Crown of Crimson

by Rose Reid

  Eaves dropBook One

  Crown of Crimson

  THE AFTERLIGHT CHRONICLES

  Written By

  ROSE REID

  “Crown of Crimson” by Rose Reid

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locations are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Rose Reid

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  First Printing: 2015

  ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-523-28434-4

  Rose Reid

  Nashville, Tennessee

  www.rosesreids.com

  FOR ASHLEE

  Thanks for showing me the way.

  PROLOGUE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  A Note on the Verses

  Acknowledgments

  PROLOGUE

  “I SEE THE GIRL YOU SPEAK OF.”

  “The Boy as well?”

  “Yes. Very loyal is she, but very trustworthy is he.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Just because she is loyal does not mean she is worthy of our trust. Take heed.”

  “Does she realize who she is? She can see us; I have seen her watching us before.”

  “She can. She believes she can never be more than that she is, but she has become something completely new; completely different. We cannot tell her everything.”

  “I was not planning to.”

  “But she grows uneasy.”

  “Nothing must be said.”

  “Something must be said.”

  “Does she know how to listen to us?”

  “She will learn. I shall tell her about the past.”

  “Smokeless and bare?”

  “No. With all the allure the clearness brings but with none of the consequences. I will tell her of the fog and what lies beyond it. Of the Darkness and its eery light.”

  “She will not unravel it.”

  “A thinker is she.”

  “And the Boy?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What of the Riser?”

  “What of him?”

  “He will find her, will he not?”

  “He will, for she is his to find.”

  “Deceptive … He will be cunning.”

  “Of course. Risers often are. Especially this one.”

  “He will appear as someone he is not. Perhaps a fellow assassin? A friend, likely.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It is easier for her to see us as whisperers. She does not have to give thought to our existence.”

  “She gives us form.”

  “The Boy does not do this.”

  “We do not plague the Boy. We should. He would decipher our meaning.”

  “Do you call the Girl dimwitted?”

  “Unwilling to believe. She knows not the path that lies before her and the consequences it shall bring.”

  “Yes, the plot is hazy and unstable. Fall to one side and you may tumble into the great abyss. Fall to the other and you may find yourself amongst those of the night.”

  “They are both in a war and neither of them know how to fight. Very strange that He chose them to be the End. They will tear each other apart. They are designed to.”

  “She will melt him. She has quite the spirit of ire and it will be her They try to contain.”

  “They will use him to tame her.”

  “Yes, but she knows it not. A forewarning is in order.”

  “No. Let her stumble about in the darkness, for it is the darkness They try to keep her from. The longer she stays there, the farther from Them she shall grow.”

  “But They are of the Darkness. They shall consume any goodness left in her. Should we let them? It is the Boy we need. Or need we both of them?”

  “Leave her. Take care. Darkness always gravitates towards the light, and in doing so brings its shadows with it. They will not surround her for long. Let her hide in the vapor for a while longer. He will bring her out when it suits Him.”

  “It has been disclosed that some victims of the Elements go mad with their abilities. We must have a plan to stop the Boy and Girl from going mad. Have we a plan?”

  “He will take to their safety. We must tend to their knowledge.”

  “But we tell them nothing.”

  “We tell them nothing. They must learn the ways of the Elements on their own. The Girl … Let us focus on the Girl. She watches us closely. She observes us. Let us see what she is made of.”

  “And if she is made of smoke and ash?”

  “Then we go to the Boy that is made of coal and bone.”

  I

  “The Queen of air and darkness

  Begins to shrill and cry,

  ‘O young man, O my slayer,

  To-morrow you shall die.’

  O Queen of air and darkness,

  I think ’tis truth you say,

  And I shall die tomorrow;

  But you will die to-day.”

  — A.E. Housman, Her Strong Enchantments Failing

  The dying king before me is not my father.

  Not in any way that truly matters.

  The candlelight in the corridor flickers, threatening to disperse at the slightest gust of a breeze, plunging us all into darkness. Another explosion rocks the ground and I loathe the king for keeping me here when I should be trying to help the people still trapped in the walled city above me. Dust and rock fall from the ceiling but Dominik steps in overhead and blocks the debris before it can hit either the king or me.

  The king wheezes, pale gray eyes squeezing shut. I’ve always despised my eye color because they’re his eye color. I can’t seem to get away from him, no matter how many times I am sent away on assignment or given free reign in the city. I was beginning to fear I’d never be rid of this man. I suppose death is one way to separate us. The sinking knowledge that I’ll have to live with his eyes forever will set in later but for now I allow myself to fall back into serviceman mode, to do as the king has commanded.

  His hand tightly grasps at my arm, eyes widening. I’ve never seen King Cress anything but composed and collected. His fear startles me at once and I want to pull away from him, half afraid his fear will take hold of me after his death, but I’m bound by the contract I signed to follow the king’s orders to the letter, and his most recent one was for me to remain with him until he dies.

