The Emperor's Daughter

by H M Angues

  Tull disappears once we leave the main hall and step out into the city.

  ∞∞∞

  Hours pass, and we’re lounging lazily in Calla’s apartment when there’s a knock on the door. I open it to see Fayette standing on the stone pathway. She pushes past me and runs straight to Blade, embracing him for half a moment. When she’s finished, she turns to me.

  “Where’s Calla?” she asks. I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or not, but Blade almost looks offended that Fayette expects me to know her whereabouts and not him.

  “She’s in the shower,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell her to come find me in the communications room. She has a comm from her father.” She kisses Blade’s cheek and disappears in a hurry.

  As if on cue, Calla appears from the bathroom, hair sopping wet. “Was that Fay? What did she need?”

  “You have a comm from your father. It seemed urgent,” Blade explains.

  Calla nods and finishes drying her hair. She leaves quickly, an awkward silence settling between Blade and me. I take to resting on one of the plush sofas, surfing through channels on the telescreen covering a sizable portion of the opposite wall.

  We lounge about without speaking for at least an hour, Blade and I hardly even glancing each other’s way. When the grand duchess returns, she’s a mess. Her now-dry hair is hastily tied back into a messy, knotted bun. She begins hurriedly throwing things into a bag. When Blade asks her what’s wrong, she ignores him, shoving him aside to finish packing.

  “Calla,” he snaps. She freezes in place, snapping her head to look up at him.

  “What?” she barks.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  She takes a deep breath. “My father needs me in the Borderlands. I know I was supposed to stay here longer, but it’s urgent. Soldiers... They’re resisting. The ones from Roran, at least. And some of the enemy troops are carrying a flag that scouts believe to be bearing the symbol of the Uprising.”

  “What are we supposed to do here?” Blade asks.

  “You’re coming with me,” she says to him, before turning to me. “And you’re staying here, Rysen. Tull still needs you for tomorrow.”

  My feelings must have shown clearly on my face, because she sets down the bag and places her hands on her hips. “I need you to be my eyes and ears down here, Rysen. I’m entrusting the mission to find Kainan to you.” She glances between the two of us. “Besides, I can't be distracted by trying to protect both of you. One at a time is enough.”

  Blade grumbles and gets his things together rapidly. Before I know it, I’m left alone in the modest apartment. I stand there unsure for several moments until I finally decide to hunt down Fayette. Calla is trusting me with a task that affects the fate of her empire. I refuse to let her down.

  ∞∞∞

  Fayette has her own apartment in Drakonis, which I discover easily after asking around. She doesn’t seem surprised when she finds me on her doorstep.

  “Calla left the mission to me,” I blurt the moment the blonde opens the door.

  The disappointment is clear in her fine features. “I was hoping Blade would be the one left behind. Come inside. I’ll fill you in on what you need to know, since I doubt Calla had time to and Tull is off doing prep for tomorrow.”

  Her stone apartment is larger than Calla’s, and homier. Rugs and tapestries cover the floors and walls, bringing a wide array of colors and patterns into the space. I take a seat on a well-cushioned couch tucked against one of the fabric-covered walls.

  “We have good reason to believe that Kainan is staying in Darinthe Manor, and that the residents are covering for him,” she explains as she brews a hot drink in her kitchen across from where I sit. From the smells wafting toward me, it’s a type of tea.

  “He always loved it there. But I don’t think any of the officials would support him. They didn’t even trust me, though I was King Talon’s closest friend.”

  She glances at me over the rim of her tea mug as she takes a sip. “You have some very misleading information in that head of yours, Rysen. The intelligance we’ve gathered tells a very different story. Kainan would have never even been able to step foot on Darinthe’s grounds without allies on the inside. Powerful allies. My bet is most of the officials and advisers are working with him, and that’s how he was able to succeed and escape without a trace. It would also explain their distaste for you—the last thing rebellious politicians would want when trying to ignite a civil war is an imperial sympathizer in court. Rorani are patriots to their Province, and Kainan appeals to that. Your father did, too.”

