This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to find the man who had so viciously attempted to behead my innocent pa to be inhuman and sinister. I wanted to find him sitting on a throne made of bones, laughing maniacally and sipping wine the color of human blood as a servant played dramatic chords on an organ. I wanted to find him surrounded by guards decked out in metal armor like in the olden days with glowing red eyes and tusks as they marched in time around pools of boiling tar.
I couldn’t handle a nemesis who was so human.
The guard shoving me down the hallway only came up to my shoulder. Despite being rather scrawny, he was a force to be reckoned with. He kept stabbing me in the ribs with his sharp elbows. He didn’t bother to tell me to take a left turn. He just kicked me in the shins instead. I yelped, grumbled under my breath, and made the turn.
And froze.
A woman in long robes was making her way down the hallway we had just turned into. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me. It was the seer who had tried to strangle me. I would never forget those large unfocused eyes. The seer pointed a gnarled finger at me.
“He has come,” she moaned so loudly that people poked their heads out of their office doors. “The Heir has come!”
Well, now I knew how Safford knew where to find me. This old hag had told him. And now she was going to get me killed by revealing me right under his nose.
“Out of our way, Patrice,” Sharp Elbows commanded. The guards steered us around her and on down the hall, muttering to each other about the old lady’s frequent outbursts. She yelled cryptic, but meaningless, warnings at us as we turned yet another corner.
“Don!” Mel gasped.
There was a doorway at the end of the corridor attended by two guards. But these two men weren’t standing still as statues like all the other guards had been. They were both lying on the ground, writhing. Their skin was a light purplish color, and one of them had vomited. I had seen these exact symptoms before.
“Oh no,” I groaned, shoving Sharp Elbows off of me. I ran down the hall, afraid to imagine what sort of carnage awaited me beyond the door. I heard the guards and Mel calling out for me, but I ignored them. At the end of the hall, I jumped over the poisoned guards and forced my way through the door.
Sharp Elbows followed right behind me. He grabbed my arms and tried to wrestle me to the floor, but he didn’t get far before he stopped moving. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he slumped to the floor at my feet. An arrow was lodged in his back at an angle that suggested he had been shot from above.
I was almost too scared to look, but I looked anyway. Sitting up in the exposed rafters was a woman I vaguely recognized as one of the Imposter’s cronies. She smiled down at me as she casually docked another arrow.
“Hello, Farmboy.” The oily voice of the Imposter floated over the sounds of Mel banging on the locked office door, calling my name. I looked toward the voice.
My first impression of King Reynold Safford was an interesting one for sure. He was sitting in an oversized chair behind an equally massive desk. He was an older man with a simple gray beard. Instead of armor made of dragon bone, he wore a conservative tunic with just enough gold threading to suggest he was a man of status. The crown of human teeth I had envisioned was missing. His balding head was unadorned. Had I not known he was the king, I never would have thought him one.
And right behind the king, leaning casually against the large chair, stood the Imposter. He held a dagger to the king’s throat.
“Hello, Imposter,” I said.
The Imposter scowled, and I felt a brief moment’s pleasure. My nickname for him clearly got under his skin.
“You think you’re funny. How cute,” he drawled.
“And you think you’re me. How quaint.”
The Imposter bristled.
“The first time we met, you were more than happy to give me your name. Now I see that you have claimed it for yourself,” the Imposter said. “What changed, I wonder?”
“Watching my Pa nearly get his head chopped off,” I glowered at the king, “really has a way of rearranging your priorities.”
The Imposter laughed. “You are so weak, Farmboy.”
I was tired of the pleasantries. “What do you want, Imposter?”
“What makes you think I want anything from you?”
“You want everything from me,” I said. “And you clearly haven’t tried to kill me yet.” I gestured toward the woman in the rafters, who still aimed her arrow at me.
“You think you’re so clever, Farmboy,” the Imposter said. “But you’re really not. You’re just lucky. Stupid and lucky. I am clever.”
Maybe I wouldn’t survive this encounter, but at least I could get the Imposter to admit to poisoning the princess. At least the king would know I hadn’t done it. If he miraculously survived this and I didn’t, maybe that would be enough to convince him to spare my family.
“You killed the princess,” I said.
“Oh, you got my note.” The Imposter grinned. “Yes, I did. And it was so easy. I just handed her the weapon, and she killed herself. She drank that poison with such ferocity; she was practically already dead by the time she left the gates.”
“My daughter is dead?” the king said, his eyes wide with horror. He had such a kind voice. He sounded like my grandpappy. I hated him because I didn’t hate him. “And my grandson…?”
“Dead as well,” chirped the Imposter.
“Alive,” I said at the same time. The Imposter and I stared each other down. I tore my gaze from his and looked at the king. “I didn’t get there in time to save your daughter. Only your grandson, Aleksander, and his nursemaid survived. He is safe in his father’s arms now.”
“You saved the kid and brought him home!” The Imposter groaned. “You really are a sentimental fool. You could have used that kid for anything!”
