The Fractured Empire (The World Apart Series Book 1)

by Robin D. Mahle

  A servant came by with a silver tray of water glasses. I gladly accepted, knowing we had at least twenty minutes before the Emperor even graced us with his opening speech. I stared out at the expansive, luxuriously-adorned room. I couldn’t deny it was beautiful with its golden moulding outlining rich blue walls. Artwork adorned the high, domed ceiling, yet did nothing to deter the claustrophobia I felt at being here.

  Sophie cleared her throat to my right. I didn’t so much as twitch a muscle in response. She was undeterred, resorting to calling my name in front of our parents to get my attention. Bold move, but one that worked.

  “Yes?” I asked, eyebrow arched haughtily.

  “I just think it’s wonderful that we can use today to heal and move forward as a people, let go of what’s in the past and get on with our lives. Don’t you, Adelaide?” Her words were just close enough to the emperor’s that I couldn’t contradict them. So I didn’t. In fact, despite the red fury clouding my vision, I didn’t outwardly react at all.

  “Indeed,” I murmured, exercising restraint in every facial muscle in order to maintain my indifferent expression. She would not win this round. I looked away again as though her very presence was beneath me. I was curious about her parents’ reactions, but not enough to turn my attention to them. Cruelty didn’t come from nothing, though. Were they proud of the venomous monster sitting next to me?

  Her next tactic was less effective than she wished it would be.

  “The prince and I had a late breakfast this morning after a very, very long night,” she whispered to Guinevere, loud enough that she could be sure I heard. Her parents also would have heard, but neither her raven-haired mother nor her pompous father reacted. That made three of us.

  Sophie was gorgeous, from her enviable curves to her heavily-lashed chocolate-colored eyes. It was the prince’s business if he wanted to let a poisonous adder into his bed in exchange for a little fun. I certainly had no claim on him. What rankled was not what she said, but how very hard she was trying to get to me, and on today of all days. She truly had no soul at all. I clenched my water glass harder, trying to engage my fingers before they plucked up a golden fork and stabbed her through her perfectly kohl-lined eyeball.

  She whispered something I couldn’t hear, and they giggled. I made the mistake of glancing their way, and the composure I had worked so hard for nearly shattered. Not because of anything she said, but because I should have had a sister here with me. Ami would have been on my side, giggling with me as I made pointed comments about this wretched party. I should have had a sister with me to wander through my cavernous closet and pick out clothes, and a mother who carefully placed pins as she set my hair. I reminded myself that these were exactly the thoughts I had promised not to let in tonight.

  Then Sophie looked up at me, false apology written across her features for our parents’ sake. Not that mine was paying any attention. He’d barely noticed me, focusing on the businessman at his side or the brave few who had approached him from neighboring tables. Since our first greeting when he met me here from his office, he had hardly acknowledged my presence at all. But her parents were watching with saccharine faces.

  “So sorry, Adelaide,” she said. “Sister stuff, you know?” Her lips turned to pity while her eyes were pure venom. “Or, I guess you don’t anymore.”

  And that did me in. I could not do this. I would not do this. I bolted upright from my chair. Of course, my father chose now to bestow his attentions upon me.

  “Going somewhere?” His eyes were commanding me to stay.

  “Lavatory,” I said quickly. He narrowed his eyes, but I took off before he could object.

  I forced my feet to walk calmly and my expression to stay steady. Tears burned behind my eyes and a scream ripped at my throat, but I let none of it show as I walked toward the powder room. I would not give Sophie any more satisfaction than she had already gleaned from my abrupt departure.

  Fortunately for me, my father’s ample efforts to wed me to the prince had placed me in the palace frequently. I knew exactly how to get out of here without being noticed. From the outside, I could get my father’s driver to take me home before anyone realized I had been gone too long. But I wasn’t staying home tonight. There was one person in the world who might be able to salvage this fiasco of an evening. I only had one real friend on this godforsaken island, and it was time to give her a call.

  The Renegade

  I don't remember the island I was born on or my birth parents. My first memory is of a stern-looking man with a steady demeanor sheltering me from the rain. He brought me onto his huge boat and gave me a new place to call home.

  I spent most of my early life on that ship. When I wasn’t being looked after by that man, whom I would come to call Father, a revolving door of soldiers stepped in to assist in my upbringing.

  It was only later I would realize that man was the most respected general in the Ceithren Empire, feared far and wide. He never raised his voice except to propel his men into battle, never disciplined in anger, and never harmed an innocent soul.

  I was part of the duty rotation like any other. From the soldiers under his command, I learned everything from knot-tying to lady-charming, and countless skills in between. Life on a military vessel could be grueling, and I was never spared from the difficulty of the work. But there was a freedom in it, too, an exhilaration that was infectious.

  I wasn't the only orphan the General collected, but I was the first. Two more boys joined our ragtag group, and together, we made a family.

  Until one day, it all fell apart.

  Chapter Two

  Clark

  I'd always known I would die young, but being taken out before I had the answers I was looking for was unacceptable. Fortunately, a lifetime of training gave me an edge. Death would have to work a little harder than usual to stake a claim on me.

