by C D Beaudin
“You can’t kill me with a mortal blade. And I’ve cast a spell on myself to make me immune to even the sting of Dalorin.” The tone of Revera’s voice is unusual, and incomprehensible. A mixture of anger, revenge, fear, sadness, and loneliness. But there is something else hidden under all those emotions that makes Awyn uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s just the blood soaking her feet.
“I know. But maybe I just want to watch you suffer.” Awyn’s voice doesn’t falter. The lightness of tone she’d use to say, “pass the bread, please.” The slightest hint of a smile twitches at the corner of her lips.
Revera looks as if she was about to say something, but she disappears before she has a chance to speak.
Awyn calmly wipes the blade off with her dress. Luckily for her, she hid it under her pillow last night. Sighing, she puts the knife in her nightstand drawer and crawls back into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
The intense heat of the square room slicks him with sweat. His hands are bound behind him, his knees tightly tied in a kneeling position. He can barely open his eyes, they’re so heavy. He isn’t sure if this is from not sleeping or some type of magic; he wouldn’t be surprised by these people.
But there is something different about the room. Nothing physically, but something feels different.
The atmosphere is damp, and the floor is wet. He recognizes the metallic smell almost instantly, but it takes him a moment to process that he’s kneeling in blood. He’s back in the Blood Chamber.
“Terrible, isn’t it?”
The familiar voice makes Aradon cower inside. The girl walks in front of him, her black hair hangs past her waist and her red wrap drapes just above her knees. The small chest wrap sits tightly across her, with a snug black leather choker around her throat.
But it’s her golden skin that makes him shudder. The rest of her is even more beautiful than she had been when alive. Her long black eyelashes are sprinkled in gold, but that could be only a trick of the light.
Her golden complexion shimmers. Before death she was gorgeous. After death she is absolutely, breathtakingly radiant.
“Sefa.” The name can barely leave his lips.
“You forgot about me.” The words hit him like a blunt sword.
“No. I loved you.”
“But you forgot about me.” Her words are harsh, and her voice isn’t joyful like it used to be when her heart was beating.
“I pushed the memory of you aside, it’s how I grieve, you know this.” He looks up at her. “But I never once, forgot about you.”
She’s quiet, but her gaze is fiery. This can’t be. She can’t be a ghost. Maybe this is just a dream? Or maybe I’m dead? Perhaps that fall killed me, and I drowned?
“You aren’t dead, Aradon,” she says plainly.
Normally this would be good for anyone to hear, but no relief washes over him. Almost…disappointment.
“And you aren’t in the Blood Chamber.” Her eyes narrow for a moment. “Well, I mean, you are, but just in your mind. And I’m no ghost.”
“So, this is a dream?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be. If it being a dream helps ease your conscience…then let it be a dream.” Her voice is soft but there’s an edge to it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Her eyes narrow again, and their golden gaze is piercing. “You are sorry? What for?”
He looks up at her, tears streaking his cheeks.
“Not protecting you. I should have stopped Revera, but when I saw you at her feet, I froze. Before I could do anything she…” His voice chokes. “Killed you.” The last words are barely audible and wrought with guilt.
“I tried to forget. I tried to push you out, so I could forget and not feel my sorrow.” He takes a breath. “And for a while, it worked. But whenever someone mentions you, I get furious.”
“You know there’s something wrong with you,” she says.
Aradon’s brow furrows. “What?”
She tilts her head, eyebrow raised, as if she thinks he should know this.
“You know what I’m talking about. Disregard forgetting me, there is something really wrong with you, Aradon. And you know it.”
She’s right. He’s felt it before, whenever he tries to go into the Besged state. It’s a creeping darkness, that lately has spilled into every minute of the day. There’s a dark feeling within him, deep in his soul. It’s hard to explain, but it feels as if a volcano is inside him and when it erupts, all the evils of his past, present, and future will arise, and destroy everything he loves.
