They exchanged a leaden look.
“Uh, I ain’t sure. I’m guessin’ after midnight. But I used it off and on afore comin’ here to test it out, so that might’ve gobbled up some time.” Ebba was stuck in a safety room indefinitely with a charm that had an expiry. “That be puttin’ a different pressure on things,” she stated.
His brows lifted. “Aye.”
“What did you say, Caspian?” the king’s cold voice was barely higher than a whisper.
Caspian glanced up, his expression mild. “High, Father. Mistress Fairisles was asking how likely it was that we would beat back the soulless Malice pirates.”
The king held his eyes, and Ebba released a breath as he blinked and returned his attention to the door, forefinger still tapping.
Verity said the charm would work until around midnight. Did around midnight mean half past eleven? Or half an hour into the next day? They still needed to get the purgium and make it past Malice, all the way back to Felicity.
Ebba stared at the sisters holding hands, and tilted her head to look at Caspian.
Nay, that couldn’t be the plan. She wouldn’t leave Caspian to face the darkness alone. And she’d never leave Caspian’s family behind either. Except the king. The king could stay and face the shanty. Or if he had to come, they’d shove him in a barrel until her crew decided what to do with him.
“Any ideas?” she whispered to Caspian, ignoring the girls’ giggles as she leaned in close.
He shook his head.
How to defend the castle against an evilness they’d both experienced and feared? Ebba could only think of evading the six pillars until they had this root of magic, so the sooner they got out of there, the better. Ebba assumed that eventually the pillars would be able to leave the ship. She didn’t want to be here when they did.
A chattering sound echoed faintly throughout the quiet chamber, and everyone turned toward the huge painting on the wall. On the other side of the wall was the treasury. The sound was shifting and high-pitched as though—Ebba’s mouth dried—as though coins slid over each other.
The king rose abruptly, and Caspian tensed at her side. In three strides, the monarch was at the front door of the safety chamber. He rapped out a pattern and then pushed a slotted grate aside at eye level to mutter something inaudible from where she sat.
He stood back, and ten soldiers entered, shutting the door behind them.
“There was a sound from my personal treasury,” he told them. The king strode to the couch on Ebba’s side and said, “Caspian. Go with them. Retrieve truth.”
That seemed vague. Was he really sending his son in there instead of going himself? Not that Caspian wasn’t capable and all.
Caspian didn’t seem surprised. He stood, and Ebba leaned forward to follow suit, but was stopped by the king’s heavy hand on her shoulder. “It is no place for ladies,” he said curtly.
She’d been promoted from woman. Drat, she hadn’t had time to tell Caspian where the purgium was. The treasury was still in a mess, but with the noise in there just now, maybe the king would assume someone else had caused it.
One of the soldiers pushed aside the painting, and the others fanned out. Ebba craned to see and was rewarded with the sight of a door behind the artwork. A secret entrance to the treasury. Impressive.
The soldiers opened the door and filed in, their pistols raised and ready to fire. After several minutes, one reappeared and waved Caspian inside. Ebba held her breath. If he found the purgium, at least that was a small step in the right direction.
“You know, Mistress Fairisles, I have not seen your face in my court before today.”
Her breath hitched at the king’s words. She tipped her head back to look at him, and watched as he rounded the back of the couch to sit where Caspian had been. Uh-oh. Ebba had the sinking feeling the king was about to interrogate her.
“What is your name?” he demanded, ignoring his silent daughters on the couch opposite.
“Ebba,” she said, swallowing hard.
“Lady Ebba Fairisles,” he said, eyes narrowing. “No doubt you’re pretty enough to catch his eye, though I was surprised to hear of his sudden attachment.” He leaned closer. “You know that despite the promises my son has made, your betrothal means nothing without my blessing.”
He didn’t wait for her reply. His rust-colored eyes were edged like a serrated knife and bore into hers. His breath held the sweet remnants of wine.
“My son has one arm, Lady Fairisles. What do you want with him?”
