Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  Prunella grabbed his wrists, sealing his access to Translation. His pulse pounded in his swimming head. He kicked out, his knees crashing into her stomach, but she barely flinched. She was Human, after all. She could strangle him or snap his neck with ease.

  "Anny!" Aydel raised her arm, readying arrows.

  Rather than hold Anson down, the queen hoisted him up, creating a living shield out of her enemy's brother. Her arms wrapped tight around his stomach and throat.

  Aydel's arrows dissolved.

  "Delly," Anson mouthed, rage and embarrassment boiling through him as if all the flames he'd planned to summon had spilled inward instead. He wanted to swallow, but couldn't.

  Prunella smirked with mad desperation. "Surrender," she hissed, "or I'll kill him."

  Aydel grimaced, stepping back.

  Triumph bloomed in the queen's voice, "You truly thought you could get away with this? Lyrum are as wild as they say. If you leave now, we'll let you both live, but your kind will pay for this. That, I'll assure."

  Aydel charged the queen, teeth bared and arms outstretched.

  The queen's eyes widened as she stumbled, dragging Anson with her.

  Aydel grabbed the Human's robes. Her frail force wasn't enough to pull the queen to the ground, but her weight was just enough to knock the three of them off balance.

  Anson realized, in one pounding pulse, what Aydel had done.

  The queen screamed as all three of them toppled over the railing and free fell.

  Prunella's sweaty fingers let go of Anson. Aydel yanked him away with an aerial spin, flinging herself and her brother away from the Human.

  All three of them hit the ground.

  Breath tore from Anson's lungs when he landed, but it wasn't hard stone or soil that met his spine. Aydel had maneuvered the two of them over a garden hedge.

  The queen lay barely a foot away, narrowly denied the more merciful landing. Anson stared at her as he freed himself from the branches with shaking hands. Prunella was still alive.

  Aydel sighed in relief—had the fall taken the queen's life, she would have been the one responsible. "We need to get the Hell of here before the soldiers show up! Finish her!"

  Already bloodied and bruised from the fall, the once-proud queen was a sad sight. She reached out with trembling arms and tried to crawl, her eyes smoldering even as tears glistened on her cheeks.

  Anson's rage had practically pulled the trigger for him when he'd murdered Kaida Torus. Now his stomach churned with different poisons entirely. His body froze with hesitation as he stared down at Prunella Eastoft.

  You can't leave with nothing! Kill her! Kill her kill her kill her!

  Anson startled at the voice, jerking his head to find no one whispering in his ear.

  "Anny!" Aydel spat, her tone almost pleading.

  Kill her! said the one who wasn't there.

  Anson forced the voice away and raised his palm toward the Human.

  He let loose an eruption of heat—intended to kill—just as Tayla emerged from around the hedge. Perhaps the screams had summoned the healer's attention.

  A malicious grin snatched the queen's face. She yanked the young Lyrum toward her in one frantic motion. Two separate voices cried out as flames flooded the garden.

  For an instant, reality didn't make sense. Anson only stared. The cold shock of the Inkwell striking through him sent him to his knees.

  "Tayla!" Aydel screamed, her eyes so wide they nearly fell from her skull.

  Anson pushed his palms down, toward the ground, stifling his fire, but the seconds before the flames dissipated into smoke felt like minutes.

  Thankfully, the queen's body seemed to have taken the brunt of the blast. Her charred shape lay collapsed atop Tayla's.

  Aydel raced forward, pushing against Prunella's corpse, but it wouldn't budge. Her face reddened as she whirled on Anson. "Help me move her!"

  Anson couldn't move.

  Jeriko dashed around the corner seconds later. Shock stopped him in place. The determination drained from his eyes. Then he pushed forward, shoving Prunella's body away like it was nothing at all. He scooped Tayla into his arms. "The guards are right behind me! We have to go!"

  "But the king!" Aydel spat.

  Through spinning senses, Anson looked up at the balcony. The king's face was barely visible through the icy doorway, his jaw agape. As soon as their eyes met, the Human shrunk away and vanished.

  "We have to go now!" Jeriko hissed.

  "Kill them!" Soldiers' voices boomed from nearby, as if to emphasize his point.

