Traitor's Crown (Stones of Terrene Book 3)

by RJ Metcalf

  Her father had given his life to the keystone to try to protect everyone. How could she run and spit on that?

  He’d wanted her to step up, to be the leader that he believed her to be. Zander had trusted that she would make the right decision. They both died assuming she would take on the mantle that was hers by right.

  Why was she listening to Brandon? Why not make her own decision?

  She wanted to be free, but she needed to stay.

  Jade clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering as more water slipped down her neck. She stopped short, tugging on Zak’s hand. “I’m going back.”

  Zak’s head whipped toward her. “What?” He pushed his sodden hair out of his face to stare at her.

  “What are you doing?” Zaborah hissed from the gloomy shadows between buildings. “Come on.”

  “I’m going back.” Jade straightened. “Our people need my help, and I’m not going to run from a fight just because it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous everywhere. I’m picking my battle. Here. Now.”

  Zaborah’s jaw dropped, and her eyes blazed in the darkness. “Listen, I––”

  “Halt! Who’s there?” A guard shouted from around the building. Zaborah tensed, then motioned for Jade and Zak to join her and Samantha. Jade shook her head and waited patiently for the guards they’d seen earlier to come to them.

  Zak’s hand squeezed hers, and he leaned down, his breath warming her ear. “Are you confident of this, love?”

  Jade returned the pressure and nodded, watching as the two guards approached them, sword point first. Her heart hammered as she shivered. Hopefully she wouldn’t regret this in the days to come.

  She kept her voice low, just for Zak. “Absolutely.” She lifted her hand to the guards and affected a cheery voice, though it trembled from the cold. “I am Princess Adeline of Doldra, and I wish for you to take me and my ensemble to Prince Weston right away.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Weston

  Weston yawned as he leaned his elbows against his knees and looked over at his mother. Her posture had sagged over the hours, and the faint lines around her eyes and mouth had deepened, seeming to age her as they waited in her chambers for any sort of news.

  Thus far, nothing. Whoever had killed his father was gone.

  He didn’t know what to make of it, the knowledge that Everett was dead. Weston wouldn’t have to bend to his father’s will anymore, wouldn’t have to fear for Jade’s or his mother’s safety when it came to his father. He wouldn’t have to protect himself from his father’s wrath when it burst.

  And yet … there was a prickling of guilt, too. He could’ve been a better son, maybe. Could he have done anything to make his father proud of him? But what kind of a father had Everett been, really? Andre had been more of a father figure in the last year. It was Andre who pushed Weston and gave him encouragement. Andre, who showed Weston what integrity was, and why it was important for someone who might someday be a leader. Andre was the one who tried to shelter Weston from Everett’s abuse.

  Weston shoved his hands into his curls, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands. More than his own father, he missed Andre. How messed up was that, that he missed his teacher over his own blood?

  And there was still an assassin on the loose. He hadn’t heard anything from Brandon to know if he’d found Jade to warn her, and General Titus hadn’t been by for a while. Weston’s vision blurred and he dropped his face into his hands. What he wouldn’t give for an hour to lie down and sleep.

  The sound of clanking armor and raised voices drew Weston’s attention, and he raised his head, bleary-eyed. Light from the window assaulted his sense and he blocked the offending brightness with his arm. Had he actually fallen asleep in his chair?

  He glanced to where his mother had been earlier. Niles now rested there, his burly form dwarfing the fine woodcraft. A peek over his shoulder showed the door to her sleeping chamber was now closed, and two guards stood outside that door, with eight more scattered throughout the room.

  The sounds drew closer, and Weston rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Niles stirred. A thrill of nervous energy blazed away all traces of grogginess. What kind of news would this be?

  The door flung open and General Titus strode in, his expression surely. He gestured behind him. “The princess Adeline, Your Highness,” he nearly sneered as he stepped aside.