Ebba sucked in a breath, and a hot surge of anger flooded her chest. “So what if he only be havin’ one arm? That don’t make him any less, ye flamin’ cruel bugger. Ye’re meant to be his father. Why do ye say such things about yer son?”
The king sat back, quirking a brow. “Prettily said, mistress. I might even think that you loved him.”
Her fingers twitched with the urge to rip off the charm and let him hear the ugly version, but she stayed her hand. Because of the likely death that would follow.
“Walk with me,” he demanded.
Trembling with suppressed anger, she did as he bade, gritting her teeth as he linked arms with her. They strolled in the direction of the chamber entrance.
“My son is a prince,” the king said plainly, breaking off his scrutiny of her to stare through the secret doorway. “He will be king one day, sooner rather than later, I imagine. I do not doubt he will be a great king. To be a great king, he needs a great woman by his side.” He blinked several times. “All kings do. Without them, we wither.”
What was he talking about?
“You are here claiming to love my son. Yet he’s been back less than a fortnight, and I have never seen you in court. Tell me, Lady Fairisles, are you only here because of his title? If so, I will find out, and I will crush you. Consider the coming months your interview, and know this: I love my son. I love him too much to see him unhappy.”
He sure had a cruel way of showing that love, but she found herself softening toward the ruler, simply because through his words, she did detect a real love for Caspian.
“Father,” Caspian said, striding back through the door. “The men do not believe anyone has been in the treasury room. The shaking seems to have overset a great many things in there.” His eyes flickered to Ebba for a scant second before returning to the king. “The soldiers are still checking the cabinets on the back wall, but if there was someone there, they would have left via the passage, and our soldiers would have spotted them.”
The king hardly seemed to notice a word, his jaw slack as he focused on the sword in Caspian’s hand. It was the vision sword she’d touched earlier. Ebba watched the prince closely, but he didn’t seem bothered by the weapon. Was the weirdness that happened before all in her skull? She’d only hit her head after touching it.
“Here, Father. Truth.” Caspian took a quick step forward and nearly managed to place the sword in the king’s hand.
“No!” The king shied away, his eyes round. He whipped his hands behind his back as he whirled behind Ebba.
“No,” he replied in a calmer voice.
The sword was named truth? That was what the king had sent Caspian in for?
She couldn’t see the king’s face and did not dare turn to satisfy her curiosity with the thick disappointment tightening the prince’s face. Had the king had the same kind of vision as she had? He appeared fearful of the sword. Maybe it had shown him something he didn’t like.
“No,” the king said a third time. “You keep truth for now. I haven’t touched it since your mother’s passing.”
When Ebba touched the sword, she’d been shown that her fathers loved her. She’d felt the truth of their devotion to her. Deep down, she’d known how deeply they loved her, but after the uproar at Pleo, the confirmation from the sword had settled a lingering discontent within her. Did this weapon really show you the truth?
Caspian clenched his jaw. “Nothing new then.”
Ebba waited for the tongue-lashing re
tort from behind, but it never came. Instead, the king wearily replied. “Nothing new, son. But if it’s of any consolation, I was never meant to hold truth. You will do a better job of it, I’m sure.”
The soldiers filed back into the room and pulled the door closed, sliding the painting back into place.
“All clear, My Liege,” the one at the front said with a bow as low as his armor allowed. “I believe the shaking upset the objects within.”
The shaking. Ebba frowned at the thought. The shaking had stopped. The king and Caspian realized this at the same moment as she.
“What’s—?” Caspian said.
The unmistakable ringing of two swords striking against each other rendered everyone inside the chamber mute. They listened to the muffled shouts in the hall outside. Caspian crossed to her, the gleaming sword in his hand.
The king crossed to the couch and sat heavily. “They are here.”
Malice was here, she agreed. But were pirates about to burst in, or the pillars? If it was the pillars, surely as shadows they could already be in the room. Ebba’s chest tightened at the yells and clanging on the other side of the door as the soldiers there fought for their lives and to protect their ruler.
