Keepers of the Crown

by Lydia Redwine

  Owen kneeled in the center of the room with his hands shackled behind his back and his head bowed towards the floor. Peter could not see his face. A figure stepped towards the prisoner, someone Peter didn’t know. A flask was in his hand. Peter had counted the days. Nine. Nine days since two members of the queen’s court had ventured past the mountainous borders of Nazeria in search of the Infernal Magic.

  Only one had returned. And only half of his face appeared as it had when he had left.

  “I didn’t know him much, but he seemed a good friend from the start,” Caleb said in a low voice from beside Peter. “He was good to our girls.” Peter nodded.

  Caleb and Cole had been the only ones to join him in witnessing Owen’s banishment. And they hadn't done it for sake of watching but so that the queen wasn’t the only one involved. “A precaution,” Cole had said.

  “I suppose anyone can turn against everything they have known to have exactly what they’ve been desiring for years,” Caleb replied.

  “No matter the cost,” Peter murmured.

  Peter closed his eyes as Owen’s mouth was forced open, and the liquidated form of the Infernal Magic was drained into his throat. And Peter couldn't help thinking that they were all the same; all fragile fashions of glass. Glass that wished to be gold and would break to become so. But broken glass remained broken. Owen’s deeds were done. He just hoped that Terra Briar would not be brought back from the dead.

  Peter remained in the castle for the remainder of the day. He

  found a private room in which he could practice his pipe. Cam found him late in the afternoon when she had ventured to the castle through the snow. Peter’s music ceased when she entered the dusty library. Peter remained sitting as she came to him and plopped onto the sofa beside him. “Did you sleep?”

  “Some,” she replied. Peter knew better than to ask if she was alright. Of course, she wasn’t. “I have questions,” she said at last. “About this...master we’veallheardabout. My father, as you know, assumes him to be...Lucius. But that is just the thing. I have no inkling as to who Lucius is,” Cam said. Cam leaned further back into the sofa beside him and sighed heavily. Peter did not reply right away but instead tilted his head to observe her. More color had bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes were not as red and swollen. But lack of sleep was evident.

  “Lucius was once a prince of Caelae, as wehave been told from people of our kind ages ago with whom Elyon spoke directly,” he began. But Cam stopped him.

  “Wait...Elyon, a god, spoke to man?”

  “Well, yes,” Peter said with a shaky laugh. “That’s just it. The fact that Elyon is a personal god, that He cares about relationships with His own creation separates Him from the gods other minds have fathomed.”

  Cam’s brows furrowed. “Has He...ever spoken to you?”

  “In His own ways, yes. But He hasn't spoken to me in the way you might imagine. And most of the time, I can’t even hear Him over my own raging human desires. But when I listen...truly listen, I can hear His voice like the whisper on the wind. Like the breath of midsummer when the honeysuckle blooms…”

  Cam laughed. “How poetic. But also...beautiful.” Her eyes were far off as she turned over his words. Peter’s face had glowed as he had spoken but now darkened somewhat as he returned to Lucius.

  “He was one of three princes of Caelae before he tried to overthrow Elyon Himself and was banished from Caelae forever.”

  “My father said he was given dominion here,” Cam replied.

  Peter nodded. “Yes, thatiswhyheissometimescalledthe Prince of the Between Realm while his other title, the Fallen Prince, refers to his past in Caelae.”

  “So, he is our ruler of sorts?” Cam prodded.

  “No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “He has dominion over this space, but not over us. But he has and will do anything to destroy us. And after he deceived man and woman into choosing to open the Door of Curses, his first deed against humanity was to create the Shadow Bearers.”

  Cam’s brows rose. “But...why?”

  Peter consideredher thoughtfully. “Whereareallofthese questions coming from?”

  Cam’s lips parted, but it was a while before she spoke. “I cannot tell you, exactly. It's just...he, our enemy is always there it seems, awaiting us. And I want to know why.” Her eyes fell to her own two hands which fidgeted in her lap.

