War of the Princes 03: Monarch

by A. R. Ivanovich

  Despair overtook me. I'd done my best, and this was all I could accomplish?

  Two pairs of hands grabbed me roughly by the arms and began to drag me across the floor. Another two had already hefted Sadie and were carrying her out the door. They dragged me through something warm and wet. I watched my own feet trailing Sadie's blood.

  My voice was less than a whisper. “R–Rune...”

  The starry lights twinkled down on the elaborately decorated red tavern. My head lolled against my chest and I watched two other soldiers dragging Kyle's body by the arms in a similar fashion. That armor had been so familiar. In my delirium, I thought of how frightening it had first looked to me, and then about how well Rune had worn it. A Cormorant Dragoon who cared. I wasn't the only one who needed him. The world did too. Who better to teach others the value of life than someone who had lost everything and come back? I couldn't let the prince take him away. Not now, after everything he'd achieved.

  I felt myself pass over a lump of wood and then bits of gravel dug into my back and the hue of my surroundings changed. They'd dragged us out into the night. I could still hear the cries of fighting nearby, the crackle of timber burning, and the boom of occasional cannon fire. They pulled me along like I was a corpse.

  “I–I'm not dead!” I rasped. “I'm not dead.”

  Gravity, I hated being so helpless! I counted seven soldiers within my limited view. Two dragged Kyle and five brought up the rear. With two more pulling me and carrying Sadie, there were a total of eleven. There may have been more at the front of the group. I could tell by slight differences in the black leather armor with their red embellishments that about half of the soldiers were Dragoons. None of them said a single word as they carried out their orders. They didn't seem concerned about the battle in the city, or about each other's well being. It was efficient work and utter silence.

  A dark shape walked into my field of vision. It was Rune, white-eyed and covered in shadowy smoke. If I hadn't seen what happened, I would have doubted there was a person within the monster. He turned his head to stare at me as he walked past. He didn't blink or pause his stride or pay me any excessive attention.

  “Rune. Rune, I know you're in there.” But he was already gone.

  “Load them into the crate and get them on the ship,” said an unfamiliar voice, probably a Cormorant Dragoon.

  They were going to drop me between Sadie and Kyle's bodies and seal me in. My claustrophobia bucked within me, sending warning signals to flee throughout my body. There would be nothing worse than that. No one could do me any more harm than such a vile action.

  “No!” My voice cracked as I shouted, feeding my life energy into the Spark. Tendrils of electricity snapped off of my arms and up my back, greedily sapping vital reserves that kept me alive. I could feel the difference. My burning nerves prickled in warning. I was endangering my life. But the Spark caught hold of the Dragoons who held me, and went farther than I intended. They wrapped around each of their arms like wild vines, coiled around their knuckles. Their bodies were clenched with electrocution, but my lightning peeled their grip back, finger by finger and shot them away from me. One of them hit the side of the tavern, and the other rolled across the brick street.

  My heart thudded in my chest. It should have been racing, but it was too slow. I nearly sagged to my knees, but buckled over, I held myself up. My hair hung limp around me, my wavy curls weighed down by sweat and blood. The white slip of my torn dress was stained red.

  I looked out from behind my hair at the other Dragoons. They'd come at me at any moment, and I would fight them off. I would find Rune, and somehow, I'd break him free. The slightest movement was a chore. He wasn't among the soldiers I could see, and I couldn't risk turning around to look for him. Lightning popped off of me in bursts, like a hot electrical wire.

  I was ready.

  I was dying.

  A chorus of thunder drowned out the sounds of battle. Four, no, five cloud systems bellowed all across the sky, like they were singing for me. It was loud enough to be frightening, but the sound comforted me.

  The Dragoons that I could see drew their weapons and one of them spoke up. “Remember our orders. If she's too much trouble, kill her.”

  “Give me just a moment and you won't need to,” I told them in dark humor.

  Six of them moved in where I could see them. They all held blades in their hands, unwilling to waste an expensive bullet on me. Most of them had a secret Ability that they would wait to use at the most opportune moment. I needed to be ready.