“Who are you?” the king asked me. He was surprisingly calm considering the dagger at his throat.
I glanced at the Imposter and then back at the king. “I am the real Izayik Delaren,” I said.
The Imposter whooped. “Oh, and so the plot thickens. Two men who both claim to be Izayik Delaren. The cunning outlaw and the stupid farmboy.” His broad smile faded, and he glared at me with malice in his eyes. “And only one of us is going to make it out of this room alive.”
I changed the subject in a desperate attempt to hide my shudder of fear. “Why haven’t you killed the king yet? Why a dagger when you could have just as easily poisoned him, too?”
“Oh, stupid Farmboy.” The Imposter waved his dagger at me. “What you don’t understand is that these things take time. Lots and lots of planning. Ten whole winters have I spent working on this project. Ten winters have I worked to ingratiate myself and my band into the ranks of the palace: a kitchen girl, a footman, a guard, a servant, and a soldier.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “But you have already dealt with the soldier.”
He didn’t know that Zarra was alive. He must have thought we had killed her. I decided it was probably best that he didn’t know the truth, since she had betrayed him and all.
“This whole plot was not supposed to happen for another winter,” The Imposter continued. “But then you showed up, and you ruined everything. We had to rush, and things got sloppy.” His frustration became a suspiciously serene smile. “But now that you’re here, I do believe we can set everything right again.”
“How?” I asked, sharing a glance with the king. The Imposter left his side and walked around the desk to me. I took a step back and saw the amusement flicker in the Imposter’s eyes. I stood my ground. I would not have him consider me a coward.
The Imposter circled me. He looped an arm around my shoulder and dragged me down to his level. Together we faced the king. The Imposter shoved his dagger into my hands.
“I want you to kill the king,” he said.
You’re out of your mind,” I said.
The Imposter chuckled and patted my shoulder. “This isn’t for me, Far
mboy. This is for you.” He gestured to the king with an open hand. “As long as this man is still alive, you will always be on the run. Your family will always be in danger. Kill him, Farmboy, and it all ends right now. You can go back to your little farm and your happy life of obscurity, and I will take the crown. It will be the dawn of a new era, and you will be safe.”
Tempting. The thought of going home and knowing that my family would be safe from Safford’s forces was enough to make me hesitate. Safford’s men had stabbed my brother, thrown me into a cellar, sentenced me to death without a trial, and nearly beheaded my Pa. They were vicious.
But would forces commanded by the Imposter be any better? He was cunning and ruthless and deadly. How could I trust him to let me leave without attempting to kill me, as well?
“And if I don’t?” I asked.
The Imposter clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Then I will kill him. And then I will kill you. And then I will hunt down your family and kill all of them.” He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me. In the end, your name gets the blame, regardless.”
I dared to look at the king and immediately wished that I hadn’t. He sat so calm, his chin tilted in defiance, his eyes shining with bravery. Despite his lack of livery, he was so kingly. Had Willian been like that? Had my father faced his death with such courage?
The Imposter stepped away from me and held out his hands, indicating the room and everything in it with a grand flourish. “Look at all I have done for you, Farmboy. I have cornered the Usurper King, I have placed the weapon in your hands. All you need to do is kill him, and it all goes back to the way it was. Just kill him!”
“What makes you think you could kill me?” I asked. “You failed the last time you tried.”
“Aw, yes, the Steward. Let him appear. He is only mortal. I’ll simply kill him as well.” It was truly terrifying how calmly the Imposter could discuss killing, like it was something he did every day.
Maybe it was.
Kill the king and trust the Imposter, or fail to kill the king and watch the Imposter kill everyone I loved. Including me. I loved me a lot, and I really wasn’t ready to die just yet.
I turned the dagger over in my hands.
“Why are you hunting me?” I asked the king.
“You are a dangerous man,” he said. “You have stirred up my subjects to rebellion. You have murdered my people and robbed them.”
“That was him.” I pointed the dagger at the Imposter. “Why are you really hunting me? What is it about me that has you so frightened? It isn’t the fear of a rebellion; it’s the fear of something else — something the seer told you about me.”
The king stood. I flinched. The Imposter grinned.
“You are a dangerous man,” King Safford said again. “The seer warned us about you. She called you a Child of Death. She said that merely touching you brought her pain — that she gazed into your future and saw darkness and despair. She said that you will commune with the dead and bring back the beasts of old. She said that you will bring darkness to this land.”
“Darkness is already here!” I said. I was tired of the accusations and horrified by them. I waved the dagger about as I ranted. “Or have you not noticed the deadmen? Your people die, and their bodies turn into monsters. Are you going to blame that on me as well?”
Still obnoxiously placid, King Safford responded, “Already, your troops have conquered most of the outlands. In a matter of days, a third of my kingdom has turned on me.”
“Really?” I was impressed. Commander Shyronn apparently knew what he was doing.
“You can drop the act of innocence, Izayik,” the king said. “You are a menace to these people.”
A menace? Of the three of us, he considered me the menace?