  My hand reached into the open safe and closed around the leather spine of a well-worn journal. Bingo. Now all I had to do was get out of the building. Footsteps and voices sounded down the hall.

  Merde. The Peace Keepers guarding Redshaw Tower hadn’t stayed down as long as I’d thought they would.

  Intel for this mission had been scarce, but I had volunteered anyway. Working for The Men of High Purpose had finally given me the opportunity to take care of personal business. And I was the best they had, one of only a few who had a shot at success. It was a win-win, really.

  The Director of Redshaw, whose office I currently occupied, had used the power of his position to accuse my father of a bombing that had killed thousands. There had been no concrete evidence. And what’s more, my father had actually been at the blast site. He died that day, too. Anyone who knew him would have known he wasn’t the type to kill himself. He was a survivor. Always. But people had wanted a scapegoat, and Sebastian Kensington had given them one.

  Losing the man who had given me everything had been devastating enough. Seeing his legacy tarnished was more than I would stand for. That’s what this mission was about for me — clearing my father’s name.

  I shoved the book into the pocket of my brown leather jacket just in time for a steel-toed boot to kick in the door. The men who rushed through were not the Peace Keepers I had knocked out on my way up here. Only one group in all the empire wore black leather uniforms with deep red piping. Their full-face helmets were a mix of crimson leather and bronze with special lenses for the eyes.

  These were Red Sons.

  Red Sons were Redshaw Corporation’s elite private forces. They were recruited from only the best among the Peace Keepers and military. Even then, only one in five made it through the rigorous nine-month training. I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips.

  Finally, a challenge, I thought. I might actually break a sweat.

  Of course, there was nothing to be concerned about. They had survived mere months of demanding training. I had survived years.

  The two men unsheathed their swords, the sound of metal grating on l
eather familiar, like a friend come out to play. I reached behind my back and pulled out a long, bladeless hilt — a weapon my brother had customized for me. The Red Sons were advancing, clearly not concerned about what probably appeared to be a fancy stick.

  My smirk widened. Just wait until you see what she can do, boys.

  I took a small step backward and flicked the hilt with my wrist, causing three feet of sharpened steel to extend and lock into place. The Red Sons faltered for a fraction of a second, but that was all the time I needed. I rushed them with a fury my father had taught me to harness.

  The Red Son on the left reacted more quickly than I would have expected. It wasn’t fast enough. I swatted his blade to the side mid-slash and followed up with an elbow to his throat, right below the chin of his helmet. He stumbled back, and I spun just in time to dodge his companion’s blade, which would have cut my throat.

  The blade followed through on its swing, missing me and slamming into the other man’s helmet. I heard a crack as the Red Son hit the floor, a fissure spreading on his faceplate.

  I let out a short whistle. “Well, he’s not getting up any time soon.” I turned to the remaining Red Son. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.”

  He snarled, the sound robotic through his helmet mouthpiece, and I chuckled. He came at me again, but his fury caused him to broadcast his moves a split second before he made them. I pivoted on the balls of my feet, evading a flurry of strikes. He overstepped a hair, and I used his own momentum to throw him past me. I turned to stand over his fallen form. A push of a button retracted my blade, and I slammed the brass pommel into his helmet. It cracked, and he lay motionless on the floor.

  Well, that was fun, I thought as I returned the hilt to its holster and headed for the door to make my escape.

  That’s when I heard the ding of the elevator. Pounding footsteps followed, at least eight sets.

  Damn it. Even I couldn’t handle that many. I imagined my older brother’s face when he found out my refusal to follow the original plan had landed me in this mess. I had seen an opportunity, though, so I had taken it. Now, I just had to find a way out of here.

  There was nothing in the room to assist me, and nowhere to hide. The wealthiest man in Ceithre had surprisingly spartan furnishings. A winged leather chair sat behind a solid oak desk. Two smaller wooden chairs faced the desk. The framed canvas of a family of four, still askew from when I had moved it to access the safe, was the room’s only adornment.

  None of that would help me now. The only luxuries to be found in this entire room were the air cooling system and the sky-high window that made up an entire wall. The view might have been magnificent on the rare, clear-weathered day, but now it offered nothing but bleary city lights through drizzling rain. A news zeppelin floated outside, closer to the building than I’d ever seen it. The nearing footsteps left me no option.

  Well, that settles that.

  I pulled out one of my younger brother’s many homemade devices from my leather utility belt. I placed the small chrome circle on the window and pressed a button. The glass shattered just as a group of Peace Keepers crowded the doorway. They were Redshaw’s main forces, not nearly as skilled as the Red Sons.

  I still couldn’t have taken more than five of them, though, not when I was already tired from the brief encounter with the Red Sons. Luckily, I didn’t have to.

  “Better luck next time, boys.” I gave them a mocking salute before turning and jumping into the sultry night air. There was nothing like the rush of soaring through the sky at over fifteen hundred feet without so much as a parachute. Still, it gave me a moment to reflect on how amiss this entire operation had gone.

  I’m going to catch hell for this.

