Keepers of the Crown

by Lydia Redwine

  Peter’s eyes roved the queen’s furrowed features. The queen herself had met Owen months ago as he was their main correspondent between her kingdom and those dwelling in the Black Mountains.

  And if what Cam and Fiera had said about his father was right, it meant...Owen was the heir to Nazeria. Heir to a throne and a crown of his own.

  “The solution may appear simple at first,” the queen continued. “To imprison him, but I believe I speak for all of us in saying that if Owen is to be imprisoned and does not return to his...master, his absence will cause alarm. And his master will come upon us before we are prepared.” Elizabeth paused, her gaze becoming distant. Owen, her own heir, and cousin whom she hardly knew could quite possibly be bringing war to her nation. Whatever she felt about it, she was doing one hell of a job hiding it.

  “So,” she began again, “The solution that first comes to my mind is to wipe his memory. We wipe what he knows of the Crown and the Savior, and we plant new memories to replace them. Owen returns knowing seemingly little and his master’s wrath goes to him and not directly to us. She began pacing before the enormous fire. Peter watched her with arms folded across his chest. “The notion has been known to us for years though it’s nothing neither of our nations has ever practiced. Because…”

  Cole finished for the queen. “Because wiping his memory would mean using Infernal Magic.”

  Peter’s brows rose. He had never heard of such a thing. Neither had Fiera nor Caleb apparently for they both said in unison, “What? Why?”

  Elizabeth began to explain. “The Mineral Magic of Mirabelle was magic that could be used for both good and evil, correct?” Both nodded. “The Mineral Magic was fashioned from the minds of men and of Caelae. But also from the motivations ofthoseseekingtheInfernal Cities informs not entirely human.” Fiera and Caleb nodded in understanding. Peter’s interest was piqued. “And so,” continued Elizabeth, “We have Gnosi, the magic of memory. And to wipe Owen’s memory, the magic we would have to use would have to be of a reversible kind. An opposite. But opposites in terms of magic such as memory were created in the same realm. So the magic of memory, that being Gnosi, and its opposite to reverse it were both made in the realm of Infernal Magic.”

  “You mean to say that Gnosi is Infernal Magic?” Peter countered.

  “Not entirely,” Cole spoke up. “But it is the magic of Mirabelle closest to being as such. It is still a between magic but borders on being a weapon of the Prince’s.”

  “The Prince of the Between Realm. Lucius,” Caleb clarified. Cole nodded.

  “So, you’vebrought us here to ask our permission to wipe Owen’s memory of the Crown with the magic of our enemies,” Fiera stated at last.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not permission, no, but your opinion on this matter is very valuable to me. I would be willing to risk it. For the sake of our people.”

  “And what about replacing his memories with new ones?” Caleb asked. “How in the world is that suppose to be done?”

  “The same magic. Just… a stronger dose,” Cole said. Caleb’s brows lifted. “It’s an art that few have mastered. In the old days, Spirit Followers were trained to use Infernal Magic for their own benefit. Most of them fell to its allure instead. But there are very, very few who can do it.”

  “That is...if you all aren’t entirely against it,” Elizabeth added.

  “I am,” Peter said instantly. All eyes turned to him. All except for Cam’s. Hers were cast upon the floor. “It gives them an edge, knowing we’ve used their magic. Merely being exposed to it starts a disease! It's...addicting. And how would we even obtain it?”

  “That would be the more...dangerous part of the task,” Cole said slowly.

  “Don’t tellmeyouareconsideringgoingalongwith this?” Peter said, his gaze fastened on the older man.

  Cole sighed. “I can’t say that I think it ideal. In fact, I find the concept utterly ludicrous. Stupid. Inevitably perilous.”

  “But?” Peter pushed.

  “But what other option have we?”

  Peter turned to find his sister stepping forward. “Saff-”

  “No, Peter. Listen to me,”shesaid firmly, her doecolored eyes pinned on his. “If they come here in search of Owen after he doesn’t show up for a long time, they will find a way to take him. Their numbers are more than we can account for, I believe. And then he’ll tell them all he knows. We have to come to terms with the fact that Owen has chosen his side, and it is the side he remains on.”

