Katryna looked back at Sniff. She realised she had far too strong of a grip on his shoulders and immediately released him.
“I have to get out of here,” Sniff said, running for the stable doors.
“Sniff, wait!” Katryna called out after him, but to no avail. In a flash the boy had vanished back into the shadows from where he had appeared.
She exited the stables to find out what was happening. The keep of Castle Bower loomed over her like a dark mountain of stone, casting a shadow of blackness over the grounds surrounding it. The bells atop the keep continued ringing.
The noise made Katryna’s heart pound from her chest and sent her mind into a frenzy. She realised the last time she had heard those bells was at Willem’s funeral. All those years ago.
The painful memory squeezed at her chest, but she forced it down, struggling to catch a breath.
An Infinity Guardsman bumped into her in all the commotion so hard that he dropped his shield to the ground with a clang. He promptly excused himself.
It was just what Katryna needed to jolt her back into a clearer state of mind.
“What is going on?” Katryna asked.
“Sorry, my lady. I don’t know!” the guard responded before taking off towards his station.
Katryna made for the main castle doors, stopping the next guard she saw.
“What is happening?”
“It’s the king, my lady!” he gasped, out of breath.
Katryna nearly felt her heart drop from her very chest. “The…the king?”
But the guard had taken off before he could reply.
Katryna sprinted into the keep, barging through Infinity Guards as they secured the entrances in a frenzy.
“M’lady, wait!” one called out.
It was just sound to her. Katryna made for the main staircase, climbing two steps at a time as the colour washed away her world into a haze of black and white.
Fear took hold.
The ringing of the bells seemed to vibrate within the very walls of the keep, like a deep, sombre groan.
Father. Please, no.
By the time Katryna had reached the corridor to her father’s quarters high up in Castle Bower, she was out of breath and sweating.
The hallway was full of Infinity Guards, all talking nervously amongst themselves in a disorderly state of panic and uncertainty.
Katryna tried to brace herself as best she could as she pushed her way through them. A few hands tried to hold her back, but she shook them off, eyes set on the king’s slightly ajar door.
A smear of blood stained the door, almost like a handprint.
Katryna burst through the door.
Inside were Finn and the High Sword, Ser Arthus Medonia. Finn was knelt beside what looked like a mound of clothing on the floor, tears streaming from his red face.
However, Katryna realised that a bloody hand was sticking out from the pile. It wasn’t a mound of clothing at all.
It was Aunt Rashel, lying flat on her back in her gown and thick mantle, completely lifeless.
Katryna cried out and fell to her aunt’s side, taking Rashel’s hand into her own.
A pool of blood collected around her stone-like body. Her dead eyes were open, staring coldly at the ceiling.
“No, no, no,” Katryna gasped.
Finn, crouched by his sister’s side, let out a moan of despair as he gently tried to cradle his dead aunt.
“Aunt Rashel, please wake up,” Finn begged, trying to shake her to no avail.
Katryna attempted to find the source of the bleeding with her hands, patting Aunt Rashel over the chest and torso. She pulled her hands back when she felt something wet.
They were covered in thick patches of blood.
Her dress had multiple rips and tears in it from which the blood seeped out. It looked as though she had been stabbed many times. Violently, without any sort of regret.
Rashel’s skin grew paler and colder to the touch as Katryna and Finn sobbed.
Katryna looked up at Arthus Medonia, who was seated on the king’s bed, beside Giliam’s body. “Please, help us,” Katryna begged. “Help my aunt.”
Arthus Medonia stared, unblinking and with tear-filled eyes, at Katryna. Katryna cast her eyes to Medonia’s hand- he was holding the king’s hand.
She looked at her father’s face and let out another wail.
Katryna jumped up and rushed over to her father’s bedside, screaming in denial. Giliam’s throat had been slit wide open, his sheets stained red.
“No, father! Please!” Katryna wept.
She held on to him as tightly as she could, trying to warm his lifeless body back up.
It was no use.
Giliam, and Aunt Rashel, were both dead. Murdered.
Arthus Medonia threw his helmet off, tossing it to the floor, and dropped his face into his hands.
Finn, a bubbling mess of tears and saliva, dragged himself to his sister’s side to see his father. He was already so full of grief that the sight barely had a visible impact on him.
Katryna grabbed her brother and held him tight, trying to squeeze the pain away. She wept into his shoulder.
“Why?” she cried.
“My lady,” Arthus said, “my prince. We need to… we must…”
His words faded into nothingness. The siblings couldn’t hear him even if they wanted to in the moment. Finn embraced his sister tightly.
Arthus was lost for words, as if his whole life’s worth of training had simply been erased in an instant.
Katryna stared at her father lying motionless in his bloody bed. His pillow and sheets had been stained red, sticking to his skin.
She took her eyes over to her dead aunt laying awkwardly on the ground like a broken toy as if she had attempted to protect her dying brother, the king.
Who could have done this?
Katryna had never felt such fury. It sprung out from within- a surge of adrenaline to do something, anything, to find who was responsible.
She released her brother, wiping the tears from her face and taking some deep breaths to calm the maelstrom in her chest and mind.
