by Brian Olsen
It’s hard, doing this all again without Muln. He was the first to pledge his loyalty to me. I won’t say I couldn’t have won the throne without him, but it would have been much harder, and not half as much fun.
But Muln is gone. My friend sacrificed himself. Tricked Chris Armstrong into murdering his father, knowing that Chris would kill him in return. Gambled that Chris’s guilt and grief would be enough to break through my mental prison and return my memories and personality to dominance over my body. And the gamble paid off.
Such a cost, though.
And as I sit at a table in my ballroom, looking at my inner circle, I wonder which of them could possibly take Muln’s place once I’ve recovered my throne. Perhaps Kelle, if she weren’t so bound by her false life. Not Kumar, she’d run a sword through the first peasant to complain about a farming dispute. Tes has less interest in the workings of government than I do. Dante’s an idiot. And I just plain don’t like Finlay.
Perhaps our next recruit. Perhaps.
“Theen Gandenschild,” I say. “Known in this world as Shonda Yeboah.”
“A student at Charlesville Academy,” Kumar adds. “Just completed her junior year.”
“Does everyone here know her?” I ask.
Nods all around.
“Is anyone especially close to her?” I continue.
Kumar shakes her head. “I’ve never had her in any of my classes.”
“I don’t know her that well, either,” Tes offers. “Neither does Kenny. We hung out in groups but she wasn’t really part of our circle of friends. Alisa knew her best. They’d spend time together.”
“Yes,” I say, “but since Alisa is on the side of the traitors, that doesn’t help us much. Anyone else?”
Tes folds her arms and slumps down in her seat. “Whatever.”
Dante raises his hand. “I met her a few times. Shonda’s boyfriend is a friend of mine and he brings her to dances at the LGBTQ Center sometimes. Does that help?”
I pat his shoulder. “Not really, Dante, but thank you for trying. Kelle?”
“I’ve met her,” Kelle replies. “And I know her parents. But no. I think…” She stops herself.
“What?”
She meets my eye. “Of those of us assembled here, I believe Chris knew her best.”
I raise an eyebrow. “But Chris isn’t here, is he?”
I hold her gaze until she looks down.
“No, Your Majesty,” she whispers.
I scratch my head. “I suppose I’ll lead the charge, then. Familiar face and all. Kumar, you’re up to speed? What do you think of the plan?”
“I am, Your Majesty, and I think it’s sound. We should assume your enemies have regained enough of their memories by now to identify your potential allies. Shonda was a prominent member of your inner circle in the world before. They may be watching her.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, Baroness. I’m counting on it.”
I smile at her confused expression. It’s always good to keep your people guessing. Make sure you know more than they do.
“But your point is taken.” I slap my hand on the table. “All of us will go to Charlesville in the morning, in case we meet resistance.” At Dante’s excited expression I hold up a finger. “Except you, Dante. You’ll stay here to maintain the hiding spell on the hotel, and to keep an eye on the servants and the Pillmans.”
“Aw.” He slumps in his seat. “I wanted to go on the mission.”
“There’ll be plenty of action for all of us in the coming days, don’t fear.” I stand, and everyone jumps to their feet. “Rest tonight, and prepare for battle. Kumar, you’ll find in your room information on our enemies, prepared by Kelle.”
“It’s everything we know,” Kelle picks up. “Who has their memories back, what their words are, who they were before, and who they are now.”
Kumar nods. “Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong. I’ll memorize it before the morning.”
Everyone just stands there for a minute before I remember I have to give them permission to go. “You may take your leave.”
Bows all around. Everyone except Tes leaves the ballroom. I linger for a moment, leaning on my chair, bowing my head. There’s no reason to stay, but I have to do something I don’t want to do, and I’m putting it off.
“Stay out of my head tonight, Tes.”
She laughs nervously. “I never go into your dreams without permission, Kirt.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers.
She looks down. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Tell Kenny to sleep in your room again. Keep trying to locate the traitors.”
“I’ve been trying!” She folds her arms with a huff. “I don’t understand it. It’s like none of them are dreaming at all, let alone having nightmares!”
“Then they’re using magic to block you. Use Kenny and break through.”
“I’ve tried.”
I lift the chair in my hands and slam it back down. “Try again!”
She jumps. “Yes, my Lord,” she says quickly.
I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. She’s doing her best. Damned if I’ll apologize, though. “Find Shonda, then. See if she’s under the same protection.”
“All right.”
“And take a look at Kumar’s dreams, too. Make sure she’s fully on our side.”
“Yes. I will.”
“You may go.”
“Good night, my Lord.” She bows and hurries from the room.
Damn it. I’ll have to be extra nice to her tomorrow or she’ll sulk all day.
“Your Majesty?”
Kelle is in the doorway. I sigh and wave her in. A little hesitant, she comes and stands next to me.
“I wanted to see if you need anything?” she asks.
“Need anything?” I frown. “What could I possibly need from you, Kelle?”
