The Fallen Prince

by Shea Berkley

  He tests its mobility and winces. “Been better, but I’ll manage.”

  “Okay, then.” I’m not going to argue with him. “You run as fast as you can and get Signe.” I nod at the sword he’s carrying. “Tell me you know how to use that.”

  “In theory.”

  I sigh, not at all surprised. “Don’t use it unless you have to. And if you find yourself in trouble, give it to Bodog.”

  “You’re kidding.” He acts like I just told him Bodog is my half brother I’ve had hidden Quasimodo-style until now.

  All Reece knows is Bodog the whimpering little man. He hasn’t seen what I have. “I’m dead serious. He knows exactly how to use it.”

  Reece reluctantly gives me his word, and I nod. “Good luck. On three.”

  Reece crouches, and I feel my muscles tense, ready to spring into action. “One. Two. Three.”

  We both shoot out of the trees. Reece’s arms pump and legs spin in a mad dash for Signe. I barge right into the camp, pull out my sword, and slice into the first man I see. I dodge, then turn back on the next guy, killing him with one blow. Dodge and strike. Kick, spin, and jab. I make my way through the camp like an angel of death until I’m standing amid a pile of bloodied and broken bodies.

  When I turn to find Reece and Signe, I don’t see them. Only Bodog stands, leaning on the stick that holds the spirit of Faldon. My grandfather’s face appears in the wood, and the scratchy dry words that crawl from the wooden lips make me feel sick to my stomach. “You’ve become quite the expert at killing, Dylan. Well done.”

  I storm over to Bodog and point my flaming sword at Faldon’s shrinking face. “I don’t enjoy it. Not like you.” Then I round on Bodog. “Where’d they go?”

  He strokes the stick as if he’s consoling Faldon, and glares at me. I’m beginning to think he’s not going to tell me when he points a long, knobby finger toward the bridge.

  It’s like someone punched me in the chest. They went into the Unknown. Without me. “How are they going to survive?”

  Never Let Go

  Time. It slipped along, sometimes quickly, sometimes excruciatingly slowly, dipping into day and night at will, without reason.

  How long Kera floated in the black abyss, reaching for dreams she couldn’t catch, she had no way of knowing. But finally, a dream came near and she latched on, falling into it with a sigh of relief.

  When she opened her eyes, she was immediately aware of two things. She was dressed in clothes from Dylan’s realm—jeans, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. No pinching corset or uncomfortable shoes. And she stood in Faldon’s kitchen beside the long oak table with his chemistry tubes and vials hissing and dripping away. A sense of home washed over her weary nerves.

  The last time she was here was with Dylan. If she closed her eyes, she could see him. When she opened her eyes, the room was empty, and only a lingering sense of Dylan remained. She felt a pinch to her heart and rubbed her arms as if to warm herself, though she wasn’t cold.

  She stepped to the table and ran her hand along the old oak top, then looked around. Everything was as it should be. A bird stand loomed in one corner. A huge sink gobbled up the space of another, and between the two, a massive oven intruded into the square footage of the kitchen. Pots and pans and dried herbs hung from the rafters. There was the scent of life and death here, but that didn’t alarm her. Faldon had been their healer. His herbs and magic were sought by everyone.

  She heard something, like a man clearing his throat. “Faldon?”

  She took a step toward the door that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. But for the makeshift laboratory, the house was achingly quiet. When she reached the door, a tiny mew came from the opposite side. Faldon was a great believer in rehabilitating creatures their world had damaged or considered dangerous. He called it his great social experiment. Always the scientist. She missed him terribly.

  Kera opened the door and walked down the short hall to the living area. Peeking inside, she saw a fire in the fireplace and a man sitting in a chair. He sat at an angle that hid his identity, only revealing the swishing white tail of a cat he held on his lap.

  Kera paused, somehow knowing it wasn’t Faldon. She must have made a noise, because the man leaned forward, and the cat hissed upon seeing her.