  “I —” The king chokes on his own words and when his body racks with coughs, the arrow in his side seems to sputter. “I must speak with you … alone, Assassin,” He barely manages to babble, yet there is an air of royalty, nobility around him. This dying King has not lost his hold on his loyal Cannon yet. And even after death, when the other assassins within the Cannon learn what has become of the king, they will continue to go to the contract booths, learn who
was on the king’s assassination list, and continue to fulfill their missions. Chances are, my assassins and I will do the same.

  I know what he wants to discuss if he’s sending the others away. None of them know of my heritage. As far as they know, I am an orphan Quay picked up.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder. I recognize the weight of the hand, the gentleness of the touch. I frown and look up at Dominik, who stands beside Cicero and Sebastien, brothers who look more like twins. “Meet me at the rendezvous point.”

  Dominik is already shaking his head when another explosion aboveground takes place, shaking the earth beneath us. My knees dig further into the stone.

  “No, we’ll wait for you nearby. Have your conversation with the king then we’ll escape together.” Dominik insists with a pleading look in his eyes. He’s always been the weak one, the gentle one. His hair is dark silver, an unnatural color for such a young boy, caused by the poison he was exposed to when he was a child. His eyes are like mine, a pale gray, but his hold more life, more hope of the future. But Dominik is also a realist, and he knows that my chances of survival without them are slim. All of Evrallon’s army marches above us and we have only minutes before they realize the king is gone and discover the hidden passages. By then my companions will be long gone, and so will I.

  I shake my head. “Dominik, you must leave.”

  His eyes soften and he attempts to persuade me otherwise one last time. “Aerietta, please,”

  I can feel my blood boiling. He’ll get himself killed if he loiters here any longer. “Dominik, that is an order. Leave now.”

  For the first time since I have known Dominik, an unreadable emotion darkens his eyes. Dominik rarely feels heightened emotion, I think. Everything he is is mild and calm, easygoing. But there is nothing mild or calm about his kiss when he leans down and presses his lips to mine, holding my face with his too-soft hands. I barely have time to realize what’s happening but even in our desperate situation, the assassins behind Dominik hoot and holler, and that I do comprehend.

  I pull away from Dominik, who smiles at me for a brief moment before he levels me with a serious expression. His silver eyes beam with hope and worry at the same time.

  “You will meet us at the rendezvous.” he assures.

  I nod, trying and failing to ignore the heat of his hand against my cheek. “Yes.”

  Dominik lets out a breath and kisses me on the forehead harsher than I’m sure he meant to before standing and rushing out with the others. Cicero and Sebastien don’t look back but Laderic looks over his shoulder at me, his red hair mussed and curly in the damp underground conditions of the stone passage. He offers me a friendly smile and then runs off with the others. Why Quay chose such young assassins I may never know.

  The king wheezes again when they’re out of sight and I return my gaze to him. He doesn’t look far from death. His skin is pallid, a thin sheen of sweat running across his face, and his eyes are losing color and fervor by the second.

  “If only he knew,” The king attempts a laugh. “that he had just kissed the heir to the Lydovier throne, he would think twice about ruining you.”

  I glare at him. “He didn’t ruin me. You did.”

  The king just laughs again and shakes his head. “So I did. You were never meant to rule,”

  He doesn’t need to continue. I know far too well what the king thinks of me. To most people, King Cress is a beacon of hope. He united the kingdom when there was so much death and despair. He came about his rule differently than most kings. Rather than being born into the monarchy, he was elected in. He was the people’s choice and, for a while, I believe he was even our God’s choice, but then the ways of the world wrapped their arms around him and refused to let him go.

  I never knew my father before he was the tyrannical ruler he is today. I didn’t know him when he was a kind, compassionate king, when the people loved him. Certainly, there are still people in the kingdom that would put their faith, hope, and trust in him but not many. He no longer deserves his title of the People’s Champion. Now he is nothing more than a husk of his former self. Even as he dies in front of me, for all his talk of saving Lydovier from the thralls of Evrallon, I can see it in his eyes — he fears only for himself.

  When I was first born, he saw the mark tattooed on the back of my shoulder. It had scrolled from my lower neck, down my left shoulder blade, off my arm, and disappeared down my side. It still does. The same intricate mark, filled with swirls, delicate twists, and a horrifying image of several roses, singed, wilted, and dripping with blood. The Jezdah mark. Legend has said that the Children of the Elements born with this mark wrought pain and misery and trembling — they were not even human.

  Afterlighters, they were called. Nymphs, fairies, warlocks, vampires and the like. But the Children were a special kind of creature, one that could pass as a human.