  It’s shocking news, since I had always assumed the military commanders and political advisers to be loyal to Talon, but it makes sense the more I think about it. Darinthe’s security is tight; there’s no way Kainan could have gotten inside without help. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Tomorrow is a recon mission, like I assume Tull told you. We scope out Darinthe and the surrounding neighborhoods, as well as the cities. Tull and a few other men will use the Nighthawks, you and I will be on the ground. We have tunnels and passageways that will take us right under the estate. Tea?” she asks, offering me a mug of the steaming drink.

  I take the hot ceramic cup in my hands, warming them against the chill of the subterranean city. Fayette notices me shivering. “Not all of us are walking furnaces,” she jokes, forcing a smile out of me.

  I take a sip of tea, my hands steadying now that they’re warm. Tomorrow, this becomes real. The last month or so has felt detached, like the events of the outside world were just background noise. I’ve been so focused on Calla and Talon and day-to-day life at Stonefire Palace that it’s been easy to forget about the strife of Namari and her people beyond the Capital Province. Tomorrow, reality will set in and I will be dragged into the heat of things.

  Tomorrow, I start hunting for my traitorous brother. And if we find him, I will likely have to see him die, too.

  Chapter 9

  Calla

  The pop of gunfire sounds in the distance. Men can be heard yelling, whether it’s soldiers shouting at each other or officers barking orders. A bomb going off echoes from some far-away point, likely closer to the enemy’s lines than our own.

  The sounds of a battlefield. The feel of the vibrations through the battered earth and the soles of my feet. They’re so familiar to me, yet each bullet launching from the barrel of gun fills my heart with dread. War is not something I particularly enjoy, but I’m damn good at it.

  “You can confirm that enemy soldiers were carrying this flag?” I ask, pointing to the image scribbled on a piece of paper, which is sitting on my table in the middle of a makeshift camp.

  The flag is blood red and bears what we know to be the Uprising’s symbol. A black crown in the shape of flames—the imperial crown—is in the center, a crack splitting down the middle of it, with crossed rifles beneath. And below that, across the bottom in large font, the words Morte un Ambrii—Pegandure un Ambriia. It’s ancient Eterran, which my mother and Valek taught me, and it translates to: Death to the Emperor—Purity to the Empire. There’s no doubt this is Kainan’s flag, if it is in fact what the soldier before me saw.

  The young man trembles and mutters a shaky, “Yes ma’am.” He’s newly enlisted and low-ranking, but the first to see the flag up close. Scouts have only been able to catch glimpses.

  “This is bad,” I whisper to Blade, who’s peering down at the image over my shoulder.

  “What does it mean?” he asks.

  “It means Kainan has been garnering support for the Uprising for a long time. Ryse told us he had disappeared for nearly a decade. Based on this information, it’s very likely that he spent that time in Helkyn and collected allies there. It wouldn’t have been hard, seeing as he and the nation share a common enemy.”

  “You think the king of Helkyn is going to aid Kainan if civil war breaks out?” the young soldier blurts out. “Uh, Your Highness,” he quickly adds.

&
nbsp; “We’re in the Borderlands, Private. No need to worry about royal titles. I’m a general out here, not royalty,” I say. He relaxes a little. He can’t be older than seventeen, which is the minimum legal age one must be to enlist in the Armed Forces. “To answer your question, yes, I do. And that makes this much more frightening. Fighting an enemy on neutral ground is one thing—having them inside your empire is a whole different beast to tackle.”

  I notice my father, decorated regally in his ceremonial armor, making his way toward us from his tent. This camp was set up hastily to put us closer to, but still a safe distance from, the enemy lines. Our actual bases and military forts in the Borderlands are a few miles behind us, to the west.

  The young soldier scampers away to attend to whatever duties he may have. I stand to greet my father, but never get to.

