War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  As I hold out his uncle’s sword for him to take, the very sword that took Oren’s life, my heart beats loudly in my ears. With Arlo and Rayce fighting on the same side, we can make it through this. We have to.

  All remains quiet in my head as I wait for him to reach out and grab his destiny, until the sound of glass shattering bursts throughout the throne room. Wrenching my head toward the sound, I catch people scattering as a cloud of gray smoke swirls around in the middle of the crowd. More glass breaking brings my attention forward as each of the windows lining the right wall rain glass on the floor and the room begins to fill with smoke.

  Pushing the collar of my robe up, I cover my mouth.

  “What is that?” I shout.

  Arlo swirls around, a grin on his mouth. “Oh, that? That’s Varsha here to help.”

  Even if that were true, Varsha invading now would be the worst possible outcome for me with my secret out in the open. Fear spikes down my body and the emperor’s sword clatters to the floor.

  “But the reports were fake,” I say. “The Varshan troops were just the Delmarions in disguise. I saw it with my own eyes and the emperor confirmed it.”

  “The ones you saw were, but I assure you, they’re here and right now, they are on our side.”

  As if on some cosmic cue, the large double doors burst open, spilling in the sounds of swords crashing, cries of battle.

  “Get the emperor out of here!” a Sun soldier shouts from the back of the room. “Varsha has invaded.”

  His statement sends a ripple of panicked gasps through the crowd. On the stage, Emperor Sun, who watches my nightmare play out intently, turns around, several soldiers surrounding him to lead him out the door we just came from.

  Arlo spins toward the stage, hearing the command ring through the hall. “You are not getting away that easily.”

  He pulls out a stunner from his belt and aims at the emperor’s retreating back. There is no hesitation in the way he pulls the trigger, completely certain after all the hours he’s poured into perfecting the weapon.

  The bolt bathes his determined face in green light, highlighting the hardened glint in his glare, before racing toward its intended target. All it would take to end this would be for the emperor to be stunned.

  A soldier moves in the way as the hidden door is swung open, taking the full blast of the stunner bolt. Arlo reaches for the other stunner always hanging from his belt and curses Yun, remembering that he only has one.

  My stomach tightens and I look to Rayce, who stares at his uncle’s sword. If we had just waited, verified that Arlo was with the troops in front of the gate, we might have stood a chance. A tiny golden ball lands in front of me as I try to wrap my mind around that fact. It clinks on the polished wood, spinning from its impact and then begins to shriek, pouring out thick gray smoke right into my lungs. My vision clouds, but whether it’s from seeing the smoke or breathing it, I can’t tell. Pain rushes to my head as I hit the ground with a loud thwack.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  For a brief second, there’s nothing but blissful darkness. I want to bury myself in it, leave the constant struggle of consciousness behind and wrap myself up in the warmth of this starless night. After everything, I’ve earned rest.

  No, you aren’t done yet. The rebellion needs you. Rayce needs you.

  I take a deep breath, fighting against a sharp burn as my lungs fill with tainted air and a tidal wave of nausea crashes over me. I wrench open my stinging eyes. Gray smoke surrounds me, closing in on all sides. Coldness licks up my side from the floor and my vision blinks in and out of focus. Arlo stands in front of me, Marin tucked against his side. Turning my head slightly, I catch Rayce’s long black vest billowing a goodbye as he runs into the smoke toward the throne, his uncle’s sword gripped in his strong grasp.

  He…left?

  Why would he do that? No matter what, Rayce has always stayed by my side, especially during a fight. We’re better together than apart.

  Before I can dwell too much, Arlo’s hand grips my upper arm, a heavy brown scarf covering more than half of his face.

  “We need to get out of here,” he says, his voice muffled. “We’re not going to get another chance. If we’re going to win this war, we have to go after the emperor.”

  My heart settles, the sting of Rayce just abandoning me to the chaos lessening with Arlo’s words. He didn’t leave me because he was concerned about himself; he’s going after the only shot the rebellion has left to win. If we can manage to kill the emperor, we’ll free the land once and for all.

