War of the Princes 03: Monarch

by A. R. Ivanovich

“The Gateling,” I finished belatedly. “So it's still with us.”

  “Nothing has changed. Don't be afraid.”

  “I'm not,” I told him, and I wasn't lying.

  * * *

  Coastal cliffsides tapered down into rocky shores and pebbled beaches. Blankets of mist dampened an increasingly marshy landscape. We passed harbors, wharves and fish towns, and none of them were empty. The distance was too great to discern the shapes of people, but movement was everywhere. Long narrow ships speared through the water like floating needles, spouting trails of steam behind them. Heavy barges hauled nearly enough cargo to compromise their buoyancy. The Northern naval ships were easy to spot. Whether they hovered in the air or sat in the water, each and every one was splashed in black and bronze paint, the colors of the North, and crested by sets of garishly colored flags that whipped and lashed in the wind. Every boat had a name, and every name had a tally. These ships had more visual personality than I did.

  At first I was afraid they’d stop us, but Carmine hoisted a flag of her own and none troubled us. It was a four-foot-long ribbon of teal, spangled in gold. As soon as I studied it, I spotted matching flags trailing from the masts of other trade ships.

  We turned up the mouth of a canal that was wide enough to be its own sea, and pressed inland. A bulbous naval hover ship matched our speed and direction for four hours, and nearly succeeded in giving Carmine a heart attack before it finally turned off into port.

  The military installations were impressive. They cropped up from land and sea in the form of stocky brownstone towers riddled with cannon mouths. Spikes made from whole tree trunks jutted out from their bases, ensuring that no enemy ship could get close enough for mooring. Each length of timber was carved like braided wood. Patches of drooping vegetation and peat filled the cracks and upper layers of the construction. As we passed especially close to one such compound, I could hear bawdy music and the roaring of chanting voices emanating from within. This was no carefree party. The sounds were far too intense to be innocent. I found myself shrinking deeper into the cabins of the Flying Fish until we’d safely passed.

  I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know that Rune was with me, and when I felt his hands settle around my waist, I smiled.

  “Carmine wishes to know if we should keep the same heading,” Rune said, letting me lean against his chest.

  I reached up, caressing the side of his neck with one hand. The cabin doors were open wide enough for me to see that we’d moved well beyond the spiky garrison on the water. “Unless the capital has moved, that’s the direction we should take.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Let’s see, Prince Varion is that way,” I said, using the Pull to point me in his direction. I faced the head of the ship and pointed slightly to the left.

  “And so is the city. I believe you.”

  Looking at a pair of sharply pointed boats, I said, “I never thought I’d see a place more different than Breakwater or Cape Hill, but here we are. In the North.”

  “Division can do that to a kingdom.”

  “Does being here worry you?” I asked him. “Be honest.”

  “I was thinking about it. I can’t be truly free unless I let go of who I was. I cannot allow myself to be bound to old rivalries and prejudices or I’ll be of no use to you, myself, or this mission. Anyway, I do not fear the North.” I could feel his voice rumbling through his chest. “The only thing that worries me is the thought of losing you again. That could happen in the West as easily as the North.”

  I supposed he was right. “No one wants to drain me here, that’s one advantage.” A sigh gusted from my lungs and I went limp in Rune’s arms, trusting him to hold me up. “What am I supposed to do? Ask your lifelong enemy, Prince Varion, for help? Or feed him to Prince Raserion in hopes that he’ll keep his word and end the war?”

  Rune tipped me forward so that I was no longer leaning on him and stood beside me. He was silent for a time, considering an answer. “We should meet with Varion and ask for aid as Lord Axton intended. If he betrays us, we should consider Raserion as an option. My concern is how Raserion should hope to aid us against his brother at so great a distance.”

  Fishing around in my pocket, my fingers closed around the flat, cold ornament. “There’s this. Raserion gave it to me.” I held up the brass medallion, letting the two sides spin from the chain. “He told me to trace one of the symbols when I meet Varion.”