But that’s just a feeling.
“And if I did know this ‘feeling’, how can I stop it?” he asks, hoping this isn’t just his mind making her appear, and that she may have an answer.
She doesn’t. Sefa kneels in front of him, placing her dainty golden hands on his cheeks.
“There is no way for you to stop it.” She looks into his eyes.
“Then what do I do?”
She looks down for a moment but returns her gaze to his.
“Run. After you fight, you run. Never let anyone you care about near you. You run, and you never stop.”
Aradon closes his eyes, knowing she’s right. Hesitantly, he nods.
She sighs. “Don’t look so sad.” She brings her lips a breath away from his. The light gossamer touch of them makes Aradon tremble in the memory of what he once had. As their lips touch, Aradon can feel Sefa start to turn metallic.
“Sefa?” He pulls away, and sees her hair, her lips, her eyes, her clothes. It’s all gold. She’s a statue, returned to the form of her ancestors.
With teary eyes, he kisses her metallic lips and breaks the ropes around him. “Oh, Sefa.” He puts his hand on her golden, cold cheek. It shimmers. “I will always love you. I will never forget.”
Standing, he heads for the door.
White light shines on the other side.
And he steps into it.
Karak moves like a serpent. His feet move silently as he runs through the palace. The army is using even the lowliest of palace guards, so killing the two princesses should be rather easy.
Though, he doesn’t expect a certain blue-eyed maiden to give up without a fight.
He doesn’t need to blend in with the shadows, but he does by default. He knows his shadowy white skin gives him a certain invisibility in the dark halls. The torches aren’t lit, and neither are the chandeliers.
The emerald looks like black pine in the darkness. Every corner he turns seems to reveal more shadows, every tall hall he enters is another aphotic. His black clothes make him blend in even better. He’s a poltergeist in the darkness, invisible but will haunt and kill you without remorse.
Well, he’s not that cruel. At least he likes to think he’s not.
He can sense a presence before he sees it. When he turns another corner, he can feel souls resting—commoners. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, he closes his eyes, trying to find where the young Princess Brega is.
Energy. Light but deep with worry. A worried soul, a worried heart. But a mind as solemn as a Delcah. And even under all that, there’s a light. It’s slight, but it’s there.
Definitely Brega.
He opens a door and finds himself staring at the blonde girl by the fireplace, who looks at him with shock, horror, and an intensity that can only be described as deathly fear. Under the scared exterior, he can see a growing seed of rage.
Karak smiles, walking into the room. “Brega, my love. I have missed you.”
He opens his arms as if to hug her, but she scrambles away from him. He turns to her, his expression a sarcastic canvas of pain. “Ow. That hurt.” He flashes her a small, innocent smile. “I only wanted to experience the passion of our past…encounters.”
Karak watches Brega’s fear give way to anger. He smiles to himself as her eyes narrow.
“Encounters? Is that what you call them?” She walks slowly toward him. “I recall you trying to force me. And when I fough
t back, you locked me in a hole and barely gave me any food or water for weeks.” She shakes her head. “Demon.”
Karak tilts his head, no longer able to contain his smile. “Beautiful wording. I’ve never been called ‘demon’ before. Very original. You should be a poet, not a princess.”
“You should be a corpse, not an immortal soldier,” Brega says bluntly.
Karak nods, agreeing. “One can hope.” He sighs. “You know, you should thank me.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” Karak grins. “No, but seriously. I didn’t want to…well, what you’d call ‘force you.’ I never wanted to do those things. And I didn’t, as you said before.”
“But you tried.” She shakes her head. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you are under another’s control or something? That all the bad you do, isn’t you?”
“But what if it’s true? What if everything I do is dictated by another, and I can’t do a thing to free myself? What then?”
The princess glares at him.
He sighs. No one’ll ever believe me. Though, I’m not sure if I believe me. “This is getting tedious.” He grabs one of his daggers, twirling it around his fingers.