  My body slammed into the zeppelin, and I scrambled for the slippery rungs of the workman’s ladder that clung from top to bottom of the outer hull. I looped an arm through, but the momentum pulled my shoulder out of socket. White-hot pain lanced up my arm and into my back. I held firm with my other arm.

  Turning back to the Tower, I saw several gaping faces tracking my movement from beyond the shattered window. Their expressions alone were worth the considerable pain I was in. I forced myself to smirk at them until I was out of view.

  The light rain dripped down my forehead and into my eyes. I blinked it away, searching for a place to land. The zeppelin ambled along, flying low over the rooftop garden of a nearby building. That was as good a stop as any.

  This time, I had enough time to pull out my rappeller and hook it onto a rung. I lowered myself onto the roof and released the hook, retracting the cord and placing it carefully back in my belt. My younger brother, Gunther, was the kindest soul I knew, but heaven help you if you lost one of his inventions. I had tried to land as gently as possible, but I still had to grit my teeth against the jar to my shoulder.

  Thankfully, no one was on the roof in the evening drizzle. I let myself into the building. It was a newer establishment, not as upscale as Redshaw Tower had been, but nice nonetheless. Old taupe wallpaper and tiny lamps lined the hallway.

  I sighed when a wave of cool air hit my face, another perk of taking jobs in this part of town. I took the small service elevator down, swearing with every jostle and rumble.

  It was well-lit, and the ride down was long, so I pulled the book out. Aegis would demand it as soon as I returned to base. Who knew if I would ever have another chance to take a look at it? The Men of High Purpose were notoriously secretive. Everything was need-to-know, and I wasn’t about to wait to find out if the Commander felt I qualified.

  I balanced the journal against the wall and flipped through the worn pages with my good hand. A sinking feeling hit my gut. I had been so sure this would have something useful in it, but it was nothing more than a collection of wanted photos with entries underneath them. Criminals that ranged from human traffickers to drug mongers filled the pages. Underneath the photos were handwritten notes on their crimes and suspected whereabouts, dated as recently as last week.

  It was valuable, to be sure, but not at all relevant to my cause. I threw the book on the ground in frustration, then cursed when I had to bend back down to pick it up. I lowered myself slowly and reached out to grab the leather cover with as little movement as possible. That pulled the book open to the last page.

  I gasped, my head rearing back so quickly it banged against the wall of the lift. The pain didn’t even register.

  “No,” I muttered aloud, though there was no one to hear me. “It’s not possible.”

  The information was written with black ink in neat, bold letters. Name: Killian Noble. Crime: Mass murder. Status: Alive/At Large. Whereabouts: Unknown.

  But it was the photo my eyes were drawn to. Charcoal eyes stared at me from underneath bushy, serious eyebrows. Iron gray hair and a matching goatee framed a square, weathered face. Though I hadn’t seen the face in years, it was still as familiar to me as my own. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

  My father was alive.

  The Heiress

  Only a week had passed since the explosion. All of Ceithre was united in hatred against the same General they had celebrated only years prior, and none more than me. I knew nothing about the man other than his history of alleged good deeds all culminating into one great evil. I spent hours festering in hatred and trying to figure out what would lead a man to do something like that. Answers never came, but my rage never left.

  We were still in the fully-staffed countryside estate my mother had picked out. She’d insisted it was perfect. Cozy and quiet but not far enough away from the city to instill culture shock if the need arose to visit the nearby town. I was grateful for this place, now that I needed somewhere… other.

  A butler announced that a Penelope Silbeque was here to see me. The name brought forth a memory of a tall girl in my grade with a silver streak in her midnight hair. She usually sat alone, a scholarship student with an unknown family. No one at our tiny elite school paid much attenti
on to her. I had never spoken to her. I didn’t have anything against her, but Ami had been all I needed in the way of companionship. The thought of my sister’s name threatened to send another sob wracking through me, but I tried to push it away.

  “She may come in,” I said, my voice strained. I had never cried so much in all my life, and my throat was raw from it.

  Penelope came into the manor as if she owned it, an enviable confidence in every step she took. I didn't stop to wonder how she had gotten here on her own. Since the explosion, I didn't wonder about much at all. The tiny white puff of fur piqued my curiosity, though.

  She held the kitten out so I could see. "I found her by the explosion site, mewing for her mama. Her family didn't make it. I thought maybe you could take care of each other." They were the first words Penelope had ever spoken to me.

  "Why would you do that for me?" I asked with the bluntness Amelie's presence had always softened.

  "I know what it's like to lose family." She said this matter-of-factly, and I wondered how long it had taken her to be able to speak of it without losing herself.

  It would be months before I asked her anything else about it, though. I gingerly took the fluffy white ball from her. It meowed as I shifted it into my arms. She, I corrected myself. The kitten was like none I'd ever seen. She was pure white, from her whiskers to her claws, with deep purple eyes. She was perfect, and the rumbling of her purr sounded as soon as she had situated herself in the crook of my arm.

  "Thank you, Penelope." I was emotionally spent, and it was all I could manage. I was afraid if she didn't leave now, I would start crying.

  She seemed to understand. "It never goes away, but it gets better. I promise. I'll see you at school." She turned to go. "Oh, and you should call me Nell," she said over her shoulder.