Leena's Story - The Complete Novellas (A Dance of Dragons Book 4)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Leena lifted her head to meet the eyes of the king regent. He sat on the throne, face unreadable. To his left, Queen Katrina. To his right, the queen mother and her infant son, Whyllean, the true king—a baby fast asleep in her arms.

  “I know why I am here, and I’m ready,” she said, elongating her neck and adjusting her shoulders, bringing all the poise she possessed to her graceful royal limbs.

  Whyllem stood, approaching her, leaving enough distance between him and his family that he could speak without being overheard.

  “I’m sorry it has come to this, Princess,” he murmured, voice full of sorrow. “I had hoped for a better end, even though I told myself not to.”

  Leena resisted the urge to take his hand, to provide womanly comfort. “So had I.”

  He nodded gravely. “I have spoken with my mother, and the queen mother, and have made plans for the end. Now I must speak with you. When the enemy breaks through our defenses, there will be nowhere to run. There is already nowhere to run. The women have asked for mercy for themselves and for my nephew king, and I have granted it. I, however, will wait here until they drag me from my throne. You have a choice to make.”

  Leena squeezed her eyes shut, and then walked to the window, mind whirling. The women have asked for mercy. Her heart dropped at the thought. Is that what she wanted? A merciful death? To be killed swiftly and quickly by Whyllem himself rather than wait for the enemy to arrive and see how they might treat her. Knowing King Razzaq’s cruelty, a merciful death might be the best she could hope for—far better than the death her father would grant. Slow. Painful. A display for other Ourthuri who have ever wished to step above their station. But still, just the thought of giving up made Leena feel hollow inside, empty and worthless.

  She turned back to Whyllem who somberly gazed out the window, watching the ships that had surrounded his city slowly tear it apart. Already, sections of the outer wall had given way to the sea, some homes too, as though Rayfort itself were sinking into oblivion.

  “I will wait with you,” Leena said softly, keeping her eyes on the golden ships, wondering if her father watched beneath distant sails, victoriously smiling as though he sensed her defeat. More likely, he waited at home on his golden throne, letting others do the fighting for him as he always had.

  “Are you sure?” Whyllem asked, this time staring at her intently. His eyes bore into her cheek, weighty, but Leena didn’t turn to meet that stern gaze. “There are fates far worse than death, Princess. And even death rests on a scale—some easy to endure, as quick as falling asleep, and others stretching on for hours, more pain than a person should ever experience.”

  Leena swallowed, trying her best not to show her fear. He was right, of course. She had seen for herself that very spectrum. Mikza burned and broken, newly unmarked, waiting in the darkness of the dungeon, aching in a way that ran deeper than his skin, straight to his heart. Versus Mikza in death, quick as the spear pierced his chest, life over in a split second as his eyes met hers one last time, just long enough for a brief moment of overwhelming joy before he left the world at peace. She met the king regent’s gaze, voice like iron, filled with deep understanding. “I’m Ourthuri, King Whyllem, I know better than most what torture looks like.”

  But I owe it to myself, to Mikza, and to our child to keep fighting until they tear my life from me, kicking and screaming. There can be no peace in the end, not for me.

  Leena finished the thought on her own—some motivations were too private to share. But Whyllem must have seen something in her eyes, because he just nodded and stepped away, back to his family, leaving her alone at the window.

  The longer she stared at the city, the more the smoke and ash and dust blurred her vision. One could only stare at destruction for so long. Her mind wandered, and in those swirling clouds of gray and black, new visions took hold.

  First sweet, as she imagined what life after death might bring. Would she and Mikza be reunited in the afterlife, would she feel his arms around her once more, would their baby be there, newly born and laughing? Perhaps they would be in the home they had always wished for, modest and small on the edge of Ourthuro, just enough for three, or maybe four, near the water, hidden from the rest of the world? Would she find a peace not possible in this world? Would the gods be merciful after all she had endured?

