  But I didn’t. Last thing I needed was someone in that box to come out and overhear anything. If the wrong—or right—thing was overheard, it could expose what I was doing with Domet. Or, worse, give Scales a reason to try me for collaborating with the rebels.

  “What if we meet up after this? I’ll tell you everything from the beginning. And we can come up with a plan to save—”

  “I get it,” Jean said with an exaggerated smile. “You only want to hang out with me when it’s convenient for you. I thought we were better friends than that.”

  I glanced at the curtain that led to the box and then took a step closer to her. “That’s not what I meant. This is just a very sensitive situation and—”

  Her voice got louder. “Really? And Sirash going missing isn’t?”

  “Of course it is! Sirash is family, and fam—”

  That’s when she moved, hiked up her dress, and pulled out a knife hidden along her thigh. She pushed it against my neck and I could feel the steel tickle against my throat. “Tell me where he is, Michael, or I’ll cut your throat and watch the blood spill out.”

  I gritted my teeth. I knew she’d never liked me. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know he was missing. We agreed not to meet for a few days if we got separated.”

  “I doubt that,” she declared. “You stabbed Sirash in the back for a place in the Endless Waltz. Did you tell them he was a runaway Skeleton or lie that he was a rebel? I never trusted you, Michael. Once a noble, always a noble. But what did you get for turning over Arjay? A big feather bed? A gold ring? I hope it was worth your life.”

  “What’re you talking about? What happened to Arjay?”

  “He’s missing, too,” she hissed. “I haven’t seen him since that night either. Was he a little bonus for your Scales friends?”

  “Jean,” I said, “I didn’t know he was missing. I didn’t even know that Sirash was missing! If I had, I would have been at your side, helping you look for him.”

  “Why weren’t you checking up on him,
Michael? Sirash would have if you were the one missing. Sirash disappearing shouldn’t have stopped you from being a friend to me or his brother.”

  “Jean, it’s what we agreed. I’m on probation,” I pleaded. “We agreed to wait before contacting each other if something went wrong. Six days. I had no idea what happened to him. I kept checking bakeries he worked at, hoping he’d left me a message. You have to believe me.”

  Jean shook her head, pulled the blade away from my neck, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “At this point I’m just waiting for his body to appear so I can have a funeral. If I’m lucky, they died together. Neither of them had anyone else.”

  The heartbeat in my throat returned, but it was my turn to avoid her eyes. My one night of cowardice and selfishness had messed up three people’s lives. I had to make it right before anyone else died. Jamal’s death was enough guilt for a lifetime.

  “I’ll find him,” I said. “I’ll find him and Arjay and bring them back. I promise.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me, her face sour. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Michael.”

  “Michael?” Naomi said, pulling back the curtain. “Is everything alright?”

  Jean glanced at Naomi and then at me. “I should be going. Knives to sharpen and instruments to tune. Good to see you again, Michael.”

  I watched her go in silence, vowing to make it right by both of them. Wherever Arjay was, I would find him and keep my promise. Once Jean was gone, Naomi came over to me and ran a finger over the thin red line on my neck left by the knife. It didn’t hurt as much anymore. In a whisper she asked, “What happened?”

  Knowing her sympathy was just another way to manipulate me, I moved her hand away. “I have to go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Family issues.”

  “Michael,” she said, “you can’t walk out of—”

  “Let me know how the rest of the performances go.”

  I bounded down the stairs taking two at a time and hit the ground at a run. I wouldn’t fail Jean, Sirash, or Arjay again.