  Peter’s gentle hand brushed her shoulder before resting on her back. Warmth surged through her at the touch, and she tried to think only of what she was voicing instead of the tingles on her skin even through her heavy clothing. “Or perhaps Elyon and Lucius are both our enemies. Two gods warring in the realms…”

  “Hmmm, I don’t think so,” Peter said softly. He did not blurt out a resounding protestation, but Cam turned to meet his gaze regardless. “You see,” he said in an effort to formulate his words, “They are warring in the realms, but Lucius is not a god, and Elyon is only your enemy if you make Him so. They are warring for our souls, Cam.” His earnest filled eyes searched her own. He didn’t even realize that he was clutching her hands in his own.

  She smiled slowly. “Okay, and what do they want with our souls?”

  Peter swallowed, not realizing the grip with which he was graspingCam’s hand. Heloosenedhis holdbut did not withdraw altogether. “Lucius would have us shattered while Elyon wishes to bring us home.”

  “Home…” Cam echoed. “Home to Caelae…” Peter nodded. Silence passed between them. And finally, Cam asked one more question. “Has anyone human ever seen, Lucius?”

  “One,” Peter said. Hesighedandfinallysaid, “TheScarlet Spy.”

  Cam straightened and only one sound echoed from her mouth. “Oh.”

  Peter spoke softly. “We should look sometime in the library. Nazeria’s is small, but I am sure we can find some sort of translation on some of what she dictated and wrote for herself.”

  “Or we can ask her for ourselves.” Peter nodded. “But I will look over the stories my grandfather read to me when I was younger. And then I will ask.”

  Peter nodded again. “The account of her seeing Lucius was found not more than half an age ago. She scrawled in letters we can’t read that she saw him in the desert at night. A flash of icy eyes and a black coat of fur. Human in a sense but also animal-like. And...beautiful like the Sons of Caelae themselves. I surmise that Lucius isn’t a beautiful creature. But he is not an ugly one either. He is one that I think if I were to see him, I would not be able to look away.” Cam felt suddenly cold. Peter saw the gooseflesh rising on her arms and slid his hands over her skin. Even after the account, Peter had given her, Cam was not sure she knew anything about Lucius. That is until Peter said…

  “He is everywhere when anything...wrong happens. He watches. If it is not him, it is one of his servants. He prowls at our feet, waiting to devour us at our weakest moments.” Yes, Cam knew what they were up against. An enemy who watched her sisters die, his piercing blue eyes peering over at her through the flames as she had tackled Silva to the ground. An enemy who laughed at her from the other side of her prisons. An enemy that had danced around her dying mother. An enemy who knew he was doomed forever and would still burn as many as he could with him. And she did not know if the tingling in her blood was fear or if it was a will to act.

  Cam became suddenly aware that Peter's fingers were brushing the side of her face. “How are you, Cam?”

  “I’m…” she struggled for words. “I’m struggling, Peter. It’s...really hard. All the time.” The tears were pressing into her eyes against her will.

  “Iknow,” hesaid softly.His handdroppedfrom wherehe had been tracing the side of her face to slip into her own hold. “I can’t sleep most nights myself.”

  Cam nodded and drew in a breath so as to prevent her voice from choking. Slowly, she said, “When it hurts most, I think of how we damaged all the wine there is in this castle. And then I feel guilty because Elizabeth has nothing to give her guests.” Cam’s laugh was shaky, anda tear was d
riftingdown her cheek. Peter brushed it away.

  “But you were there, Peter. And that makes it better. Especially since, if anyone becomes angry as I am sure is to happen, Ican blameit on you.” Peter’s laughrangin her ear. Cam smiled. And it felt so real and as if it could last. This was not flashing in her imagination. It was not fleeting. It was something she could grasp and hold within her forever. But even as the warmth spread inside her, Cam’s thoughts returned to Peter’s words. “Elyon is only your enemy if you make Him so.”

  “Did I make Elyon my enemy? Is that why He took my sisters?” Cam did not know that she had said the words allowed until Peter spoke.