  The explosion sets off from inside a nearby tent. Large shards of metal fly toward me from the blast as I, too, am thrown by the force of it. The last thing I remember is slamming into the hard ground, air knocked out of my lungs from the impact.

  ∞∞∞

  “Calla!” Blade’s voice is distant, like he’s shouting from miles away, muffled by a deafening, incessant ringing. I hear him again, this time clearer, closer.

  His hands are on my shoulders, eyes swimming with concern and fear. “Calla,” he says again when he notices my eyes are open, this time with a soft tenderness. He gives me a moment to process what just happened before asking me, “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?” My voice comes out hoarse and raspy. I cough up the ash from my lungs and sit up.

  “Look.”

  I do as he says, glancing all around me. Debris is scattered everywhere, and men can be heard groaning and screaming in pain. That’s not what Blade wants me to see, though. What he’s talking about is the circle of metal shards floating around me, suspended in space and time. Many would have hit me, spearing my chest and skull and abdomen, if they weren't hovering in midair, held by some invisible force.

  “I... I didn’t do that. Did I?” I stare at the shards, then blink. They fall to the ground, landing with a series of soft thuds in the dirt.

  “The explosion threw us both off our feet, but it didn’t knock me out. I saw the ten supports fly toward you and moved to block it, but they just... stopped. And that’s when you blacked out.”

  “I don’t remember doing that.” I rub my temple, trying to coax back the memory. “I’d try it again, but my head is killing me. Is everyone all right?”

  “Lots of soldiers are dead, Calla.”

  I curse the Uprising, Kainan, and the king of Helkyn as I struggle to get to my feet. I’m unsteady, but Blade braces me with his arms. “Where’s my father?”

  He opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by the same scrawny young soldier I had seen just before the explosion. “Your Highness!” he yells. “You need to come here!”

  I carefully make my way toward the boy, leaning on Blade as I walk, pain shooting up my left leg. He doesn’t lead us far. One of the hoverjets had been right next to the explosion, and was blasted forward, landing on one of the men.

  That man, it turns out, is my father.

  Through a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, I run to him, tears welling in my eyes. His chest, shoulders, and head are the only things not crushed by the jet. His breathing is labored, and blood spatters out with each exhale. Soldiers and officers try to lift the multi-ton jet off but are unsuccessful.

  “Calla,” my father gurgles, trying to smile with his blood-stained teeth. I cup his face with my hands.

  “Try it again,” Blade whispers when he catches up to me crouched beside my father. “You stopped the metal in midair. Emperor Remus could do the same, remember? Try it again. Hoverjets are all metal, Calla.”

  My father looks at me, amazement and pride in his warm eyes. “No, it’s... too late... for me. Save your strength,” he takes a moment to catch his breath. “Besides, the soldiers might panic… seeing their Fireblood duchess… bend metal,” he manages, the words barely audible as he chokes on his own blood.

  “You know?” I whimper.

  My father forces a strained smile. “I know. About... all of it. All of your abilities. You are different, my little phoenix. Your mother and I always knew.”

  He tries to say more, but I quiet him. “Shh,” I soothe. “Don’t strain yourself.”

  A gargled laugh escapes him, followed by several bloody coughs. “It’s a little... late for that, Phoenix.”

  I hold his head in my lap for a few more moments while he coughs and wheezes through his final breaths. When the life leaves his eyes, I close his lids, one of my tears landing on his cheek.

  “The emperor is dead,” mumbles one of the officers, who removes his uniform cap and crosses his right fist over his heart.

  The rest of the soldiers surrounding us do the same. I, however, can’t bring myself to move or even shed more tears. I just sit there next to my father’s lifeless body for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Blade pulls me away. I don’t resist.

  Awareness steadily returns to me. “Who set it off?” I snap at one of the officers, anger replacing my sorrow.

  “One of our own, General. A soldier from Roran,” he replies somberly.

  “Very well,” I nod, limping alongside Blade to one of the medic tents still standing. The explosion was larger than I originally thought, wiping out at least half the camp’s tents and men.