  “They will use him as a weapon, yes,” Peter agreed. “But us infiltrating the sources of the Infernal Magic itself would mean almost certain death for us. We would also become weapons.”

  Fiera’s voice rose next, clear and resolved. “We have our own weapons: the skills we’ve honed against these enemies this past year and more importantly, our allegiance to one another.” Her next thought wavered as but a mere breath before it was uttered as words. “Silva Andel is dead. We can fight anyone else who may come to stand against us. I once knew Owen as a kind, loyal friend, one who would never turn from us.” Her lips quivered as she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “He is now diseased by the Infernal Magic.” She cast a glance at Peter. “We should not let ourselves fall to the same fate.”

  A scoff ushered through the room. Peter glared at his sister even as she began to speak again. “Silva Andel was one person. And there are others who are far more dangerous that would do anything to find the Crown.”

  “My mother did everything she could to find the Crown,” Fiera snapped back, her eyes flaring.

  Saffira shook her head, her eyes slipping shut. “No, she did everything she could to tear herself from the cage of guilt she had built around herself. The Crown was just a key.”

  Peter watchedFiera’s jawtighten, andhewouldhave said something to hold Saffira back had Caleb not leaned forward to speak. “I agree with Fiera about not allowing ourselves to fall to the fate Owen has reached. I believe he was poisoned. His grief was used against him. We are all grieving in one way or another, and our enemies know the ways in which we grieve, for they, more than anyone, have caused it. They will turn us in on ourselves.”

  “If they don’t kill us first,” Peter added.

  “And who is to say which is worse?” Cole finished.

  Elizabeth had been watching the conversation with quiet interest and was now turning over the arguments in her mind. Considering. Peter could see it in the furrow of her brow and light fidgeting of her fingers. “Thank you, Lord Caddell, Caleb, Fiera, Peter, Saffira. But there are some of you who have yet to speak on the matter.” The queen’s eyes drifted over the assembled company. “Adria Briar?”

  Peter, along with all the others, turned to behold the smallest figure in the room, the figure who appeared most quiet. He had forgotten that she was here and was now remembering that Adria, too, had grown up with Owen.

  Adria tilted her head to one side and folded her hands in her lap. Otherwise, she was motionless as she spoke in her light, airy tone. “The Infernal Magic is like Imber Fel in that it is poisonous. But unlike most magic of my homeland, it is a poison which cannot be cured. Owen is fractured. The magic of the enemy would break him unless the procedure was done with the utmost precaution. Who do we have that can use the Infernal Magic?” Adria glanced at Cole. “You said it yourself, Lord Caddell, that those with such an ability and training are very, very few.”

  Cole did not answer. Instead, the queen said with a slight smile, “I have already prepared for that. You see, my parents did not leave Mingroth without some knowledge of the Infernal Magic and its uses. They trained themselves, and it ultimately killedmyfather.” Elizabeth’s gazegrewwaveringandstormy. “In her grief, my mother passed but not without passing along the knowledgeto someonein mycourt.” Slowly, thequeen’s eyes slid to the figure beside her who had been still and quiet throughout the interchange. Simeon looked grimmer than Peter had ever seen him appear before.

  No protestations arose. No c
ounter arguments. A moment passed, and Elizabeth nodded, now turning her attention to yet another figure who had yet to speak. Amelia’s brow was furrowed in concentration. “Did we ever give Owen a second chance?”

  She spoke the question quietly as if she was laying it out for them to slowly approach and take into their minds. It sank into Peter’s mind. Silence stretched for a time long enough to make him start shifting from one foot to the other. Cole was the only one to reply. “No, Mia, we did not.”

  Amelia was standing, her hands folded in her lap. “We have not tried to understand where he is coming from. We haven't given him any sort of choice in his own fate. I am not entirely sure he has chosen to betray us. It may have been forced.” She sat down, finished.

  “Thank you, Amelia,” Elizabeth said. The woman nodded. “Simeon, your concern is for the people of Nazeria at large, but in your years, you have also witnessed the torture that one is inflicted by under the use of Infernal Magic. It would be your duty to wipe and replace Owen’s memory. This is a task I fear for you to complete. It is your choice, in the end. What is your conviction?”