  Jade scowled at Titus as she walked in, her boots squelching with each step, leaving watery prints on the floor. A blanket wrapped around her shoulders but did nothing to hide her half-wet, half-dry frizzy hair or the ill-fitting sodden clothes she wore. Zak, Zaborah, and Samantha trailed in her wake.

  He’d never seen Jade look so disheveled before.

  Weston stared. “What happened to all of you?”

  “My men found them by the city walls, Your Highness.” General Titus stated, his steely gaze pinned on Jade. “They say––”

  “I can speak for myself, thank you very much,” Jade interrupted, ire underlying her words. She stepped closer to Weston and the hardness around her eyes softened. “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Weston’s mouth felt as dry as the Arid Plains, and he took a sip of the nearest glass, grimacing at the taste of wine. He needed water right now, not alcohol. He lifted it toward a guard. “Water, please.” He waited for the man to fill his cup before focusing on the woman in front of him. What could he say? That he was still in shock? That he didn’t yet mourn his father’s passing? What would Andre suggest he say?

  “I––thank you.” Weston sighed. “It’s a bit too surreal right now.”

  Jade nodded as she tugged her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Have you caught the assassin?”

  Weston looked at General Titus, who shook his head. “Not yet, though we’ve apprehended Marchioness Whelan to question about her women.”

  Jade and Zak exchanged glances, while Samantha and Zaborah stirred and muttered.

  Weston pulled himself to his feet, and the room danced before his eyes. He settled his hand against the table and waited for the dizziness to pass. Proper sleep and a breakfast. That’s what he needed. He furrowed his brow at Jade. “Why are you still here?”

  Jade let go of the blanket to cross her arms, her entire face darkening like a thundercloud. “My father gave his life to the keystone to keep my people safe. I’m not going to run away.”

  Weston blinked. Her fathe––Oh. Slate. Not Brandon. Weston groaned. Did she have a death wish? “Great. So you’re going to be brave and stick around when we don’t know who is out there and who may want you dead too.”

  Zak held his hand out to Jade, likely preventing her impending explosion. He bowed at Weston. “Your Highness. As Jade’s bodyguard, I feel like we shouldn’t return to Francene’s until her name is cleared. Is there somewhere in the palace that’s not taken by the summit where Jade can stay in the meantime?”

  At least someone was thinking straight. Weston considered. “I think so. I’ll find someone for you to talk to about that.” He watched Jade sway on her feet, and he grinned wryly. “Looks like you’ve had a long night as well. Let’s get you situated somewhere safe.” He paused and cocked his head at Jade. “Are those … your pants?”

  Jade’s entire face flushed crimson, and her gaze dropped to the floor. Zak coughed by Jade’s side, and Samantha’s snort echoed in the room. Jade cleared her throat, just barely looking up enough to make eye contact. “They’re,” her cheek twitched and she rubbed at her arm, “borrowed.”

  Her blush and Zak’s smirk clicked it for Weston. His mouth dried and his heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out his surroundings. “Are you two … sleeping together?”

  The flush in Jade’s cheeks drained to white, then reddened again, this time accompanied with a snarl. “Excuse me?” She stepped forward and into his space, craning her neck to meet him eye to eye. “Unlike someone else in this room, I believe in waiting till I’m vowed for life.”

  He folded his arm
s over his chest and stared down at her, suddenly cold. He’d been letting her go, knowing that she preferred Zak over him. Yet this somehow felt like a betrayal. And he didn’t know how to respond.

  Part of him wanted to unleash the raving stalker within, to attack with his words, to––he clenched his hands into fists. No. He wasn’t his father.

  Jade jabbed her finger in his chest, fiery indignation radiating off her. She poked him again, her nail stabbing him even through his shirt. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I was told to run for my safety, and since I don’t have much for ‘running in the dead of night’ clothing, I had to make do with what was available to me. And you know what? I’m not going to turn tail like a coward, so I came back. And you know what else? I wanted to be here to help you, but if you’re going to be a prick about it, then you can deal alone.” She whirled on her heel, the blanket slipping off her shoulders and to the floor with a wet-sounding thwump.