  Seconds before they could attack, they looked at me with something akin to fear in their eyes. Dragoons never showed strong emotion, but the infantry soldiers did. The blood left their cheeks, their mouths dropped open, and some of them even took a step back. The Dragoons halted their advance. I knew that it wasn't me they were staring at.

  I blinked, nearly losing the ability to reopen my eyes, and swallowed. Rocking with every breath, I pulled in the Spark and used the boost in energy to slowly turn myself around.

  My reaction was no different than the others. How could I not be afraid?

  We were looking at Kyle's body. It was standing upright in the street with a black sunburst of blood drying in the middle of his chest. It was staring at all of us in turn.

  “Kyle!” I whimpered and my knees buckled. Palms on the dirty street, I forced myself to sit on my feet. I wanted to cry with joy and relief, but I didn't have anything left. He was alive!

  Kyle looked down again at his chest, and stabbed a finger at the bullet hole. It didn't sink into a deep cavity, but stopped as though the wound had closed. He looked at us again, scanning our faces, and took a single step forward. The air shook.

  He balled his hands to fists, holding his forearms out, and I could have sworn they doubled in size. He took another step, the air reacted again, and his legs became longer. With every step, the air trembled, and his chest thickened, his shoulders broadened, and his jaw strengthened. Every pace was a fraction quicker, and he aged with his movement, right before our eyes.

  His clothes ripped in places, a seam ran straight up the back of his coat, and he pulled it free, flinging it into the street. He was a full-grown man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. He looked like himself, but he didn't. He was still lean, but he was very tall; at least six and a half feet tall. Only his hair remained the same curly brown mess that it had been. His eyes were a pure silver, nearly gunmetal black. There were no whites to them. He was Prince Varion.

  The air around him glistened as though he was emitting a strong heat, but I felt no difference in temperature. He continued striding forward, and wherever he passed, insects and rodents fled from their nests and nooks and burrows. Holding a hand out, and spreading his fingers, the buildings around us began to rattle. When he closed his fingers, bits of metal, wire, and wood tore free and shot toward him.

  A sharp piece of a drainpipe cut through the air beside my cheek, and I didn't have the energy to dodge it. I was lucky it didn't strike me. Bits of street trash, nails, automobile parts, roofing, shop signs and even a few swords and guns from the belts and hands of the Dragoons, shot at the man who was Kyle, and with each of his final steps, they stacked and curled and reformed into perfect machine components. They piled up around him, turning, shaping, and locking into place with one another until an entire suit of armor nearly identical to Wick's had been built around him. This machine was a reflection of the battle: dull, dirty, deadly. When the last piece was in place, the armor hissed with steam, and he stopped walking. The helm remained down, keeping his stern face visible.

  Now the Dragoons and infantry pulled their rifles from their backs, aiming it at his head. “Fire!” One of them shouted.

  The prince was faster. He held his palm down and a disc of light flashed outward, narrowly missing the top of my head. It struck the soldiers in their torsos, and the effect wasn't immediately apparent. The Dragoons and infantrymen began to crystallize as though a honeycomb of glass was f
orming over their bodies. The layer wasn't clear, it was foggy and yellowed, and when it became too heavy, they fell to the ground and began sinking into the brick. The mottled honeycomb glass forced them into strange positions, and the few whose faces had not been covered gasped in panic for air as mortar and brick swallowed them whole.

  I watched in horror. It was too strange to feel like justice anymore. All I could see were average people, some taken to be Dragoons against their will when they were children. Whether or not they felt sympathy, or emotion, or compassion, they wanted to live. I could see it in their faces. I couldn't stand it anymore.

  “Stop! Stop!” I shouted at him.

  Varion looked down at me as an afterthought, the air quivering around him. I thought I'd taught myself not to be afraid. I didn't know anything.

  The honeycombs cracked and shattered, and I could hear the soldiers sucking air into their lungs. He left them half buried in the street, and stepped carelessly over them in his mechanical metal armor.

