by Nick Martell
Everything was fuzzy as Trey stood over me, saying something I couldn’t comprehend. The words disappeared before they reached my ears, and then Trey squeezed my shoulder and was gone. I hadn’t even seen him open the door. As I continued to struggle, I put my back to the painted sun on the wall, breathing shallowly and watching the slow rise and fall of my chest.
When I was certain my heart would keep beating and I could still breathe, I stared off into the room of stars, the flush on my face melting away as I wondered what Trey had done to me.
Looking at it from below, I saw that this room was a near-perfect replica of my own back in the keep. Mine must’ve been his practice attempt, because everything here was perfect, down to the seven major pieces of the shattered moon Celona… but something was off with it. There was an eighth piece in the center of the others. It was wrong. I had studied the night sky enough to know that, and so had my father. I made my unsteady way over to it, running the tips of my fingers over each painted star. Soft, delicate strokes of paint covered everything. The flat of the brush had been smashed against the night blue to create the twinkling stars and constellations. My thumb stopped over the piece of Celona that didn’t belong.
There was a small, circular crevice around a raised section carved into the wall, disguised by the painting. Instantly I knew the value of the ring my father had given me. That there was something he had wanted me to find. Something he couldn’t tell me in words before his death. But something he had left behind in my scattered childhood memories. And there was only one thing it could be: the truth.
I took my father’s ring off my middle finger and slid it into the indentation. It fit perfectly. With the key in place, I pressed against the extra piece of Celona and it went into the wall with a click.
The wall to my left rumbled and moved away, revealing a staircase wrapping around the room, spiraling upward. I climbed it, though I made sure I grabbed the ring before I did. There were hundreds of tiny little holes in the walls, invisible unless you were walking up the stairs. A thousand openings for a spy or the barrel of a gun to hide among the stars on the walls. There was no better place for an assassination.
I would love to say I knew why I followed the staircase, but I didn’t.
I was climbing into the unknown, following the clues my father had left me, hoping for another clue at the top… and that Omari would be waiting for me in the Star Chamber when I returned. When I reached the end of the staircase, I pulled down on a metal chain that hung from the ceiling. The wall moved once again and opened onto a pristine hallway with a bland blue carpet.
There was a large tapestry hanging on the wall, each part of it showing a different scene. One scene was of an auburn-haired boy and girl playing together. Another of a young man with bright red hair having a crown placed atop his head. Then the same young red-haired man kissing a frowning woman on the cheek as he held her tightly. Three children ran around the couple in the next one, and then, finally, the man stood alone in front of a memorial, crying. A headless man knelt next to him.
I knew these people… and I knew where the stairs had led me.
“Who are you?” a voice from behind me demanded.
I put my hands up, my father’s ring visible, and turned to face King Isaac, crossbow in his hands. The brand on my neck felt as fresh as when I first got it, ten years earlier. “My name is Michael Kingman. You may remember me.”
KINGMAKER
There were a lot of people who might hold grudges against me because of choices I had made: Domet, Naomi, and Dark. But King Isaac was the only person I was confident might simply wish to kill me because of my last name.
His finger never left the trigger, and when no one came to see where the king was, I was certain we were alone in his suite. No one would mourn me. Least of all him. Would he see it as justice? A son for a son? Did he still bear that resentment toward my father, or had it died with him? And why had my father left me a trail to King Isaac that few, if any, would know about? Did he… Was I… Was there something he wanted me to finish? Was a different Royal supposed to die that day? One who might have been harming the country more than helping it? As I held my sweaty palms in the air, I waited and hoped I would live long enough to find the answers.
“How did you get in here?”
I nudged my head toward the secret entrance.
“There are only two people alive who know of that entrance, and they’re myself and the captain of my Royal Guard. How did you discover it?”
“My father painted my room exactly the same way. All that was different in the Star Chamber was a piece of Celona, and—combined with the ring he left me before he died—it opened. I didn’t know where it led, though.”
King Isaac fidgeted with the crossbow. “Even to this day, ten years later, your father continues to be an incurable disease in my city.” A pause. “So why are you here?”
“Looking for evidence.”
He looked at me, taking his eyes slightly off his aim. “Evidence of what, exactly?”
“Evidence that my father was framed and that you executed an innocent man.”
King Isaac lowered the crossbow so it was pointed at the floor. “You do know who you are addressing, correct?”
“I can prove it.”
A crossbow bolt thumped into the side of a bookcase near me. My skin prickled. I hadn’t even seen him pull the trigger. King Isaac turned away and beckoned me to follow. “Then do so. Prove a king wrong.”
My hands fell to my knees as I hunched over, trying to regain my breath. I wasn’t in a position of power here. Maybe I could run away through the secret entrance… No. If he wanted to find me, he would be able to. I would have to do this. I would have to convince the king that my father had been innocent.
