Monarch (War of the Princes Book 3)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  Dylan didn't move from the fireside. “Easy now. We're all friends here.” There was an emphasis on the word, “friends” that made it sound suspiciously contrary to its meaning.

  Half back peddling, half walking, Kyle collapsed into his seat on the bench. He took in several deep breaths and rubbed his eyes. “I'm still me. I'd never hurt anyone, least of all my friends. I can't even kill a bug without feeling guilty.” He was quiet now, rambling, letting his emotions dissipate. “This is like a nightmare, you know? Worse than the fire. It's like everyone has turned against me. I didn't mean to yell at you.”

  “It's okay,” I said, but I wasn't sure.

  “There may be more going on here than we realize.” I didn't expect Dylan to be the one to come forward with a point, but he did. “A handful of weeks ago, Miss Kestrel thought we were tracking her mother, but it had been a Haven Professor all along. I believe you're telling the truth, Katelyn, but this could be a trick.”

  “A trick how?” I didn't enjoy being reminded of how easily my real mother had strung me along.

  “We can't be sure. I'm just pointing out that there's a possibility we're being fooled somehow. A detail we're unfamiliar with, history, an Ability.” Dylan shrugged. “So you met Kiteman twelve years ago. He couldn't have been the only child to move to your home city from a different town. What else did that general have to say about it? That he was adopted? It's a nice way to rattle a prisoner at knife-point, but there's no evidence.”

  Kyle's eyes brightened, and some of the tension in the room lifted.

  My head spun. No matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn't understand how the Pull could be manipulated to make me find Prince Varion when I looked at Kyle. The alternative was even more unbelievable. All I knew was that if Kyle wasn't Varion, I wouldn't have to worry about my agreement with Raserion.

  Raserion would know.

  But that would take turning Kyle in and hoping for the best. I wasn't convinced that Raserion would just let us go once he'd gotten what he wanted. And if he mistook Kyle for Varion too? I didn't want to think about what would happen then.

  I felt sick, but I held my emotions in a death-grip. I wouldn't be stupid and cry or complain or run.

  “The likelihood that our friend here is Prince Varion Argent is one in a million at the least. Not to mention, you're a little slight-of-frame to be the giant of the North. Varion's height and girth have been depicted for centuries. They say he's not even human. At the very least you should be a mirror image of the prince's bodyguard, and I just don't see it.”

  Rune scratched at his bottom lip as he thought. “If Varion could control his Ability to age, he may be able to alter his size and physique.”

  Dylan seemed amused by Rune's statement. With his flawlessly tailored clothing, noble features, and cavalier attitude, he looked like he belonged in one of the paintings on the walls. “Well. Go ahead, Dragoon, clip the only two threads of sanity he has left.”

  “What?” Rune asked, blundering straight through Dylan's efforts at tempering Kyle's stress levels. “It doesn't make a difference in the case of Kiteman being the prince or not. The real Varion could still be in Haven. His Abilities were said to be the most powerful in existence– anything is possible. If he is still at large, we should learn as much as we can about what he's capable of.”

  “I've never met anyone who could change their shape,” Dylan said skeptically.

  “And have you ever met a prince?” Rune asked.

  Dylan retrieved the poker and smothered several coals with it.

  “I thought as much.”

  Kyle sat on the bench, looking off the edge of the balcony. His legs were bouncing like he had too much energy pent up within him. “I can't do this anymore.”

  I'd just begun to return to a state of normalcy. Dylan's points about Varion were more than noteworthy. I wanted them to be true, and I didn't like Kyle's tone.

  “This is all wrong.” Pushing himself back onto his feet, he turned to me. “Kat, there's something I need to tell you and I won't feel right until I do. It's about Sterling.”

  I didn't get the chance to hear him out.

  A crackling sound came from the wall of paintings and vases. The pinstriped wallpaper began to curl and peel away. Pieces sloughed free and glided to the floor as the barren wood panels began to pucker. A dark hole bloomed in the wall, and before Rune could get ahead of me, a spear launched through the opening– its point splitting into the three prongs of a trident– and sliced on either side of my throat, pinning me to the wall.