  Her words were like a wet blanket to his anger. She’d come back to help him. And how did he repay her?

  Weston started and grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”

  She froze, and he took a deep breath, struggling to find words in the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in his head. He’d made a mistake. A big one. And even in his exhaustion, he knew he had to fix it. Fast.

  “I was wrong.” He hung his head. “I know you now. And I know you wouldn’t”—he winced, the words tasting bitter in his mouth—”be like me. How I used to be. You have that integrity. I’m—I’m tired, and not thinking clearly, and I made an assumption based off no facts. I’m sorry.”

  Jade didn’t look back at him. “Release me.”

  He let go of her wrist as if he’d been burned. “I’m sorry.”

  She turned and gave him a look that managed to blend embarrassment and ire into an expression that somehow seemed so Jade. “Get some sleep, Weston. We’ll talk later.”

  “Right.” Weston gestured to a guard. “Help them find somewhere to stay.” He fell back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands, ignoring the little prickles of stubble that jabbed at his hands. Whales, what a day already.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ben

  Ben rubbed the scuff on his boot and dipped his rag into the polish and scrubbed at the leather with more force than necessary. The floor vibrated under him, and the entire airship lurched. He grabbed at the railing and waited for the vessel to settle again. Geist hadn’t been kidding about how different a storm would feel in a steamy versus the solid wood of the airships that Ben had become accustomed to.

  Riding in the Sapphire or the Phoenix always felt similar to flying in an airplane, the motion smooth with rare turbulence. The steamy wasn’t the same. Not by a long shot. Being in the military airship during this squall gave Ben the distinct impression of what a storm in a hot air balloon would feel like.

  Exposed.

  Every gust, every shake, every tremor, reminding him of just how far above ground they were, and how incredibly vulnerable the frame and hulls were.

  This, he wasn’t so fond of.

  Another gale shook the airship. Ben’s stomach lurched with the movement, and he dropped the rag, closing his eyes against the wave of nausea that swept over him. He breathed out through his nose, willing himself to not be sick. He hadn’t yet, and he wouldn’t be. Sheer stubbornness help him.

  “You know, I’m actually impressed that you haven’t been airsick yet.” Geist’s voice came from overhead, and Ben slit his eyes open to give his friend the best glare he could. Geist smirked. “Granted, you do look a bit green.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Ben muttered through gritted teeth. It was a matter of pride, now that he had a witness.

  Geist’s boots squeaked on the metal scaffolding as he climbed down. Ben scooted the boot that he’d finished to the side, then picked up the other and the polish rag to give space for Geist to sit next to him. Geist sprawled, one leg stretched out, the other tucked by his body. “So. What are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Ben paused his scrubbing and gave Geist a confused look. “I’m going to do nothing, just wait out the storm, because there’s nothing I can do.”

  An explosive snort erupted from Geist. “No. About Raine.” He nudged Ben with his elbow. “Finn gave you his blessing, didn’t he? But you want to get home. And you have the hots for her. So what are you thinking?”

  Ben clamped down on the surge of irritation that washed through him at Geist’s words. He’d been purposefully trying to avoid thinking about the situation right now. He knew he needed to, but … His fingers tingled, and he set the scrub down, keeping his focus squarely on his boots. “I don’t know.”

  Geist rested his arm on his knee and leaned against it. “But you’ve thought about it.” His voice lowered, losing the teasing edge. “What if you can’t go back?”

  Black polish spread across Ben’s fingers, and he grimaced at the mess. “I’ve wondered that myself, even discussed it with Finn a bit.”

  “I get the strangest feeling that I’m starting to sound like Krista,” Geist muttered. He ran his hand through his hair and tugged at the ends, scowling. “But don’t waste your life here, always looking back and missing what’s in front of you.”

  Ben swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. “You just don’t want me to leave.”

