Shadow Crown

by Kristen Martin

  A blonde head of hair emerges first. The young boy. Rydan slowly releases his grip on the hilt as he hears Arden’s breath catch. Her stance softens and he finds his own posture reflecting hers. The boy bounces through the living room, heading over to a window by the front door. Arden nudges Rydan, and he’s not sure whether he should take it as “Well, what are you waiting for?” or something else. He glances at her again and shrugs, but her eyes tell all. Arden, the killing machine and rogue assassin, does not want to kill this little boy. And honestly, neither does he.

  In that moment, Rydan’s faith in King Tymond begins to waver. What could this little boy possibly have done to deserve death at such an innocent age? Surely he wasn’t involved in the category eight crime. Impossible . . .

  His thoughts scatter as the woman, Radelle, rushes into the room. “I thought I told you to stay away from the window.” Her long black hair is speckled with gray and her petticoats are ratty and torn, but there’s something different about her. Something that’s a little . . . off. If it weren’t for her vibrant, youthful face, one would think she’s much older than she appears.

  The woman turns and spots Rydan, her mouth opening in shock, but, in just a few swift movements, Arden is across the room and behind the woman’s back with her hand over her mouth. Radelle’s shrieks are muffled as she struggles to get away from Arden, but she holds strong. The young boy scurries to the side of the room and hides underneath an end table, eyes wide, lips trembling in fear.

  Rydan remains pressed against the wall as heavier footsteps make their way through the kitchen. “Radelle? Is everything all right? I thought I heard something—”

  The moment he steps foot through the living room, Rydan also moves forward, longsword unsheathed and extended in front of the man’s neck. The man halts in his tracks, eyes wide with both anger and fear as they shift over to Rydan. He’s tall—gigantic, actually—and Rydan has to make a conscious effort to inhale and exhale normally.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the man bellows.

  It appears he wants to take another step forward, but Arden’s voice stops him. It’s cooler than ice. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” With the woman still tight in her grip, she flashes him the Cruex emblem on the sleeve of her uniform.

  By the look on the man’s face, he knows exactly who they are. His tone shifts. “Please, this is a mistake. You have the wrong house.”

  Rydan speaks up. “Are you Erle Soames?” He catches Arden’s eye. She seems surprised that he knows their first names. “And is the woman across the room Radelle Soames?”

  The man closes his eyes before opening them again. He remains still, unmoving.

  With the sword still extended, Rydan steps in front of Erle. He leans into his stance, pressing the blade harder against the man’s neck. “Answer me.”

  His eyes flick open, but they don’t land on Rydan. Instead, they land on Radelle.

  Arden has a chakram resting on the woman’s cheek, the other at her side. She almost looks relaxed, but Rydan knows that in one deft movement, that woman would be lying on the ground, spurting blood.

  Arden narrows her eyes at the man. She tightens her grip and brings the chakram closer to Radelle’s ear. “Answer him.”

  The man breaks eye contact with Radelle and shifts his gaze to Arden. Slowly, he nods.

  “Then we have the correct household,” Rydan growls. “By order of King Darius Tymond of Trendalath, you are accused of committing a category eight crime and are hereby sentenced to death.” In the background, the boy begins to cry and scream, but Rydan only raises his voice. “Do you have any last words for one another?”

  Erle and Radelle look at each other, and it’s in that moment that Rydan senses something strange. It’s almost as if there is some sort of unspoken communication between them. Almost immediately, the energy in the house shifts from warm and inviting to something darker.

  Much, much darker.

  He wants to call out to Arden to run, but he stands firm, keeping his sword steady against the man’s neck. What happens next is completely out of his control. The woman breaks free from Arden’s grip and, with sheer force, throws her against the back wall. Indigo sparks ignite from her hands as she turns her ferocious gaze toward him. The realization hits Rydan like a punch to the stomach.

  The Soames are illusié.