  Carefully, Rune grabbed hold of the base of the chain to stop it from spinning and get a better look. “One side is for summoning a warhorse.” He rolled his left sleeve up to his elbow and compared the brand in his skin to the detail work on the trinket. It was a perfect match. Turning the piece over, he studied the second symbol with narrowed eyes. “The other… you should put this away. Whatever you do, don’t touch the surface.”

  “Why? Do you know what it is?”

  “No,” he said, giving it back to me. “I’ve never seen it before. And that’s cause enough for concern.”

  I looked at the seemingly harmless inscription, a snail shell spiral that ended in two downward points, and slipped it away into my pocket.

  “He said that it would transport Prince Varion to him, but how? What does it actually do?”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Prince Raserion would not waste an opportunity to throw his fiercest attack at Varion if given the opportunity. It’s likely a weapon of extraordinary power.”

  “He seemed adamant about being the one to kill Varion, for revenge.”

  Rune looked warily at the pocket where I’d stowed the threatening item. “Then nothing will stop him. There is no greater weapon in this world than Prince Raserion, himself.”

  I rubbed my palms together, suddenly aware of how many times I’d nearly touched the engraving’s brass surface. The thought was terrifying, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be afraid. I’d been pushed beyond my limits long ago, and though my stomach clenched with tension, I found myself laughing. “Well, why not? It’s about time he’s shown up.”

  Rune’s eyebrows lifted at my reaction, but instead of becoming silent and severe, he grinned back at me. “You know that he comes to fight in many of the battles?”

  “Unlike his brother?”

  “Very much unlike Varion.”

  “This should be an interesting few days,” I said, curling an arm around him.

  “To say the least,” he agreed amiably. “Soon, we’ll be standing among immortals, and the choices we make will have the power to change history.”

  The concept barely had time to sink in before Kyle came swaggering across the hall from the forward cabin. “What are you guys doing lurking back here? It’s a nice day for sightseeing!”

  “You’re inside too,” I pointed out.

  “Only for a little while. I was bringing Carmine some food. Pickled fish is not as awful as I thought it would be.”

  Leave it to Kyle to be carefree now, of all times. Still, it was a great improvement from his nightmare-induced bouts of terror. “Where’s Sadie?” I asked him, hoping he at least had the good sense to keep her out of plain sight.

  “She’s in the cargo hold, relax,” he said, tossing me a lopsided grin. “Hey, I’m free to give you that lesson on engine decompression maintenance that you wanted.”

  I almost asked, “Me?” before realizing that he was speaking to Rune.

  “Yes,” Rune said with more enthusiasm than I was used to seeing. “Show me.” He gave my hand a squeeze before heading out with Kyle.

  “Do you have any other experience with engineering?” Kyle asked.

  Rune shook his head. “None.”

  “Good! I’d hate to have to list all of the reasons why my methods are better than someone else’s. Did that sound vain? I’m really not. I’ve just had that conversation so many times.”

  They strode across the deck seeming unconcerned about our passage through enemy territory. Rune and Kyle, what a strange pair. As they walked away,
an echo of nostalgia tugged at my heart. Beyond them, out on the water, a hover ship, topped with rippling orange flags soared past. I wasn’t afraid of the Princes, but if either of them dared harm another of my friends, I’d give them a reason to be afraid of me.

  In that very moment, a shadow peeled away from the wall and stood behind me with gaping white eyes. I saw the Gateling in my peripheral vision, and turned to face it slowly. I could have called for Rune or Kyle. I could have alerted the whole damn ship, but I didn’t want to.

  The shadow took a halting step forward, reaching out with long pointed fingers.

  Taking in a steady breath, I tipped my head down and smiled. The Spark roared within me, and I let loose a controlled pulse. A bubble of lightning poured out around me, flashing white, and the Gateling slipped backwards and disappeared into a wall.

  Sucking the electricity back into myself before I could damage the ship, I pounded a fist on the very surface that concealed the Gateling.

  “We’ll only speak on my terms now, Prince.”

  Chapter 23: To Meet a Prince

  “We're nearly there,” Carmine announced to Dylan and I. Rune and Kyle had been toiling around in the engine room for hours, and while it was a fair bit of sport to harass the Gateling, Carmine and even Dylan made for better company.

