by M. Dalto
It rang once, twice before she heard the phone pick up on the other side with a hoarse, “Hello?”
“Lexan?” she hissed.
“Sarayna?” he responded, almost sounding panicked. “What are you—how did you get this number?”
Deep breaths accompanied his words. “I found it on a card in Mom’s apartment—what are you doing?”
“Nothing—nothing, I’m fine.”
“Why does Mom have a card with your number on it, Lexan?”
“I don’t know,” he said, letting loose a breath. He sounded like he’d been running a marathon. “It could have been…rhaid.”
“What?”
“I gave a card to Crystal, back when I first met her.”
“And you think she gave it to Mom?”
“It’s possible…it’s the only way I can explain why she would have it.”
Sara let out a sigh. “Fine. How are things there?”
“Don’t you think you should be more worried about your own task than what we’re doing here?”
She glowered at the phone as if he could see her. “Stay out of trouble,” she snapped and hung up the call.
It was nothing but a dead end—a damn business card her brother used to trap his now wife. Perfect. She was no better off than when she started.
Tossing the phone onto the bed, she studied the room. A picture of her mother and Crystal sat on the table, definitely from a happier time. A few books, a notebook and pen, were inside a drawer she opened and searched through. Not much else beyond random pictures, hair elastics, an address book…
Sara picked it up and began flipping through the pages. She didn’t know most of the people listed, and from the shape of the book and the fading of the ink, her mother must have had it for years.
With no place to start, she scanned a few more pages until she came to the ‘Ds.’
Derek.
Davio’s.
Dad at work…
Her brows furrowed. She flipped to the ‘Ms.’
Maria’s.
Meredith.
Mom cell.
“Reylor!” she called out, clutching the address book in her hand as she rushed from the bedroom.
She almost collided with the Lord Steward as he emerged from the bathroom, having bathed and dressed in the clothes provided. His eyes were wide and panicked as he gripped her arms before she could run past.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.
She held up the book, her own eyes wild.
“I think I found what we were looking for.”
Chapter Ten
They argued and debated, but Treyan eventually agreed to leave his horse behind.
He removed the bridle and the saddle, quickly tossing them into the underbrush before smacking the horse’s rear and sending her on her way. Both they and the horse would be far enough away by the time anyone discovered the discarded tack, so he wasn’t too concerned about properly disposing of it within the forest.
They moved quickly enough, which was helpful considering Treyan didn’t have the chance to pack any needed supplies, nor was he properly outfitted for an extended period in the outdoors. In hindsight, he may have been rash in his decision to ride for the Empire without preparation, but all he could think of was Alex…
“What was the situation when you left?” Jamison asked as they trudged through the shady overgrowth. “Had you gotten far?”
Treyan shook his head. “No further than Bria’s cottage.”
He noticed Jamison’s jaw tense. Even after all this time, just mentioning the Mistress caused a darkness to flash over his eyes. Treyan didn’t blame him. In truth, he should have been more revolted toward the deceased Mistress himself. Though for all the hell she’d caused them, she still helped them return to the Empire, and for that he would be grateful, despite their current predicament…
“How did you know to come back?” the Captain asked, attempting to shift the subject.
Treyan sighed, brushing his dark hair from his face and binding it behind his head with a leather strap Jamison had given him before they departed. “We found the body of one of the Council members—Symon, I believe his name was—with Lexan hovering over it.”
Jamison stilled, and the color drained from his face. “The prince…killed Symon?”
Treyan shook his head. “It appeared that way, though he denied it. Reylor and Sarayna were both apt to believe him…especially once he informed them Crystal was the assassin sent to the palace.”
“Rhaid,” Jamison hissed, but Treyan turned to him.
“Alex wasn’t her target, at least not in that aspect. Symon was a spy, and the Borderlands weren’t too keen on Lexan going behind their backs.”
The Captain let out a sigh all of his own, cursing again.
“You understand now why I need to get to Alex?” Treyan posed. “If anything happens to her…”
“I know, Treyan…I know.”
“So then tell me again why we’re walking away from the palace—”
“I already told you, Alex isn’t there,” Jamison reminded him sharply. “And if we want to find out where she is, and get her back alive, we’re going to need help.”
Treyan scoffed. “And who in this gods-damned Empire is going to help us, after everything we’ve put the Empire through?”
At that, Jamison gave him a knowing smile and pressed on.
It wasn’t long before he led them to an outcropping deep in the forest. When they came to the edge of the clearing, the Crown Prince had to stop, blinking as if to ensure he was seeing everything before him correctly.
Jamison said they would need an army, and that’s exactly what he led him to. They must have been halfway to the outskirts of the Empire, judging by the density of the trees and how far they had traveled. Every inch of cleared grass, and some of the sparser tree line, was encumbered by tents and cooking fires and horses and men and women in fighting leathers and training gear. Atop the tents were the battle standards of the Empire and multiple surrounding lords whose arms Treyan knew by sight, if not by the men who carried them.