Brega’s fear returns to her eyes, and she dashes out of the room.
Karak lets out another sigh, unsheathing his swords. “Well, I wasn’t expecting her to go easy.” He calmly follows her.
He looks in amusement at the empty hall. One foot in front of the other, he walks down the corridor, slowly and tauntingly, each boot click against the marble a death knell.
“Brega. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Naturally, no one answers, and there’s no movement from the hall or inside any of the many rooms. He stops and sees that the souls of the commoners have ended at this place. It’s just you and me now, Princess.
“Okay, you want to play a little game? I’ll count to five and burst through one of these doors. If you happen to be in one of them, I’ll kill you. Got it?” He walks toward a door. “One. Two. Three. Four...” He pushes the door open. “Five.” He looks around, still in the doorway. “Next one. One. Two. Three. Four...”
For every one he opens, he doesn’t find her. Finally, he comes to the last door. It’s the third one on the left, the white doors closed. “One. Two. Three. Four...” He wiggles the doorknob. Locked. He smiles. “Five.” He kicks the door in.
Walking in, the room is dark and quiet. Too quiet. He looks behind the bed. No one. He lifts the eiderdown to see under the bed. No movement. Behind him, he can sense two souls. One is Brega. The other is more complicated.
Sadness. Pity. Anger, frustration. Revenge, hate. And hardened fear that disguises itself as bravery so well. Part of it is chipped at—a sure sign of a Dalorin victim who was saved last minute. His lips curl into a smirk.
He opens the wardrobe doors, and Brega cries out in fear. Awyn and Karak lock eyes.
He tilts his head. “I had a feeling you were here.” He grabs them, pulling them out by their clothes. Brega lands on the floor, but Awyn is still on her feet.
“Brega, get out of here.” Her voice is serious, absent of fear.
Brega runs from the room, and for a moment, Karak considers following her. But then he looks at the girl in front of him and knows Awyn will give him a more interesting fight.
“Hello, Awyn.” He sheaths his swords.
Her blank expression doesn’t fade.
“Lieutenant.” Her tone is as dull and unchanging as her face.
“Did you sleep well the other night?”
Something like a wince contorts her face for a split second but returns to a white sheet.
“Just great.” Awyn straightens. “Now, if you think you will be killing my cousin, you can forget about it. I won’t let you hurt her.”
Karak smiles. “Well, I planned to. But her brother is already dead, I’d like to see her drop to her knees, crying.” He can see Awyn’s eyes change. They are glossier, the anger showing through with sadness underneath.
She visibly swallows. “He would have wanted nothing more than to die defending his country.”
Under her words lie pain, Karak can tell. Something changes inside him. He feels…guilty? She made him feel guilty? He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, trying to erase the terrible, awkward feeling.
Guilt is something he has never once missed.
But there’s an uncontrollable urge to feel more.
In a smooth motion he closes the space between them and brings his face an inch from hers. She recoils, but he puts his arm around her waist, stopping her.
“What are you—?”
He brings his lips to hers, stopping her from talking. When he pulls away, the shock radiates across her face.
“Should you be so surprised? Last time I threatened someone you love, we ended up doing this exact same thing.”
She’s confused and speechless—her soul is actually hard for him to read, but this is written clearly. He smirks at her wide, shocked eyes.
“A moment of insanity.”
Her defense is cute, but hardly convincing. Karak lifts her chin, lips almost touching.
“It’s like looking into a mirror.” He kisses her again, and he can almost feel her start to engage, but she pulls away.
“I want to die when you kiss me.” Her jaw is tight, her eyes narrow in fury.
Karak tilts his head. “I thought you always want to die?”
Her mouth twitches, and her eyes are furious. “Don’t assume you know my mind, based on the fact you were in it.”
“I don’t assume. I know.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then stop knowing.”
He copies her actions, the slightest bit of frustration and anger building up inside him. “Don’t assume you get to tell me what to do just because we kissed.”