  Chapter 42: To Watch Wallpaper Peel

  I gasped, feeling the sharp pain at two points of my neck. My vision darkened, my ears rang, and my hand shot up to the weapon, groping at it to discover if it had struck a killing blow. Shock padded my senses, but my fingers told me that I hadn't been impaled. Two of the three prongs had narrowly missed killing me, and had embedded themselves in the wall behind me. I forced my breathing to remain as slow as I could as the room around me came back into focus.

  We were under attack. There was fighting. It happened so fast. A square-jawed Hussar stalked through the opening toward me. My hands curled around the trident, and the left branch that trapped my neck. It was made of wood. Hussars often used spears that were made of the element they could manipulate. Wood. I'd faced that Ability before. I was stronger now.

  How dare these Hussars tear through the wall to attack us? Wasn't there enough going wrong? I barely had time to let my mind wrap around Kyle being the Prince of the North. I didn't have a spare second to consider how I'd deal with Raserion's very real threat of invasion against Haven, and I sure as hell didn't have a chance to eat in the past two days. All I wanted was to talk to my friends in private, eat something with a lot of gravy on it, and take a three-day nap. These idiots had no idea who they were messing with.

  The Hussar was close now. I could see his great, meaty hand reaching out to take hold of his spear and finish me off. The moron was smirking. I smiled right back at him, squeezing my grip on the spear. Electricity flashed from my core, tumbling up my arms and I pressed it close through my palms, focusing the energy. Without letting a single bolt show, I burned the pole, and squeezed until the charcoal crumbled in my hands. I stepped out of the broken trap, still grinning.

  The look on his face was worth the encounter. His eyes grew as wide as a pair of moons, and I could see that he was grappling with what to do next.

  A long time ago, Dragoon March had told me that one of the first rules of combat was to hide your Ability from your opponent and use it when they least expected it. I knew my enemy could control wood, and having fought Commanders and Margraves, I bypassed the advice with theatrical flair. I held out my arms, allowing them to burst with electricity, and shaping it into formidable patterns of gauntlet armor.

  He crouched, placing his palms on a bare spot of floor. The wooden floorboards leaped to life underfoot, growing like stumps around my ankles. I tugged to get away but the effort nearly toppled me over. All at once, the Hussar was sucked straight up into the air and slammed with crushing force against the ceiling. Without his connection to the floorboards or his consciousness, his grip on me slipped. I looked to my left and saw Dylan release him. The Hussar fell like a stone to the floor.

  The ruined patch of ground beneath me cracked and splintered, thinned by my attacker's use of it. What was left of the floorboard snapped, and I jumped away before it could collapse completely. I didn't move fast enough, and landed painfully on one knee. Long slivers drove into my shin and I hissed and clenched my teeth.

  I pulled myself onto my feet, ignoring the wound, and saw the extent of the battle that had just taken shape. Three other Hussars had flooded into the room, surging toward Kyle. The fire from the hearth roared free of its resting place, washing against the nearest Hussar like a wave. Dylan tossed Rune the fire poker, and in seconds, the metal blazed red-hot. He parried the flaming Hussar's spear, sending a shower of sparks to their feet, and placed
himself between Kyle and the onslaught.

  The flaming Hussar roared, and the both of them were suddenly engulfed in wind. At first, Rune's flames burned stronger, melting skin and armor, but the gale won in the end, blowing out the flames entirely.

  Rune's makeshift weapon glowed hotter than ever. He used his enemy's exertion, taking the split second of recovery to strike at him. The Hussar reacted fast enough to stop Rune from cutting down on him, but the hot end of the poker sizzled against his shoulder. He put his full weight against his spear, slamming Rune backwards into Kyle. With his palm out, the Hussar hit Rune full in the face with a cutting wind.

  Kyle shouted and Rune's eyes squinted closed against the powerful blast. I reached out, forming a bolt of lightning in my hand and was grabbed by the shoulder from behind.

  The last thing I saw before being wrenched away was Dylan grinning wickedly at the burned Hussar. “Isn't there something you'd rather be doing?”

  The man looked horrified as he peeled away from Rune and Kyle, took a running start, and flung himself off the ballroom balcony.