  The thought of touching down on land again thrilled me. Being cooped up on the Flying Fish, charming as it might be, was beginning to make me feel like I'd been trapped in a tin lunchbox. If not for the view I would have gone insane days ago. Even the horses were showing signs of irritation, and I'd spent the better part of the morning attempting to calm them down. Florian had begun to damage his stall from all the kicking he was doing. He desperately needed to run, and I could relate to that.

  “Jemmie, Walton, Sonny, Pauline, Aubrey,” Carmine said wistfully, with a smile playing upon her curved lips. “We'll be celebrating soon enough.”

  “And who are those? Your collection of porcelain lovers?” Dylan asked drolly from his seat at the card table. His jacket collar stood on end, framing his perfectly tousled blond hair.

  Carmine let out a single, musical laugh. “If only I were so popular. I’ve told you, they’re the cousins who eagerly await my success.”

  “They may find themselves waiting a lifetime.”

  I sat across from Dylan at the little table, casually examining his playing cards while he flipped through a book. A smirk formed against my will. I was beginning to find some distinct humor in his negative banter.

  He noticed my reaction and winked at me.

  I let out an airy laugh and shook my head slowly.

  “Afraid not.” Carmine's cheer was not dampened in the least. “Your brother is paying me well enough. After all of this plays out, I may even consider retirement. Oh, I'd never be able to hold still for long... but it's a pleasant thought.”

  “You're a con artist,” Dylan said to her. “If I were Brendon, I'd have you tossed into the brig for demanding such an unwholesome price.”

  “So sorry to disappoint, little Axton, but a select few see my value for what it is. You appreciate me, don't you Katelyn?”

  “Very much,” I grinned. “Who else would commit daring rescues and pilot the ship for days on end without sleep?”

  “I would,” Dylan grumbled. “And at the very least it would rescue me from this boredom. I scoured Sheer Town for anything interesting and all I got for my efforts were a few of Raserion's history books. Here's a recent one: The Battle At Rocktree Camp.” He leaned back in his chair and cracked the thin book open.

  I placed a scythe card down on the table. The artwork on that particular card was quite detailed. “Why would Raserion's books be in Sheer Town?”

  “Raserion pays couriers with quick ships to drop them throughout every coastal city. Pays them well too. With your taste for coin, you might look into that line of work, Darling.”

  Carmine spun the wheel to turn the ship away from an outcropping of rocks that jutted up from the water. “I won't deny that the money is right, but a caught courier is a killed one. I've heard the Hussars make sport of them. Give them a head start and hunt them down like dogs.”

  He eyed her with distaste. “Dogs do the hunting, fair lady. For all its cunning, it's the fox that is caught in the end.”

  Carmine rolled her eyes. “Do you ever stop speaking?”

  He turned a few of the book's pages, searching for something. “Sadly, no. I do have other talents if you'd care to explore them.”

  Rune and Kyle chose that exact moment to join us, and wisely, Dylan changed the subject.

  “Regardless, this volume is a pile of rubbish. Missing commas, adjectives repeating in the same sentence.” Dylan cleared his throat in preparation of reading. “Listen to this, 'Out of the frolicking mist that gushed with gun smoke,' no comma, 'Varion's horde huddled in a gushing heap of fear, too afraid to raise their guns and do battle.'”

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “What?”

  “What is that?” Kyle asked.

  Rune had a piece of wood in his hand, and was carving it with an especially small blade. Whatever he was attempting to whittle was indistinguishable. “The written work of a Historian.”

  “There's more, it gets better,” Dylan said. “'One shaking fool stood up in the quivering ranks, a true spectacle of Northern bravery. He loaded his cannon lit his spitting fuse and aimed low to the ground. The blast rained red with his blood upon the wailing cheeks of his companions.' Wailing cheeks? Do these cheeks have their own mouths? 'But each crimson cheek turned up with awe to behold the beautiful Margrave Hest. At mere sight of her awesome presence, each man wept and each woman sobbed with envy, and with a brilliant black shadow of Dragoons at her back,' I don't think it's possible for a shadow to be brilliant, 'the Margrave conquered the invaders of the field with one word. Goodbye.'”