  Anson ran beside the Butterflies, scrounging up every scrap of strength left in his legs. Pain blurred into a single throb, but he was so far away from his body he barely noticed.

  Behind them, the footsteps paused. Perhaps the soldiers discovered their dead queen.

  He didn't look back to find out.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Sacrifices

  Tayla hadn't survived long. The last remnants of her funeral pyre crackled outside the carriage. Anson hadn't lit that one. Jeriko and Aydel held vigil for her, watching her ashes rise toward the night sky.

  Anson sat alone. Emptiness ached in his veins as if it were a tangible thing. He didn't have the strength left to bear the weight of what he'd done and what they'd lost, so instead, he thought of nothing, closing his eyes and pretending the dark behind his lids was the depths of a black pool—or the space between stars, as if he was adrift and disconnected from Auratessa. He could drown in the tar, the void. He could escape his new reality.

  He'd failed. He'd stolen the queen's Inkwell, but he and the Butterflies had lost any chance they would ever have of claiming the king's, and now, Tayla Wylan was dead. She was just another name in his notebook, alongside the names of her parents.

  It hadn't been worth it.

  He'd tried to save her, but it hadn't been enough.

  Tayla had awoken only once. Sometimes Translation's muted effect on its own creator was cruel. The one person she hadn't been able to heal was herself. Anson had used his old lab supplies to try to subdue the burns, to try to stabilize her until they could reach professional help. Yet she'd still slipped away from him.

  He slumped on the carriage's floor, staring at the wall.

  They had been in constant motion for nearly two days since fleeing Velvire. Tayla had passed that morning—it was her wake that had finally made them stop, as if their will to escape had stopped with her heart.

  Jeriko's footsteps thudded as he pulled himself into the carriage. "If I can get inside—maybe with Del's help—I'm going to take what's left of her ashes to Riksharre and spread them. It was her home, too." His voice was flat, hoarse, but he hadn't cried. He hadn't cried once since the incident.

  Anson refused to look up. "I'm sure she'd like that."

  The sound of Jeriko's boots stepping closer followed the silence. "It wasn't your fault. I hope you know that."

  Anson let out a long-held sigh. "It was my Translation that killed her, and I couldn't save her."

  His family's screams sparked to life in his head, flames erupting from the windows of the Anwell house. He hadn't saved them, either. He'd never saved anyone. If he thought he ever would, he was lying to himself. He could only ever watch the fire. Start the fire. Kill.

  He wanted to scream as if the fire still burned inside him, to melt into the memories and disappear.

  Instead, he only blinked, letting the blackness behind his lids wash through him for another merciful moment. His mouth stayed set in its frown. His gaze stayed set on the wall.

  Jeriko sat down beside him. He held a cigar between his fingers, its smoke strong and bitter. At least it blocked out the scent of the smoke outside. The scarf Aydel had given Tayla just days before hung around his neck, charred black at the edges. "You didn't kill her," he assured. "Queen Eastoft did. You gave everything you had in you to help her. I know that."

  Anson shook his head. "I'm so sorry."

  "I am, too." Jeriko stared at th
e floor. "If it's anyone else's fault, it's mine. I never should have left her on her own. She relied on me." His throat bobbed. "She relied on me, just like my Hanetta, and I let them both down."

  Anson finally looked at him. "Hanetta?"

  Jeriko closed his eyes, and they were somewhere distant and sad when he opened them, as if that blink had taken him far away. "My daughter. She was only five years old." He swallowed another lump. "My wife died in childbirth, so I raised my girl on my own. I was young, too young, but I managed. We had a plain, happy life."

  He paused, staring at something Anson couldn't see. "It's hard to believe it was seventeen years ago. I took her to our town park, just like I always did on warm summer evenings. She was sweet as could be, but you know how children are—she liked mischief." His eyes shut, and this time, they stayed closed, as if he could block out whatever images he saw. "She wandered away from me just as we were about to leave, wanting to play for just a little longer. That was when a Lyrum man and the Human soldiers pursuing him razed through the park. He found her before I did and took her hostage. The Humans complied with his demands, but..." His face contorted in anger—not the hot passion of fury, but the cold ache of a hurt that would never go away. "He killed her anyway. He murdered my little girl."