  The Hussar who grabbed me was laughing. His breath was horrible and he was missing his front teeth. When he saw what Dylan had done to his comrade, he stopped smiling. “Commande–” I interrupted his warning with a blossom of lightning to the chest and pushed him off of me.

  Dylan stalked up to meet the third Hussar. The soldier swung his spear around him and launched it at Dylan's neck. The Lord of Breakwater didn't even attempt to dodge the attack. The spear soared straight up into the air, hanging overhead. “Oh, you'll have to do better than that.”

  The Hussar walked to the broken section of the floor against his will, and, predictably, crashed through the damaged wood. I had nearly met the same fate moments ago.

  “Too easy.” Dylan turned back to look at Rune and Kyle. The hovering spear clattered to the ground behind him.

  “What?” Rune said, the corner of his mouth curving up. The poker was still in his hand, and he stepped around the wreckage, seeming unconvinced that the fighting was over. “I could have taken them.”

  Dylan laughed. “You'll have to be quicker about it next time.”

  “You can't turn it into a competition, you're a Commander!” I objected. The banter helped me keep my mind off the pain in my leg.

  Dylan grinned and flicked the long strands of blond hair from his eyes. “I can do whatever I want.”

  Kyle groaned. “They were here to kill me and you've made my survival into a game. Thanks guys.”

  My leg throbbed and thin streams of blood trickled from my splinters. I drew air in through my teeth, glaring down at the inconvenient injury.

  “A little rivalry never hurt anyone,” Dylan said.

  “You threw one person off the balcony and another through the floor,” I pointed out.

  “I don't see where the problem is.”

  Through the dark and gaping hole in the side of the wall, came the marching sound of many feet.

  “You might want to pay attention, Axton,” Rune said, posturing for another fight. “Those weren't our only visitors.”

  Chapter 43: The Lord of Caraway

  A voice came through the opening in the wall. “Did you really think that by swatting away a few of my Hussars, you'd win?”

  “Yes,” Rune answered the voice. He crept forward and held a hand out behind him, ordering Kyle to stay where he was.

  I skirted around the unconscious body at my feet and headed for Kyle. Supposed likeness to Prince Varion or not, he didn't have an Ability that he could fight with, and I wouldn't lose him the way I lost Sterling.

  “They were young, weak, unblooded. I'll not miss them.” It was Lord Headly's voice that spoke through the darkness. Clever as he was, he didn't dare show himself. “So, there's a Commander in your midst. I have some seasoned fellows at my side who have faced a Commander before.”

  “Some protection we have here.” Dylan complained, sliding out of his slightly scuffed coat. Even for the rough handling he'd taken, the garment was no worse for wear. He folded it and laid it down on an end table. Midway through a fight with the Lord of the Northern capital, he was worried about a jacket. “What happened to our guards?”

  Dylan ducked as a body flew through the break in the wall. Nearly colliding with him, it smashed into the fireplace mantle and nearly rolled to the hole in the floor. The body was Hussar Prie. Blood had turned her long cinnamon braid pink. She'd been battered badly, but still struggled up on all fours.

  “What guards?” Headly asked musically.

  Hussar Prie spat blood on the ground, glaring up at the sound of Headly's voice.

  Unaware or unfazed by her display of hatred for him, he continued speaking. “I'm not sure how you conduct your business in the West, but here in the North a handful of treasonous traitors hardly constitutes a guard. Caraway is my city. She obeys my every wish, folds to my most trivial whim and obeys my every order with violent accuracy, and you– you are but trespassers in my home.”

  Prie crumpled back down on the floor, overcome by her injuries. “He's bluffing,” came her ragged whisper. “He couldn't bring a large complement without exposing them to the truth. If we told them, they might listen. You are Prince Varion.”

  I stole a glance back at Kyle. He was backing up, pressing himself closer to the corner that met the balcony. He looked like he was searching for an escape route. There was none.

  “This does not need to end in a fight.” Headly sounded trustworthy and diplomatic, but I remembered his pointed smile. “I'm sure it's all been a misunderstanding. Simply kill your Commander, and we'll have a nice, peaceable talk.”