“I don’t…nothing, I suppose.” She laughs a little. “I could make some pizza rolls?”
“Make what?” I rub my forehead, then my eyes. I’m so tired. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I’m sorry.” She’s silent for a moment, then, “Are you all right?”
I lower my hand from my face. “Of course.”
She shakes her head. “I can tell when you’ve been pushing yourself too hard.” She touches my elbow. “Have you been sleeping all right?”
I look down at her hand.
She tries to snatch it away, but I catch it in both of mine.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I’m touched by your concern, Kelle.” I heat my hands up. “Or do you want me to call you ‘Mother?’”
“No, Your Majesty. I’m…”
I heat my hands some more. She squirms in my grip but doesn’t pull away.
“I’ve put up with your familiarity. I understand that the false memories created by the Moment have been confusing for you.”
More heat. I’m burning her hand now. She could use her ice powers to counter mine, but knows better than to try it.
“I am not your son. I was never your son. And just in case these maternal feelings threaten to overtake you again, Kelle, I’m going to share something with you. Something very few people know.”
She’s biting her lip to keep from whimpering. Good. I pull her in close so I can whisper in her ear.
“I killed my real mother. I reduced her to charred bones, for no other reason than it suited my purpose. And I felt far more affection for her than I do for you.”
I let her go. She holds her pink hand against her breast and finally lets out a quiet cry of pain.
“I am your king, nothing else, and you will treat me as such. Will we have to have this conversation again, Kelle?”
“No.” She lowers her eyes. “No, Your Majesty. I’m sorry.”
“Get out of my sight.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She bows and scurries from the room.
I hurl my chair against the wall. It shatters and the pieces drop to the carpet.
I wait a moment more to be sure I won’t run into Kelle, then head out into the hallway, to the elevator. I pass two of the servants, who back up against the wall to let me by.
I pause. “We’ll be leaving in the morning to fetch a new guest. Have food and drink prepared in the ballroom when we return.”
They’re both looking down at the carpet. One of them nods.
“Don’t waggle your heads like marionettes! Answer me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the one who didn’t nod says. “Yes, sir.”
I grab him by the throat, slam the back of his head into the wall, and scream in his face, “Why does no one in this damned world show me the proper respect?”
I set his head on fire and let him drop, containing the heat so the flames won’t spread. He thrashes on the ground as he dies.
The other one, a woman, screams.
I clench my hands into fists. “Stop your caterwauling!”
“I’m sorry!” She digs her fingers into her palms so hard she bleeds. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Your Majesty!” It’s hard to understand her through her sobbing. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty!”
“Better.” The body at my feet stops moving. Its skull is scorched clean of flesh. “Clean this up.”
I step over the corpse and head down the hallway. “We’ll be leaving at sunrise,” I call back. “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, so keep the food hot.”
She doesn’t answer, but I suppose I can’t fault her for being distraught. Muln would have scolded me for that little temper tantrum. You want them frightened enough to obey, he’d have said, but not so terrified they’ll rebel. Not to mention, it’s a waste of a perfectly good servant.
“But you got yourself killed, Muln,” I mutter. “So your opinion doesn’t carry much weight.”
In the lobby, I press the button for the elevator, then kick over a plant. Nearby there’s one of those wheeled carts they use for baggage. I knock it over.
The woman at the front desk doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound.
The elevator arrives and I step in. I press the button for the top floor and the door slides shut.
I like elevators. I’ve only ever seen the ones in this hotel but they’re very nice. I like the idea of them. I like that they play music for you while you travel. I like the little screen that displays information about the hotel, and news of the outside world, and the current weather. I like the bell tone that sounds when you arrive at your floor.
It’s the little things that make life so enjoyable.
My mood is much improved by the time the elevator stops. I don’t know why we never created elevators in the real world. Some logomancer, at some point in our history, must have had a word that would have allowed for them.
I whistle while I head for my suite, but my mood darkens again as I open the door. I almost forgot what I’m about to do.
I go into the master bedroom and undress. I turn off the lights, get in bed, and close my eyes.
I don’t need to be asleep. As soon as I think of it, I’m there.
I’m in a lush plain. There are no trees, no hills or mountains in the distance, nothing except bright green grass as far as I can see, stretching out in every direction. It reaches up to my calves. I stoop a little and brush the top of it with my palms. It feels real. Alive.
Right in front of my feet, hovering six inches off the ground, is a rectangular stone step.
I look up.
A room floats in the air, high above. It looks as if it has somehow been removed from a house while keeping the walls, ceiling and floor intact. All the walls but one, that is. The wall facing in my direction is cut away in the middle, leaving a sizable gap.
Someone waits for me in the room. I can’t see him, but I know he’s there. And he knows I’m here.
A shiver runs down my spine but I ignore it. I am the Common King and I do not give in to fear.
I feel an odd temptation to step onto the stone. I know if I do another step will appear, and then another, leading me up to the room.
