Shadow Crown

by Kristen Martin

  He forces a smile. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Do we really have a choice?”

  Just as his smile meets his eyes, the falcon swoops down and Xerin morphs into his human form, pulling on pants as he walks beside us. “We’re almost there! Five more minutes!” he shouts as he buttons them and runs to Estelle’s side.

  His calculations are eerily precise because we arrive on the edge of Lonia bay exactly five minutes later. We’ve somehow remained on the outskirts of town, trying to avoid any run-ins with the townspeople, or worse, the King’s Savant.

  I gaze at the familiar ship, docked in the same place as when I’d first arrived here. I never would have guessed I’d stay here this long. Without warning, Rydan’s face drifts across my mind, and I have to shake my head to clear the image.

  Estelle turns to face us. “We need to take turns,” she says in a hushed voice. “We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.” She taps her chin as she eyes each of us. “Felix, since it’s your ship, we’ll have you go first. Braxton and Xerin will follow shortly after. Arden and I will go last.”

  My throat suddenly feels dry. Normally, I wouldn’t care what the order is, but today feels different. I want to get on that ship as soon as possible. I scoop Juniper up off the ground and trot over to where Estelle is standing. We watch as Felix begins his solo journey to the pier.

  I elbow her lightly in the side. “Why are we going last?”

  She grins so large that it almost swallows her face. “You know how men are. If they go last, something will go wrong. We’ll never get to where we need to be.”

  I stifle a laugh, but fail.

  Xerin turns around and rolls his eyes.

  “Don’t act like it’s not the truth,” Estelle says pointedly.

  He turns back around and Estelle and I have to cover our mouths to keep from laughing out loud.

  It doesn’t take long for Felix to make it to the ship safely. Estelle prods Xerin and Braxton until they start moving. “Your turn.”

  “Okay, okay,” Xerin says as he shoos her hand away. “We’re going.”

  Estelle and I scoot closer to the edge of the forest as they walk casually across the sandy shores to the pier. Well, Xerin’s walking casually—Braxton, on the other hand, keeps glancing over his shoulder, his head moving back and forth as if he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.

  Real smooth.

  “What is Braxton doing?” Estelle mutters. “He looks like a lost child with zero sense of direction.”

  “I’m sure he’s just nervous,” I respond. “You have to remember, he was living a pretty low-key lifestyle back in Athia. This is probably a whole new world to him.”

  “But he’s royalty. I just figured he’d be a little more composed.”

  “He hasn’t been royalty for ten years.” As the words come out of my mouth, I can’t help but feel shocked. I know a lot more about Braxton than I realized—certainly more than I’ve given myself credit for.

  Estelle shoots me a sidelong glance. “Right. Well, just a few steps more and they’ll be there. Then we can go.”

  We watch as they walk along the pier to the ship. Felix waves them down from the upper level. I breathe a sigh of relief as both Xerin and Braxton disappear from sight.

  Estelle turns to look at me. “Ready?”

  I adjust Juniper in my arms and nod. Estelle leads the way. I follow her out of the brush, wincing as Juniper’s claws dig into my forearm. It makes me wonder what’s got the little critter so worked up. She whines and looks up at me, then lodges her claws into my arms again. They go deeper this time, causing me to fling her away from me. She lands on her feet, then scampers toward Estelle.

  I look down at my arm. Pinpricks of crimson appear where her claws had dug into my skin. There’s hardly any blood, but for some reason I feel woozy. I drop to one knee, then the other, but don’t fall over. Somehow, I manage to remain upright.

  Even though I don’t want to, I look down again at my arm. An odd sensation comes over me—I feel queasy, but for some reason, I have a desire to look at the blood. My eyes take it all in. I can feel it coursing through my veins, pumping its steady rhythm, begging to be let out. It’s then a familiar feeling washes over me.

  The darkness.

  It’s here.

  Slowly, my gaze travels up from my arm. Estelle and Juniper no longer stand before me. Instead, it’s an all too familiar figure; the crimson cloak is especially vivid this time around.

