Bloodleaf

by Crystal Smith

  “But no personal witness?” King Domhnall said. “More hearsay.” He stood up. “Can anyone out there give me a firsthand account of this man’s supposed crimes?”

  The mob was chanting Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

  “Why are none of the king’s guards speaking up? They saw what happened this morning! Where are they? Zan?” I looked around, finding myself alone in the throng. “Zan!”

  “Well, then,” the king was saying, “with no real evidence to discuss and no firsthand witnesses of quality to testify against you, Baron Dedrick Corvalis, the crown has no choice but to—​”

  “I will speak against him.” Zan appeared on the stairs, climbing each with a carefully measured slowness to, I knew, control his heart rate and his breathing. He kept his head high as he addressed the king. “Would you like me to state my name for the crowd, Father?”

  Realization struck me like a thunderclap. Every nerve revolted; I was numb.

  King Domhnall’s jaw tightened. “It is required by royal court for all witnesses to state their name.”

  Zan placed a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and gave him a slight nod. Then he turned. “My name,” he declared to the now-silent mass, “is Prince Valentin Alexander de Achlev. I am the one who had this man arrested and imprisoned.” He was standing erect, but I could see his hands shaking.

  All around me, I heard whispers. The prince? The prince. The prince. The prince.

  “I do not bring hypotheticals or suppositions or presumptions to place before this court today, but a firsthand witness. This morning, this very morning, I went to question Dedrick Corvalis in his cell and found him there, covered head to toe in blood that was not his. He had with him the body of a healer by the name of Sahlma Salazar. A woman who has long rendered assistance unto the people of this city. He called her to examine him, as per his rights by your decree, and when she came to his cell to do her duty, he attacked her. He cut her throat. He shed her blood”—​he lifted Dedrick’s hands—​“blood you can still see under his fingernails! And the earth shook because, with her death, the three seals of Forest Gate were undone. He’s been working against you all this time, Father. Against Achleva itself. The proof of that is all around us. Collapsed roofs. Fallen houses. Damage to structures nearly as old as the wall itself.”

  Zan is the prince, I thought. I asked myself, How could I not know?

  And then I asked, Didn’t I?

  I closed my eyes, only opening them when I heard him speak again. His voice. Zan’s voice. The prince’s voice.

  “Corvalis murdered Sahlma Salazar in cold blood as part of an effort to destroy the wall, the structure that has guaranteed our city’s survival and prosperity for centuries. There are others who would stand with me in this assertion, but there should be no need, my dear Lord King. For I am the prince of this realm, and my word, under testimony this day, is irrefutable.”

  The smile in Dedrick’s eyes was gone. In its place, hatred. Raw, burning hatred.

  The king was tapping his fingers in an out-of-rhythm pattern on the carven arm of his chair. He stood up. “Very well. It seems, given this new testimony, that the crown must convict you, Baron Dedrick Corvalis, for the death of Sahlma Salazar. Your sentence, sir, to be delivered immediately, is forfeiture of your title and your property, and exile from Achleva.”

  The crowd ignited, pushing forward and screaming in protest.

  “No!” Zan said, even as the king turned his back on it all. “Our laws dictate that murder and treason must be rewarded in kind—​and this man has committed three at least, and perhaps more that we do not yet know of. The people of Achleva demand justice! Answers! Will you rob them of it?”

  The king whirled on his son, eyes bulging, his sword sliding out of its scabbard with a metallic shink! He held it aloft, the point at Zan’s heart. “You dare to contradict your king, boy?”

  Don’t falter, I thought. I willed him courage. Be strong.

  Zan did not flinch. The crowd roared for him, and he slowly lifted a hand in response. He was not the sickly prince anymore. In an instant, he had transformed into someone else, accessing some reservoir of power inside him that he’d never touched before. He was an opaque glass lamp that had suddenly been lit from within, and all I could see was the fire inside.

  “He betrayed you,” Zan said quietly. “Don’t you want to know why?”

  The king lowered his sword. “The sentence has changed,” he announced. “The punishment is death.”

