by Erin Rhew
“She’s already been taken down there, Wil. There is nothing you can do right now. Try to rest and get your strength back. You’ll need it if you plan to get her out.”
“I will get her out.” He swore a silent vow to his now imprisoned sister and mother. Wil swallowed hard, his next question stuck in his throat. “And Layla?”
“She is unharmed in the tunnels. I made sure Layla got there safely, but she may need to remain hidden until the king calms down….whenever that may be. I told her about Vespa, so she would know the importance of staying put, though I did not tell her you were injured as well.” Gratitude, for Mars’ constant guidance and unconditional love, washed over Wil, a salve to his aching soul. In almost every way, Mars behaved more like a father than Jesper.
Wil had not yet had the opportunity to tell the Volton about his heartbreak over Layla, yet the man seemed to know without Wil even having to say it. The two sat in companionable silence while the prince examined recent events.
After much internal debate, he selected a question to pose. “What do you know about The King’s Right?”
“The same as you, that the king can invoke it. By doing so, he unlocks all previous Alterations and Locks and is granted full access to the mind. He can even compel a person to reveal secret information. This ability allowed many kings to discover traitors and foil their schemes. Why do you ask?”
“My father tried to invoke The King’s Right on me, but it didn’t work. Why wouldn’t it work?”
Volton Mars sat back in his chair, a look of fascination on his face. He always appreciated intellectual intrigue. As he often did when contemplating a complex situation, Mars tapped the side of his head. Wil could practically see the information turning over in the Volton’s mind.
“Very interesting, Wil. I’ve only read about this sort of situation happening once or twice in recorded history. In those cases, only a prince with a pure heart could resist The King’s Right of a malignant king, making the prince the true king though his father still reigned. You could very well be that prince, Wil. I don’t have faith in much, but I would believe that.”
“I don’t have a pure heart, Mars. My heart is anything but pure right now.” Wil thought back to the tunnels, to that moment when he saw Nash and Layla locked in their passionate embrace. His own hurt and anger simmered. Right now, his heart possessed too much poison to match the prince in Mars’ description.
“Wil, purity of heart is more about your overall character than your current state. It’s more far reaching than that.”
“What about my father?”
“He has no power over you anymore, which gives you an advantage over him.”
“Could I invoke The King’s Right over him?”
“It’s possible. I’ve never read about anyone trying it, but I can do more research if you’d like. Do you want to perform an Alteration on your father?”
“I told Layla I hoped to never be put in a position where I need to invoke The King’s Right, and I meant it. At the same time, I can’t let my father continue hurting people. If I must do it, I will. I will force him to free my mother and Vespa.”
“And Nash?”
“Yes, I will remove the bounty from my brother’s head, despite my personal feelings.”
Chapter Twenty
Nash
Nash bent down and splashed his face with water from the creek. He and Grant had ridden through the night and into the morning, so he welcomed the break. Nash filled up his water case, stood, and stretched. Though he often snuck away from Etherea and explored the Vanguard side, he had never been this far. The castle, his father’s castle, sat just a few clicks away. Anxiety gripped him. How would he get inside the dungeons, much less free his father? His father…
Thinking back to those stolen moments with Layla, Nash remembered her confidence in his success—not only in finding and freeing his father but in convincing Rex of his paternity. Layla, he missed her so much already—his brother and sister too. What if he never saw them again? He didn’t want to leave those relationships so tangled, so unresolved.
“Nash!” Grant’s exclamation cut into his thoughts. “A band of Vanguard soldiers are headed this way. What do you want to do?”
“You go.”
Grant’s mouth fell open, his expression incredulous. “What? I’m not leaving you here.”
“You have to. If they find you with me, Vance could accuse you of treason, especially if he recognizes my resemblance to his father…my father. If he doesn’t immediately suspect me though, perhaps I can live long enough to find a way into the dungeons,” Nash finished, knowing the plan didn’t sound solid.
Grant frowned. “He’s more likely to kill you no matter what he notices about you.”