Katryna clenched her fists so tightly that her fingernails drew blood, looking at the scene of carnage around her.
“Ser Arthus,” Katryna muttered.
The High Sword wiped his face clean with a handkerchief before picking up his helmet. “Aye, my lady?”
“Put the city into lockdown. No one enters or exits Ravenrock without permission from me,” she stated with clenched teeth. “Send the Infinity Guard to round up every single person in the castle and have them questioned as to their recent whereabouts and knowledge of what has happened.”
The High Sword looked over to Finn, almost as if seeking confirmation from the prince. He was just as unsure as the siblings were as to who would be in charge now that the king was dead.
Had Rowan done this? If so, they had to act before it got any worse.
Finn looked to Katryna, and back at Ser Arthus, before nodding, approving of his sister’s commands.
Two of the three king’s children were enough for Arthus. He slid his helmet back on and went for the door with certainty in each footstep.
“What the fuck do we do, Kat?” Finn whispered to her. “I can’t do this.”
She shut her eyes tight, seeking guidance, answers, direction. Something. Anything. She drew in a sharp breath.
“And Ser Arthus?” Katryna said as he held his hand out to open the door. The High Sword swung around to face the princess. “Find my brother Rowan and arrest him. I want him brought to me at once for the murder of the king and his sister.”
Chapter 29 - A Call to Arms
Emery Blacktree strode down the path lined with pitched tents on either side as his guards and soldiers set up camp once again for the night. They hammered away, pinning the tents into the ground.
The carriages and wagons carrying the royal family and the company’s supplies had been left by the tree line where the horses had
been hitched. Further down the line was the rest of the Ashen procession who had left Andervale, including several barons from across the kingdom.
The glary afternoon sun was blocked by storm clouds. Sporadic rain had made much of the trip wet and miserable.
The king was infuriated and walked with determination. He did not attempt to avoid the puddles of brackish water and mounds of mud along the path created from the rains earlier that day, as he would normally do.
There were far more important things to worry about than dirty boots.
Emery had just returned from a short hunt with Ser Yelin Mortimer in the woods beside the east road they had been travelling down on their return trip to Dawnhill. While the royal company had more than enough provisions for the return trip home, Emery had insisted on some time in the woods away from everything… and everyone.
He had needed a break to settle his mind, even just a short one. The men had been lucky, scoring a few rabbits and even a quail. It had felt good to fire a bow in his own hands again.
The air was dense with the smell of mulchy leaf litter and wet grass as Emery reached the main pavilion at the end of the pathway- an enormous tent of black and silver cloth and surrounded by flagpoles bearing Ashen’s shield sigil. The two guards standing by the entrance bowed, before one reached down to open the flap to the pavilion for their king.
Emery was immediately hit with the strong scent of burning incense. The interior of the pavilion was dimmer than outside, lit by a dozen or so freestanding candlesticks. Off to the side was a cupbearer with a trolley of different wines and beverages.
A large round table sat in the centre of the pavilion, surrounded by wooden chairs, and covered in maps, letters, and other papers.
Emery greeted his wife Sirillia who was sitting at the table with a blank stare on her face. She barely even registered Emery’s kiss on her cheek. Her eyes were still red from her constant weeping.
Emery could not imagine how exhausted she must have felt; she had barely slept a wink since they had left Andervale.
Petir was being attended to by a young physician named Carter at Sirillia’s side. The physician tied his long hair into a ponytail, unrolling his pack of medical tools like some sort of torturer.
Petir braced himself against the side of the table, wincing as Carter adjusted his spectacles and lent forward to examine his arm.
The wound was gruesome. Carter had applied several salves to the open injury to prevent it festering. It had only been relatively successful, as some of the tissue was growing black and was oozing a yellow liquid with a foul odour.
He had even been forced to cauterise some patches the previous night.
Petir sculled a cup of brown ale as Carter unwrapped the bandages and dressings on his arm.
“Slow, slow,” Petir begged, sweat dripping down his reddening face.
“I can’t stomach this,” Sirillia said, immediately averting her gaze and holding her mouth to prevent from spewing up.
Emery huffed aloud. “Must you do that here of all places?” Emery shouted.
Petir shot a glare at his father. “I have been mutilated by your allies, and you want me to suffer out of sight?!”
“I will not tolerate you making your mother sick,” Emery boomed.
“She should be caring for me, not repulsed by me.”
“I just can’t see you like this. It’s too much,” Sirillia exhaled. Her face had grown pale as she held back tears.
“I won’t hear any more of it.”
“It’s fine, Emery,” Sirillia said.
“No, it’s not fine!” Emery snapped.
“My king,” Carter said, “it will only take me a moment to finish redressing the wound.”
Emery nodded. “Make it quick.”
Emery refocused his attention to the maps on the table splayed out before him. He needed to set his mind on anything other than his son right then.
Carter used two fingers to dab a white paste on a section of stitched wound before picking a pair of forceps from his tools. Petir winced and grit his teeth all the while.
Emery looked to his wife. She could not avert her eyes any longer. She watched Petir helplessly, hand to her mouth.
