“I never thought of that,” he said hesitantly.
“I know, son. I know. It’s hard to see past their cunning; a crossbreed is the most devilish creature after an Esiren. Don’t let this girl use you! Go to her house and tell her you know her plan. Tell her you won’t be used!”
“Yes...,” Lale said, his confidence slowly mounting. “Yes, I will do that.”
The stone king smiled—a loving, fatherly smile. “Good, son. Show her who the rightful ruler is! Secure our mighty reign, don’t let impurity weasel in.”
“Yes, yes! I’ll do just that. I’ll tell her the prince of Stonemark must breed purely. I’ll tell her I can’t see her anymore, and that she must leave the city.”
“Yes, that is good, son.” The king’s voice was reluctant. “But the penalty for treason is more severe than banishment.”
“Treason? Father, but—”
“Is this not treason? Did the Greenhills not try to use your innocence to overthrow us? This is treason, and like in every kingdom that ever was, so in Stonemark is the penalty for treason death.”
“But, no... this can’t be.”
“Oh, my son, I know how hard it is. You are enchanted by her. The charm will break when you bring your sword down onto her neck.”
“What are you saying?” Lale asked with horror.
“In your blindness, son, you have almost ruined us. It is most right that your hand should be the one to annul the sin.”
“Father, please!”
“I shall not hear your whining. You have shamed me, and you must mend what you have broken and restore my trust. Go to the girl’s house and execute her and her family. Return to me with their heads.”
“Father!”
“Do as I command, or I will kill the girl myself. The death I’d grant her would be less pleasant, I assure you.”
“I cannot....” Lale wept.
The echo rose to a howl. “Cease this groveling, you are a man today! Do as I command, prove yourself a worthy heir. If you cannot, by the Spirit I’ll find another successor! Now go, tonight!”
Lale fled the room. He rushed upstairs, blinded by tears. When he reached the top and entered the antechamber, he stood with shoulders heaving. Joren emerged from the stairwell. Lale turned his head away, lest the boy saw the turmoil in his face.
I must control myself, Lale thought. This is pathetic. I am a man today.
He took several deep breaths, then spoke, trying to sound gruff. “You heard the king, boy?”
“You will do as he said, Your Highness?”
Lale lowered his head. “I have no choice. He’ll disown me if I don’t, and kill her himself.” He turned around and looked Joren in the eyes. When he spoke again his voice was gentle. “Do you regret being my groom, child?”
Joren puffed his chest. “I’m not afraid. My own father was pretty tough.”
Lale’s laughter took him unexpectedly. It snorted out of his nostrils and then seized him completely, and he laughed harder than he had laughed in a year. It was a minute before he could speak again. “I like you, Joren.”
The boy beamed with pride.
“But we must do as he commands,” Lale added gravely. “And you, Joren, will help me.”
* * * * *
In the quiet evening, man and boy slunk out of a carriage. Silently, they paced across paved Onyx Avenue, casting shadows long and thin as daggers. The sun melted into the horizon, dripping red paint over the stone city. Or red blood, Lale thought as he and Joren approached the house.
The gates’ metallic spikes, painted with sunset, reminded Lale of gory spears. They screamed when he pulled them open. Fingers tapping against Bloodtalon’s pommel, Lale stepped into the garden, his boy following. They crept over the violets and forget-me-nots and crouched behind the lavender. The flowers were gray and cloying. A cloud of red fireflies swirled away to flee across the grass, like droplets of blood.
Lale peeked through the leaves. A light shone in one of the house’s windows. Lale heard the dim murmur of conversation. He could smell food: garlic beef, mushroom soup, bread, cheese.
“Looks like they’re having dinner, Your Highness,” Joren said.
Lale nodded. “That means they’re all home.”
“Do you....” Joren choked, swallowed hard. “Do you have a plan, Your Highness?”
“I want her never to suspect. We’ll walk in smiling and ask to speak to her alone in her chamber. We’ll let her think the king has approved of our marriage.”
“A clever plan, Your Highness. She will be put off guard.”