  Geist laughed, his voice echoing in the chamber. “You found me out. The best adventures of late seem to follow you.” He sobered. “What if you find a way back, and it’s after you’re reunited with Raine?”

  There was no point in keeping up with the pretense of polishing his boots. Ben set them aside and stared at his hands, idly tossing the stained rag back and forth. Hopefully it wouldn’t happen like that. He was already entangled in Terrene enough as it was. He wanted to find Raine and keep her safe until she could be pardoned and released. Then he’d bring her back to Finn. And they’d fight this war.

  And somehow, in all that, he’d find a way to get home, or at least send a message to Sara. And not die. And not deepen his roots here any more than he already had.

  But, if he was being honest with himself, there was a small part of him that wouldn’t mind not going home at this point. Earth was already fading somewhat from memory, Terrene becoming the vibrant home. Assuming Raine was still alive—and he could get her out—he wanted to stay by her side. Forever. With the woman whose laugh brightened his day, whose snark kept him on his toes, whose trust was a hard-earned precious gift.

  His heart throbbed. He had to at least find a way to send a message to Sara. He wouldn’t leave her without any closure. And he couldn’t imagine not seeing his sister again.

  There was no way to literally have the best of both worlds.

  Geist tilted his head back, whistling a tune that crested and fell along with the storm outside.

  Ben shook his head. “How I’m going to be able to separate myself, I don’t know.”

  “Hmm?” Geist pulled out his dagger and a pocket-sized whet stone and started working the blade. “You may want to figure out where you stand on the matter before you see her.”

  “I know.”

  Sara had her roommate, Nathalie, and last he’d seen his sister, she’d had a stable job. Was doing better. Raine was in a prison, on her own. Sara was his family and while they’d always be in each other’s lives, he hoped that she would someday heal enough to get married, start her own family. Raine … he could see a future with her, if they could find each other again.

  Ben blew out a breath. Forgive me, Sara.

  Raine had to come first.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Raine

  “He’s been good to me so far,” Raine said quietly into the back of the chair as Artemis finished the last of the shading on her phoenix tattoo. Two days had passed, and Lynx had held to his word thus far, extending hospitality and protection as best he could in a prison. His quiet support bolstered her.

  “I don’t really know Lynx, because he’s only been in
for his required ink, and it’s not like he’s a chatty guy these days.” Artemis ran the needles over a patch of skin on Raine’s spine and Raine gritted her teeth against the blaze of discomfort. Artemis hummed along the same pitch as the tattoo gun. “I’m glad he’s not like the rest.” Her voice dropped. “I am sorry about Simon. If I’d known that he was going to—”

  “Stop.” Raine closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over. She wouldn’t cry about it. Not right now. Not when she had to go out and be seen by the others later. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t know.”

  Artemis loosed a noisy breath that rustled the loose hairs of Raine’s braid. “He better not be wanting anything from here soon. I just may kill him myself and rid us of his presence for good.”

  “Don’t.” Raine curled her hands into fists. “I don’t know what I want to do about him yet, but whatever it is, I want to be the one to do it.”

  Artemis moved within Raine’s view and she nodded, somber. “You got it.” Artemis picked up a vial of deep purple ink and disappeared out of Raine’s view again. “But you need to get back at him. He can’t be allowed to just walk freely after that. Make an example of him, so no other scum hawk here try doing the same to you.”

  “I know.” Raine stared at the dirt floor, her eyes unfocused. What would she do to him, if she had the chance? She’d already dreamt of killing him and tossing his body in the shaft meant for dumping privy waste. Or would she just maim him so he’d never be able to hurt another woman? She swallowed hard.

  What would Ben do? Papa? What justice would they warrant enough?

  Whales, she missed them. How was Papa faring? Was he still a prisoner of the Antians? Had he been able to escape?

  Those questions were going to haunt her for the rest of her short life in the Hollows.

  And where had the Antians dumped Ben’s body? It was all too easy to imagine them just tossing him over the edge of their airship, leaving him to the creatures of the air and ground.