  ARDEN ELIRI

  THE JOLT IS enough to knock the wind out of me. I try to take a deep, steadying breath, but I end up coughing profusely instead. I turn my head, watching as specks of blood spray from my mouth onto the wooden floor. My vision goes in and out as black and white dots fill the space that is supposed to be the Soames’s living room. For an older woman, Radelle’s got some serious strength.

  But then I see it. The indigo sparks flying from her fingertips. And they’re pointed directly at Rydan.

  I briefly wonder if perhaps I’m hallucinating. Maybe I hit my head much harder than I realized. Before I can rally another explanation, I see Rydan swing his longsword at Erle’s neck. I cringe as the man’s head goes flying across the room. The body falls lifelessly to the floor.

  Normally, it would be me doing the dirty work, slashing limbs and twisting necks, but something feels wrong here. Very, very wrong.

  Radelle screams in agony as Erle joins the deceased, and I watch, in and out of my haze, as Rydan dodges her line of deadly sparks. The boy is still curled up underneath the table, rocking back and forth with his head in between his knees. I have no idea what is going on or how things went awry so quickly, but I know I can’t just lay here. I push myself up onto my hands as Radelle sends another blast of sparks toward Rydan, the room illuminating in a shade of cobalt.

  I begin to process my thoughts as my mind comes back to reality. The Soames are illusié. Magick has been banished ever since King Tymond began his reign over Trendalath, but not once was it ever made clear that the use of magick was punishable by death, nor that the assassination would be completed by a member of the Cruex.

  Bile rises in my throat as the truth rains down on me. How many people have I killed because of their status as illusié? How many people did I murder, simply for being born into a magickal bloodline? How hypocritical am I, especially after the strange things I’ve recently discovered I’m capable of? My hands ball into fists as I look from the terrified boy to the ongoing battle between Radelle and Rydan. I have to do something. It’s either her or him. Rydan is my partner, my friend. He’s my family.

  I stand and raise my hands, chakrams at the ready. I step back to fling one at Radelle, but something stops me. I try again to release my weapon, but my body feels stuck. Frozen. Everything’s frozen except for my eyes. They shift to the little boy. He’s staring at me.

  I can’t move.

  I’ll be damned, the child is illusié, too.

  Rydan seems to notice my predicament and rushes toward Radelle with every ounce of strength he has left. He shoves her into the wall with the window, the glass shattering upon impact. Radelle screeches, but her eyes close shortly after, her head lolling to the side.

  I try to move my legs, but it’s no use. The boy is still staring at me when Rydan steps into his view. His concentration breaks, causing me to unfreeze and stumble backward, my arms flailing wildly in the air. I let out a strange flurry of sounds until I find my balance again.

  The child scurries out from underneath the table, panting as he makes his way to the center of the living room. Rydan raises his blade. Before I have the chance to stop him, he brings the blade down. My eyes grow wide as the pommel is brought down onto the boy’s head, knocking him out cold. I shudder as the child falls to the ground. Only when his chest rises and falls do I breathe a sigh of relief.

  The boy is still alive.

  I rush over to Rydan, looking over my shoulder to make sure Radelle is still unconscious. When she doesn’t move, I forcefully grab him by the shoulder. “What the hell was that?” I hiss.

 
I can see the adrenaline leave his body, his face calming and returning to normal. He furrows his brows as he surveys the room. His eyes land on Erle’s decapitated head. All he says is, “King’s orders,” as if what just happened was completely normal.

  I can feel my rage building, boiling to the surface. “King Tymond was wrong. These people,” I say as I gesture around the room, “didn’t do anything wrong. They are innocent.”

  Rydan’s eyes flick to me. The potency in his expression is enough to make me want to curl up and hide. “They’re illusié, Arden.”

  I can’t believe he’s holding steadfast on this. Does he really feel this way? Does he actually agree with King Tymond’s views? “They’re innocent!” I exclaim. “They were eating breakfast!” Tears threaten to fall, although I’m not entirely sure why. I point to the boy. “He was going to read and then go out to play! He wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

  A soft groan escapes Radelle’s lips. Rydan shifts his attention away from me and marches over to her.

