The palace itself was familiar only in its bone structure. The Overlord’s many renovations hadn’t yet been installed. No imposing, tall spires reached for the sky, and no wrought-iron railings or deeply arched, stained glass windows adorned the walls and parapets. No modern additions of copper plating gleamed. The old palace’s white walls were smooth and straight, with gold-plated domes upon its towers. Round windows were inlaid with clear glass and flanked by ornamental bas-reliefs of gold-gilded flowers. It all looked so innocent, and yet Melaine got an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she took in the sight. She lowered her gaze and focused on the young Overlord instead.
Actaeon’s eyes brightened with a sense of adventure. Melaine thought she understood. The world was his for the taking. For once he wouldn’t be avoided and treated as the disease-ridden rat he had always been. He could walk among others as somewhat of an equal.
He stepped out into the sunlight and began his exploration of the courtyard. He stayed in the servants’ domain, passing behind grocers’ carts, walking around people who haggled delivery arrangements, and finally wound up by the stables. Several people shot glances his way during his walk. Some people distanced themselves, but for once, his saturation in residual magic was tolerable enough for no one to vocalize a complaint.
The stables were an obnoxious, grand affair, hosting over twenty of King Malik’s finest steeds. Scrolled, golden gilding adorned the eaves and the open doors on either end. The horses inside were glossy, their hair smoother and freer of tangles than Melaine’s had ever been.
The air wafting from inside the stables was sweeter than that of any sheep pen or pigsty in Stakeside. Fresh straw was strewn on the floors, sweetening the stink of manure until it was only a background layer in her nostrils.
She followed the curious Actaeon who wandered inside. Serj traipsed behind her in grumpy steps. The light was dimmer upon entry, but Melaine’s eyes soon adjusted. A few stable hands milled about far ahead on the opposite end of the long stable, but the area around Actaeon was empty. Then a deep voice and a soft whinny issued from the nearest stall. The stall door was open.
Actaeon stepped closer and peered around the door. His brow furrowed, and then he bit his lip to stop a gasp. He darted back but didn’t leave.
Melaine had no chances of getting caught, so she approached the stall without caution and looked inside. A beautiful horse took up most of the space, black as midnight with eyes like stars. A maroon velvet saddle blanket was draped over its back, with the royal seal of Praivalon embroidered on each side in shimmering, golden thread. A man stood next to the steed, speaking to the beast in soft words while brushing its coat.
“That’s King Vasos,” Serj whispered.
Melaine had never seen a king before, and she was surprised by what she saw. Vasos was relaxed and handsome, though clean and as well-groomed as his fine horse. His black hair was combed back with pomade, and he sported a sculpted mustache and goatee on his strong jaw. He was dressed in a fine riding outfit but wore it in a manner of nonchalance, with his jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
The horse nickered and rolled its head a little. King Vasos laughed and set the brush down on a post. He clapped dust and horsehair from his palms and emerged from the stall.
Melaine glanced back at Actaeon, who still watched from the shadows. He tilted his head a little, and his brow furrowed in confusion. Then he shot his gaze down and yanked up the sleeve of his left arm. He shifted his gaze from his inner forearm to the king and back again.
Melaine craned her neck a little to see Actaeon’s arm. A birthmark roughly resembling a small dagger darkened his skin. She looked back at the king. On Vasos’s arm, she saw the exact same mark.
Her lips parted as she raced her gaze back to Actaeon. His face showed a rising tide of mixed emotions. What started as a furrowed brow of confusion and blinks of surprise morphed into narrowed, flickering eyes that hinted at dark questions. Blood rushed to his cheeks with indignation, but as he lifted his gaze to look at King Vasos, all conflict receded into innocent hope that sparked in his round, blue eyes.
He swallowed and glanced around the stables behind him. The area was still clear, with all the stable hands at the far end tending to other horses. Actaeon took a quick breath and stepped forward into full view of the king.
King Vasos twitched in surprise. He looked the lad up and down with cold, hard gray eyes. His lip twisted in disgust.
“What are you doing, boy? You reek worse than the stable hands.” He flung his hand at the wide-open door. “Go on, before I find your master.”