  Perhaps it isn’t over yet. Maybe my surrender was the rebellion’s greatest boon. As Oren once told me, deception wins wars. Maybe Rayce knew that in order to win, he had to give up everything, his people, his position, all the ground they’ve gained, his base, the entire world he created in order to take over the rest.

  Searching around in the smoke, I catch the glimmer of metal and reach out, pulling a fallen soldier’s sword to me. Hopefully it serves me better than it did them. Marin leans down in her fancy robe, a slice in the fabric of her right arm, and grabs my hand.

  “Let’s go end this together, princess.” She tugs me to my feet, giving me a brilliant smile.

  Gripping the foreign sword in my hand and pushing the collar of my robe higher up on my face to keep the smoke out, I nod.

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Arlo motions us to follow him. I grip Marin’s hand even tighter to keep us together as her brother ploughs forward through the thick plumes clogging the room. I’ve lost my sense of direction. People coughing and screaming swirl all around, their shadows growing large and imposing on the wall, sifting through the smoke to find a way out.

  A soldier rams into my side, prying my hand from Marin’s. Pain and shock roll through my body as I struggle to keep myself upright. My collar falls down and I choke as smoke attacks my opened mouth. A flash of metal gleams out of my blurry vision, and I swing to the side, narrowly missing a wayward blade.

  Before I can react with a swing of my own, a thick cloud floats by, enveloping him in it. Marin appears ahead of me, holding out her hand, and I run to her.

  The steps of the stage come out of nowhere. We take them two at a time, running up to the platform where I thought my life was ending. One last glance behind me illuminates the picture of chaos that the throne room has devolved into. People crawl over each other to get through the single open set of double doors in the back of the hall, women’s hair spilling over their shoulders as men grip onto their arms, trying to guide them through. The windows lining the right side of the room are all shattered and smoke has begun to rise like a river filling up its banks to twist and pour out of them.

  This is the beautiful type of mess the emperor’s mind could never comprehend. A hint of this chaos and he would pour water down the anthill, drowning the entire offensive display.

  We pass by the large, elaborate throne made of gleaming silver, and I glare at it. Right now, it represents everything I hate, but perhaps in the next day, all that will change. If we can get to Rayce in time to help him.

  Arlo pries the door open. “Come on, hurry, we’ve only got a small window of time to make this work.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I run through the opening as fast as my restrictive robe will allow. No wonder Delmarions think women incapable of anything; they can’t even walk in the clothes they’re forced to wear. Marin dives in behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder, and Arlo hurries in last.

  The door slams behind us, locking out the gray smoke that still clings to my nostrils and coats my mouth, and the screaming and scrambling masses. I crane my neck, listening for Rayce. Where there should be metal clanging and the heavy grunts of battle, there is only silence. The sconces from earlier have been blown out, leaving the narrow hallway in complete darkness. But unlike being in a dark hallway in the base, there is no Zarenite in the walls to help light the path.

  “Can you see anything?�
� Marin whispers.

  My eyes fight to adjust to the darkness. “No, but we don’t have time to waste.”

  Now that we’re out of the throne room, every inch of me worries for Rayce. Why did he run off on his own without saying anything? We have to get to him before it’s too late. The fact that he has never bested his uncle in a swordfight twists my stomach and urges me forward.

  Taking a few steps blindly in the darkness, the toe of my slipper catches on something hard. I try to move it, but it won’t budge. Leaning down, I can just make out the outline of a soldier slain on the ground.

  “It seems Rayce didn’t think he had time to waste, either,” Arlo says, squatting next to me. “Stay alert.”

  I step over the dead man’s body, my long robe catching on the tiny plates of silver metal armor in a sickening way. In the very near distance, a lit sconce glows, illuminating a pool of blood settled on the floor. A man’s arm just touches the light, the silhouette of the rest of his body hidden away in the darkness.