  Dedrick knew the end was near. He was gibbering and giggling now; manic, high-pitched squeals came from behind his gag.

  “I think he wants to say something,” Zan said. “Undo his gag; let him testify on his own behalf.”

  But Domhnall did not wait. He laid his sword across the man’s throat and sliced. The crowd gasped; the king had become executioner.

  Dedrick’s body fell sideways and lay there, bleeding, at Zan’s feet.

   29

  The king’s guards made a show of escorting Zan from the platform with deference, but I could see the roughness with which they handled him. I was about to follow after him when Nathaniel clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Not that way.”

  Ella was sleeping on his chest, held fast by fabric wrapped over his shoulders and around his waist. Sheltered next to his heartbeat, she was blissfully unaware of the tumult that surrounded her.

  “What will they do to Zan?” I asked fearfully as Nathaniel led me out of the uproar. Someone had pulled Dedrick’s body from the platform, and it was now bobbing above the crowd, passed from hand to hand, like a grotesque marionette. When it came to executions, Renalt and Achleva weren’t really all that different. Delighting in death spectacles seemed to be an ugly trait of humanity rather than nationality.

  “I don’t know,” Nathaniel said. “Domhnall hates him. He always has. Zan was sickly from the start; Domhnall resented that his only son was so small and frail. Used to beat him savagely. An attempt to toughen him up.”

  I remembered the words he’d used to describe the prince: Weak. Feeble. Ineffectual . . . He’d been talking about himself. Repeating the lies and insults he’d heard so often, he’d come to believe them. I could hardly process the horror of it. I’d felt so sorry for myself growing up, but I’d been gifted with a mother and father who loved me, whose single-minded purpose was to protect me. I ached for Zan. For the little boy he used to be. For the childhood he didn’t get to have.

  Nathaniel ducked through one side door of the castle and then another, and I followed him. The route led out into a long-unused sitting room, crowded with stacked chairs and cobweb-laden shelves. The only break in the dust was a well-trodden path zigzagging through the maze. “What is this?” I asked.

  “Zan knows all the back ways and passages in the castle. He’s been coming and going unnoticed since he was a kid. This one leads out to the top of a stairway that ends at a short hallway. Follow the hallway to its end; that’s where you’ll find his private rooms. That’s where they’ll probably keep him while the king decides what to do with him, but they only ever post a guard at the bottom of the stairs, so it is unlikely they’ll see you.”

  “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I can’t,” Nathaniel said, looking conflicted. “When Kate found out she was expecting, I made a promise to her that our child would always come first. I’ve got to get Ella out of here. I can’t wait, not even for Zan.”

  I nodded. “I understand. Zan will, too.”

  Nathaniel hugged me roughly; it was like being embraced by a bear. “I plan to camp tonight just off the southwest road outside of High Gate, and tomorrow set off for Ingram. My sister is a midwife there. Her name is Thalia. If you need to find me, that’s where I’ll be.”

  “Empyrea keep you,” I said, tears starting from my eyes.

  “And you,” he replied, his own eyes moist. Then he gave me a nod and left the way he came.

  I followed Nathaniel’s directions to the letter, pausing from time to t
ime as guards and courtiers went by but otherwise unimpeded. I tried to practice what I was going to say as I went. I’m the real princess, Zan. I’m Aurelia. We’re supposed to be together. We were always supposed to be together.

  A painted portrait of a woman was hung on the wall opposite Zan’s door. She wore a simple but elegant dress, with very few ornaments save for a ring set with a clear white jewel on her left hand and a raven ring on her right. She had hair like a raven’s wing, too, and wide green eyes; her beauty was marred only by a furrow in her brow and hard lines of worry on each side of her mouth. Simon’s sister. The late queen of Achleva, I knew now. It wasn’t his father Zan took after; it was his mother. Queen Irena Silvis de Achlev, the nameplate read. I paused beneath her portrait to thank her, silently, for saving his life.

  The door to his room was not locked. It swung open with the barest turn of the knob.