  “Hello, old friend,” I say, the voice not my own.

  The whispers begin to urge. Come with us.

  They begin to plead. You’re not one of them.

  They won’t stop. Join us.

  Slowly, I rise from my knees and take a step forward. Then another. And another. Dark energy circles round and round my mind, consuming every inch of me. I can feel it pulsating in my temples, my heart, my very being.

  It is the darkness. It is all that is me.

  That’s it, the cloaked figure whispers. Keep walking.

  I do as my friend says, but my mind is elsewhere. I feel an indescribable tether binding us, something otherworldly. It drags me in and pulls me under, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. “I want to come with you,” I say under my breath. “I know I belong with you.”

  You will join us then? The cloaked figure reaches for me, stretches its long, spindly fingers.

  It’s going to take me.

  But, even in my trance, I recognize that this is a question. I have a choice. I’ve always had a choice. “Soon,” I say, starting to feel a little more like myself again. “Real soon.”

  Soon, the hood repeats. And then a first—a jagged yellow smile. Within seconds, the crimson cloak vanishes in a haze of gray and I find myself, once again, face to face with Estelle.

  “Arden!” Her hands are on my cheeks, tapping and pressing, waiting for me to come back from wherever I’d just ventured off to. “Arden, are you okay?”

  I snap out of my daze and focus on her violet eyes. I blink a few times until my vision clears. “Juniper . . . she scratched me.” I remove my hand from my forearm.

  Estelle pulls my arm toward her, then gives me a concerned look. “What are you talking about? Your arm is fine.”

  I furrow my brows as I blink a few more times, searching for claw marks that don’t exist. Estelle is right. My arm is fine.

  She presses her lips together. “We need to get going if we’re going to make it to Trendalath in time.” She tilts her head and regards me with a slight frown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nod, even though I feel anything but.

  She pats me on the shoulder, then turns to walk toward the ship. Juniper scurries back over to me. I don’t pick her up.

  When we make it onto the ship, it seems that the other Caldari have been eagerly awaiting our arrival. Braxton approaches me and offers to take my bag. I feign a smile and hand it to him.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I look around at my fellow Caldari on the ship, feeling too concerned to let them in on my visions. “No,” I say, “but it will be.”

  RYDAN HELSTROM

  IT WAS THE worst possible night not to sleep, but try as he might, Rydan couldn’t seem to drift off. It’s difficult to surmise how long he’s been awake for, but if he had to guess, it’d probably be in the thirty-hour range. From the dryness of his eyes to the scratchiness of his throat, it wouldn’t surprise him if it were longer.

  Clomping footsteps sound from down the hall. Rydan scoots to the front of his cell and sticks his face in between the bars. Between the dim light and lack of sleep, the grim reaper could be approaching, ready and waiting to take him to his death, but it’s only Gladys. He’s not sure whether to feel relief or dread.

  He waits for her to unlock his cell and replace his shackles, but she doesn’t do either. Instead, she takes a seat on the haystack and glares at him. Rydan clears his throa
t before speaking, but his voice still comes out hoarse. “Will I be leaving my cell today?”

  Gladys bites her lower lip as she shakes her head.

  Rydan perks up. “But Elvira . . .”

  “King’s orders,” Gladys says with a shrug.

  Rydan’s hands fall from the bars. He turns around, still sitting, so that the base of his head is pressed against the cool metal. Why wouldn’t Tymond want me to see Elvira’s execution? Wouldn’t it be greater punishment to have me watch?

  His heart picks up pace, a flurry of nerves erupting from within his chest. Thoughts of no one coming to save them swirl through his mind. What if the Caldari are all talk? What if Elvira and I are both going to die?

  He tries to think of something else—anything else—but his mind is consumed with images of death and grief. In an effort to take his mind off of their potentially gruesome ending, he decides to strike up a conversation with Gladys, or at least try.

  “So, how long have you been serving King Tymond?”