“You mentioned there were soldiers who were still loyal to King Rex and plenty of people fed up with Vance’s tyranny. Find them and gather as many as you can to oppose the usurper once my father is free.”
“What about you, Nash?”
“I’ll figure something out…”
Grant nodded with his lips tight, leapt upon his horse, and rode off leaving Nash to face whatever came—alone.
* * * *
For a group of men approaching a stranger, they rode without urgency. Nash stood out in the open, awaiting their arrival. If he had been a criminal or an Ethereal soldier, he would have had plenty of time to run away, hide, or prepare an elaborate Alteration before the group even reached him.
Was their pace due to laziness or apathy? He’d heard both words used to describe Prince Vance in the past, so perhaps he ran the kingdom that way. Grant’s warning echoed in the back of his mind. Vance’s men, or even Vance himself, might actually kill him rather than place him in the dungeon. The thought of never again seeing Layla’s face pained him more than he could stand. He had to survive. He had to see her again.
“Who are you?” a large, burly soldier called when the group finally arrived.
Nash took a deep breath and tried his best to sound genuine. “I escaped from the torturous, mind controlling rule of King Jesper in Etherea, and I seek asylum here in Vanguard. My people have heard great things about King Vance and his generous rule. I want to be a part of it.”
“Take a look at this guy,” the soldier, clearly the leader of the group, bellowed. Five other soldiers joined in the man’s laughter.
Nash swallowed down his anger and frustration. “I was a servant in the Ethereal castle. I can provide King Vance with information about King Jesper and Prince Wilhelm.”
The leader pointed at one of his subordinates and then gestured toward Nash. “Bind and gag him.”
Another soldier slid off his horse with a rope and cloth. Resisting his natural instincts to fight, Nash surrendered. They yanked a smelly sack over his head and tied his hands behind his back.
As his captor yanked him forward, Nash heard the taunt in the man’s inquiry. “How come you have brown hair? I thought all Ethereals had blond hair.”
Nash’s reply sounded muffled inside the sack. “Most do. My mother is believed to have had an affair with a Vanguard.”
A soldier lifted the sack to stuff a dirty cloth in Nash’s mouth as the others laughed again. Four hands took hold of him, working together to hoist Nash onto the horse. Then they all made haste toward the castle.
As they rode along, the face covering slipped off just enough for Nash to catch a glimpse of the Vanguard palace. Its stark appearance surprised him. After growing up in well-lit, brightly-colored buildings, this one appeared dark and foreboding. He wondered if Layla, coming from this kingdom, had been equally surprised by the luminescence of the Ethereal architecture. Being in the Vanguard castle where Layla met his father, possibly walking the same hallways she walked, brought Nash a strange amount of comfort.
The Vanguards dragged him off the horse, pulling the sack back down over his face. Nash sighed, disappointed he could no longer rely on his sight. The soldiers hauled him through a series of hallways. Though he trie
d desperately to memorize the pathways, the task seemed fruitless. Like Clovis’ maze, the Vanguard castle resembled a labyrinth.
At the end of yet another long hallway, Nash’s captors opened a door and shoved him through. He fell to his knees. A soldier yanked the sack off Nash’s head, blinding him with sudden light. He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust.
“What is this?” a high-pitched, boyish tenor called out from the other side of the room.
“My king.” The soldiers dropped down to their knees, placing their fists over their hearts.
“We caught this man in the forest. He claims to have escaped from Etherea, and he says he can provide information about Jesper and his son, Wilhelm. We brought him to see what you would have us do.”
“Information?” Vance stepped down from the throne and approached Nash.
Nash looked up to get his first glimpse of his half-brother. Applying the word “brother” to anyone but Wil felt strange; yet just as he shared a mother with Wil, he shared a father with Vance. Their common features—the same dark hair, the same strong jawline—surprised Nash, but the similarities stopped there. While Vance’s eyes combined both blue and green, Nash’s green ones matched their father’s…or so he’d been told. The concern he’d voiced to Grant earlier hit Nash anew. What if Vance noticed the resemblance?