  Or would they call her a traitor too? Would they demand she relive her lowest moments, trapped forever in a cycle of torment? Would her future be visions of Mikza unmarked and in pain, of the spear plummeting through his heart? Worse, would she be married to Amosaan, forced to live the quiet life of an abused wife while her father watched on, a destiny worse to her than almost anything else? Or would she be sent to a bleak afterlife, trapped in an endless void with no memories, no sense of self, not even the thought of Mikza and their child to hold onto?

  Leena closed her eyes, shaking her head, and opened only to find her vision focusing on the golden ships once more. So powerful. So strong. So menacing now that she was trapped on the opposite side. What would the world become when her father won? A land of unmarked slaves, desperate and without hope? And what if King Razzaq made her one of them, destined to serve at his feet for the rest of her life, watching as her brother grew into a replica of the man she hated, as her sisters smiled at her misfortune? What would become of her child then?

  Twisting the simple ring around her finger, Leena couldn’t help but wonder how something so beautiful had led her to such a horrifying place. Why was love something her father feared so much? Why wasn’t it strong enough to beat him?

  A heavy rumble shook the ground.

  Leena stepped to the side to keep her balance.

  A moment later, the door behind them opened, and she welcomed the distraction from her heavy thoughts. Even though it could only mean something worse.

  “My King,” a guard said as he stepped through the opening, bowing deeply. “The outer wall has been breached. The enemy is inside the city, and we expect the trebuchet fire to close in on the castle wall soon.”

  Whyllem nodded. Leena could tell from his expression that he had already known the truth. He knew Rayfort well, and she wondered if he could pinpoint what each shake of the ground meant, what each destructive sound stood for.

  The guard stared for one moment longer, and then he turned, grasping the doorknob, slowly swinging it shut behind him. But he stopped just shy of closing it.

  Leena tilted her head, perplexed, waiting.

  But the man was a statue, suddenly stone as he waited in the crack of the door, neither in nor out, paused.

  “Is there something else?” Whyllem called across the empty room, voice echoing in the silence.

  But still, the guard had no response.

  And then he dropped his hand to his side, releasing the door and reaching for the hilt of his sword instead. The gentle glide of steel on steel was a whispering scream, a quiet shriek that stilled Leena’s heart, making each hair stand on end with the menacingly loud silence. The guard was calm, unhurried as he pulled out his weapon, and that in itself terrified her.

  What did he see on the other side of that door?

  What dark thoughts prompted his action?

  The king regent stood from the throne, cautious as he stepped down, closer. Before Whyllem reached the base of the dais, the guard turned.

  Leena gasped.

  Her heart surged forward, adrenaline pumping as her every muscle tensed, ready for action.

  The guard’s eyes were white, pure untainted ivory.

  And they were focused directly on her.

  SEVEN

  Everyone stopped. Stopped breathing, walking, moving.

  And then the world rushed into action.

  The guard charged, raising his sword, feet racing toward a spot to the side of the king, directly where Leena stood. Whyllem pulled his sword from its sheath, shouting for aid from the other guards stationed outside. A dozen men rushed into the room, just as the sound of steel blades meeting rang
across the space. And Leena jumped forward, raising her voice to shout “no” as Whyllem’s sword was poised to plunge directly through the guard’s heart.

  “Stop!” Leena shouted again. “Restrain him! He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  The white eyes.

  The shadow.

  Jinji had told her of this beast, and Leena’s mind immediately drew back to Tam, her dear friend turned monster. It was not the guard’s fault, and he did not deserve to die, not like this, not because of her.

  Whyllem shifted his blade at the last moment, slicing through the man’s upper arm instead. The guard fell, bleeding, but still breathing as the rest of the men surrounded him. A moment later his eyes cleared, turning to a dull sage, then darkening in confusion.

  Whyllem turned to her, demanding. “Explain.”