“The seer has seen your future and has prophesied that it is full of death,” Safford said. “You claim to be a protector, but you are not. You say that I have abandoned my people to the deadmen, but you are foolish and naïve. Rather, I am being especially proactive. I am targeting the deadmen at their source: you.”
“What?” I faltered.
“Your family, Izayik, is responsible for the Rise of the Deadmen.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Even the Imposter was offended.
“Your mother had powers, Izayik, terrible powers. When she died, the deadmen appeared overnight. Now they are a plague, destroying this country. Your family set a curse on this land, and the pinnacle of that curse is the only survivor, the Prince of Death. You.”
With a cry of frustration, I charged at the king. He fell back into his chair in alarm as I climbed onto the desk and held the dagger high. But something stopped me. Maybe it was the actual fear that I saw in his face. Maybe it was the knowledge that the Imposter was watching, laughing. I froze.
With the dagger still raised above him, I said, “My parents would never set a curse on Aldrin. They were honorable rulers.”
But how did I really know? I was only echoing what Rath told me.
Safford looked me right in the eye and said, “Your mother was out of her wits, and your father was a fool.”
I scowled. “My father was a great man,” I said.
“Great men do not always make great kings, Izayik.”
“And what makes you any better?” I demanded.
“Your father was unprepared to rule. He was a commoner thrust into power in place of his mad wife. He was foolish, and he made mistakes. He was soft. I will not make those same mistakes. Your mother was my cousin. The people chose me to protect them when she failed. I will do whatever it takes to keep my people safe.”
“And you think killing me will make a difference.”
Safford met my gaze with his own. “You represent a false and misleading hope, Izayik. Your existence is at worse a curse and at best a distraction. You turn my people against each other in a time when cooperation is essential for survival. You are a threat to my people.”
“My people,” I corrected him.
We all jumped when we heard the sound of something heavy slamming against the door. The wood groaned. Men shouted.
“Tick, tock, Farmboy!” The Imposter sang. “If you don’t kill the king soon, I will kill both of you.”
Another thud rocked the king’s study as the battering ram slammed against the thick doors once more.
I looked at the king, panicked.
The king looked at me, calm.
Maybe in another life, if my parents hadn’t both died in a revolt, this relative of mine would have been a mentor to me. Maybe we would have been close.
Another bang on the door. The wood began to splinter.
“Do what you must,” Safford said, closing his eyes.
The Imposter laughed. The laughter grew more hysterical with every thud against the door. I clenched the blade in my hand so hard my knuckles turned white.
Then, all at once, I knew what I had to do.
I forced my hand to relax. I took a deep breath. Then I spun on top of the desk, rocked my weight forward, hammered my hand downward, and threw the knife.
The Imposter’s sing-song laughter stopped abruptly as he was pierced in the chest with his own dagger. He stumbled backward against a bookshelf as the light faded from his eyes. He crumpled to the floor.
I had always had a good arm.
Rath appeared midair beside me and caught the arrow the woman in the rafters shot at me. He spun in a full circle, positioned the arrow at waist level, and used the power of the Armor to fire it back at the woman. She cried out when it hit her and dropped from the rafters just as the doors cracked to pieces. The king’s study flooded with guards and soldiers, all directing their weapons at me.
“Don’t shoot!” Safford called over the din.
Everyone froze. Slowly, I climbed off the desk, holding my hands in the air as soon as my feet hit the ground. Mel broke through the crowd and stood next to me with her hands raised in surrender as well. Rath hovered beside me with his arms folded defiantly, daring anyone i
n the room to try to attack me.
“He saved my life,” Safford said, indicating the Imposter’s body.
“Oh my,” Mel whispered when she saw what I had done. She actually looked impressed.
“I spared your life,” I reminded him. “I returned your grandson to you, and I avenged your daughter’s murder. Do you truly still believe that I’m a menace?”
The king moved from behind the desk. He considered me thoughtfully. Our gazes locked for a tense, silent moment. All I could hear was my own heart pounding. I could see in his eyes that whatever our relationship may have been if my parents had lived, in this life, in this reality, we would never be friends. How could we? He was the king desperately trying to keep his kingdom together, while I was the reason it was falling apart. Even though I had no actual power over Shyronn and his troops, I was the vision that fueled their desire for conquest.
He even blamed the Rise of the Deadmen on me.
No matter what I did for him, Safford would attack Hazeldown. He would burn the village to the ground, and he would continue to hunt me until he had proof to show the world that I was dead. So why not kill me now, when he had me outnumbered and surrounded?
At last, Safford spoke.
“Stand down,” he told his men, and they obeyed. They pointed their weapons at the floor and stepped aside. “You spared my life, and I will spare yours.”
For now, I thought.
I couldn’t leave just yet. I knew this was not as simple as it seemed. I spoke to the whole room, but mostly to the king. “If a single member of my family so much as loses a hair as a consequence of your actions, Safford, I will be back.” In my desperation, I grew bold. “And I will show you no mercy.”
“I know,” Safford said.
Fatal Heir Page 13