  Stepping over the dead becomes the pattern as we rush down the hallway, splashes of light illuminating the gore of a battle that just took place. It’s like following a grotesque trail of flower petals. Every time we see another figure, my heart twists, wondering if this is the one that I will recognize. If I’ll have to stare into Rayce’s unseeing eyes and grip his motionless hand.

  The sound of a sword clattering to the ground greets us as we round the corner of the hall out into a grand open foyer. Little half-folding wooden panels open up into the night sky, painted Imperial light blue and detailed silver. The ceiling rises much higher than the low one from the hall we just exited, and large golden lanterns, each easily the size of my upper body, pour light down onto more polished wood, though this main hallway has an endlessly stretching navy runner lining it. The softness of the carpet tricks my balance as I step onto it.

  About thirty feet up ahead, six other Sun soldiers lay slain on the ground. Blood paints the wall, the carpet, the men it came from, and the man who made them bleed. Rayce swings the emperor’s own sword at his uncle, standing up tall and straight, his face twisted in a mask of focused rage. His black hair hangs loose, fanning out with every strike he makes. His sword flashes as unbridled as lightning. Having dispatched the crowd of soldiers protecting the emperor, Rayce now attacks his uncle with a single-minded concentration that sends shivers down my back.

  My chest loosens seeing his face, even though he doesn’t seem to notice I’m here. Relief nearly forces me to drop my sword to reach for him, remembering him face down on the ground while the emperor ordered his death. This man is my future, the only one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Everything I’ve done up until this moment has been for that life together.

  He lashes out the long sword that took his mentor’s life, reminding me that our work isn’t done yet.

  Emperor Sun was right about one thing: war is a plague on the land it befalls. Rayce means to create a balm to soothe the wounds of too many years under his uncle’s tyrannical rule.

  The emperor has grabbed a fallen soldier’s sword and attempts to fend Rayce off even though his long clothing has to be slowing him down. Sometime during his retreat, the tall hat he wore has slipped off his head, and a few pieces of hair now hang loose in his face. Neither man is prepared for war at this moment—Rayce in the hole-ridden rags of his uniform, wounds still littering his body, and the emperor in his grand, festive attire, and yet, it is in these inconvenient outfits, in these off moments that the true outcome of the land will be decided.

  “Rayce, we’re coming!” I yell, forcing my feet to move faster.

  Arlo plows ahead of us, his movement not encumbered by yards of unnecessary fabric. The sound of our footsteps echo in the hallway, filling in the small gaps between their swords clashing.

  Rayce slams the blade into the emperor’s, sending the stolen sword flying to the side, leaving him vulnerable.

  Did Rayce just win?

  My heart flutters out of control, heat clinging to my cheeks. My gaze drops to the emperor’s hand, fully expecting to see a knife there, but there’s nothing. No tricks, no horns to sound the retreat.

  I wait for Rayce to offer his uncle a truce. Our conversation in the kitchen rushes back to me, Rayce’s lament at how the war will actually have to end. On the battlefield, I believe he would have killed the emperor because there was no other option, but here, without all the eyes of the army on him, the emperor might be more willing to bargain.

  Even if none of that were true, I’ve never seen Rayce attack an unarmed person. Not even if he was the one to unarm them.

  Rayce straightens to his full height, a few inches taller than his uncle, and the intensity of his stance lessens as the emperor says something I’m too far away to hear. I let out a heavy breath as I watch them talk.

  “What’s he doing?” Marin asks.

  “Perhaps they’re bargaining,” I say.

  We draw closer, a mere ten feet away.

  Instead of sheathing his own sword, Rayce winds back, jamming his weapon swiftly into his uncle’s side. The emperor’s eyes grow wide as Rayce kicks him in the middle, ripping his blade out in a spray of blood that splatters all over the back wall. If I hadn’t been here, if I’d have blinked and didn’t catch it, I wouldn’t have believed what just happened. My mind stutters to catch up with what I just witnessed. This isn’t what Rayce said he wanted. Perhaps he’s just doing it to scare the emperor?

  My feet slow as the emperor falls back, Marin faltering beside me. It feels like the entirety of Delmar should tremble with him as he crashes into the palace floor with a sickening thunk, so twisted are his people around his fingers.