  But before she could respond, another guard turned—eyes white, utterly empty yet utterly menacing in their blankness. This man was closest to her and too quick for Whyllem to catch.

  Leena stepped back, stumbling on her heels until her back touched the wall, fighting the sense of déjà vu as Tam’s face appeared before her, a dark memory she didn’t want to relive.

  But this time would be different.

  This time, Leena would save herself.

  This time, she was fighting for more than just her own life, she was fighting as a mother, and that made all the difference.

  Moving quickly, she lifted her skirts, pulling out the knife strapped to her thigh, silently thanking Cal for all he had taught her. The guard’s sword slashed. Leena dodged, jumping to the side, gasping as his blade cut through the back of her skirt, barely an inch from her leg. And then she dashed forward, just as Cal had taught her, slicing the guard’s thigh. It wasn’t a big cut, barely a scratch really, but it gave her just enough time to scramble away as the other guards cornered the injured renegade against the wall.

  A hand clamped around her arm.

  Leena turned, wielding her knife. But it was the king, and he looked on with confusion in his colorful irises.

  “What is going on?” he demanded.

  Leena just shook her head—it was too much to explain. “There’s no time. It’s after me and there’s no way to stop it. I must go.”

  “Princess—”

  “No!” Leena shouted and wrenched her body from his grip, backing away. She was tired of being controlled by men, boxed in by them. She was tired of kings trying to tell her what to do. “I must—”

  But before Leena could finish, another guard broke away, his eyes white. And without another word, Leena ran. Holding her dress high so her feet had room to move, she dashed through the already open door and raced through the halls, distinctly aware of the heavy boots pounding on the stone behind her.

  Where could she go?

  Where could she run?

  Like the king had said, they were cornered—there was nowhere to go. And where could she hide that the shadow wouldn’t find her? He could be anyone, anywhere. Where could she go?

  And then it hit her.

  The water.

  The sea.

  And Leena knew just how to get there.

  Still running, she barely registered that the boots behind her had fallen silent. But it didn’t reassure her—it terrified her. Because she had no doubt the shadow would return—it was just a question of when. Preserving the energy she had left, Leena slowed to a walk as she approached the front of the castle. Without her breath puffing in her own ears, without the slap of her sandal-covered feet on the floor, it was much easier to hear. So she kept her ears open, moving with caution toward the exit.

  She reached the main hall easily, and took each step down the grand staircase carefully, eyes on the torch beside the front door. It looked heavy. But there was no other way—she would need a light to guide her through the darkness of the tunnel. Swallowing deeply, Leena wrapped her hands around the wooden post, trying her best to tug it free of the iron brackets.

  A click echoed across the room, followed by a high-pitched whistle.

  Leena dropped to the floor just in time for the arrow to pass overhead and land with a thunk in the stone.

  Spinning, still on her knees, Leena found the guard behind her, reloading his crossbow, ivory eyes narrowed in frustration. Leena charged, throwing the knife before her. It wobbled in the air, missing its mark completely, but it did what it was supposed to—distracted the man just long enough for her to thrust her palm up into the base of his nose, the way Cal had taught her. Blood exploded from the impact, covering her arm as the guard stepped back, screeching.

  And in that moment, Leena realized something.

  He didn’t really know how to fight.

  The guard did, she was sure. He was trained. He was a warrior. He wouldn’t struggle with how to reload his bow, and he wouldn’t have let her hit him so easily. The shadow was not a warrior. It depended on the element of surprise. So maybe for the first time, she had the upper hand.

  Leena snatched her knife from the ground, taking the split second to cut deeply into the shadow’s thigh. More blood dripped to the floor, and he fell on his weakened side. Before he hit the ground, his eyes had already returned to normal—deep blue, confused, and in a lot of pain.

  Leena bit her lip, watching him for a moment.

  It was her fault.

  He was innocent, he didn’t understand.