  “Hush now,” Baun scolded, yet he swept his hand down the cat’s back before scratching the animal under the chin. “She’s no threat to you.” He set the cat on the floor and stood, waving Kera forward to a nearby matching chair. “Come in, please. I could use the company.”

  He was dressed like a model from the human realm in a white T-shirt, jeans, a dark-brown leather jacket, and a pair of casual shoes. The only thing ruining the look were a few strands of white cat hair clinging to his pants, but he quickly brushed them off.

  The white cat looked suspiciously similar to Lucinda, and it gave her a sudden chill. Lutines were crafty creatures and never to be trusted. Giving the cat a wide berth, Kera approached Baun. “Who is that?”

  “I found her curled by the fire when I showed up. She’s quite an affectionate piece of fluff. She jumped in my lap the moment I sat down.” He motioned Kera to the chair beside his. When she sat, he smiled warmly. “I am glad to see you. You are far more interesting a companion than a purring dust bunny.”

  “Thank you.” She tucked her hands beneath her thighs and nervously swung her feet. Though firsts were incapable of lying, at times there was a hint of insincerity in Baun’s tone. “What are you doing here?

  “This is my home. My true home, remember? Faldon is my father.”

  “Of course.” She felt silly now. “Has much changed?”

  “Nothing, but this is Teag. Change comes to us on broken wings.”

  She stopped swinging her feet and tilted her head, unsure how to respond.

  “It is a metaphor. We have so many miraculous things, but lack the technology the human realm worships. If only we had both.”

  “The speed at which the humans live life…it’s exhausting.”

  “It’s exciting.”

  “And damaging.”

  “You experienced only a small portion of their realm and already you have determined what it values is—”

  “Disposability.” The word popped out before she could stop it. Dylan was a prime example. His father neglected him. His mother abandoned him. His old friends forgot him. From the moment of his birth, he was a child without a real home.

  Baun shook his head and tsked his tongue. “You have become jaded.”

  “It doesn’t matter. My life is nearly gone.”

  “Let’s not speak of sad things. Tell me, what is your one wish?”

  She used to have so many. Now it felt pointless. “I don’t wish to chase shadows anymore. I want to see Dylan again.”

  He stood and held out his hand. She took it and rose. His face turned grave, his voice sad. “If I could grant that wish, I would, but I cannot. Is there another, one I can fulfill? Something you love above all else?”

  “I love to dance.”

  “What is your favorite color?”

  “Red. The red of my father’s roses.”

  A smile lightened his face. “My favorite as well.”

  He pulled her toward the front of the house. They were only a few steps away when the doors swept open, allowing them to step into an expansive ballroom filled with gaily dressed people. White marble shone from the floors to the columns that were sculpted with all manner of flora and fauna. Red roses burst from hanging vases along the walls and were stationed at every table. A smile touched Kera’s lips and she turned to Baun. He was dressed in an elaborate charcoal-colored suit any gentleman of his era would wear with pride, his ascot full, his waistcoat finely made. He handed his top hat and cane to a footman while another swept her cloak from her shoulders to reveal a glimmering red ball gown more beautiful than any she’d ever seen.

  Baun swept her onto the dance floor, where they twirled along with the other couples. She changed p
artners with each dance, but somehow always ended up near Baun by the song’s end. She laughed from the sheer joy of the moment. It felt like forever and like the moment had only begun when Baun pulled her to a table laden with all manner of food and drinks.

  “If you were my daughter, I would say you are a blushing new flower in dire need of watering. Need I ask if you are enjoying yourself?”

  “Never. It’s lovely here.” She sipped and nibbled under his watchful eye, commenting on the beauty of the room and the couples around them. Baun had a fine wit and wicked tongue that made her laugh outright.

  The lights suddenly dimmed and the edges of their dream blurred. Kera knew what that meant. Any moment she could be yanked away.

  Baun bowed over her hand and smiled. “It has been a pleasant distraction, our shared dreams.”

  “Why do people hate you so?” It was an honest question, for she couldn’t imagine hating him, ever.