I followed Isaac further into his suite, gathering my thoughts as he took a seat on a leather chair in front of a fireplace. There was a long, rectangular, red wooden box on the table in front of him with a simple iron lock. I sat across from him and waited as he fidgeted with the lock. It sounded like he was scratching at the walls with his nails. “Are you going to explain yourself? Or was what you said back there a ploy to get me to lower my guard?”
“No,” I declared. “I meant what I said. I just need to figure out where to begin.”
“Begin at the beginning.”
Considering I didn’t know the end, I’d have to.
“What made you think my father shot your son?”
King Isaac stopped fumbling with the lock, met my eyes, and said, “He was caught holding the smoking gun by a Raven and her partner. There was no one else in the room, and no reason for Davey to be there but at your father’s invitation. That’s how I know.”
I took a deep breath and then exhaled. If I could prove that those points were wrong, I could show that my father had been set up. I could put the pieces together. Start at the beginning.
“How do you know he was the one who pulled the trigger on the gun? There didn’t need to be someone in the room. They could have fired from the secret passage and then dropped the gun to my father before he noticed what happened.”
“Impossible. That would mean me, my captain, or the builder… If the passage was used, that damns your father further. Especially since it can only be opened with a ring like the one you’re wearing. And before you ask, the person who built it is long since dead, before either of us were born, and all the other rings are accounted for. I wondered where your father’s went. I never would have suspected you had it… and in such poor condition.”
“What about the Captain of your Ravens?”
King Isaac laughed. “A ridiculous thought. Efyra would sooner fall on her blade than betray me.”
“I bet you would have said the same about my father.”
“Yes,” he said. “Then he murdered my son.”
“Listen. He was found inside the room, holding the gun, but Blackwell’s memories could have been altered by a Darkness Fabrication. He’s in the asylum now, te
rrified of the shadows that falsified his memories… but he said that my father’s finger was on the barrel—not on the trigger. There’s no way he could have fired it like that. But the gun could have been thrown to him from above.”
King Isaac lifted the lid of the box. I couldn’t see what was inside from where I was sitting. He ran his fingers down the side of the box, staring into it as he spoke. “To your own credit, I thought you would be less versed with the case. I expected a child, whining about what I had done. Trying to make me feel remorseful for the choice I made. That’s not the situation, and I’ll treat you as such.
“To answer your question: while it wasn’t made known to the public, we did use Light Fabrications on Low Noble Blackwell after he saw the scene. His memories did not change, nor did he show any signs he was under the influence of Darkness Fabrications. I’ll admit that we did not use Light Fabrications on my Raven, since she was a Light Fabricator herself. Only after she died in Naverre did Blackwell begin to show signs of madness and change his account. That’s grief, not proof. Losing a loved one can change a man drastically, and not all can fully recover from it. Most barely survive. All that remains in Blackwell is regret, grief, and a desire to do something worthwhile. Do not fault him for it.”
“But his story changed! Even if it was sparked by grief, you can’t ignore that the story changed!”
“You’re a Fabricator yourself, correct?”
I nodded.
“Most of us are terrified of losing our memories whenever we use Fabrications. We’re taught the price of power and always expected to know what we might have to give up to attain it. But the problem is, the older you become, the more you discover that memories change on their own. Some fade away, some stories change slightly, and some memories are so drastically different a decade after they occurred that no one can be quite sure what the truth is… So when a man changes a key piece of evidence years later, after losing the love of his life, I’m hesitant to believe it. Because at that point it’s not the truth he desires but some personal satisfaction he believes he can get out of telling others. You’re not the first person he’s spun that tale to, nor will you be the last. You’ll just be the one that it hurts the most.”
I closed my hands into fists. “But his story changed. That has to mean something.”
“No,” King Isaac said. “It does not. The man has been in an asylum for years. He’s no longer a credible witness.”
“What about you? Were you a neutral judge for my father when you decided to execute him?”
“I was not. I never could be. That’s why the Captain of my Ravens served in my place during the trial.”
“What about the timing? A Raven just happened to walk in and witness a murder? Don’t you find that a little too perfect?”
“Are you suggesting I would rather have my son’s murder unsolved?”
I opened my mouth to object, but the king continued, “But, yes, we examined that possibility, too. The Raven was on her second half-day shift in a row after switching with one of her sisters at the last minute. That was impossible to predict. And, as I have been told… it was not where they usually went for some privacy.”
My face was hot as he sliced through all the evidence I had gathered like it was the ramblings of a child. I kept going. “The gun and the markings on the bullets that only it can use… the markings on the bullets belong to a Mercenary Company called Tosburg Company. They were the ones that fought against my father on the Day of Crowning. That day the leader of the company was never caught or killed. He got away. What if the leader got his revenge on my father after all those years? It could be—”
King Isaac reached into the box in front of him and pulled out a revolver. A perfect replica of Dark’s. This gun had killed Davey Hollow. There couldn’t be a third.
This gun had killed a future king.
He put the revolver between us on the table before laying out two bullets. Both were engraved with hands ripping apart a crown. At least now I knew he had kept it after all these years.