  Ever since I joined the rebellion, I knew Rayce would have to kill the emperor to take power, but actually watching it sends shock waves through me. Emperor Sun had always seemed as large as the shadow he carefully cultivated and now here he is, sprawled out on the ground and bleeding.

  Rayce’s mouth twists in anger, his eyes singularly focused and the scar cutting down his face rippling in the light. The other side of him is completely obscured in darkness.

  “N-nephew, wait,” the emperor pleads, his left hand reaching out to Rayce shakily. Blood spurts from the gash opening his gut, spreading bright red on his blue robe.

  The way the emperor’s voice caught when he spoke about Oren comes rushing back to me as I look at him reaching out his hand to his nephew. He’d always made it clear that Rayce’s ability to show kindness was a weakness, but right now he’s appealing to it.

  And suddenly, I understand what Rayce was talking about with revenge. How easy it is to fall down that path and what it looks like from the outside. What he was trying to spare me from.

  Arlo stops a few steps from the scene playing out before us. “Rayce, as much as I want to see him dead, we need him alive, remember? It won’t do us any good if you kill him.”

  Arlo’s words are so similar to the ones Rayce spoke every time I had the Gardener at my mercy, every time he wanted me to pick a different option than the one boiling in my blood. Except this time I see it from the outside.

  But Rayce doesn’t. He can’t.

  “Rayce, that’s enough.” To my surprise, my voice doesn’t shake as I call out to him, reaching out a shaking hand. “You don’t want to do this. Just drop the sword.”

  Grabbing the hilt in both of his large hands, he stabs downward at the emperor on the floor, sending more blood into the air. My breath catches, watching him exact the final blow with as little thought as blinking. There seems to be no emotion in his face as he pulls the blade out of his uncle’s flesh. Emperor Sun’s strangled cry fills the silence for a second before Rayce brings the edge of the Imperial blade across the emperor’s throat. The scraping sound of flesh, muscle, and bone opening rings clear as Rayce silences Delmar’s thirty-seventh emperor for a final time. Red pools up from the silver blade, spilling onto the thin strip of navy rug flowing like a river underneath our feet.<
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  It’s the shocking silence following that last scream that nearly stops my heart. He was conflicted. He wanted to find another way. I turn away from the blood, toward the large window nearest us as a butterfly lands on the railing, its light blue and black wings fanning open and closed like the slow beating of a heart until they finally come to a stop.

  Rayce whispered stories of a man underneath the surface of the one that ruled Delmar, one he desperately hoped was still there, and for a moment, when I’d mentioned Oren to the emperor, I almost saw a glimpse of it. The man Rayce remembered so fondly was still there, trapped under the hard shell. And now, Rayce would never know. He would never get that chance to see it again. My heart shatters for what might have been. Marin’s wide eyes echo that same sentiment.

  Rayce stands over his uncle’s body, gripping the sword.

  Arlo takes a cautious step forward, holding out his hand to touch Rayce on the shoulder. “Rayce, it’s okay. It’s over now.”

  Rayce’s head shoots up at Arlo’s voice and he slashes his sword out, the sharp, bloodied edge catching Arlo in the chest. If he hadn’t been wearing stolen armor, it would have been a serious wound, but the Delmarion silver scales catch the blade.

  “What are you doing?” Arlo asks, stumbling back.

  Instead of answering him, Rayce lunges for Marin, his blade flashing deadly as he lashes out again. Thanks to all our hours of training, she throws up her sword to parry him, sliding out of the way. He immediately turns, using that momentum to swing at me.

  Up this close, the vein that pops out of his forehead when he’s frustrated protrudes and his eyes remain singularly focused. Normally, my weapon feels like an extension of my own body, but as I lift my sword up to stop Rayce, everything about this situation feels foreign. Our blades collide in a spray of sparks, blood splattering off his to stain my white robe and coat my face.

  My arms strain under the weight of holding his sword at bay, and he pushes down with everything he has. Is he really trying to hurt me?