“Who is here, Father?” the youngest princess asked, rushing to the king.
The king gripped her chin, and leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “My enemies. A darkness I was warned of long ago by a great friend whom I betrayed in a moment of weakness. I was meant to kill my enemy’s spawn to ensure the line ended, but when your mother died. . . I have made many mistakes, my daughter, and they have chosen this moment to crash down around me.”
He shook his head as though shaking off bad memories, and gestured to the elder princess. When she rushed to him, he pressed a kiss to her forehead also.
The clanging on the other side of the door had stopped, and no one spoke as the soldiers inside the chamber silently arranged themselves before the entrance. They, like Ebba, had likely assumed the soldiers out there were now dead. Which meant they were next.
Ebba stumbled back out of their way, Caspian at her side.
“What’re we going to do?” she hissed at him. “The pillars can’t get the cylinders.”
He scanned the room. “They’re coming for this room in particular. They’re after my father.”
That hardly mattered when the dynami was down her dress, and the purgium was rolling around on the ground next door.
“Prince Caspian.” The lead soldier turned back as a banging began against the other side of the door. Ebba watched the hinges strain to keep the wooden door in place.
“We will hold them off here for as long as possible,” the soldier continued. “Please take your father and the women into the treasury.”
“And then what?” she asked. “They be pirates. There ain’t no way they won’t be ransackin’ the place after.”
The soldier nodded. “I know, fair lady, but there is nowhere else to go.”
The landlubber had a point.
Caspian laid the gleaming sword on the small table, pushing the painting along its railing once more. He pressed an ear to the secret door and then swung the entrance open again. “Father, sisters, come. We must hide in here for now.”
For how long? Malice had made it all the way inside. To be up here, they had to have taken over the entire castle. Were all of the king’s soldiers dead? Had his court fled or been slain? They were to go into the treasury, and then what?
“I will remain,” the king said, not glancing away from his daughters.
Caspian rushed to his father’s side. “No, Father. Come with us. There is still hope.”
“There is no hope for me, my son. No hope now. None for a long time.” Rust-colored eyes peered into a softer and younger set. “But you and your sisters . . . .” His eyes shifted to Ebba. “And your betrothed. You stand a chance. If they do not kill me, they will scour the castle to find me. Until I am dead, I am a threat.”
“No, Father,” Caspian begged, dropping to his knees before his father and reaching for his hand. “Do not give up,” he pleaded. “Exosia needs you.”
Montcroix’s mouth twisted. “That time is long gone. As is the time when you needed me.” His amber gaze fell to Caspian’s empty sleeve. “You may have lost an arm, but you returned a man. And now you must do what I did not: Kill Mutinous Cannon’s bloodline, as I was meant to do. End their evil for good. Use truth to guide your rule, as I could not. I’m certain you’ll be able to, my son; you must merely be strong enough to govern it,” he hissed. “Kill the bloodline, heir. Kill the evil and restore our family’s honor.”
Ebba was missing something huge about all this truth stuff. Though Caspian appeared almost as confused as she was by his father’s rambling.
King Montcroix’s words did help to confirm one thing, however. The king was spouting words about Mutinous Cannon’s bloodlines and evil. Ebba was now certain that the pillars had hidden within Mutinous, and that her fathers had been tainted while aboard Eternal. Ebba had no idea how the pillars had gone from Cannon to his son and then to Pockmark on Malice. But that the pillars had affected her loved ones for so long left her dumbfounded. They’d spread through her fathers since before her birth, in what felt like an entirely foreign time to her.
How could they compete with such sinister darkness?
Ebba focused on the king again, not having the heart to tell him that the evil he’d referred to no longer needed Pockmark’s body. The king could have ended this all if he’d killed Pockmark’s father all those years ago. He’d failed, and he knew it. But he wasn’t the only one to have failed to do the right thing. In that, she was just like the sovereign.
Startled shouts from the soldiers by the door drew her gaze to the chamber entrance. The wood wasn’t looking so solid now.