“Creator, hurry the fuck up, will you?!” Petir shouted, slamming his foot on the ground as Carter attempted to cut out the dying flesh. The pain was tremendous.
“I need to keep the wound clean, my prince. It could kill you otherwise,” Carter said before making a snip.
Petir screamed out so loud that it made Sirillia jump. He jolted out of his chair in pain.
Emery slammed his fist against the table in an almighty crash. “Alright, that’s enough! Carter, get out.”
Carter packed up his tools and left a bandage and dressing for Petir to apply before making his way out of the pavilion, wide-eyed.
As the physician left, Ser Yelin Mortimer entered with some guards. Emery gestured for the head of his royal guard to be seated with the rest of his family.
Emery exhaled loudly with frustration, rubbing his forehead as he began speaking with the small group.
“Given our current circumstances, I feel it is time we came together as a family to try and work out a plan going forward. I have also sent for Baron Artima Lowe and Baroness Emilia Erma to join us momentarily. I am seeking everyone’s counsel on how next to proceed.”
Petir sneered as he continued bandaging his severed arm. “Kill the lot of them, I say.”
“We all know how you feel, son-”
“No, you don’t,” Petir snapped. “You don’t have any idea how I might be feeling right now. They crippled the prince of Ashen and conspired to have my wife flee our marriage. Every second those whoresons remain breathing is an insult to me and insult to our name.”
Ser Yelin stepped in. “Need I remind you that you did agree to duel with Prince Wesley? It is preposterous to even suggest exacting revenge on the Seynards!”
“The duel was over! I had already claimed my victory when that cunt struck me!”
Emery raised his voice once again. “Enough with the cursing. I don’t care if the boy had castrated you- while you are in your mother’s company, you will speak with respect.”
Petir lowered his gaze. He struggled to wrap his bandages tight enough with only the one hand. Sirillia appeared distressed from all the bickering.
“Now,” Emery said, more calmly this time, “if you have nothing of value to contribute, then I think it is best you go get some rest, Petir.”
“Father, are you serious?”
Sirillia stood up straight-faced and helped Petir finish wrapping his bandages without uttering a word. She pulled the end of the bandage tightly before pushing it into the wrap to stabilise.
“There, all done,” she said. “Now you need to go rest.”
“Ser Yelin, have one of your men escort Petir to his tent, if you would,” Emery said.
Yelin snapped his fingers at a guard who promptly marched up to Petir’s side. Petir scowled as he stood up and stormed out of the pavilion with his escort.
Emery sat back against his chair, clenching his hands together upon the table. He made sure his crown was sitting perfectly atop his head before his guests arrived.
One of the servants, an Anai slave with his tattooed forearm, brought over a silver tray with drinks.
As the rain outside began to pick up, the other barons of Ashen riding with the Blacktrees’ convoy arrived at the pavilion. Their servants, dripping wet, held out umbrellas over their lords as they entered.
Each time the pavilion flap was opened, gusts of wind caused the candles within to flare up and some to even blow out.
Baron Artima Lowe of Veridia was arguably the second most powerful man in Ashen. Known by many as ‘The Old Bear’, he had gruff facial hair and a square jaw like that of a boulder.
Artima’s bald head had raindrops dripping from it. A servant handed him a small towel to wipe himself down. He wore a grey and white doublet with a high collar, and
black trousers.
The ageing man sat to Emery’s side; his lips drawn in a thin line. Artima had been a long-time friend to Emery’s father, the late King Aron Blacktree, before his death many years past. As such, Emery had inherited a faithful ally to his west.
“My king,” Artima said with a bow of his head upon being seated. His voice had power behind it.
Baroness Emilia Erma, the newly appointed ruler of Fentis, sat with Queen Sirillia on the opposite side of the table after bowing to the king.
She had her ginger hair tied in two long, straight plaits with red ribbon and was still wearing her riding outfit from the day’s travel.
The young baroness was fresh to her role after her husband, Tylor Erma, suddenly died the previous year from pneumonia. Their son, Aron Erma, was born only a month later, named after Emery’s father.
“My lady,” Emery said, bowing back to the baroness politely. “It is good to have you both with us at this time.”
“We are at your service, my king. Anything to keep me distracted from this bitter weather is a blessing,” Artima said.
Ser Yelin returned to the pavilion, his armour dripping with raindrops and spattered with spots of mud.
“My liege,” Emilia said with a concerned expression on her freckled face, “before we begin, I think you need to see this.”
Emilia pulled out two letters and handed it to Ser Yelin for Emery to read.
“My guards received two separate messages in the last hour. One from Dawnhill, the other only minutes ago from Tobius Seynard.”
Emery kept his mouth sealed as he was handed the letters, careful not to reveal any of his raging inner emotions.
Was it an apology from the Seynards? If so, it seemed odd to send it by messenger hawk.
He grinded his teeth as he unfolded the parchment of the first document, reading it in his head before considering reading it aloud to the others.
“What news?” Sirillia asked.
Emery shook his head in despair as he finished the first letter, rubbing his brow. He spoke straight to the point.
Starfall (The Fables of Chaos Book 1) Page 34