  One of my own men, my own soldiers, did this. One of my citizens killed my father, as well as dozens of other men and women with spouses, children, families. I don’t blame the soldier that did it, though. I blame Kainan. For his blasphemic speech, for providing these traitors with the inspiration they needed.

  The leader of the Uprising has just declared war on the empire, and I intend to fight back.

  ∞∞∞

  It doesn’t take long to identify and locate the terrorist, which is enough to put me on edge with suspicion and unease. We find him trying to steal a military transport vehicle to drive to the nearest airfield. I drag him to the only remaining tent myself, tugging him along by the wrist. He’s young, maybe a year a two younger than myself.

  “You’re burning me!” he squeals, clawing at my fingers clasped tightly around his arm.

  I stop walking and turn around so quickly that the tall young man slams into my chest. “Good,” I spit. I can’t help but feel a little guilty, but I brush the feeling aside. The heat radiating from my hand increases a few degrees. He whimpers from the pain.

  I toss him into the tent when we finally reach it and he trips, falling on his face. Some of the officers around us chuckle. Two large soldiers step forward—a man and a woman—and pull him into a chair where they fasten his hands and feet with metal restraints.

  My focus is homed in on the interrogation, and it makes for a good distraction from the recent death weighing down on my heart. Most of the questions are the same, usually running along the lines of, Do you work for the Uprising? Where is Kainan Dane? How did you gain access to a restricted explosive? When he doesn’t answer anything after several opportunities, I burn his arm and he starts yapping uncontrollably.

  Turns out, Kainan is in Darinthe and this boy is from Helkyn. He met Kainan about five years ago; he was an orphan in some place called the Outlands and the Uprising’s leader had taken him in. He only did this because he owed a debt to the man for what he did those years ago. And he got the explosive from Kainan’s armory. The rebel leader even has his own subterranean network of spies and tunnels, likely old ones that the Underground abandoned.

  I want to hate this boy—Jax is his name—but I can’t. I want to despise him with every piece of me for killing my father, for taking the last blood family member I had left, but I can’t. Instead, I pity him. An orphan indebted to the man that saved him. And, having been raised in our enemy nation, his perspective on what is good and bad is probably the complete opposite of our own.

  “Do you ag
ree, Your Highness?” The voice of one of the officers, a lieutenant, drags me out of my thoughts.

  “Agree on what?”

  “We sentence him to a public execution. I know it hasn’t been done in many years, but these are different times, General. We need to send a message to the rebels, show them that we are stronger than they are.”

  “You think executing a boy of sixteen—”

  “Seventeen,” Jax interrupts me, clearing his throat gently. “I’m, uh, seventeen.”

  I’m so taken aback by his casual tone that I can’t even be angry at his interruption. The female soldier that had restrained him moves to deliver a punishing blow, but I stop her.

  “My apologies, Jax.” I turn back to my subordinates. “You think executing a young man of seventeen will show strength? Chaining him to a stone pillar and shooting him at point-blank range will make us look powerful?” I direct the full force of my stare at the woman leading the interrogation. “Power is shown when we become the better people, Lieutenant, and when we choose not to take vengeance even though we can. Power is not sentencing children to death in a prison full of serial killers and madmen. Power is strength, and that... Well, strength is showing compassion when we have every reason to be anything but compassionate.”

  Every man and woman in the room falls silent. One finally speaks up. “What do you propose we do, then?” she inquires.

  “Vishar Prison in Darci, for underage criminals. We put him there until he’s eighteen, then he goes to trial as an adult. Hopefully, the rebellion will be over, as will any animosity toward Kainan’s allies, ensuring him a fair chance.”

  She nods, accepting my proposal. None of them have a choice, though. I outrank every breathing soul in this room. However, they are still able to voice their differing opinions.

  “No disrespect, Your Highness, but his actions led to the deaths of dozens of soldiers, including your own father, the emperor! You can’t possibly expect us to just put him in a comfy prison cell!”