“Do you remember what you told me, when we were younger, and I had just received the Captain’s insignia?” Jamison murmured so that only Treyan could hear as they walked through the camp. Their presence was soon discovered, as noted by the glances, hushed whispers, and bowed heads as the soldiers and workers realized who had set foot into their camp.
“I’m sure I told you a lot of things, most of it useless information,” Treyan responded, nodding to those who met his eye as they walked past.
Jamison glanced at his prince. “You told me the hardest part of war wasn’t the battles or the fighting but having to be the one to tell the families that their loved ones didn’t make it.”
Treyan swallowed at that. “Which was why I made you Captain—you’re much better at talking to people than I am,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.
“Perhaps, but not when the parent of a Council member, who also happened to be a spy, is leading one of your largest military battalions,” Jamison whispered, and nodded his head toward the central tent they were approaching just as the front flap pulled aside and a soldier emerged.
Not just any soldier, Treyan realized. This was a lord.
He had to crouch to fit through the tent’s flaps as he exited, and beneath that shaved head and dark, overgrown brows were eyes that had seen too many battles, and they were already focused intently on the prince and his Captain.
If Treyan read correctly between Jamison’s words, this lord was Symon’s father.
“Rhaid,” Treyan whispered beneath his breath. He could see Jamison trying to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up into a satisfied smile despite their situation, even as he took another step toward the tent.
“Lord Dremond, I present to you Crown Prince Treyan, the First of his name—”
“I know who he is, Captain,” the lord snapped, cutting off Jamison’s introduction, causing Tr
eyan to immediately stand straighter as the male came closer.
“Prince Treyan, how lovely of you to finally care enough to pay attention to what’s been happening beyond the palace walls,” Lord Dremond continued as he moved past Jamison and stopped only a step away from Treyan.
Treyan could hear the sound of metal sliding against leather as Jamison unsheathed his sword, but Treyan waved him off as he kept his eyes on the lord standing before him. He knew the man wasn’t stupid enough to lay a hand on him in front of this many people, and Treyan wanted to keep the already high tensions as controlled as possible.
“I assure you, Dremond, I am more than aware as to what’s been happening within the Empire,” Treyan responded smoothly, angling his head slightly to meet Lord Dremond’s gaze. He quickly realized how long it had been since he’d had to play these political games. But if it would give him an advantage and get him closer to finding Alex…
“Then you’re more than aware that while you’ve been playing games with your people’s lives, your Council members have gone missing? Or did you even know you had a Council again, let alone know their names?”
Treyan had to grit his teeth to let the insult go without acknowledgement. Of course, he knew damn well that he had a Council, and that they had been helping Alex run the Empire in his absence. Yes, it was unfortunate that he hadn’t the time to learn each of their names, or where they were from, or what they could bring to the Empire as a Council member, but…
“Prince Treyan has come to assist us in the charge against the Borderlands,” Jamison added before Treyan could retort.
“I don’t give a damn about the Borderlands,” Lord Dremond snapped. “All I care about is the well-being of my son.”
“I understand your concern, but—” Treyan began to explain to the lord the importance of their task, but Dremond abruptly interrupted, cutting off the prince’s words.
“You understand nothing,” the lord spat. “For years, your family has played with the lives of your people for the sake of your Prophecy.”
“Our Prophecy,” Treyan corrected.
“The Prophecy be damned,” Dremond lashed out. “Whatever you want to call it, nothing beneficial has come from whatever excuse you use to barter with the lives of the people you’re supposed to protect. You come and go as you please as the ones you leave behind need to pick up the pieces, and their lives are the ones sacrificed.”
Treyan tried not to recoil. The man was in mourning; he couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, he was almost proud of the severity of his outrage—much like Treyan, he would rather seek his revenge than mourn. He let loose a breath before continuing. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
His large, bushy eyebrows furrowed over those dark eyes, as if Lord Dremond was debating whether or not he would disclose that information. Treyan almost wished he wouldn’t—it would have saved him from revealing what actually happened to Symon. However, something in the lord’s gaze softened, ever so softly, when he spoke.
“Before Symon left, we made an agreement—he would send me a letter, scheduled to arrive at the same time every week. I told him that if anything happened to him—if anything was wrong or amiss—to not send me a letter, and I would prepare the troops and storm the palace without a moment’s hesitation.”
“How loyal of you,” Treyan muttered under his breath.
Dremond glared slightly, and Treyan sensed Jamison shift beside him. “There is no love lost between my lands and the royal family, Prince—you’ve left us to fend for ourselves against not only the Borderlands, but also what lies beyond them for centuries. Don’t pretend you give a damn now.”
“What makes you think your son needs your help?” he asked, leaning back on his heels as he crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to maintain as casual of an outward façade as he could, even as his thoughts traveled back to the scene they discovered in the cabin, the blood…
“I haven’t received a letter from Symon in three weeks,” the lord informed him with a promise of violence in his tone.