  “No, Cam, I do not believe that you did. And it wasn’t Elyon that took your sisters. It was because other people made the wrong choices. And sometimes, Elyon allows those that we love to be taken from us. But just think, Cam. They are home. They are in Caelae because they did not follow a fallen prince.”

  “As so many others have,” Cam thought. “Silva, Riah, Glista…” She knew then. She could see it. “It was Elyon that killed Silva, wasn’t it? She made the choice, and He allowed her to die. Perhaps he used someone to do it, but it was Elyon that took her from this world. And did not let her enter Caelae.” She could not wait any longer. A choice drifted in the wind and hung in the air. Rise or fall. And waiting was a slow sinking. She would not wait. Not when she felt as though she were on the brink of a double-edged sword.

  “For dogs encompass Me; a company of evildoers encircles Me; they have pierced my hands and feet.”

  -Prophecy in the words of Immanuel

  Forty-Three

  The tall grass withered in the wind before him. His eyes slipped

  shut as he felt the breeze brush his face. His bare feet curled into the soft mud. Something light touched his face. His fingers traced the side of his cheek, drawing the ash over his skin.

  Riah’s eyes opened. The plain before him was stiff in its silence. Waiting. Watching. He turned.

  And saw the tree. A single tree upon which blackness was creeping. Riah walked, his steps light and thudding on the soft ground. Golden globes of fruit began to appear, scattered on the terrain. He peered up at the tree. No fruit could be found weighing its boughs. But a rope was extended from one of its branches.

  He stood, his bones and muscles numbing. She swayed gently in the wind, her own bare feet ash colored like her face. She was low enough to the ground that when Riah reached to brush the tangled mass of hair from her face, he knew the eyes. Arria.

  Her name was a hiss on the wind. A scream curdled the air. And Riah did not know if he had screamed or if it was the wind or sky or the ground splitting apart. A cracking sound followed.

  And the tree split in two. The following darkness was blinding.

  Riah stumbled, his back hitting something hard. Bracing his hand against the object, he felt something rough. Bark. The outlines of trees were growing more distinct. The forest was dripping purple tears.

  And Riah knew exactly what he would see. She appeared as she always did, her eyes hollow and once silken hair a tangled mess over her pallid skin. She was staggering as she always had, her bony hands reaching, reaching…

  Riah turned and ran, his heart slamming against his chest. Beads of perspiration slipping down his neck and back. The forest ground was hard beneath his feet with stones and sticks and vines broken and scattered. But he did not stumble. He had fled the confines of this place too many times to falter. But leaving the forest, finding what was beyond… That hadnever happened before.

  Riah halted, his burning lungs easing into their normal feeling. His heart was beating thunderously in his ears. A lake of silver stretched before him. And there was something large and rectangular floating in its center. He did not even think before he thrashed into the murky, warm water. The mud at the lake’s bottom squeezed between his toes as the water rose to his ankles and then to his knees and then to his waist. He was floundering when he was only feet away from the object. With a mighty heave, he grasped the edge of what he now knew to be an iron structure and pulled himself to peer over its edge.

  The face of the corpse was ash-white, the eyes closed. The skin wrinkled and patched with spots of black. The long, wrinkled fingers upon which scales marked, grasped a single, red rose. The robes were tattered and black.

  The scream sounded again. The same terrifying scream that had echoed across the plain. And Riah did not know if the sound had burst from his chest at the sight of his father in the coffin or if the lake itself had curdled with the sound. But when he lifted his eyes, through the veil of mist, he saw a single light. She held a lantern in one hand and a dove in the other. Even from across the expanse of water, Riah could see her shining doecolored eyes beneath the rippling of her light brown hair across her face. “Saffira!” This time, he knew he had called the name.

  She remained still on the other side of the lake where she stood ankle deep in the water. He swam. Then he floundered, Then he ran. “One, two, three…” Steps. He reached the surface, extended his hand to grasp her and… She vanished wisps of light where she stood. And the dove… It remained. For a moment, anyway, before it snapped its wings together and flew into the forest beyond.