“Go, Prince Caspian. You must go,” the soldier called back, sword clasped tight in both hands.
“Go, King Caspian,” the king whispered, bringing his son’s hand to his lips, kissing the back and inhaling deeply as though treasuring the scent of his child. “Go now.”
A tear slid down Caspian’s face. His breath came fast, but he jerked his head in a nod and took hold of his younger sister’s hand. “Ebba, sisters, follow me.”
Both princesses were sobbing, peering back at their father. The eldest was shaking like a leaf, but they obeyed their brother.
Ebba turned to follow but couldn’t help asking, “Ye’re really goin’ to wait in here and die?”
The king’s eyes flashed; however, the sight of the sword gleaming on the table stole his attention. “The sword,” he said hoarsely. “My son must take truth.” He surged to his feet. “Take the sword with you.”
Wood splintered behind her, and the pounding thundered through the chamber in a heavy beat.
The king lunged for the table and hovered his hands over the sword. “Take it,” he said to her.
She wasn’t saying no to a sharp sword with enemies beating down the door.
“Ebba,” Caspian called from the door, his face white.
“Hold on,” she called through the secret door. She reached for the sword, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. “I’m just—”
White light exploded, and then Ebba was soaring through the air for the second time that day. She had no idea where the walls were. No clue as to where the ceiling and floor were situated. Ebba wrapped her arms around her already-injured head and braced herself.
Her leg struck the edge of something, and Ebba landed flat on her back, the air forced from her lungs again.
Her eyes were wide. She’d been blasted into the treasury, thrown clean through the door—except for catching the doorway with her shin, or so the throbbing there told her.
She frowned at the ceiling, replaying what had happened. The white light only exploded when the purgium and the dynami were held by one person. But the purgium was nowhere near her.
Ebba groaned and lifted her head. She had no idea wh
ere Caspian was, but the king stood directly in front of her in the other chamber, staring down at the gleaming sword. A curious calm washed over his features as he crouched by the weapon, and the king smiled as he stretched his fingers to the hilt. “What does it matter at the end?” he asked, his words carrying to her.
He took hold of the hilt and hung his head. The muscles in his neck bulged with tension, and the king threw back his head and screamed a guttural cry that made the hairs at the base of her neck stand on end.
Was he seeing the truth at last?
The king lowered his head, panting, and his gaze, no longer rusted with the serrated-like edge to them, but soft and amber like his son’s, fell on her. He still held the sword, and his jaw dropped. Pirate, he mouthed.
The charm had worn off? Shite. Or was it because he held the sword? It didn’t matter! Ebba rolled to the side and managed to get one knee bent to stand. She looked back at the doorway and tripped on the hem of her dress, falling back to the ground. She craned to see him, certain he’d be inches away from lopping off her head.
He stared at her from the doorway, his eyes flickering and blinking, his mouth opening and closing as he gripped the sword. It was as though he watched a rapidly changing scene, invisible to all but himself.
Montcroix blinked and focused on her, smiling once more. The strangest expression lit his face, as though he’d been simultaneously dealt a mortal blow and given the greatest gift in the world.
“Tell me. Does the silver-eyed pirate still live?” he asked.
Ebba couldn’t utter a word, but she managed a shrug.
A shadow darkened his eyes, and his face firmed. “Take care of my family, pirate,” he said.
Tossing the sword at her feet, King Montcroix stepped back, drawing the door closed.
Twenty-One
“Caspian,” Ebba whispered.
A moan was his only reply. The explosion when she’d touched the dynami and the sword must’ve hurt him. Ebba had a strong suspicion the sword was not what it seemed. She’d only ever seen the two magical cylinders cause such an explosion. Was the sword like the dynami and the purgium? Ebba left the sword where the king had tossed it. She wasn’t eager for a third round of being thrown around. One of the princesses would have to carry the healing cylinder while Ebba took the dynami. Hopefully the princesses didn’t have any terminal illnesses.
Pillars of Six Page 19