“And you’re certain this is because something happened to your son, and not due to an intercepted note? Or perhaps the post was running late—”
“Are you challenging my integrity?” Dremond all but yelled, attracting the attention of surrounding soldiers who he knew would be apt to eavesdrop on their conversation.
With a sigh, Treyan motioned to the lord’s tent as he lowered his voice. “Lord Dremond, perhaps there is somewhere we can speak privately on the matter—”
“There is nothing you could say to me that cannot be said in front of my soldiers.”
The prince held Lord Dremond’s gaze for a moment longer before he turned to the Captain at his side, arching a brow in question and with a silent plea for advice.
Jamison, little help that he was, merely shrugged in response.
Fine.
“Lord Dremond,” Treyan started, his voice leveled with the authority of his station. “It has been reported that your son, Symon, was a known spy for Prince Lexan of the Borderlands, and because of his discovered treachery, his life was inevitably in danger. He unfortunately met his end by an assassin sent from the same lands he was supposed to represent.”
The lord’s hands clenched into fists where they hung at his side, his lips curled back into a snarl, as his eyes burned into Treyan’s.
Treyan felt like he was about to get punched.
“You’re right. We should have gone into my tent.”
“And why is that?” Treyan inquired carefully.
“So I could have killed you myself.”
The prince knew his face mirrored the shocked and astonished gapes of the soldiers around him as Lord Dremond stormed back into his tent.
Chapter Eleven
“Who are you?” Alex asked as she slowly crept toward the mysterious dark woman sitting on the stone throne before her.
That sinister grin remained on the woman’s lips as her dark eyes roamed over Alex’s form. “We are the same, you and me. More so than you could ever imagine.”
“You didn’t answer my question—and what does that even mean?” Panic seeped into her, as frigid as the room surrounding her. “Where are we?”
“We’re in a dream—my dream. Or at least you are, and will be for quite some time.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The woman stood from the throne and slowly made her approach. “I’ve been watching you for some time now, Alexstrayna, and I wondered when we’d finally have the opportunity to be properly introduced.”
Alex instinctively took a step back as the woman moved toward her. “I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“No?” the woman asked with a tilt of her head. “How rude of me then. I am the Queen Empress Brynaxia, the First of her Name…and the first of the line.”
Alex perked a brow. “Never heard of you.”
“I’m sure you haven’t. The Empire tends to write and rewrite its history depending on the light they want to be portrayed in. In truth, I don’t think your predecessor even knew the gift she bestowed upon you when she did so.”
“What are you talking about?”
The woman named Brynaxia walked down the steps of the dais until she was face-to-face with Alex and pointed with a well-manicured finger to the sunburst-shaped Mark in the middle of her forehead.
“I knew when you died because I helped bring you back. I saved your prince when he died in your bed and saved your life when you needed to flee. The sacrifice of your unborn child was an unfortunate side effect, but sometimes we need to endure loss…”
Alex clenched her jaw as her worst memories flooded back. “Get out of my dreams…”
“I am your dreams, Alexstrayna. I have been ever since Saratanya gave you the Mark, and I’ve been waiting so patiently.”
“For what?” she hissed, incredulous. That this woman—this entity—knew so much about her…how?
“As for your prince, he is q
uite attractive, isn’t he? I tried to convince your psyche that the Lord Steward wasn’t the right match for you, even after everything he did, but you’re very stubborn.” Brynaxia sighed. “No matter. Once I’m free of this prison, I’ll set things right.”
“The hell you will!” Alex shouted, and stormed to the nearest wall, running her hands along the black stone. No ridges, no seams…no door. The laughter of the woman behind her increased as she searched the room to no avail—there was no visible way out.
“You can try all you like, but there is no escape. Not until I allow you to leave. But I do ask you to save your energy.”
“For what?” she snapped, whipping around to face her.
The sneer that seemed permanently etched on Brynaxia’s face turned feline. “I’m going to need to borrow you for a bit. Your prince is going to be perfect for the plans I have in store. And it will be extremely difficult to overtake your consciousness if there’s not even a flicker of you left to hold on to.”
“You will do no such thing!” Alex lunged.
But no sooner had Alex’s feet left the ground that her body collided with a power akin to a brick wall, forcing her back against the solid wall of the room. Her head collided with stone and she crumpled to the floor. She had to close her eyes to the stars that formed behind them, and that damn headache started pounding through her skull again.
“There is no escaping this, Alexstrayna,” Brynaxia mused as she approached. Alex could only hear her shoes as they clicked across the floor. “For too long have I waited. For too long have I watched lives be wasted. My time has come, and your reign, well…” She chuckled slightly as she nudged the fallen Empress with her foot. “Well, let’s say it’s time for you to know what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.”
Before Alex could open her eyes to see what was happening, the same searing pain that sent her into the dream erupted from her forehead, and a scream was the only response she could muster.
It had been forever since Brynaxia last saw the Empire’s suns. She remembered their warmth on her skin in the gardens, how their light used to play through the colored glass of the palace’s windows.