  Gladys gives him a knowing stare before crossing her arms and turning her attention away from him.

  Her behavior doesn’t faze him in the slightest. “I’ve been serving the king for as long as I can remember,” he continues, even though she hadn’t asked for his life story. “I think since I was a child. Really messes a kid up, you know?”

  A hint of a smile cracks her stoic expression.

  A-ha.

  “It’s not easy serving under him. I commend you. I really do.”

  At this, Gladys turns her head and locks eyes with him. “Elvira will be okay.”

  It’s astounding how so few words can bring such great comfort.

  Rydan looses a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He bows his head and raises his hands together in appreciation. “Thank you, Gladys.”

  Her expression returns to its stoic state and she becomes a statue once again.

  Rydan studies her, seeing as there’s nothing else to do and no faster way to make time go by.

  They sit in silence for a long while.

  Finally, a bell rings off in the distance.

  Gladys looks at him again. “It’s time.”

  Rydan knows she means Elvira’s execution, or lack thereof, based on the conversation they’ve just had. The Caldari should surely be on their way, if they haven’t already arrived.

  Here’s hoping.

  DARIUS TYMOND

  “WAKE UP, My Queen,” Darius whispers as he shakes Aldreda’s shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

  Aldreda swats at him. She pulls the blankets tighter around her shoulders, then rolls over on her side.

  Darius finishes gathering his robes, then stamps his feet as he marches to the other side of the bed. “My Queen, how is it that you’re not bursting with excitement? Today’s the day we get to make an example out of that poor little savage girl. Correct me if I am wrong, but these are some of your favorite days.”

  Aldreda groans. She mutters something inaudible from underneath the covers.

  Darius strokes her hair, his fingers light to the touch. “Is it the pregnancy? A bad day?” He sighs when she doesn’t respond. Silence usually means yes. “I’ll leave you to it, but I don’t want you to miss out.” With a few long strides, he reaches the door, and waves his hand flippantly in the air, even though she can’t see him. “Executions always ripen the mood.” And with that, he shuts the door behind him and carries on toward the castle doors.

  The halls are abysmally quiet for the day that lies ahead, but he doesn’t let this affect him. His stomach rumbling, he decides to take a detour and swing by the dining hall to grab a small loaf of bread and an apple. On days like this, his appetite is rather large, but he’s running late as it is. He’d rather have a smaller breakfast than miss out on a beheading.

  He finishes the last of his apple, then throws the core behind him. His robes sway back and forth, stopping only when he opens the doors that lead to the outside of the castle. The sun beats down on his face as he walks over the drawbridge. Giant lungfuls of air soothe his nerves, but adrenaline continues to course through his veins.

  Yes, it’s the perfect day for death.

  His guards, plus Landon, are waiting for him at the end of the drawbridge. The rest of his Savant has been put on Arden-duty, per his orders. Given past events, he prefers to keep one Savant member with him at all times, especially on an execution day, just in case something goes awry. Landon fits the bill. If all goes according to plan, it should be a day of little worries and great victories.

  The guards bow at the sight of their king. Landon steps forward to shake his hand. “My King, you look rather,” he pauses as he observes his superior, “exuberant this fine morning.”

  “It’s execution day,” Darius says for what feels like the eighteenth time that morning.

  “Ah, yes,” Landon agrees with a grin. “Always a good day.”

  Darius looks around him, wondering why they haven’t started moving yet. “What are we waiting on?”

  “Your wife, sir.” Landon gives him a troubled look. “Will she not be in attendance?”

  “It seems she may have fallen ill. It is in her best interest to stay in the castle and get some rest.”

  Landon doesn’t ask questions, just nods before turning to the soldiers. “Onward! To the town square.”

  Darius pulls the sleeve of Landon’s tunic. “Is it safe to assume that you’ve arranged to have the girl transported there?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. The prisoner awaits in the town square pending our arrival.”

  “Right,” Darius says. “Onward it is then.”