  “Rydan? Rydan, what are you doing?” I shout.

  The woman puts her hand out with her palm facing up. “Just not the boy.”

  Rydan raises his sword overhead. I yell for him to stop, but by the time I make it over to him and grab his shoulders, it’s too late. Radelle’s head rolls onto the floor next to my feet. Her mouth is still open with one final unspoken plea.

  I shove Rydan harder than I’ve ever shoved anyone. I press him against the wall and bring my chakram to his neck. “Is this what you want?” I scream. “Trying to prove that you’re the tough guy, that you didn’t need my help with the Langley mission?” My voice grows louder and I almost choke on my own words. I press the chakram harder into his neck. A drop of crimson rolls down the blade.

  Rydan’s eyes are wide, not with fear, but with confusion. He doesn’t wince as the blade begins to slice into his skin. “Arden.” Somehow, his voice is soothing and calm, but not enough to get me to back down.

  I am livid.

  “Arden, we don’t get to feel things. We are assassins, members of the Cruex.” He scoffs, then rolls his eyes. “I swear, what is going on with you lately? It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

  I inadvertently lower my weapon as his words sink in. I know he’s right. I don’t know how to explain it, but our mission—this mission—feels wrong. Twisted in some way.

  “Come on,” he urges. “We’re not done yet.”

  I quickly learn what he means as he stalks over to the young boy who’s still lying unconscious on the floor. A pool of blood seeps from his head. “No,” I whisper under my breath. My eyes scour the room for something heavy. A metal lantern on the end table catches my eye. I grab it and rush toward Rydan. With one giant swing, I hit him on the back of the head. He jolts forward from the impact, the lantern dropping to the floor at the same time his body does.

  Without thinking, I rush over to the boy and carefully lift his head off the ground and into my lap. I comb through his hair to try to find the wound, to see just how deep it is. It doesn’t look too bad, but then again I’m no doctor. I place my hands on the boy’s chest and close my eyes. I sit there for a few moments, feeding off the silence in the room. I try not to think about the look on Erle’s face as he met his end. I try not to think about Radelle’s last shrieks of panic. I try not to think about their decapitated heads lying at opposite sides of the room. I just focus, allowing the quiet and stillness to wash over me.

  I open my eyes. And gasp.

  Shining from my own two palms is a sort of white light. It hovers over the boy’s chest and as I move my hands to his head wound, I notice his eyes begin to flutter.

  Holy lords, I’m illusié.

  The boy awakens, his expression eerily calm. I was expecting him to be frightened and eager to harm me, but he just stares at me with glimmering golden eyes.

  He looks down at his chest, noticing the aura emanating from my hands. “You’re a healer,” he says. His voice catches me off-guard. It sounds much older, wiser, than it did earlier.

  “I wasn’t sure illusié still existed. I can’t believe I am one,” I say more to myself than to him.

  “You’re more powerful than you think,” the boy responds. “There are more out there like us. Many more.” He has an all-knowing smile on his face that reminds me of Rydan’s usual demeanor. I glance over my shoulder at my partner’s unmoving body and sigh; but when I turn back around to ask the boy a question, he’s gone.

  Panicked, I look back and forth across the room, but he’s nowhere in sight. My heart thumps in my chest as unsettling thoughts run through my mind. He saw everything, knows everything that happened here today. What if he tells someone? Who would he choose to tell? Who is he? I don’t even know his first name. I look over again at Rydan. He would know the boy’s name, but I’m not willing to wake the beast any time soon.

  I pick myself up off the floor and dust the debris from my pants. It’s a good thing the Cruex uniforms are black—I’m sure there’s blood splattered on every inch of my clothes. And, for the first time, I realize I had nothing to do with it.

  I sheathe my chakrams, then walk over to where Rydan lay facedown on the ground. I kick his shoe with the toe of my boot, but he doesn’t flinch. A multitude of thoughts whirl through my head, but only one undeniable truth repeats itself over and over again.

  I can’t go back.

  The more I repeat it, the more staggering it becomes.