  The elderly man did not need to step forward. All eyes turned toward him and the warmth he radiated. “In my years,” he began in a rich, soothing voice, “I have found that though evil exists, Elyon uses it for His glory and good. People, Shadow Bearers, wars...and...magic. If it is Elyon’s will as I believe it is, we would protect our people by using the Infernal Magic and pray for protection in our quest to possess it. But only enough. No more than is necessary.” He paused and sighed deeply. He looked to his queen, a look so loving in gentle in his eyes that it nearly broke Peter’s heart, and said, “And if it takes me, so be it. I shall then be in Caelae. Forevermore.”

  Peter was counting those in the room and placing them on sides. It appeared as though he, Cole, Amelia, Fiera, Caleb, and perhaps Adria were in agreement. But advisor, and his own sister saw the scale direction.

  “I have one more point to bring before you,” Elizabeth said onceSimeonseemedtobefinished.“Andthat isthefact that Owen Edrun, son of Mishael Edrun, is my cousin, for Mishael was the brother of my mother. Seeing how my husband is dead and my only son quite young, Owen is the only true heir to the throne of Nazeria if I and my son should not live until the day a new heir is presented.”

  Peter’s mouth dropped open in surprise but more so in remembrance. Yes, Cam had told him of the connection though he should have sorted it out long ago. The fact that Owen was related to the queen was one of the reasons he had ventured to Nazeria all those months ago. The queen was swallowing, her eyes becoming glazed over. This was difficult for her too. For the queen, Owen was her only living relative besides her own son. Her only relative by blood.

  Her voice wasn’t as controlled as before when she continued. “And if our enemies should discover the blood relation between Owen and myself, who is to say that I will not be dethroned and Owen put in my place? It is as Saffira has said: He has chosen his side, and it is the side he must remain on. There is no coming back.”

  Peter clenched his eyes shut against the revelation. But it was sinking into his brain nonetheless. What Elizabeth was saying was changing everything. “So…” said someone slowly. the queen, her tipping in their Peter did not need to open his eyes to know it was Caleb. “If and when his memory is cleared, the connection between you and him would also be done away with?”

  “That would be the intent, yes,” Elizabeth replied with a sigh. “But the magic is unpredictable. All we know is that the more of it we use, the less he remembers.”

  “And who is to say that he hasn’t already relayed that information of your relation?” Fiera added grimly.

  Elizabeth nodded, and all fell silent. One person had yet to speak. Elizabeth addressed her. “Camaria Caddell, Owen is your friend. What actions would you have us take?”

  Cam lifted her eyes, and Peter found that they were hardened molten steel. “Do it. Wipe his memory.”

  Forty-Two

  Sweat was sticking to her neck and back.

  Cam shoved a hand across her face to rid her sticky skin of the hair falling in her eyes. She clenched her eyes shut against the pain throbbing in both temples. Her body shuddered as tears slipped from her eyes and down her cheeks. She tasted salt and blood. She sank to the floor, her back against the wall. The fire dancing in the hearth was blazing against her skin even from across the room. “I have to get out…” She repeated it. Over and over and over until the mantra was nothing but ash floating in her consciousness.

  She knew her feet were moving, knew she was running. Even while her vision was blurred, the ache in her thighs was similar to the burning in her lungs begging for air. Cold air collided with her flesh. She should be wearing more layers. But it wouldn't matter soon enough. Cam clenched the bottle in her hand. She tipped it to her lips and pulled one long drink from inside. The liquid burned her throat in collision with the cold air sweeping through her lungs. Her eyelids flew open.

  The courtyard was layered in sheets of sparkling ice. Ice that shone too brightly in the sun. The pond in the center was dazzling, its sheets of ice thin and scattered. Another drink. The bottle thudded against the snow. Cam’s toes curled in the cold, powdery substance. The snow burned her bare skin. Her eyes clenched shut again. She stumbled.