  Rune sniffed, glancing back at Dylan. Slowly, he stooped to retrieve the discarded Hussar spear, and weighed it in his right hand. Dylan's perfect lips were turned down in a frown of resignation. For a heartbeat I was afraid of what Rune might do. Dylan hadn't exactly given him reasons for loyalty.

  Rune stepped forward, away from Dylan, and his body turned in flawless alignment. His arm drew back, his torso tilted, and he fired the spear with deadly force into the mouth of the torn wall. It cut through the air with a low whistle and disappeared into the darkness.

  The hit landed, striking with the sickly wet sound of metal sinking into flesh.

  “We don't have a Commander.” Rune's blue eyes shined, and he smiled as though he was nothing more than Headly's friendly neighbor. “Come on in.”

  Dylan sighed audibly and grinned at Rune. “Might have been wrong about you, puppet.”

  “Very good, Dragoon,” Headly's voice said, rich with amusement. “A perfect shot.”

  A body lumbered in through the opening, but it wasn't Headly. Instantly recognizable by his iconic armor and monotone skin, the Empty approached us. Like the others we'd seen in the hall, this one wore a mask of his own face. As serene as the dead, the mask was devoid of expression, but displayed the craggy forehead and cleft chin of the man who had once lived in that body. On his fists, he wore knuckle-guards, crested in pointed blades. He'd taken the spear directly through his stomach. The point skewered him through to the other side, and dark gray sludge dripped thickly from the tip.

  Rune cursed under his breath.

  “What have you done with General Deasun?” Dylan demanded.

  “Deadheart? I'm afraid we've had a falling out and he's been... detained. It's a pity he was so archaic in the end. We might have changed history together.”

  “You pathetic rat! You aren't half the man he is!” Hussar Prie shouted, climbing painfully up onto her feet.

  “That's because I'm not a mere man, sweet little soldier-girl. I'm a Lord, born and bred from the purest blood. That is something that Deadheart will never be.” Shuffling movement sounded from the darkness of the opening.

  Rune kept his eyes trained on the slow-moving Empty. “I wonder what Prince Raserion would think if he knew there was treason in the North.”

  Good, Rune. Keep him talking.

  Headly laughed
at that. “Son, there is no upheaval in this kingdom, and there are no points of weakness. I have been the ruler here for the past decade, chosen for this position by Prince Varion himself. Unlike his highness, I am mortal. Why shouldn't I keep this gift? Why shouldn't I have the chance to alter the course of history? What is one lifetime beside eternity? I was born to rule.”

  “Axton,” Rune hissed to the side. “We're going to have to fight.”

  “Really? I hadn't considered that,” Dylan sniped back sarcastically.

  “No. You don't understand, the–” Rune was cut off when the Empty charged forward at startling speed. Its dull eyes were locked onto him, unwavering, like its only purpose in life was to stop him from moving.

  “Out you go, Empty!” Dylan called to it. I figure he meant for it to sprint off the balcony, but the thing didn't alter course. In seconds it crashed into Rune.

  Rune spun to the side, narrowly avoiding the length of the spear that jutted from the Empty's stomach. Sweeping away, he grabbed the iron stand for the fire pokers and used it to block a series of cutting blows. He moved quickly, as though he'd foreseen every attack, ducking and battering the Empty with his makeshift weapon. It would have been enough against just about any other person, but the Empty felt no pain, and didn't tire.

  “The Command didn't work!” Dylan cried out, alarmed.

  “That's what I was trying to tell you!” Rune huffed, darting out of the brute's reach.

  The Spark roared within me, and I took a single step forward.

  “Kat, no–” Kyle said from behind me. “Your Ability won't be enough. Stay away from them.”

  Rune and the Empty were embroiled in close combat. Even if I struck out with lightning, I might hit both of them. Kyle was right. I was no physical fighter.

  The Empty caught on to the fireplace stand, twisting it from Rune's grip. Before he let go, Rune poured flames into the wrought iron, heating it until the Empty's flesh sizzled. Still, the gray soldier did not let go, finally wrestling it from his grasp and flinging the searing hot rack over our heads. I crouched as it tumbled to the ground and burned into the wooden floor.