  I can’t go back.

  I gaze down at Rydan, then look at the decapitated heads of Radelle and Erle.

  Lords help me.

  Without another thought, I hurry into the kitchen, throwing cupboards open and searching every inch of the space. Finally, I spot an oversized sack labeled GRAINS. It’s empty.

  Perfect.

  I take the sack and rush back into the living room. With a deep inhale, I look down at my feet, Erle’s wide eyes staring up at me. I grab the decapitated head by the wisps of gray hair, or what’s left of it anyway, and throw it into the sack. It lands at the bottom with a sickening thud. I walk around Rydan’s body to the opposite side of the room and repeat the process with Radelle’s head. I twist the top of the sack until it closes, then secure it with a nearby clothespin.

  I pause at the front door and take one last glance at Rydan. A pang of guilt hits me as my eyes land on his body. I can see that his chest is slowly rising and falling, so I know he’s still alive, just knocked out.

  I can’t go back.

  With the sack thrown over my shoulder, I turn the doorknob and step outside into the warm sun. The door slams shut behind me. And that’s that. My decision is made.

  Where I’m headed, I have not a clue. I’m not sure what awaits Rydan when he wakes up and returns to Trendalath without evidence of the Soames’s death. There is one thing, however, that I do know.

  I won’t be there for any of it.

  RYDAN HELSTROM

  RYDAN SITS IN the middle of the Soames’s living room, trying to recall the events from earlier that day, but his pounding head makes it difficult. He lays back down on the floor and stares up at the ceiling. A piece of fabric hangs from one of the rafters, fluttering in the breeze. He watches it for a few minutes, swaying back and forth, back and forth when . . .

  He remembers.

  He shoots up into a sitting position as the events of the morning become clear. Barlow. The ship. Their mission. Arden’s face as he swung his sword. Radelle and her . . . magick.

  Illusié.

  Rydan surveys the room, looking for any sign of Arden, but she’s not there. Neither is the boy. The Soames’s bodies lay lifeless and unmoving. Erle’s sideways on the ground and Radelle’s slouched against the broken window. Their decapitated heads . . . they’re missing.

  His hands curl into fists and he brings himself upright, feeling woozy as he straightens his legs. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding and the left side of his head is thr
obbing uncontrollably. He winces as he touches the open wound on the back of his skull. His eyes travel down to his feet, on an iron lantern scattered just a few inches away. It doesn’t take long to put the pieces together.

  Arden.

  He kicks the lantern across the room and lets out an angry scream. He walks over to Radelle’s headless body and rips a swatch of fabric from her ratty petticoats. He swipes his longsword from the floor and spits on the rag, cleaning the now-dried blood from the blade with a quick slide of his hand. He sheathes the longsword and straightens his shoulders, his eyes dead-set on the front door.

  Arden couldn’t have gone far. Rydan vows that he will find her and return the Soames’s heads to Trendalath, no matter how long it takes.

  DARIUS TYMOND

  “THEY SHOULD BE back by now.” Darius paces back and forth across the Great Room, his strides growing more rushed with each step. Aldreda sits on the throne adjacent to his, tapping her fingers impatiently with each breath the king takes. The look on her face is enough to make the autumn leaves shrivel up and wither away.

  “Just because they haven’t returned doesn’t necessarily mean something’s gone awry.”

  Aldreda always seems to be the voice of reason, but he won’t allow it. Not today. He gestures toward one of the castle windows. “I should have at least heard something by now. They should have returned this afternoon.” An orange glow lights the room as the sun continues its descent behind the hillside. “It’s nearly nightfall and still no word. How does one explain that?”

  Aldreda just sits there in silence, her lips pursed.

  The king runs a swift hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Well?”

  Aldreda slowly rises from her seat and makes her way down the marble steps. Her white-blonde hair sways gently with the movement and seems to billow in an invisible breeze. Her cobalt eyes stay locked on his until she reaches the final step. She gently places her hand on his forearm and gives it a light squeeze. Like a gentleman, he leads her down the last step.