The self-proclaimed king stopped in front of Nash and narrowed his eyes. “What kind of information can you provide me?”
With the flick of his hand, Vance motioned for a guard to remove the cloth from Nash’s mouth. Nash wracked his brain to think of a nugget of truth that would both please Vance and protect Wil and Layla. His tongue, thick and filthy, stuck to the roof of his mouth. Though he longed to expel the grime, Nash knew better than to spit at Vance’s feet.
“King Jesper has had a falling out with his eldest son,” Nash said. “The king placed a bounty on his head.”
Vance laughed—a shrill, feminine sound that hurt Nash’s ears. “While that does amuse me, Ethereal, I don’t care about the son Jesper discarded in favor of Wilhelm.”
He shouldn’t care, but Vance’s words pierced him. Nash had grown up knowing Jesper hated him, yet to have their turbulent relationship thrown in his face by a virtual stranger—no, an enemy—stung. He struggled to come up with a tidbit Vance would appreciate.
Vance provided him a lead when he said, “Tell me something of the Fulfillment, and I might let you live.”
“She is hidden in the depths of the castle under constant protection,” Nash lied, hoping Vance would not attempt another kidnapping. The usurper’s eyes narrowed further until Nash could no longer make out any color. “But I have heard rumors that she and Prince Wilhelm do not get along.” Forgive me, Wil. Forgive me, Layla.
At that, Vance’s face and demeanor changed. He clapped his hands in glee. Nash watched him, gauging his half-brother’s reaction. In the few minutes he’d spent with Vance, Nash already knew he didn’t like him. The false king acted like a spoiled child playing at war—a very dangerous spoiled child.
“I like that. Tell me more.”
“Some people in the castle feel the Fulfillment is in love with someone else, perhaps a Vanguard.” His neck throbbed from the force of his heartbeat. To admit their mutual affection breathed new life into the depths of his feelings, not that this petulant man-child in front of him needed to know.
“I wonder if it’s that boy she grew up with….” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t remember his name…”
Boy she grew up with? Nash longed to ask what Vance meant, but he focused instead on the task: getting to King Rex.
“Perhaps.” The lie fell from Nash’s lips with ease. “No one knows his identity for sure.”
“You may very well prove useful after all.” Vance motioned to one of his guards. “Take him to the dungeons and keep him there until I decide what to do with him.”
“Yes, my king.” The soldier bowed.
To Nash’s dismay, the guard placed the grimy sack over his head again and hauled him down another long, confusing series of hallways and stairs. The whole trip seemed so convoluted that Nash wondered if the guard had gotten lost. Without warning, the man cast Nash down into a puddle, pulled off the sack and ropes, and slammed the cell door. The only prison light seeped in through a small slit in the wall. Nash blinked to adjust his vision. After a cursory sweep of his surroundings, Nash found no guards in the immediate area. Hope surged.
“King Rex?” Nash whispered the name into the inky blackness.
A large lump on a bed in the cell next to him stirred. Rex sat up and squinted in the dim light.
“Who are you?”
Nash’s lungs constricted. His breath popped out in short bursts as he forced the information out. “I’m Nash, your son with Sansolena, and I’m here to rescue you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Layla
The tunnels made Layla restless, yet she had nowhere else to go. Volton Mars told her King Jesper had used some horrible form of mind control on Vespa. Her Vanguard rage reared its ravenous head at the idea sweet Vespa might be permanently damaged by her father’s actions. Layla stayed in the dreadful, lonely tunnels, afraid to give King Jesper the opportunity to do the same to her. After what he’d done to his own daughter, Layla knew he would destroy her mind without remorse.
When she asked about Wil, the Volton’s vagueness concerned her. Mars’ confirmed Wil’s safety but reported little else. She wondered if Wil asked his friend to keep his responses cryptic.
Layla regretted being stuck there, unable to talk to Wil. The pain she’d seen in his eyes played over and over in her mind. She barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his tortured face. Though she loved Nash, she still held a special place in her heart for Wil.