  Zan was sitting in a darkened corner, head in his hands. I tried not to stare, but I could hardly help myself; I had never allowed myself to look at him before, to admit to myself how much I truly wanted him, and now that I could, I was like a souse having a first draft after long and torturous sobriety. I wanted to drink him in, every part of him: the way his hair, always askew, fell to perfectly frame his right eye and hide his left. The shape of his shoulders beneath his white linen shirt. The angles of his cheekbones, the trim cut of his waist . . .

  “Zan?” I said, finding my voice.

  He looked up with a start, and for a minute I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming here uninvited. What if I guessed wrong about how he felt? What if he didn’t care who I really was? What if he didn’t care much about me at all?

  “I’m sorry that I—​” I began, but had to stop when he crossed the room, closing the gap between us in one stride, and crushed his mouth against mine. Wonder and doubt collided inside me like two errant stars that, on impact, burst into a cloud of fire and dust.

  The kiss softened, and I pulled reluctantly away. “Are you all right?” I murmured into his shoulder. He smelled like cedar and fog, like autumn hearth fires and rain on the windowsill.

  His cut-glass mouth formed a sad smile. “I’m fine,” he said tiredly. “Emilie. You must think . . .”

  “I’m not angry that you didn’t tell me who you are.” I rested a hand on his arm. “Honestly, I probably should have figured it out sooner. It’s just that you look so much like Simon . . .”

  “It was easy to pretend that Simon was my father. It was something I’ve always wished were true. But I shouldn’t have misled you. I didn’t know that you would turn out to be . . . you.”

  My eyes drifted from his lips down to the hollow of his collarbone, where I became fixated on the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath his skin.

  “Emilie,” he said with a soft urgency that drew my eyes back up to his, “the things I’ve done today, I can’t undo. There will be consequences for my open defiance at the trial. The guards will be coming to get me soon, so that the king—​my real father—​can decide what to do with me. You have to be gone before then. If he knows about you, I’ve no doubt he will use you to hurt me.”

  “Wait! Just wait. Your father . . . Corvalis was a close confidant of his, correct? And Nathaniel said that while he was still working with him, he began some kind of alliance with the Tribunal in Renalt, right?”

  “Yes . . .” Zan said slowly.

  “Corvalis was also after the name of the person providing Thackery with invitations. He was almost desperate to hear that it was some other child that King Domhnall might have fathered. What if he has been behind all of this? Your father.”

  “King’s Gate’s seal requires the deaths of three Achlevan royals. He wouldn’t—​”

  “Zan, he’s looking for more royals. Could he be on the hunt for his own replacement in the line of sacrifices?”

  Zan stepped back, as if stunned. “The monarchy’s power in Achleva has been waning for generations. The landholding lords, should they decide to unite, would be able to overthrow him with ease. But the alliance between Renalt and Achleva . . .”

  “. . . is worthless if the Renaltan monarchy is also in its last days.”

  “My father has always been a gambler; he must have looked over his odds and decided to back the strongest horse: the Tribunal.”

  “And the first thing the Tribunal would want to do, if aligned with the Achlevan king, is to take down the magical wall that keeps wayward witches like myself out of their hands.”

  Outside his bedroom door came the sound of several sets of boots on the floor. “Here,” Zan said urgently, pushing me behind his wardrobe door, “hide!”

  “No, wait! There’s more I have to tell you! Zan—​”

  He kissed me again, fervent and fierce. “I know what I have to do now,” he said. “And I’m likely to face exile for it.” There was a heavy knock on the door. “I don’t know where I’ll go, but . . . will you come? Will you come with me, Emilie?”

  “I will,” I said breathlessly. “I’m with you.”

  He pressed a hard kiss into my forehead, eyes closed tight, as another, harder knock thudded against his door. “Pack whatever you need. Meet me at midnight,” he said, taking my hands. “On the wall, by the waterfall. The site of our first spell.”

  When he pulled away, he left something in my grasp. A ring. I recognized it immediately. It was his mother’s.