  Riah fell to the ground, his knees sinking into the soft mud. He threw his fist into the earth as a wild cry escaped him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the burning tears. And then he felt cold drops falling on his skin. The pattering of the rain followed. And then a crash and thunder.

  The lake split in two.

  He opened his eyes and found the cliff edge around him to be jagged rock, the sky a boiling storm, and the sea a swirling bowl of fury hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of feet below. “Who will I see here?” But he knew. Riah knew deep down inside of him that there was only one person he would find on this cliff edge.

  The figure staggered towards him, long fingers grasping at its cloak to keep it fastened to him, to act as some sort of shield against the sky’s tears. Riah rose on legs he found surprisingly steady. The creature raised its head, and even with two gaping holes where eyes should have been, Riah could hear its name screamed in the wind, an echo from the storm.

  Leviathan.

  Ather.

  The Shadow Bearer rose its head, twisting its neck and hissed in a rasping, broken voice. “Elyon has come. The Savior is here.”

  Riah awoke not hearing his own scream but rather, feeling its

  burning in his throat. Sitting straight up with sweat gleaming on his bare chest, he slipped his eyes shut as he attempted to pull in long breaths of the night air. The window was open, the sheer curtains fluttering in the breeze.

  And Riah realized again how warm it was here when only a little farther south lay mountains laden in ice. He threw the single, thin sheet from his nearly naked body and scrambled to find his pants on the floor before breaking from the gallery he had now made his permanent bedroom. The throne room was basked in the moonlight, and the Shadow Bearer occupying the space was standing in the center, his eye focused on whatever was held in his hands.

  “Leviathan,” Riah panted. The Shadow Bearer lifted his head, his icy blue hair cascading over the side of his face. Riah said the name only so he knew he could still speak even when his throat felt scraped raw and heavy. He yearned for human interaction after seeing so many in that dream…

  Haunted. They had been so haunted.

  “Sacrifice is a peculiar thing.” The voice of the Shadow Bearer rumbled softly.

  “Huh?” Riah stepped forward into the light and

  swallowed hard as if he could make the throbbing in his head

  sink out of his body.

  “Sacrifice,” Leviathan repeated. “It is strange. Strange

  the prices people pay, the sacrifices they make or accept or would

  have others make. The sacrifices that are not made. It's

  everywhere.”

  Riah, though puzzled, did not push. The Shadow Bearer

  would continue his
train of thought once he could formulate

  words. And finally, he did. “Elyon sends humanity a Savior as a

  sacrifice because Lucius sacrificed his own beauty and home and

  innocence to come here. To have power and dominion.” Riah sank into the armchair idly positioned just behind

  Leviathan. The draft passing through the room presently

  peppered his arms and chest in goosebumps. “The door was left

  open again, wasn’t it?” Instead, he said aloud, “Who is Elyon?

  Who are we up against?”

  Leviathan turned slowly, brows furrowed. “You consider

  yourself against Elyon? But He made you.”

  Riah shrugged. “I am allied with Lucius, aren’t I? And

  seeinghowElyonisLucius’enemy,wouldn’t thatmakeElyonmy

  opposition as well?” He was remembering all the plans they had

  made over the past few days. Well...the plans Leviathan, Glista,

  Arria, and who the hell knew who else, had made and then had

  finally chosen to inform him of.

  The Spirit Followers were in Nazeria, the Crown

  undoubtedly with them and surrounded by military and

  mountains with Nazeria’s other strong ally Caranthia just beyond the sea. They had to plan carefully. And make sure Caranthia didn’t know they were coming and that Nazeria could not send them word. Gather their own allies. Riah had seen the map, the tracings in blood in the desert lands. Mingroth had not been touched by any ink or blood or whatever it was they marked

  the parchment with.

  “You can ally yourself with someone but not have the

  same aspirations,” Leviathan replied dryly, breaking into Riah’s

  train of thought.

  “I doubt Lucius would approve of that statement.” Leviathan's course laughter sliced the air in the room, but