  His smile widened and he dropped her hand. “I am not hated. Only two men sought to control me. Your father and mine. They sent me here because they feared the passion I had for my people.”

  That assessment was not quite right. She took a tiny step back and muttered, “You went on a killing spree.”

  His face didn’t register surprise, hurt, or anger. It was as calm as the moonless night sky. “I punished those who threatened my people. What I did was no worse than what people do in any war. Innocent people are inadvertently killed. It isn’t right, but it happens.”

  A shiver ran down her back. She concentrated on twisting a loose thread dangling from the beading that decorated the dress around her waist. He seemed so earnest, like there was nothing dishonorable about what he did. Was he right? Had his motives been pure?

  The thread popped and the tiny red beads bounced along the marble floor like spilled blood. Kera pressed her hand to the spot, hoping no more fell. “Oh no. I’ve ruined the dress and it was so beautiful.”

  “It matters not at all.” He pulled her hand away, and the dress was as it had always been. Searching the floor, she didn’t see any beads. Why was he able to manipulate the dreams so much better than her? It didn’t seem right, like she should pay more attention.

  Another shiver seized her.

  “Do not let what I said bother you. I am not proud of the deaths that occurred. I believed they were unavoidable, but they were never wanted.” He pulled back and in a flash procured a glimmering honey-colored shawl that smelled deliciously sweet and felt as soft as butter. He settled it around her shoulders. “I have news, though I debated whether or not to say anything. I believe Dylan is trying to find you.”

  Her heart lightened instantly until she noticed the sensation of something wet and uncomfortable clinging to her skin, a sensation that had steadily been climbing. She swallowed and splayed her fingers against her collarbone as if to protect it. The boy was almost done. She could feel the cocoon settling around her neck. She refused to give in to the fear that threatened to consume her and forced a smile to her lips. “What else did the pux tell you?”

  Baun took her hand, his countenance suddenly somber. “Teag is suffering. If only they would release me. The chains that bind me in my cell dampen my nature, but as king, my power is nearly unlimited. If I were free, I would return the dark souls to where I sent them and bring peace.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, heartfelt breath. “Peace. It is what I crave not just for myself, but for my people.”

  She knew he could do what he claimed. She’d felt his power herself. Had marveled at its strength even in his weakened state. “Does Dylan have the same power as you?”

  He tucked her arm within the crook of his and escorted her on a stroll around the dance floor. Leaning close, he said, “Yes and no. As of yet, Dylan doesn’t have the power I do. Only when he is king will it transfer from me to him. Yet he is my heir. The moment he stepped into Teag, he took on the obligation of reigning in my absence. It is his birthright. His duty.”

  She twirled a fluted glass between her fingers and thought of how the council had marked Dylan for death without ever having met him. “They refused him. Tried to kill him.”

  “But he is still alive.” She heard the pride in Baun’s voice and noticed how animated he became when he talked of Dylan. He tightened his fist in front of him. “He must take the throne. Hesitance is seen as a sign of weakness.”

  Baun was anything but weak. Surely he could help her. Her time was nearly up. She had to dare the question, not as a wish, but as a possibility.

  “Is there nothing you can do to—” She broke eye contact, realizing she treaded in uneasy waters. This was the Lost King. He had, by his own admission, unlimited power when he was not chained. She felt guilty for what she was about to ask when so many more needed him, but she was desperate and he had been so kind, so unlike what everyone had led her to believe. She swallowed and forced the words out. “…nothing you can do to help me escape?”

  “I—” His lips tightened and his open manner grew grim. The lights dimmed even more and the people faded into the edges of the dream, leaving them suddenly alone beneath the glimmering chandelier. “There is one thing…but…it is never done.”

  “What is it?”

  He looked away, clearly uncomfortable, but she pressed him. “Please. I am dying.”

  He pulled away. “I know.”