“That’s not my intention,” Lale snapped. “I simply... want her to be happy.”
Joren had the grace to look ashamed. “Of course, Your Highness.”
Lale continued. “In her chamber, I will do the deed, quickly and painlessly. When I am done, you will enter the main hall and direct the family’s attention out the window. I’ll surprise them from behind.”
Joren nodded. Lale took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart. This had to be done, he told himself. Better he killed her than his father’s assassins. A thought flitted through his mind: he could warn her, let her flee the city. But Lale dismissed the idea as fast as it had surfaced. If he saved Ness, the king would disown him. Was one girl worth the throne? One girl who loved only his power? Lale tightened his lips. He would not let her ruin his birthright. He’d do his task.
“Come,” he said to Joren and rose to his feet. “We go.”
They walked the cobble path up to the house, fireflies swirling around them. It was not a small abode; the exiled duke’s magic earned plenty of money in a kingdom where Healers were rare. Soon, Lale thought grimly, they will be even rarer. He smoothed his gray robes, straightened his coronet and sword, and knocked on the door.
The Greenhills’ young boy opened the door.
“Your Highness!” the boy peeped happily as he bowed.
“Rise, young Talin!” said Lale, forcing himself to smile.
Talin bounced up and hung onto Lale’s neck.
“Give me another dragon ride, Your Highness!”
Lale feigned a chuckle. “You’re getting too heavy for this, Talin. Maybe later. First show me in.”
Talin sighed and turned to lead Lale and Joren into the house.
The Greenhills sat around a dinner table in the main hall. For a moment, the family didn’t notice its visitors, and Lale stood and watched them. Ness was volubly telling a story, her auburn curls bouncing. Her Healer father, his blond beard grizzled, nodded as he listened. Her Forestfellow mother gazed at the two fondly with slanted green eyes.
“His Royal Highness, the prince of Stonemark!” Talin announced, disrupting the perfect picture. Lale experienced a pang of regret; that perfect family picture will never more return.
As the family made obeisance, Ness glanced up nervously. Lale swallowed his bile and winked at her. A smile spread across her face. She thinks the king has approved of our marriage, Lale thought. Good. I want her to die happy.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner,” Lale said, motioning the family to rise. “But I bring happy news that I am anxious to tell.”
Ness was beaming, her smile sparkling like sunlight on water. “Then tell us, my dear prince!”
“First I must speak to you alone,” Lale told her, the words stale on his lips.
“Why, certainly, my lord prince,” she said and gave him her arm.
Leaving the others to their meal, Lale and Ness left the hall. Joren trailed humbly behind.
“Joren, light some candles,” Lale said as they entered Ness’s chamber.
The boy obeyed, and soon candlelight danced over pale pink curtains, ebony nightstands, and a silk bed. Shadows swirled like nightmares. An owl hooted in the distance, and Lale started. He realized he was clammy with sweat. I must not let her see I’m anxious, he thought.
He took her hands. “Ness,” his whispered, “I love you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her lips, forc
ing her mouth open with his tongue.
She pulled her head back with a giggle. She spoke over Lale’s shoulder. “Joren, why don’t you leave us?”
No! Lale almost yelled. He needed the boy to later create the distraction.
“Let him stay and watch,” Lale said, trying to sound easy-going. “He needs to learn these things somewhere.”
“How much is he to learn tonight?” Ness asked quietly. “A good-bye kiss, or an engaged couple’s lust?”
“I will show you,” Lale whispered and kissed her neck. She smelled of milk and clove and passion. He brushed his lips over her skin while his hands caressed her. She moaned.
“Now close your eyes,” he whispered. “I have a surprise.”
“What is it, Your Highness?” She giggled.
“You’ll see. But you must keep your eyes shut until I say you may open them.”
She smiled and shut her eyes. A cold breeze ruffled the pink curtains. The candlelight flickered. Shadows crawled over Ness’s skin like demons.