Actaeon froze. His muscles tensed, and the light of hope in his eyes twisted and divided into the emotions of confusion and anger that had threatened to take dominance before. He balled his hands into fists, and when he opened them, he strode forward so fast, Melaine had to dart out of the way.
King Vasos reared back as Actaeon shoved his exposed forearm beneath his gaze.
“Just how many bastards do you have?” Actaeon said.
The king opened his mouth to dismiss the accusation, but his eyes fell on Actaeon’s birthmark. His rebuttal disappeared on his lips. After a second of staring, he threw his gaze around the stables. The look of frigid fear in his eyes was acute.
When he saw no one around, he looked back at Actaeon with a ferocity that neither Melaine nor Actaeon expected. Actaeon’s eyes widened.
“I hoped it would never come to this,” King Vasos hissed. “But you give me no choice, boy.”
Actaeon took a step back. His hand hovered over his hidden wand at his side.
“I told your mother she could keep you on the condition that you never knew, but I was right when I knew that secret wouldn’t keep.”
King Vasos drew a dagger from his belt and lunged. Actaeon dodged and reached for his wand, but the king plunged his dagger into his side and covered Actaeon’s mouth to stifle his yell of pain.
King Vasos smiled into the boy’s pale face. “Looks like I’ll be informing your mother her son had a little accident. If she even remembers you exist.”
Actaeon twisted his head away from the king’s hand.
“Who is my mother?” he asked in a voice tight with pain. Vasos’s smile broadened.
“So sad that you’ll only know at the last moment of your young life,” he crooned. “Don’t worry, boy. Maybe you’ll meet Queen Adelasia in whatever poor man’s afterlife you dream up.”
Actaeon’s eyes flew wide open. He managed to pull his wand from his belt and shoved its tip into King Vasos’s stomach. A fiery burst of magic exploded from the wand and catapulted the king backward. He hit the post of an opposite stall and slid to the floor. Blood ran from the back of his skull, but he was still conscious. He glared at Actaeon and tried to get up, but he fell back with a dizzy swirl of his head.
“Guards!” King Vasos shouted through a wince of pain.
Actaeon jerked away from the wall and raised his wand. Whether or not he had ever intended it to be a weapon, that was its use now. He held his wounded side with his other hand and stumbled out of the stable.
Melaine and Serj ran after him through the castle courtyard. He made his way to a high wall and cringed at the obstacle but then noticed a drainpipe embedded in the stone. It was filthy and barred, but that didn’t deter him. He aimed his wand at the bars and peeled them back like a potato’s skin. He ducked inside the pipe, but the scene dissolved into scrawls of words and spills of black ink. Melaine stumbled mid-run and barely caught herself against a different wall of familiar black stone.
They were back in Highstrong. Inky words still spun through the solid fortress, making it clear this was yet another past event in Actaeon’s life.
The fortress was filled with people. Together, Melaine and Serj wandered the maze of corridors, passing by rough and lowly groups of men, women, and children who all looked like they could have hailed from Stakeside. They were clean now, their ragged clothes at least laundered, their hair less matt
ed, without the common scratching of lice. Most importantly, they were fed. Even now, many were passing around cups of stew.
Yet, hope commingled with glowers of darkness in their eyes—a malevolence that seemed to seep from the very walls of Highstrong. Melaine had become accustomed to the ancient black magic in the keep’s halls. But in this vision, the darkness was amplified as if feeding off of the many people within Highstrong and regurgitating darker versions of them. She passed by a large room filled with a growing mass of farming equipment and bags of seeds, but some of the people inside hefted hoes and pitchforks like experimental weapons. The words on their tongues were muttered with vengeance.
Highstrong was an Insight, created by the First Era warlord, Eylul. Was this a peek into what his ancient blood magic could do? Had the darkness Eylul used to fuel his ancient army influenced Actaeon’s recruitments as well?
As if something in the vision were calling her, Melaine followed what felt like a predetermined path through the castle. Finally, she and Serj reached the balcony of the tower now used as Actaeon’s chambers, though in the vision, the tower was empty of furniture and trappings, save for two individuals.