  Landon helps the king into his carriage. He’s about to shut the door, when Darius invites him inside. Seeing no other choice but to accept, he hops in. The carriage takes off at a startling speed, throwing both of them into the backs of their seats.

  “First thing to do when I return to the castle,” Darius mutters as he straightens his robes, “is fire the coachman.”

  Landon laughs. “Your Majesty, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure the horses were just spooked.”

  “Even so, it’s nice to have fresh blood every once in a while. Keeps things interesting.”

  Landon doesn’t laugh at this; instead he stays peculiarly quiet. Darius knows him well enough to presume he has something on his mind. “What is it?”

  Landon sighs. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’ve known you for many years,” Darius responds. A low chuckle fills the coach.

  Landon’s eyes crinkle up at the sides. “It may be that, or perhaps you’re just observant.”

  “I’d prefer to think it’s both.” The king tilts his head, eyes blazing with questions. “So, what is it?”

  Landon clasps his hands in his lap before saying, “It’s about your prisoner, Elvira.”

  Although he doesn’t mean to, the king tenses at the sound of her name. “What about her?”

  Landon swallows. “What exactly is her crime?”

  Darius narrows his eyes, trying to figure out where his subordinate is headed with the conversation. Instead of overthinking it, he simply says, “She was caught conversing with a prisoner during her duties as a handmaiden.”

  Landon raises a brow. “Let me get this straight. She’s being executed for having a conversation?”

  Hearing the words come out of someone else’s mouth, Darius must admit it sounds quite foolish. “Not just any conversation,” he quickly adds. “It was on a more . . . intimate level.”

  “I see.” Landon rubs the stubble on his chin. “Well, if you ask me, that’s a hefty punishment for such a trivial crime.”

  Darius’s mood shifts instantly. “What are you implying? That I’m an unjust king?”

  Landon’s face falls. “I would never speak such words, Your Majesty.” He bows his head in surrender. “I was just providing my counsel.”

  “Your counsel is not needed nor
wanted here,” Darius hisses. He averts his gaze to the small window within the carriage. Perhaps he was wrong about his Savant; perhaps they’re not as loyal or as intelligent as he’d originally thought. Had they grown soft on him? Was inviting them to search for Arden a mistake?

  The silence for the rest of the ride is palpable, and it feels like an eternity before the carriage finally comes to a halt. The coachman scurries down from his post to open the doors. Darius exits first, followed by Landon, who makes sure to stay a good number of paces behind him. The town square is already filling up with bystanders.

  Good. A demonic smile stretches across the king’s face. This will be the best example yet.

  BRAXTON HORNSBY

  BRAXTON STANDS IN the town square crowd, amongst the many unsuspecting bystanders. He wears a hood to ensure that no one will recognize him, even if it has been ten years since he’s been in Trendalath. From the looks of it, nothing has changed. Still decadent and rich behind the castle wall; filthy and sullied in every other direction. It’s enough to make his stomach turn.

  He’d always hoped his return to Trendalath would bring him a sense of relief—that his parents had been so heartbroken by his absence that they’d change their ways. Being there, in the midst of it all, he could see his thoughts were far from reality. Things had only gotten worse, not better. A pang of guilt hits him in the stomach.

  Am I the reason for Trendalath’s undoing?

  Braxton pulls the deep brown hood tighter around his head. He keeps his eyes cast down. White blond hair and ice blue eyes are not common in Trendalath. If anyone happens to recognize him, the Caldari’s mission will be compromised. He may be the reason for Trendalath’s undoing, but he won’t be the reason for the Caldari’s.

  He sucks in a sharp breath as a bell sounds. He lifts his chin and looks to the right. The movement is brief, but he’s able to see exactly what he needs: Xerin perched at the top of a nearby merchant’s tent. He braves another look, eyeing the castle walls. Lined along the perimeter are hundreds of soldiers, bows and arrows pointed at the execution stage. He wouldn’t expect anything less from his father.