“I don’t assume.” The fire in Awyn’s eyes turns to icy amusement. “I am.” She slides a dagger out from her sleeve and puts it to his throat. Her words are a whisper. “Don’t assume I won’t slit your throat just because it won’t kill you.”
He smirks.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aradon coughs, water spilling from his mouth. He wheezes as he breathes, desperately trying to grasp a full breath of air. His eyes open, and he can feel pain throughout his whole body. His bones feel brittle, and his skin raw. He shakes, trying to turn over onto his knees.
He can’t. He can’t move. His fingers twitch. He can barely move his arms. Reaching out, his fingers brush against something cold and metallic. His first thought is Sefa, but then he remembers their encounter was just a dream.
No. It’s something different. But familiar.
His fingers curl around the smooth edge. It’s his bow. He breathes a painful sigh of relief. Awkwardly gripping the bow, he grits his teeth as he drags it across the ground, his arm aching.
In the corner of his eye there’s a gleam of the clouded sunlight against the bronze. Above him, clouds cover the blue sky, barriers to block out the sun. But light still peaks through, the white ball in the sky a perfect circle behind the clouds.
A breeze stings his cuts and open wounds but feels relaxing all the same. As the wind washes over him, he can tally his injuries.
A gash on his forehead, a cut on the left side of his scalp. Another cut on his right cheek. His neck is covered in blood, but he can’t feel if a cut is there or not. His chest is heavily bruised, and some of his bones must be fractured from the fall into the river.
The river. He isn’t in it anymore. If not, then where is he? Grunting, violently shaking, he turns onto his knees, crying out as he puts pressure on his left leg and collapses. That’s definitely broken. He looks around him, putting in an effort to crane his neck as he trembles.
Trees. Is he still in Cannan? Birds—he can hear their singing ring in his throbbing ears. But there’s another sound. Something different, yet so familiar it hurts him.
Fighting. Battle cries. Swords against swords. He can hear it all. The
stench of the Kahzacorian army stings his nostrils. He can smell the metallic aroma of blood. And feel snow under his body. Not even a foot away, the river flows silently and gently.
Aradon pulls himself farther away from the water, not wanting to get swept away again. It’s just plain luck to be pulled by the river to his destination. Through the trees, green glints—the palace. The mountain towers above the castle, snow covering the gray surface. Only a portion of the emerald marble can be seen through the trees and rock face.
Pain shoots through him as he crawls. Nausea overcomes him, and he can’t keep the vomit down. He gags, retching, blood spattering over the white snow. His body jolts and twitches as he crawls, bones aching with every inch of movement. If he moves too fast, they might all break.
I can’t keep going like this. I need to give time for the Besged to kick in and heal me. He remembers something, and digs into his pocket, hoping—praying, even, for—
Yes! He brings his shaking hand to his mouth, the whistle touching his lips and he blows. The sharp song rings through the air but stings his head.
He manages to crawl a few more yards from the river and hears the welcome relief of neighing. Through the trees a black horse emerges, the white Everstar on its forehead. It’s the same horse he was riding earlier. For attached to the horse, is his sheath filled with arrows. He must have dropped it on the ground before he fell into the river. Eldowyn or Hagard must have sent it with the horse, in the small chance Aradon was alive to find them.
Perhaps it’s only a miracle, but Aradon doesn’t believe in miracles.
Though, he’s alive, so…
He mouths a silent thank you to the sky, the horse, and anyone who it might mean something too. The horse kneels down, and Aradon pulls himself on, grunting at the pain. He positions himself on the saddle, gripping the reins with bloody fingers as the horse trots off toward the battle.
Awyn bites her nails absentmindedly as she watches Karak fight down below. Anxiety and guilt and shame twists within her, threatening to reveal her treachery if anyone were to notice. She can’t peel her eyes off him. It’s not that she’s infatuated with him, but more that she can’t believe she kissed him.