  He paced in front of her, his frown deep and brooding. He started to tell her several times, but swallowed back the words, until he stopped and swung to face her. “I can force myself into people’s minds, embed ideas, but it is forbidden. It controls people beyond a vow of loyalty, and if I use it, I can and will be put to death.”

  Death. Why must every turn lead to death?

  The ceiling crumbled away as she sank to the floor. She didn’t care when the marble beneath her gave way to grass. She stared woodenly ahead like a lost and unloved doll thrown into a darkened corner.

  He shook his head and sat on the ground beside her. A king, brought to his knees by her pitiable state. “I am weak. I have been beaten down these many years until there is no fire left in me.”

  “That is not true,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve seen it grow with every one of our visits. It gave me hope. I thought maybe…”

  It didn’t matter. Her time was at an end. He had tried so hard to make her last moments beautiful and she was ruining it.

  She was about as terrified as she’d ever been. Her life was painstakingly being wrapped inside a slowly hardening shell where she would eventually die. Alone. Her memories siphoned for the enjoyment of some creature.

  “You are sad and it is my fault.” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I wish I could explain. My feelings are complicated in the matter. I want to help you, but doing so will—”

  “You will instantly be put to death.” She found a four-leaf clover nestled against the rough edge of the marble floor and held it out to him. “My life is over, and your life will go on.” She pressed the clover in his hand. “It is not your fault.”

  “All we need is luck.” He touched the delicate green leaves with his finger. “I could…”

  She waited for him to continue. Her breath suspended painfully in her chest.

  He stood, walked a few steps away, then turned back. “I could help you do it, give you power to implant an idea, but it would have to be someone who needed you. Loved you. It’s too risky otherwise.”

  She held out her hand and he helped her to her feet. “My father.”

  “Yes.” He nodded slowly, almost hesitantly, a spark of hope springing to his face. “He has the power and ability to do much.”

  “He has nothing like your power. In fact, there is really only one person who can save me.” She stared straight into his eyes. They were so warm. How could people ever call him a monster? “You.”

  His face, with all the hope he’d been feeling, fell. “And to do so, I must be free.” He shook his head. “It will never work. Your father will never agree to free me. This I kn
ow.”

  She clasped his hands in hers. “Never say that. I will make him do it, and when I am done, he will think freeing you is the best idea he has ever had, because it will be. You will help me, Teag, Dylan…everyone.”

  He pulled away, and for a moment she thought she saw a flash of guilt. “This is not an easy endeavor. It comes with risks.”

  “You are giving me a chance at life. The only chance I have left.”

  He took a ragged breath and let it out. “You are sure this is what you want?”

  “Is there another way?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then I am prepared to take the risk.”

  Taking her hand, he directed her to lie down on the patch of earth within the shiny marble ballroom. As soon as she was settled, forget-me-nots sprang up around her. “So that the memory of you will be strong, and that I may never forget you.”

  He went to a nearby marble column etched with flowers and pulled life from the rock, returning with a cluster of bleeding hearts. He wrapped her fingers around the long stems. “So that your father will remember you are his pride and joy and that his heart will never be whole without you.”

  Before he could pull away, she grabbed his hand. Her fingers suddenly cold within his. “If nothing comes of this, please remember me fondly.”

  He cupped her cheek, sweeping at a tear clinging to her lower lashes. “Oh, my sweet girl. You, I will never forget. Not as long as I live. You have brought joy, brought life back to my battered soul.”

  She smiled and let go, but he didn’t rise, and the lines at the corner of his eyes deepened. “The power I am about to bestow on you is wild. Frightening. Do not let it go. Hold on tight and exert your will over it. I have faith you can do this.”

  Baun stepped away, and as soon as he did, a cold mist slipped along the floor, cracking the marble and frosting the blades of grass around her. The flowers quickly disappeared beneath an icy sheath. Kera shivered as the mist wound its way around her. Her breath turned to puffs of white that escaped her mouth faster and faster. The cold mist clung to her, encasing her skin in a cocoon as real as the one the boy in the cave was making.