  The impact was stunning. It stung, all that cold water surrounding her. Her lungs burned. She could no longer feel anything but the increasing pain in her head. Everything else was numbing. She would have thrashed, but she remained still. The water rippled and moaned with the impact of the body that had collided with it. The moment stretched for an eternity. Everything held its breath. The water even stilled as if it too was watching the girl who had fallen in and would not try to reach the surface.

  And for that moment that stretched for an eternity, Cam felt nothing. And feeling nothing was everything. But a hand reached into the water, and the moment was broken. Peter grasped Cam and jerked her to the top. The pond had been shallow enough that he had thrashed to its center where Cam had floated.

  His throat burned with the screams ricocheting from his mouth into the air. “Cam!” Her weight was more when her clothing was drenched. He dragged her to the edge and shoved her over the small wall which circled the pond. “Cam!” he screamed again. Peter ripped his cloak from his shoulders to fold it around her. The icy air pushed past his own clothing. Cam was utterly still, but color was seeping back into her flesh. Peter’s tears dropped onto Cam’s closed eyes. He trembled as he pulled Cam up with him and towards the door of the courtyard which was still swinging open. He stumbled, his bad leg trembling with pain.

  A moan reverberated against his shoulder. Relief accelerated in his chest. Peter stumbled inside and nearly dropped Cam to the floor. His hands were shaking as he shoved the cloak away and began pulling Cam’s soaked clothing from her body. Cam was stirring.

  Peter kept going. W hen, at last, Cam’s clothing had been thrown into a heap, he rewrapped her in the cloak. “Come on, Cam, wake up. Wake up!” he whispered hoarsely. Cam’s eyes flew open. And choking coughs followed. Cam rose enough to bend over and cough the water in her lungs to the floor of the deserted hallway. She was shivering violently from the cold. Peter reached his warm hands to grip both sides of Cam’s face. He saw the bloodshot and swollen eyes. From crying and not sleeping, he knew.

  “Pe…” Cam tried to say.

  “Don’t, Cam. J-Just...don’t speak,” Peter choked out. His eyes burned with tears as he pulled Cam into his embrace, her face burrowed in his neck, her hands gripping his back and shoulders.

  Cam was shaking now, and not just from the cold. She was beginning to sob. “I-I don’t know what…”

  “Shhh.” His embrace tightened.

  Peter could not have counted the seconds that passed while he held his shivering, weeping friend. The moment seemed so small while simultaneously stretching endlessly. Finally, he pulled Cam from him enough so that he could peer into her eyes.

>   “Cam, look, this is you.” He clenched the bottle that he had found in the courtyard in his hand. Cam nearly jumped out of her skin when he threw the bottle against the wall. Glass shattered. Cam winced, her body recoiling inside the cloak. Peter’s grip was one of iron on her shoulders.

  “Broken. Broken, Cam!” he cried out, his voice choked. Cam’s face stung with the tears. Peter grasped both sides of Cam’s face in her hands. “But you can heal. Let’s end this. Once and for all.”

  Hours later, when night perched the mountains and Cam had

  been warmed and had slept, Peter led her below the castle where, on a previous venture, he had found the wine cellars to be. With one mighty shove accompanied by a wild cry, he sent one crashing to the ground. The wood broke, and wine poured. The liquid stained the cellar. “Come on!” he shouted. “Destroy all of it!”

  Cam was crying. But she was also smiling. “But the queen…”

  She could not finish over the tremendous crash that followed. Peter stood, panting and sweating from hisexertion. “I know it isn’t the wine or whatever it is that helps ease the pain that is the problem. It is the pain. But you’re dealing with it in the wrong way. I’m dealing with my pain in the wrong way too,” he panted out.

  “Andyou’rehelpingme,”Cam said with alaugh. Her eyes were sparkling even as tears slipped from them. “And I will help you.”

  Peter’s smile was small but comforting as he neared her and took her hands in his own. Slowly, he placed them on the edge of a barrel. But it was Cam that shoved it over, a wild cry echoing through the cellar.

  “Owen Edrun, for your betrayal and treason, you are hereby

  banished from the ruins of Mirabelle and the Kingdom of Nazeria for the remainder of your life.” Elizabeth was standing too still, Peter thought. Her nerves were burning, he knew. She was attempting to contain whatever it was she was feeling.