  Anson gawked at Jeriko. He hadn't realized the Butterfly had once been a father. How could someone who'd lost everything he'd loved to Lyrum be the only Human he'd met who showed them compassion? Anson was once again all too aware of what he and Jeriko were. He looked away. "After something so awful, how can you...?"

  "It was a man who murdered my daughter, not an entire species."

  Shame blanched Anson's cheeks.

  "Tayla reminded me so much of who Hanetta might have become had she had the chance to grow older." Jeriko blinked back tears with a nostalgic smile. "I came to hate this world—this world filled with so much senseless violence, so much sorrow. That's why I joined the Scarlet Butterfly after I lost her. You truly aren't the only one who wants to see Auratessa reborn. We each have our own reasons."

  "I have my own reasons," Shakaya had once said, and he hadn't understood.

  Anson didn't answer. He let his head hang until a second set of footsteps entered the carriage. Aydel, their only remaining companion.

  "Now do you see what damage a moment's hesitation can do?" his sister hissed, her voice tight in her throat. "If you'd finished the queen only a second earlier—"

  "Aydel," Jeriko growled.

  Aydel turned away with a scoff and a sniff.

  Jeriko may have managed to hold in his tears, but Aydel had sobbed until her cheeks were red and raw.

  "I'm sorry," he echoed. "I shouldn't have hesitated, but when I did, I..." The hair rose on his neck as his memory returned to the moment when everything went wrong. "I...heard a voice."

  Aydel and Jeriko only stared at him.

  He swallowed, wishing he could swallow those words back down, too. "It told me to keep going, to kill her." Well, if they hadn't already thought him mad... "I...also heard it the day before." And maybe...maybe in half-remembered dreams, but he didn't tell them that.

  Jeriko and Aydel exchanged a glance. Unspoken ideas flickered across their faces.

  Anson forced himself to meet their eyes, his cheeks hot on his pale face. The hush wasn't the incredulous reaction he'd expected.

  Jeriko shuffled in place, opening and closing his mouth a few times before speaking, "Have you been having any...doubts, recently? Have you been troubled?" His tone was nearly as uncomfortable as Anson's. "Remember what I told you. This is the right thing. It's—"

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Anson snapped, getting to his feet with a sudden rush of indignation. Something was wrong with Jeriko's voice. The Butterflies were still keeping secrets. Still lying. Did they know something about this, too? He clenched his teeth. "The right thing or not—" and as images of the queen's terrified, furious face replayed in his mind, that was getting harder and harder to believe "—this entire experience has been nothing but misery after misery." He let the fire locked inside him out through his voice, "Tell me everything you know! Now! Tell me or I'm done!"

  Jeriko and Aydel exchanged a second glance. His sister opened her mouth before closing it, as if she wanted to speak with the Human but wouldn't with Anson nearby.

  Eventually, Jeriko's gaze returned to Anson's. He pushed himself to his feet and let out a long, defeated sigh. "You've been asking what it is that makes you special. You weren't supposed to know, but now... It seems hiding the truth is only making the situation worse. I'll tell you."

  "Jeriko..." Aydel put a hand on his arm, as if to hold him back from an unseen threat, but he paid her no notice.

  Jeriko's words were slow, careful, "How likely do you suppose it is that the one person with the ability to rewrite Auratessa would happen to have such lofty desires?"

  Anson was quiet, his fingers clenched in clammy fists. He silenced his mind as he waited, not daring to let it wander until he knew what coming secret had painted the pity over the Butterflies' faces.

  "Only the Author can use its own power. Its consciousness rests within you. It shares your body."

  For a moment, Anson said nothing. His heart heaved with a strange, heavy thud. "What?"

  "The Author has long sought to regain what remains of its power and fix its world, but when it used up its strength during Auratessa's creation, it also lost any physical being. It needs a vessel. It chose you to become the Editor because you held the potential to share similar ideals. Your mind suited it so well it could whisper in your ear and guide your subconscious without you noticing it as a separate presence. It was able to hide in the depths of your thoughts and make you believe they were yours. If you've begun to recognize it as it is now, you must be harboring doubts that separate you from the Author's will."