“This is the gun that killed my son,” he said. “I have spent every single moment since that day trying to learn who made it. I am aware that Tosburg Company once used this emblem. I also know they have never reappeared since the Day of Crowning. And I know of the other half a dozen ways this emblem is used in the Gold Coast, the Warring States, and in New Dracon City, because I have tracked every instance down… and still never uncovered where this gun and its bullets came from. So don’t sit there and try to spin me a tale about the escaped leader of a Mercenary company who might have held a grudge for over two decades, just to return to Hollow to kill my son and frame your father. Don’t. You. Dare.”
I swallowed. “What about Shadom? They were mentioned in the reports. Who are they?”
“It’s not a name; it’s a code. Used whenever someone wanted to have an off-the-record meeting. It tells everyone to avoid the room. Except this time.”
And just like that, there was nothing left to ask. All my questions had answers. After everything I had done to uncover the truth, all I had to show for it was embarrassment and shame.
“Can I ask you one last question?” I said softly. “Why did he plead guilty?”
King Isaac reached for the revolver and loaded a bullet into the chamber. He did it quickly, almost as if it was a habit, and put the gun back down between us. “Your father loved you three. In the end he pleaded guilty for his family.”
“Really? Because it seems we were worth much less to him than power was! His own damn children!”
“He pleaded guilty after I branded each of you in front of him while he screamed for mercy. I told him that if he confessed, I would let you three live. Else, I planned to hang you, Lyon, and Gwen over my balcony.”
My ears rang. I blinked to regain focus on the king sitting in front of me. Dark lines seemed to move around him. “Excuse me?”
He looked me in the eyes. Without any emotion he said, “I told him that if he said a single word in his own defense, having been caught with the smoking gun in his hand, I would kill his children as he did my son.”
“You killed him.”
“I did. After he killed my son. What I did saved everyone from further pain. The Kingman family against the Hollow Family. It would have caused a civil war, and it would have destroyed this country.”
“You said the trial was impartial. That’s why you had the Captain of your Ravens serve in your place.”
“The trial was impartial. I was not. I wanted revenge; I wanted him dead.”
“He could’ve been innocent. You stopped him from defending himself.”
“He was guilty.”
“How do you know? You never gave him the chance to defend himself! He was your best friend and you killed him! And this brand you gave me and my siblings—what was that for? To share some of your son’s pain?”
Silence.
King Isaac didn’t respond. He looked at me. No emotion. Nearly a statue. He had threatened me and my siblings because he was angry. He had abused his power and murdered my father. This coward. What kind of king was he? A useless king for a useless city. I had met so many nobles who proved I’d been wrong about them, but I had been right about him. He was no better than his useless son.
“Do you want to continue the cycle and kill me in retaliation?” he asked. “For all I have done to you and your family?”
I was standing in front of him, breathing hard. My mind was blank and my brand was throbbing in pain. I couldn’t focus on anything but the king before me. And what he had done.
“If you do not, you should refrain from pointing that gun at my head.”
I blinked, focus returning. The gun that had killed Davey Hollow was in my right hand, pointed at the king. I hadn’t realized I had picked it up, but my finger was firm on the trigger. Nothing shook.
“Do you, Michael?” He paused. “You should understand that this is what happens when people think justice has failed and try to take it
into their own hands. Do this and all you will be remembered as is your father’s son. No one will care about the truth you think you discovered. You will destroy the Kingman legacy that your father already ruined.”
“Who are you to lecture me? Are you any better? After what you did?”
“No,” he said, “but my morals died with my son. Since then, I have merely tried to keep this city alive. My reign as king will be remembered for little more than death and war. I have accepted that.… Do you know what that is like? My grandfather brought education to Hollow, almost eradicating illiteracy, and after him my father brought medicine to this city, saving hundreds from the plague. I suspect historians will compare me to the king during the War for the Bloodline, since I am responsible for depleting a generation of its best and brightest… just like he was.”
“You killed my father,” I repeated, eyes itchy.
“That is the least of my crimes. I made us fight the Gunpowder War because I refused to kneel to the foreigners who murdered my older sister. I’m responsible for the Bloodbath of Vurano, and it is my fault Naverre fell to the rebels and all those innocent people died. The rebel leader is still out there because my justice system was inadequate enough to convict her. And I destroyed my best friend’s family to avenge my son. Even that is merely what I remember in my old age. I have done more. Much more.”
I steadied the gun, my free hand cupping the other. “I hate you.”
“You and so many others. The nobles think I am either useless or a Forgotten unless I throw a feast every week telling them that everything is as expected. Most, if not all of them, are waiting for me to die so another can rule in my place. They all want the power they think I have. Then there are the citizens of this city who think I am a glutton who sits in his palace surrounded by walls and that my guards laugh at them while they starve and work to death in the dye pits or farms on the East Side. Even my own children hate me, and my wife thinks I’m worth less than the barnacles she scrapes off her ships. This country and everyone in it despises me. The only one who did not was your father. Look what I did to him.”