“Here, lie down,” Lale said softly, gently pushing her onto her bed. She lay down slowly and placed her head on a pillow. Her red hair settled around her head like a pool of blood. The sheets suddenly looked like shrouds, the bed a coffin, and Ness a corpse. Lale turned his head away.
“Well, where’s my surprise?” Ness asked.
“Soon, Honeycomb. Just don’t peek.”
Lale’s fingers closed around Bloodtalon’s hilt. Slowly, silently, he drew the blade. The dark steel gleamed in the red candlelight. The curtains swayed in the breeze, and Lale saw the fireflies swirl furiously outside. He raised the blade above Ness’s neck.
Talin appeared at the doorway.
“Why is your sword drawn inside?” the boy asked.
Ness opened her eyes. For a second, she blinked confusedly. Then she began to scream. Her brother’s face suffused with horror and he fled the room.
“Spirit’s Beard!” Lale swore, his stomach churning. Ness rose to her feet and tried to flee. Lale grabbed her. She struggled, crying. Why did this have to happen? Lale wanted to scream. He wanted to give her a good death.
“Help, Papa, help!” she cried.
“Quiet!” Lale shouted. He shoved her to the floor and knocked Bloodtalon’s pommel against her head. She slumped down unconscious.
“Watch out!” Joren called from behind.
Lale spun around. Ness’s father was rushing into the room, a dagger in his hand. Lale jumped back, and the dagger slashed through air. The Healer slashed again, and Lale but barely parried the blow. The old man was a seasoned fighter. Lale felt fear knot his belly. Suddenly he was afraid for his life. He fled around the bed, but the Healer pursued him viciously. Lale saw Death’s grin.
Suddenly the old Healer stumbled facedown. Joren had grabbed his legs.
Lale slashed his sword. Blood bespattered the curtains and doused one candle.
Lale had scarcely taken a breath, before Ness’s mother peeked around the doorway. The Forestfellow’s eyes widened, and she began to scream.
“Silence!” Lale shouted. The woman’s screaming made his blood boil. “It was not supposed to be this way!”
She began to flee. Lale chased her into the hallway and cut her down. He had to strike her twice more to silence her infuriating caterwauling.
Trembling, Lale blundered back into the room. Joren was heaving in a corner. Ness was mumbling groggily, still half unconscious, her white skin bespattered with red droplets. Lale approached her and raised his dripping sword.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he blubbered, suddenly weeping. He shut his eyes and swung the sword. Hot liquid splashed against his face.
There, he thought, his eyes shut. The deed is done.
A shriek came from behind. Lale turned his head. Talin was charging at him, holding his father’s dagger. Lale raised his arms, but Talin leapt up, hung onto his neck, and shoved the dagger down Lale’s face.
Pain exploded, and everything turned red.
* * * * *
An hour later, Lale and Joren were still combing the city, searching for the boy through every twisted, rat-infested ally.
“Your Highness,” Joren begged, “you’re wounded, you’ve lost much blood.”
Lale waved him silent and moaned through the wet bandages wrapped around his face. The pain burned, but Lale ignored it. Pain was trivial now, and blood could no longer disturb him. He had to find Talin. The half-breed would grow and want revenge.
Joren must have read his thoughts. “Your Highness, if you don’t return now, the boy will have no need for revenge, for you’d have killed yourself. You must return to the Citadel and see a doctor.”
Lale grumbled. Joren was right. The hunt was over. Talin had escaped him. He could be a cunning lad, that Talin. He’ll never understand why I did it, Lale realized. All’s the same. Nothing mattered now.
Lale shook his head violently. His thoughts were rambling, incoherent. Perhaps he had lost too much blood. Perhaps he was losing his mind.
“Come, Your Highness,” Joren pleaded. “We must return.”
Lale nodded weakly. He hefted the sack of heads over his back and continued trudging down the street. Joren walked beside him, supporting him as best he could. Cold wind howled between the stone houses. Rats shrieked. The starless sky rumbled. Lale could barely see his way, and he stumbled every few steps. Blood from the sack dripped down his back. His own blood trickled through his bandages and down his neck. His head spun and his knees trembled. Bloodtalon, hanging at his waist, was heavy as guilt.