  Anson soundlessly moved his mouth. "That's... That's madness!" he spat out the word as if it were poison. "What are you saying? That the Author is...? That I'm...? That my thoughts aren't mine? That's not... That isn't true!" No matter what, that was one fantasy he couldn't, wouldn't, believe. No matter if he was Amaranth or Anson or someone lost between, he was always his own person. No matter how many others had tried to use him, he had always made his own decisions—always chased his own dreams. "I'm no one but myself! I've never..." A shiver pulsed up his spine from deep inside of him. "I've never—"

  "Calm down!" Jeriko shouted. "It doesn't change anything. If your mind hadn't already been similar enough to its own, then it wouldn't have chosen you." His glare honed in on Aydel. "This might be Del's fault. The Author had a role in the formation of your Amaranth identity. When you lost that, perhaps it became more distinct from the rest of you."

  "Don't blame this on me!" Aydel snapped. "This isn't supposed to be possible!"

  "It is unheard of for the Author and Editor to separate, so I suppose it's all assumptions," Jeriko admitted, that distant sort of sympathy still lingering on his face. "Doubts or not, perhaps the Author is also more active now that you've stolen several Inkwells. I'm sure it's hungry for more after getting a taste. After all, none of the others ever made it this far."

  Anson struggled to squeeze air into his lungs. "Others?"

  Jeriko tensed. It seemed he hadn't meant to let that slip. "It...doesn't always happen right away—it takes its time when choosing—but every time an Editor dies, the Author searches for someone new to inhabit. The Butterfly has been around for over fifty years. I've learned of three Editors before you. Not one of them obtained a single Inkwell. The first was a power hungry fool who went after the Monarchy without the Butterfly's will and paid dearly. The second was killed by Dorzin Rita's grandfather. The third..."

  Aydel sighed. "The third refused to cooperate with the Butterfly, so she had to be eliminated in order to force the Author into a new vessel. That was when it found you."

  Anson stumbled back, swept away by disgust. "I never had a choice then, did I?" He nearly screamed, "
What if I refused to cooperate now? What if I refused to hurt anyone else? Would you kill me, too?"

  Jeriko looked nervous for a moment, before he managed a humorless chuckle. "That was also supposed to be Ms. Johanne's job, if it came to that, though I sincerely doubt she would have followed through." He looked again for Anson's gaze. "Personally, I would let you live out what time you have left, but I can't guarantee how others in the organization might react."

  Anson shook his head, the world burning down around him. All he had left were the ashes of the reality he'd thought he understood. "You're all bastards."

  Jeriko answered with another lifeless chuckle, "Then you fit right in. We're all just doing what we must to fight for a better Auratessa." Jeriko's eyes softened, but they held firm. "You understand that better than anyone, don't you?"

  "How did you know?" Images of the Butterflies burning tempted Anson's imagination, stirred his stomach, but he forced his hands—weapons of destruction—to stay by his sides. "How did you know the Author chose me?"

  The hush returned. The Butterflies' reluctance wrapped around Anson's neck like a noose. How much worse could these secrets get?

  "Tell me!"

  "Don't!" Aydel pleaded, her voice shaking.

  Anson wasn't sure if he imagined the shimmer in Jeriko's gaze. "I'm so sorry."

  There it was! He'd sworn he'd heard the Human mutter those words once before in the stained-glass sunlight of Velvire's cathedral.

  "We knew because you were conditioned to become the next Editor. Rickard chose you even before the Author did."

  Anson said nothing.

  Jeriko finally, mercifully, looked away. "Morak Mayver wasn't the first spy we had in Riksharre. We also used his father, Mylo Mayver, to exercise influence over his troops and bargain for information from the colony."

  Mylo Mayver. The man who had given the final order to have the Anwell house burned to the ground.

  "We didn't tell him why, but we instructed Mayver to keep an eye out for anyone...unusual. Anyone who might have the potential to become a vessel the Author could use. Not long after I joined the Butterfly, he told us about an abandoned Human carriage discovered by his personal soldiers on the outskirts of the colony...and the Lyrum boy they'd seen inside it. He recognized the child as Anson Anwell, the son of a fellow Councilor, and ordered his soldiers to keep an eye on him. They came to the conclusion that he was studying Human sciences to aid his ill sister." He offered Anson a flat smile. "That was quite unusual, don't you agree?"