One was a big, solid man with the muscles of an ox. He had short, auburn scruff for hair and tattoos covering his exposed back. He’d stowed a wand in a leather holster at his side.
Looking out over the cliffside at the White City glowing in the distance was another man at the balcony’s ledge. It was Actaeon.
Melaine walked toward him. He was older now than fifteen, but not by much, possibly nearing twenty. His age and a few years of full meals had filled him out so that he was less gangly. His hair was longer, touching his shoulders. All stains of residual magic were gone from his skin.
He had become the handsome man Melaine recognized—the strong, piercing Overlord of the posters slapped around Stakeside.
“Actaeon,” said the muscled, auburn-haired man. “The people are ready. We’ve got the supplies. They’ve got their bravery. We’re ready to enter the Wilds and find a place of our own. We’re ready for the kingdom you promised.”
Melaine exchanged a look with Serj. He looked just as confused as she. A kingdom in the Wilds? To not only survive that vast, tangled, dangerous forest, but to tame it? To leave Dramore and the other four kingdoms behind? Had that really once been the Overlord’s goal?
“And we will have our place, Yoson,” Actaeon said, not turning away from the view. “Soon.”
He paused, and Melaine drew close enough to almost feel his warmth and imagine his familiar scent of sandalwood and candle wax that she loved. She peered over the balcony with him and saw the city that she knew as Centara stretched out before them. She could see the southern wall of Stakeside and wondered what her part of town had looked like twenty years ago.
“There’s something I need to do first,” Actaeon murmured.
The scene dissolved. Night fell, and the White City’s palace gates reared to a grand height before Melaine and Serj. They were open but swiftly closing with a heavy groan of chains.
Actaeon stood outside of the gates with Melaine and Serj, sticking to the shadows of the outer wall, alone. He frowned at the gates with confusion and seemed to be stuck in the indecision of whether he should try to slip through the closing gap or not. Melaine guessed that he may have just entered a situation he didn’t expect.
Shouts echoed through the gates that had the tone of volleying orders from soldier to soldier. Torches flared to life on the high stone parapets and in the dark palace courtyard beyond the gates. Actaeon backed farther into the shadows.
Then someone new darted around the edge of one gate and slipped into the shadows against the outer wall. Whoever it was wore a black cloak with a hood over their head. They clearly didn’t see Actaeon until he had reached out and grabbed their arm, jerking them deeper into the shadows with him.
Melaine gasped when Actaeon yanked the hood off the stranger’s head. It was King Vasos.
“You!” King Vasos said, fear wild in his eyes. “You’re the one who told them!”
“What happened?” Actaeon asked. His harsh question didn’t leave any room for Vasos to doubt that he truly did not know what was going on in the palace.
The king sputtered, “I—King Malik knows. About Adelasia and me. He’s got her locked up, and he wants to kill me. You have to let me go.”
“Where is she?” Actaeon demanded.
“The East Tower!”
“And you’re running?” Actaeon grabbed a fistful of the king’s shirt.
“No choice!” Vasos said, his voice hoarse with terror. “You should run, too. If they ever find out who you are—what you can do, just like her—the Luxians, Malik…why even come back? I’d have killed you where you stand if…well if the circumstances…”
“I came to say goodbye to my parents,” Actaeon said. “I knew you were in the city. I’m going to the Wilds. I may not come back. If I was ever going to see my mother…this might be my last chance. And here you are, running like a coward. And to think, I was going to give you a second chance.”
“I—” Vasos started. The voices of the soldiers grew louder. “Please, you have to let me go. They’ll kill me. Torture me.”
Actaeon stared down into his father’s face. Melaine could see it—the darkness of Highstrong boring a hole in Actaeon’s eyes. But after a moment, he loosened his hold on his father’s shirt and let him go like a piece of rubbish.
“Go,” he said. King Vasos nodded and ran without another word.
The gates of the palace closed with a thundering boom. Actaeon looked at the solid barrier, a glare of hatred overwhelming his handsome features.
The enormous gates erupted in a whirlwind of ink. Words spun around Melaine’s head, and Actaeon’s voice, speaking the same words, penetrated her mind.