Nash. She prayed for his safety, chose to believe he’d survived the trip to Vanguard and Vance, but if he hadn’t, would she even know it? Their goodbye kiss might be the last memory she would ever have of him. An uninvited tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away, hating this weakness. Vanguard women held in their tears, but she’d been far too willing to let them come of late. A knock pulled her from her self-flagellation. Layla leapt up, thrilled to have a distraction.
“Hello,” Volton Mars’ muffled greeting wafted from the other side of the door, retaining the soft, soothing cadence she’d come to associate with him. If Wil told the Volton about her indiscretion with Nash, the older man never gave an indication.
She opened the door to find him smiling on the other side. “Hello, Volton.” She hid her disappointment. Though she liked Mars and appreciated his visits, which broke up the monotony of her days, Layla hoped Wil would come to visit.
Mars smiled. “Wil asked me to come and get you. He’d like to meet with you in the king’s meeting room.”
“Is it safe?” Layla glanced up and down the hallway, half expecting the king to jump out.
“King Jesper has not left his bedroom in two days. We think you will be safe for this short visit. Prince Wil would not have summoned you without good cause. This meeting is important.”
Layla’s throat tightened. Short visit? Was Wil going to send her back to the Vanguards? Surely he would not send her to a certain death. He may be hurt, but he was also a kind, compassionate person, traits she valued so highly in him.
She stepped out, a knot agitating her stomach. “I don’t want to keep Wil waiting then.”
She took Volton Mars’ arm when he offered it, and they slipped through the tunnels. When they emerged in the bright sunlight, Layla’s eyes watered. Was she still crying or simply unaccustomed to the sun? Regardless of their purpose, she wiped the tears with renewed annoyance.
She needed a distraction. “How do you know about the tunnels, Volton Mars?”
The Volton laughed—a pleasant sound. “When Nash, Wil, and Vespa were children, I discovered all sorts of secret compartments and passageways during my countless searches for them. They would run and hide from me when
it was time for their lessons. Once I discovered their hideouts, though, they had a bit more trouble escaping me…not that they still didn’t try, mind you.” He chuckled again at the memory.
She tried to imagine Nash, Wil, and Vespa as children, running away from a younger Mars. Layla envisioned Wil and Nash, pushing and grabbing to be the first one to the hideout, laughing the whole way. She could almost see Vespa’s blond hair whipping in the wind and hear the jingle of her laughter as she tagged along behind the boys.
Thinking of Vespa reminded Layla of the Alteration. What had King Jesper done to his daughter? Layla worried her friend would never be the same again. Though the Volton had not been specific about the details, Layla had seen the concern in his eyes. She knew how much Mars cared about the king’s children, though he tried hard to hide it and maintain the detachment expected of a man in his position.
Unlike other Voltons she’d met, Mars lacked indifference. “How did you come to be in Etherea, Volton Mars?”
“I was assigned to this kingdom by the Volton Council.”
“Weren’t you afraid to come here? Afraid of their abilities?”
“Like you, I had little choice.”
His reply piqued her interest. “Why?”
“Do you know much about the Voltons?”
She shook her head. “In Vanguard, I had a Volton teacher in school, but he never told us about his people.”
Mars nodded. “Most people don’t know our history. Long ago, we were part of the Ecclesiastics. On one unremarkable day, a man named Volton Packs decided to devote more of his time to book study and medicine rather than pray to the First Ones and seek out the Fulfillment. His actions garnered much criticism from his fellow Ecclesiastics and the Elder. They ostracized him to the point where he decided to leave.”
Layla listened with rapt attention, soaking up the history lesson Mars provided. “You must understand the significance of his choice. At that time, no one had ever thought to leave the religious organization. Each man had taken vows and sworn to serve the First Ones for life. Volton Packs, already an outcast, chose to make himself a permanent pariah by moving outside of the Elder compound. He relocated to the other side of the Borderlands, built a small home and school, and continued his studies.”