  Shaking her head, she turned in the other direction. There was no time to waste. She had to get to the water. It was the only way. Lifting the heavy torch from its brackets, Leena gripped the wood as a weapon, and ran through the front door of the castle.

  Outside, chaos ruled.

  The men on the wall were shouting. The city was falling to dust. Swords clanged. Horns blew. All around her, people ran in every direction, but each one moved with purpose. All except for one man, who had just stopped dead.

  And then he turned.

  Leena didn’t wait to catch his face. She ran.

  And like before, even surrounded by so much noise, she could pick out the rhythmic thud of boots following her. She didn’t turn around to check. She just kept racing forward.

  As her eyes settled on the garden, an extra bout of energy coursed through her, adding strength to her legs, letting them pump even faster. Weaving through the flowers, running under overhanging arches filled with vines, Leena found the destination she searched for. The willow tree. But even beneath its branches, she didn’t stop. Hidden from the world, maybe, but the guard was no more than a minute behind.

  Leena grasped the torch with one hand, using her hip to help hold it steady as her other hand felt along the wall, searching for the lever Cal had found so easily.

  No. No. No.

  There!

  Leena pulled and the dark tunnel appeared right before her eyes, just as the clang of armor sounded behind her. Sparing one quick glance, Leena saw a flash of Whylkin red through the willow branches, growing larger by the second.

  She jumped through the opening, trying to close it behind her, but the stone was immobile against her already exhausted arms. There was no more time to waste. Leena took off into the dark, hoping she might lose the guard in the ebony of the tunnel if she could just get far enough ahead.

  But surrounded by so much silence, the pounding boots and the clanking armor grew even louder, even more terrifying. Leena tried to move as quickly as she could, pausing for only a moment at the intersections to find the white arrows Cal had shown her. But the guard was relentless, and with each passing second he seemed to grow louder behind her.

  Until finally, she reached the end.

  This lever was easier to spot.

  Leena yanked, glancing over her shoulder, unable to pierce the impenetrable dark, but she knew he was there, knew he was close behind. But escape was even closer. She grinned, already anticipating the cool touch of the water, and jumped across the threshold.

  But something else was waiting for her on the other side.

  Someth
ing she didn’t see until it was too late.

  A cloud of black mist spread across the sand, taking shape in the form of a ghostly army, two dozen phantom soldiers guarding her path.

  She tried to stop.

  Tried to dig her heels into the soft sand, to break the forward motion of her limbs. But it was impossible. And she stumbled, tripping over the layers of her dress as her body slammed into the ebony haze.

  A thousand needles pierced her skin.

  Ice traveled up her veins, freezing her from the inside out. Her finger stiffened, still reaching for the sea, and she landed on her back, immobile, completely still, barely able to see the sky through the translucent black phantoms now closing in.

  Leena tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in her throat. The pain was overwhelming, as though her skin were cracking apart, each bone breaking and resifting inside her body, turning to stone while she lay there unable to move, to fight, to resist in any way. Tremors coursed through her, waves of agony. Her throat closed. She tried to cough, to suck in air, but it was useless.

  And then as quick as it came it was over.

  The phantoms disappeared, blinking out of existence.

  Leena wanted to wince against the sun, far too bright after being enshrouded in shadow, but she couldn’t move. The pain was over, but her body was still frozen on the ground, unable to move from this sunken spot in the sand.

  And then a body appeared over her, blocking the sun, silhouetted black, but solid. Not a ghost, not a phantom, but a shadow just the same.

  It was the guard.

  And his sword was raised, glittering gold.

  Leena could not run, could not even inch closer to the water just a few feet to the side. Her escape was agonizingly close, and even more agonizingly far away. Her fingers twitched, some movement returning, some sign of fight, but it was too little too late. And more than anything in that moment, she wished to hug her arms around her middle, to comfort her child in the end, to let her baby know she had tried. But even with such convictions, her limbs remained heavy against the sand.