  When he reached Sadie, he knelt, and touched her with a bare palm. The dead Lurcher's lungs pumped, and like the soldiers, she heaved in gulps of air. Sadie climbed to her feet, looked up at Varion, and took up her position at his heel.

  They both turned to face me. They seemed like otherworldly beings and I was so mortally human. “Your turn, Kat.” His voice was like Kyle's, but deeper. His words were like Kyle's, but drenched in the curving accent of the Outside World.

  He took one step toward me, driving hairline fissures into the brick beneath his scrap metal boot, the air rippled around him like a gossamer curtain, and I blacked out.

  Chapter 53: Prince Varion Argent

  I didn't want to wake up.

  My subconscious was a swarming tumble of distorted memories, none connected properly to the others. There was no order, and a part of me wanted it to stay that way. As consciousness drew me nearer to reality, emotions and events that were a jumble moments ago began to organize themselves. Against my will, I remembered what happened outside of the red tavern.

  My eyes snapped open. I was draped facedown atop a soft chaise lounge, with one arm dangling off the end and a small tin bucket beside it. An indigo cashmere blanket lay rumpled over my legs.

  I pried myself up from the cushions and brushed away a lock of hair that had been plastered to my lower lip. My stomach felt like I'd been tossed into a basket and thrown off the top of a mountain. It turned over and over, growling as I sat up. So that's what the bucket was for. I'd been dressed in something akin to bedclothes, but they were finer than any I'd ever worn. It was a short scoop neck dress with quarter-length sleeves, and a pair of dark pants that ended mid-calf. The purple fabric of the dress was smooth, feather light, and decorated with a leafy silver filigree; the same color as my eyes.

  Squinting up from my attire, and doing my best to keep from heaving all over such beautiful pajamas, I took in my surroundings. Two-story paneled windows welcomed piercing white sunlight from the overcast sky outside. Books lined two walls from the marbled floor to the vaulted ceiling. A smaller version of the mechanical lifts in the courtyard was present here. This one was portable, with four wheels, an engine, a steam stack, and an arm that could extend the platform to the highest books.

  At ground level, there were many puffy chairs and round desks amidst potted ferns. My couch sat between two large metal sculptures– or so I thought until one of them turned its large feline head to stare at me. Mechanisms whirled in its glowing green eyes.

  I sprang to my feet and skittered away from them. In Haven, mechanical cats were creatures of legend, monsters to be feared and respected. Seeing them up close inspired both of those reactions.

  “You sleep like a troll, you know that?”

  The words were spoken in a deadpan voice. At the head of the room was a horseshoe-shaped desk, elevated from the floor by two shallow steps. Half of the desk was covered in platters of food: croissants, cream puffs, ripe fruits, baked cheeses, cured olives, flat breads, and half a dozen different kinds of sweet and savory sauces. A kettle of tea piped ribbons of steam. The other half of the desk was stacked with towers of books, papers, pens, and wax seals.

  It wasn't Kyle. It was Prince Varion, and though it was nothing so obvious as the night before, the air still flickered subtly around him. He didn't look older anymore, but appeared identical to the boy I'd known most of my life.

  I crossed my arms protectively around myself and stared at him with distrust.

  “Hungry?” he asked me in the accent of the Outside World. “Perhaps not. You were sick all night. I helped to purge the sedative Carmine gave you, but you still had to expel it. Nasty drug, that. Bentrotol, also known as Hangman's Candy. Created from a root grown on Mount Yumin in the Western Kingdom. Very expensive.”

  Beside the desk was the suit of mechanical armor he'd created before my eyes last night. Its torso and leg pieces were open wide, exposing raw machinery. It wasn't pretty or smooth. The armor was the street in front of the red tavern, made up of bits and pieces of nearly everything that had been around us. He could have easily killed me by mistake during its construction, and I wasn't sure he would have cared either way.

  “You can continue to rest, if you need to,” he said, glancing up from a stack of papers. He was wearing a high-collared shirt of platinum and ice-white, with a pair of thin gold chains that looped from his breast pockets to his waist pockets. His eyes were still solid silver from corner to corner.

  I put some distance between myself and the horse-sized mechanical cats, and kept my eyes on him.