“I tried to stop a war by letting Vasos go,” Actaeon said, his voice loud and in the cadence of a speech. “If Malik had killed him, Praivalon would have retaliated without question. But now it seems the unworthy King Malik is bent on revenge. This is an opportunity. Your friends and loved ones who were too afraid to join us in the Wilds will stand with us if they have to choose between a war of kings or a rebellion that brings hope. Together, we can end Malik’s reign and stop this impending war. We can bring peace to the White City, and we can create the kingdom we always wanted. A kingdom here, not in the Wilds. A kingdom where everyone is fed and clothed and treated with respect. But we have to act now. Will you follow me?”
A roar of voices clattered through Highstrong. Then an explosion of resounding magic, whistling arrows, and clanging swords against pitchforks made Melaine dizzy. The inky words solidified again into coherent surroundings. Melaine and Serj stood once again in the palace courtyard, but this time, it wasn’t full of servants preparing for a pleasant royal visit. This time, it was full of fire and screams.
Melaine looked on with exhilaration as she experienced the battle for the White City, the one she’d heard tales of since she was a wide-eyed child. The Overlord’s powerful Followers in red cloaks and black hoods swarmed the palace courtyard, blasting enemy soldiers in shining armor with unsurpassable battle spells. Swords clashed while volleys of arrows—their tips dipped in poison and explosive fire magic—rained down from both the palace walls and archers at the gates. Blood splashed from open wounds and sprayed from slashed throats. Red death seeped from bodies like spilled wine. The wails of agony were worse than she’d ever heard from Stakeside brawls or the wretched sick.
Melaine stumbled through the courtyard, her stomach roiling as she clutched her chest and tried to wade through the sickening sights. Salma was right. The glory of battle was a lie. The bright flashes of armor, the majesty of dancing cloaks, and the brilliant luminosity of fiery spells weren’t enough to cover up the stench and torture of violent deaths, of lives ended.
A glint of silver armor and a sweeping black cloak tore up the palace steps. Melaine’s eyes widened, and she burst into a run
after Actaeon. She didn’t care if Serj followed.
The palace doors were already open. The Overlord’s army—perhaps more of the renowned Followers Melaine had so admired—had penetrated the palace. So, why wasn’t he leading them? Why was it only now that he entered his battle-won prize?
Then, she realized. His fierce charge came from the eastern side of the palace. What had he found within the East Tower where his mother was being held prisoner? Was she dead? Had she been there at all or was he still searching?
Melaine surged through the doors and into the entry hall. High ceilings vaulted overhead, but torn banners dangled like hanged men from the rafters. The fine candelabras and silver ornaments placed to welcome the wealthy and powerful were knocked over and scattered. The plush red rug was flattened and covered in the mud of heavy soldiers’ boots.
And blood—if one looked closely enough.
She ran farther and stumbled at the sight of a mass of prone bodies—some moving in the wretched twitches of the wounded, some still as the grave they were bound for.
Melaine’s stomach lurched. She skirted the wall of the room toward the wide corridor through which she had seen Actaeon disappear. Only a few bodies were strewn within, but there were no living soldiers to be seen aside from Actaeon. He stopped in front of a large, ornate set of white and gold doors. They were closed.
Melaine ran to catch up with him, and she heard Serj’s footsteps pound behind her. Actaeon’s small hesitation at the door allowed them to catch up. She heard voices from the other side.
“Do it, my liege,” someone said from within. “Rid the world of this adulteress, this blasphemous—”
“Malik,” a different voice said—a woman’s. “You don’t have to listen to him. Nazir has trickled poison into your ears for so long.”
“The only one poisoning me is you, Adelasia,” a third person, presumably King Malik, said. “You betrayed me.”
“She contains vile power in her bloodline, my liege,” said Nazir, his voice a growing, seething hiss with every word. “It was a blessing she never bore you an heir, for she isn’t fit to spread her blasphemy. Now, you know she’s been intermingling with other kingdoms who hold dangerous, lesser ideals. Kill her, my liege. Wed a new queen who will be faithful to you and won’t carry disgusting, heretical magic in her bones that could taint the entire kingdom.”
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