  My father was repulsed by the image and fearful enough of me that he had petitioned immediately that I be put to death. My mother pleaded otherwise, and the queen won out. Until she was killed while attending to the masses in another city. Killed by an Evrallonic spy. I was just an infant when she died, and when it came time to kill me, my father couldn’t do it. Quay says I reminded him too much of the queen. I was given to Quay to learn the ways of the Cannon, to become an assassin, as there was nothing else a Child could possibly become. I doubt my father realized the kind of assassin I would become when he shipped me off.

  The color in the king’s face has drained substantially and he flinches when something rumbles overhead — too small to be an explosion yet too large to be a vase crashing. I’m surprised that he fears debris falling on us; he has but moments left anyway.

  “You look unwell, Father.” I note.

  The king scoffs. “I’m dying, fool, of course I look unwell. Any other day I would have you flogged for addressing me that way but today I cannot.” He wheezes, speaking slowly. “You have a duty to … this kingdom, Aerietta. To your people. It’s time you took your place … as queen.”

  I just shake my head, staring into the dying eyes of the once-great King Cress. “I would only bring misery and destruction to this good kingdom, Father. Is that not what you told Quay to tell me when I questioned him on the subject?”

  King Cress’ eyes widen. “Things have changed, Aerietta! Lydovier will be left leaderless!”

  I think of the carnage in just the castle alone, remember the shouts and cries of victory from the Evrallonic soldiers. They stripped us of our defenses, arrived when so few of the Cannon’s assassins were actually in the Aerie below the castle. It was as if they knew when to strike — when we would be weakest.

  If so much of my father’s castle has already been destroyed, I cannot imagine what the countryside looks like. We were still recovering from the civil war our kingdom experienced before King Cress stepped up to lead and the majority of our servicemen were here at the castle, protecting the king. What defense did the countrymen have? Their pitchforks?

  “There is no throne for me to sit on.” I argue. “Lydovier belongs to Evrallon now.”

  The king’s rage shows in his eyes. “Evrallon will ne’er prevail over us. You mustn’t let them.”

  I smile softly at him. “It is out of my hands.”

  The king looks at me aghast. “You — the Queen of Crimson — powerless to stop Evrallon! What good was it to have Quay train you if you cannot protect your kingdom!” King Cress’ face begins to redden and I fear he is getting a second wind. “I was correct! You are Lydovier’s downfall! How dare you sit there and disobey a direct order from your king!” With that, my father has the audacity to spit on me. It lands on my left shoulder, inches away from where the Jezdah begins.

  King Cress looks pleased with himself but he shouldn’t be. Already I can hear the footsteps of a hundred men rushing our way, pounding through the underground corridors. It’s the sound of death. Evrallon devours everything in their path, thanks to one man — the leader of all their forces. But the
dying king hears none of this; there is too much blood rushing in his ears.

  “You foolish, foolish girl. Willing to allow your entire kingdom to perish because you refuse to take the crown!”

  “I refuse, Father, not because I am foolish, but because there is no crown to take. I will help your people escape from Lydovier, because they are also my people, but your fate has already been decided.” I begin to stand, letting the gravity of his situation sink in. The king begins to realize what I mean and looks behind him, suddenly hearing the thundering footsteps. He looks back, eyes wide and filled with panic. His fear is understandable but death would have reached him soon anyway.

  “Aerietta, don’t do this.” he pleads.

  I shake my head, beginning to walk away. “You have been dethroned, father, and are no longer my king.”

  “Daughter, please! Do not leave me here to suffer the fate Evrallon has in store for me!”

  It’s the first time he’s ever called me his daughter, but I barely hear him. I turn around, bounding through the corridors just as the roar of the approaching soldiers grows closer. I hear my father’s shrieks behind me as he continues to plead for me to return but he is on his own now, just as he once abandoned me to Quay’s harsh and cruel ways.

  The torches light my path but it’s dim enough that an unskilled maid would probably trip and fall in the insufficient light, but an unskilled maid has not run these corridors a hundred times, has not been forced to plan for every outrageous circumstance. Quay saw to it that I was never unprepared. I could laugh thinking of Quay. The man must have been a warlock, able to see the future, because he up and disappeared months ago, just before the Evrallonic attack, leaving me to round up his young assassins and continue the missions the king had laid out for us.

  I jump over fallen debris when I notice a shift in the shadows, sliding to a halt on the other side. Another corridor awaits me there, leading off from the main one. It dumps out into the white waves that crash against the Cliffs of Mordrid, where the palace of Lydovier rests. But before I bound down the next corridor, I untie the string around my neck and pull my blood red cloak off, hanging it on the wall. Let the Evrallonic soldiers see it and know who they almost captured. Let them realize that they almost had the Queen of Crimson in their hands, but she slipped through their fingers like blood.