Eternities passed before they finally reached the Citadel. They stumbled across the vast courtyard, onto the stage, and through the doorway. The guards recognized Lale’s coronet and bowed bewilderedly.
“Your Highness,” Joren said, “let’s find you a doctor.”
Lale shook his head. He had to see his father first. Leaning on Joren’s shoulder, they began their descent. They spiraled down, down into the rock, an endless plunge into the underground, the vast bowels of the Citadel. And finally, into the secret room, with the secret tunnel, and the stairwell carved into the floor. Lale could hardly hold himself upright now, and his head seemed ready to split. Leaning onto Joren, he limped down the corkscrew stairwell, into the king’s black tomb.
Lale bowed before his stone father. Joren held him from falling.
“My poor son,” Sinther said in his echo without a voice. “Look what they did to you....”
Lale straightened, swaggering, and handed his father the bloody sack. The stone king examined its contents briefly and seemed satisfied. He didn’t know there was a boy, Lale realized thankfully. He thinks I killed them all.
The king tossed the bag aside, and a head rolled out. Lale felt his gut rising. He fell to his knees.
“Now, now,” the king said soothingly. “Have heart, my son. You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
The warm words soothed Lale. He looked up through his bandages at the stone face, like the face of a roughly hewn statue. Was that a glimmer of love that flitted across the king’s stone eyes? Lale thought it was, and his own love for his father bloomed inside him. His father said he had done right. His father knew. Lale’s heart calmed. He had not sinned.
“Now,” said the king, “I am afraid I have another task for you.”
Lale nodded. Anything. He no longer cared.
“You know, of course,” Sinther said, “I am not... completely invincible.”
Lale nodded. His father’s bane, his nightmare. The reason for the escape tunnel. The whole Island knew of Sinther’s weakness. Sinther was the Stonish Firechild. His stone skin was immune to any weapon. Only one person could harm him. The Esiren Firechild. Able to merge mind and body, the Esiren Firechild could reach past the stone skin. Lale had grown up hearing tales of this horrible demon and the wicked race that could spawn it.
“You have shamed me,” said the king, “by nearly tainting our royal line. The only way for you to fully propiti
ate me is to hunt this Esiren Firechild. When the golden fireflies no longer glow, then you shall have proved yourself a worthy heir.”
Lale heard Joren gasp beside him.
“How can I kill the Esiren Firechild?” Lale demanded through his bandages. Fresh blood gushed from his split lips. “He can link body like mind. Anything done to him is done to me. Killing him would be killing myself.”
Sinther shook his head. “As I, the Stonish Firechild, have a weakness, so does the Esiren Firechild. He can share only senses. He can share pain, but not the actual wound. A slow, painful death—yes, that can be shared through a link. If the mind feels itself die, it will stop working. But a quick, painless beheading—that will snap the link and leave the killer safe.”
Lale cackled. “But how can I find him? Am I to behead every Esiren on the Island?”
Sinther gave him a sober stare. “Trial and error is the safest method.”
“You want me to kill an entire race single-handedly?” Lale cried, choking on the blood. “Am I a prince or butcher?”
The king shrugged. “Why, your groom will help you. He will be your royal executioner. Now leave, go see a doctor.”
Leaning on Joren, Lale limped away. The king waited till they reached the door before speaking again.
“And by the way, my son: happy birthday.”
* * * * *
Joren knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” came an irritable reply from within.
“It’s Joren, Your Highness,” Joren said.
After a moment of silence came the reply. “Come in.”
Joren smoothed his livery and opened the door. Lale sat slumped inside on a stone chair, his bandages finally removed. Joren felt the blood leave his face. He bowed hurriedly.
“Am I so hideous?” Lale asked dryly.
Joren straightened slowly. “You... look better than last time I saw you.”
Lale laughed. “A tactful remark, my friend. I told you on the first day your mind is quick.” He sighed. “I wish I never did hire you that day. Look at what trouble I’ve gotten you into.”
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