  “Prince Valentin,” a gruff voice said through the door, “you’re wanted in the Great Hall.”

  I watched through the crack between the wardrobe hinges as they burst through the door and flooded into the room, wrestling him to the ground and pinning his arms behind him while his face once again became a mask of sardonic calm.

  “Boys, boys,” he said glibly, face half-pressed into the floor, “if you rip me limb from limb now, my father will be very angry that you deprived him of the opportunity.”

  My fingers curled against the door. I could feel the magic pressing against each tip, eager to be let loose, ready to destroy them all for daring to lay a hand on him. But Zan had warned me against making myself known, so I hung back until they’d hauled him out of sight. Then I made a quick nick on my palm and stepped out from my hiding place. “Ego invisibilia,” I whispered. “I am unseen.”

  I slipped in step behind them, and none of them seemed to be the wiser.

  Inside the Great Hall, the king—​Zan’s father! I was still reeling at the revelation—​stalked across his throne room, face purple with rage, kicking down anything in his path. “How dare you?” he spluttered. “You little bastard. Dedrick Corvalis was like a son to me!”

  The guards released Zan at Domhnall’s feet. Zan reflexively cringed, but after a few moments of measured counting—​one, in, two, out, three, in, four, out—​he was able to control his breathing and his fear, and he straightened to his full height. It seemed to surprise the king to have his son suddenly looking down on him.

  “You know, Father,” Zan said, “despite everything . . . I never thought it could be you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zan continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “I told myself it wasn’t possible, since finishing the job would likely kill you, too. And if you are good at anything, it’s saving your own skin. But now I understand why you insisted so doggedly that I go with you on your asinine little hunting expedition, just after I told you everything I knew about what was happening with the wall: you wanted to prevent further meddling in your operation, didn’t you? That explains why you were so adamant about keeping my marriage date within the month of the black moon; on the day we’re married, the princess, too, will be eligible for sacrifice. It helps, I suppose, that all the landholding lords would likely be attending the wedding, so we can all die together.”

  Sweat was collecting in beads on Domhnall’s ruddy forehead. Zan continued, “You try to hide behind your brutality and extravagance; you put on a good show. But you’re scared. Your power is dissolvi
ng, and you feared it was only a matter of time before someone came and took it from you.”

  “Like you?” he asked with a sneer. But there was fear burning on the edges of his voice.

  Zan went on: “The answer was simple: find a strong ally, one who would let you keep your crown and title if you followed their orders. Dedrick Corvalis brokered the deal with the Tribunal, didn’t he? Did you promise him, once I was dead, that he’d be your heir? Did he already know blood magic before you reached that deal with our enemies, or did he learn it afterward, solely for the purpose of bringing down the wall?”

  “You’re speaking nonsense.”

  “Am I?” Zan roared. “I know, I know. I’m a disgrace! A nuisance! You’re ashamed to call me your son. I’ve heard it all before, Father. But you know what? I agree with you. I don’t deserve to be called your son.”

  Zan stalked to the Great Hall doors and threw them open, and I continued my whispered chant, “Ego invisiblia.” I am unseen . . .

  “Call the Princess Aurelia and her guard to me,” Zan told the guards waiting in the corridor. “And call a scribe.”

  They arrived in minutes, Lisette fluttering like a nervous butterfly, Toris prowling behind her like a hound on the scent of a kill. “What is this about?” she asked.

  Zan spoke not to her directly but to the gathered audience as a whole. “Let it be written today that I, Prince Valentin, have formally refused to wed Princess Aurelia of Renalt.” There was a collective gasp; Lisette’s mouth fell agape. “In recognition that this is an act of defiance against the orders of the king and a criminal breach of the treaty between our kingdoms, the Prince Valentin has voluntarily accepted the punishment of exile, until the matter can be peacefully resolved through negotiation with the crown of Renalt. If such an agreement cannot be made, Prince Valentin hereby abdicates all claims on the Achlevan throne.”

  “Negotiation?” Toris barked. “There can be no negotiation. This is an act of war.”