  It was completely absurd and about as far from the truth as it could be. The bold idiocy of it made me gasp. “But that's not what happened at all! We were locked down in those trenches. The cannons killed so many people! And Varion's soldiers weren't huddling and afraid! They nearly won!”

  “Easy, Miss Kestrel, I was there, remember?” Dylan sighed. “But you're right. This is hardly worthy entertainment. Cards, Thayer?”

  Rune glanced over and shook his head.

  “I can't believe they'd write that!” I couldn't deny that Hest had been impressive in the battle, but she didn't stop to talk or make threats. She was far too busy laying waste to her enemies.

  Rune went to stand beside Carmine, and simply by looking at him, a rush of recent memories flowed over me. “There are many ways to infect the minds of your opponents,” he said. “Raserion uses these books to demoralize the Northerners. Even if the people don't believe the content is true, the concept of failure has already crept into their thoughts. In combat, doubt is death. In our own cities, Raserion's history books are more accurate, and underscore the importance of learning from our losses.”

  On a normal day, I would have shouted about the hypocrisy of loving history and spouting propaganda at one's enemies, but I was far too busy going to pieces. Flushing, I remembered the sensation of running my hands over Rune's bare back, the feeling of his feather-light kisses on my neck. The rise and fall of his chest, and the way his face emanated with love for me when we lay side by side.

  I felt a rush of blood to my cheeks and refocused on the cards.

  “Seems wrong though, doesn't it?” Kyle said for me. “Telling white lies to confuse your opponent is a cheap tactic.”

  “Cheap tactics can still earn victories,” Dylan put in.

  “You're right about that, Axton.” Rune pushed down on the blade and cut the top of his wooden figure clean off. He watched the severed piece drop to the floor and roll away with a twinge of disappointment on his face.

  Dylan watched him, plainly annoyed. “Why do you keep attempting ridiculous hobbies?” he asked Rune in a tone that suggested he'd been bottling t
he question. “You've picked up a new habit every day, and you're dreadful at all of them.”

  Rune's face was a mask that concealed any emotion he may have felt about the remark. He turned to Dylan, free of rage or sorrow or amusement. His blue eyes stared down at the pale lord. “For eight years I haven't existed outside of my duties as a Dragoon. I have been invisible, forgotten by all the world save my superiors and enemies. It is my duty as a free man to live every moment of life to its absolute potential, and how should I accomplish that without first experiencing it?” He approached us and placed the knife and mangled piece of wood on the table. Upon closer inspection, I could see that he'd carved the body of an animal into the surface. It wasn't half bad for a first attempt.

  My heart ached with his confession. He was fighting for his individualism, and even the act of answering Dylan had proved that much. I wanted to hold him close and tell him he was doing the right thing, but I couldn't coddle him. He needed to learn to defend his new ideals. I smiled, and mist gathered in the recesses of my eyelids, but I didn't let my emotion show. Did anyone else realize how difficult this was for him?

  Dylan reached out, grabbing the carving knife by its hilt, and stabbed it down into the wooden animal. An antagonistic grin curled onto his lips. “Good for you, Thayer. Just don't be too disappointed if you wake up one cold morning and find that killing is your only true skill.”

  How dare he! I opened my mouth to shout at him, but he was ready for me.

  “Don't reprimand me.” Dylan dropped the book flat on the table. “I'm giving our friend here some real-world advice. We cannot deny our nature any more than we can sprout wings and fly.”

  “I don't want to shock anyone,” Kyle said, leaning against the map wall. “But I disagree. A person can be whoever they choose. It's all a matter of action versus intention. Limitations are reserved for the simple-minded.”

  “Maybe I will awaken some day and realize I'm the same Dragoon that I was in Raserion's keeping. If that moment comes, I will revel in the memories of being a free man, even for a short time, and that will be enough.” Rune faced the forward windows, slipped his hands into his pockets, and began to whistle airily. One out of every five exhalations was musical.