  He put down his pen and stared at me. “Aren't you going to say something?”

  I frowned, carefully weighing my options. “Why do you look that way?”

  A slight alteration in his expression made him look satisfied. “I showed them this face, so now I must keep it. Inconvenient... soldiers respect the command of men, not fresh-faced eighteen-year-old boys.”

  All that palpable power coursing through a person so young was even more intimidating. “Or they'll fear you,” I suggested, drawing attention to my own feelings on the matter.

  He looked back down at his papers, plucking up his pen. “They do that anyway.”

  Sadie strolled around from behind the desk and wandered up to me. Her dull marble markings were more visible in the white light.

  I didn't rush into speaking with him. I waited and considered my words first. As far as I was concerned, I was speaking to a complete stranger. “Is the battle over?”

  “Yes, I'm pleased to say it is. We defended against the ground troops easily, but our navy prevailed by a narrow margin. The harbor and lower quarter are in ruins, casualties are high and all of the men stationed at the Seagate were slaughtered. We weren't able to extract the enemy from the canal arches until dawn this morning. Twelve years ago, infiltrating the Seagate would have been impossible. Headly’s greed crippled our strongest defenses and Raserion found that weakness.” Prince Varion sighed. “I posed as myself and made foolish choice after foolish choice. Showing a boy's face to Caraway. Sending the better part of the city's fleet to Breakwater. My brother nearly killed us all, and I have no one to blame but myself.” The waves in the air began to intensify.

  “You really are him.”

  He looked at me but didn't smile. “I am.”

  I squeezed my sides with my crossed arms. “May I go now?”

  “No.”

  I couldn't believe he was so direct. “Please?”

  “For the time being, I'd prefer if you stayed, Kat.” I wasn't accustomed to hearing Kyle say my name that way. But it wasn't Kyle anymore, was it?

  “What happened to your accent?”

  “I could speak in either fashion, but this comes more naturally. Most importantly, my people did not receive the sound of a Haven accent well. It's a wonder the ceremony was so well received. Up until the Monarch's unveiling that is.” He put the pen down, rested his elbows on the surface of the desk, and steepled his fingers. “Repo
rts were delivered to me that described you as the person who cast out the Monarch. Is this true?”

  My eyes shifted from Sadie to the prince. “Yes.”

  He stood up and placed his palms upon the desktop. The air shimmered decisively and I felt cold and small. “Would you mind explaining to me why you were seen riding a Dragoon warhorse across the courtyard? Why you were able to summon a monster of shadow in the center of my capital?”

  My already churning stomach sank. This was no get well party. It was a trial. “I– uh...”

  Varion's brows were lowered over his gunmetal silver eyes. “Be honest. I will know if you lie.”

  “I wouldn't lie,” I said frowning. “Back in Breakwater, before we left to come here, a Gateling attacked me. It took me to a place Prince Raserion created.”

  “Shadows within Shadows,” he said for me.

  “Yeah. He threatened Haven again, threatened Rune. He said that if I helped him find his brother, he'd let us go. I didn't trust him, but I had no other choice. He gave me a medallion on a chain, and told me to trace the symbol when I found you, and throw it at your feet. He said that it would take you to him, and that he would kill you to avenge your father.”

  “Do not speak of my father!” he growled, and I felt a sharp wind snap past me.

  “I'm sorry.” My voice was tight. “That's what he said to me. You asked and told me to be honest!”

  He cleared his throat and pushed off the table. “The apology is mine. It is a... tender subject. Please, continue.”

  “That's all.” I wasn't lying. I simply avoided explaining the show he'd put on about the history of Lastland. I didn't want to be yelled at again.

  “So, you are guilty of conspiring with Prince Raserion.”

  “I wasn't conspiring! If I said no, he could have killed me! What other position did I have? I swear that I didn't know you were Varion.” My emotions began to fray at the edges. “I mean, come on, how impossible does that sound? One of my two best friends is the Prince of a kingdom I didn't know existed until a little over a year ago! I still didn't believe it after I used the Pull to test the idea. No one did!”