I know what the end result of that would be. Fortunately, I don’t require steps to ascend.
“Sun.”
I fly straight up until I am level with the open side of the floating room, keeping it, and what it contains, at a safe distance.
The occupant of the room, the man who stole my face, stands waiting.
“Hello again,” he says.
“Hello, Chris.”
I force a smile onto my face. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing my apprehension.
“We need to talk.”
Four
Looking at Chris Armstrong is not like looking in a mirror.
We’re both seventeen. We’re both fit and lean. We have the same brown eyes, the same hair of ashen yellow, the same white skin permanently tanned. I see details in his face I’ve never noticed in mine – it’s a little squarer than I thought, the nose a little shorter, the ears sticking out slightly more than I realized – but I won’t pretend those features are only present in him.
But he’s not me. He’s a shadow. A mannequin crafted in my image. An illusion. And a weak one, at that. I don’t know how the logomancers who opposed me ever believed he could contain me for a lifetime.
The floating room looks a little different from when it imprisoned me. Both rooms are devoid of furnishings, but the interior walls of mine were of once-expensive wood paneling left to rot and splinter. One wall held just the top portion of a tapestry, frayed and torn at the edges. All that remained visible of the image were a few inches of faded sky and a bit of soiled cloud. But in Chris’s room, the walls are made of…whatever it is they make walls of now, I don’t know the word. Some thin material, almost like paper but gritty, stretched across a wooden frame. They’re painted pale blue, but the paint is uneven, with patches of dark mold. Rough holes punched through here and there reveal the studs beneath. There are small rectangular areas where the paint is lighter, cleaner. I’ve been curious about those when I’ve visited Chris before, but never asked about them.
This time he notices me looking past him, and turns to see where I’m staring.
“That one?” He points at one of the cleaner patches on the far wall. “That was a poster for the New England Black Wolves.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Lacrosse team,” he explains. “They play out of Uncasville, at the Mohegan Sun Arena. Nate’s uncle works there and he gets us good seats sometimes. Concerts, too, usually classic rock. Nate and my dad like the same music, and Nate’s dad and I like lacrosse, so all four of us would go to both. It was fun.”
Chris has looked sad every time I’ve come to see him, but it seems this memory particularly troubles him. It’s the thought of his father, I’m sure.
“What is lacrosse?” I ask. “A sport?”
“Yeah. It’s great. I’m on varsity. Well, I was. I quit to deal with…well, to deal with you.”
I smile at him. “That didn’t turn out well, did it?”
He smiles back, though there’s no mirth in it. “I guess not.”
“A poster.” I tap my chin. “I know what those are. A printed painting, yes? Like a photograph.”
“Yeah.”
“So this was your bedroom?”
He laughs. “I mean, my bedroom had a bed. And furniture. And didn’t look like it’s been abandoned for a hundred years. But yeah, this is, like, the rough shape of my bedroom.” He spins around once, his arms extended. “Home sweet home. Did it look like this when you were in it?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I didn’t get a good look before we Freaky Fridayed.”
Another reference I don’t understand. My allies are constantly making them but it’s odd to have one coming from inside my own head.
“Yes. It was my bed chamber. But similarly dilapidated.”
“I wonder why. Why not just a nor
mal room?”
I shrug. “You’d have to ask the logomancer who crafted it. But if it’s meant to be a prison, then I suppose the effect is intended to be disquieting.”
“It’s a metaphor, maybe.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It was meant for you, not me, so…childhood lost? Trapping you in your abandoned innocence?” He sits on the edge of the room. His legs dangle out from the gap in the wall, over the green plain far below. “Maybe I’m wrong. Was this even your bedroom from when you were a kid? Or was it the one from your palace, after you were king?”
“From my childhood.” I float a little lower, so our faces stay even, then fold my legs underneath me. It’s not any more comfortable, since there’s nothing supporting me except my willpower, but I’m not going to let him assume a casual posture while I remain standing. “In my father’s castle. Comfortable enough, but my chambers in the palace were far more opulent.”
He nods. “I never saw your rooms, in the memories Jasmine sent me.”
“She didn’t send them,” I correct. “They were my memories. She could choose which to show you, but she had no control over the events as they played out.”
“Right, sure. Anyway, I never saw your bedroom.” He strums his fingers on the floor idly. “I saw your parents, though.”
I keep the pleasant smile on my face. “Did you?”
“I saw you kill them. I felt you kill them.” He frowns. “You didn’t want to.”
“Of course I wanted to. That’s the whole reason I returned home. I needed to—”
He waves his hand to cut me off. “I know, you wanted to get rid of anyone who could out you as nobility.”
I swallow down my irritation at the interruption. I need information from him and don’t want to start a fight. “Yes.”
“Was that your idea or Mr. Miller’s?”
“His name was Muln,” I reply. “And it was mine. He spread the legend of the Common King, but I was the one who realized there were far too many people living who could betray my true origins.”