“What an odd grouping of people,” the Margrave said, joining us. I was jolted by her change in appearance. A gnarled metal beak twisted off center from where her nose used to be. The top of her perfect upper lip was split now, showing a glimpse of metal beneath. Then there was her waist, well, what was left of it. Layers of dark silver, like torn plating, made up her impossibly thin abdomen. “Historian Kestrel, meet Commander Kestrel.”
My lips parted, breaking my carefully manicured facade. He eyed me suspiciously.
“Any relation?” she asked innocently, turning her sunken eyes at him.
“My only relation is my service to Prince Raserion,” he said.
“Indeed,” she said smoothly. “And in your previous life, did you have relatives on Mount Yumin?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he answered. “My biological family comes from Lockridge in Alstand.”
So, Kyle might not have been the only one with a family name rooted somewhere in the Outside World. Was it possible that me and this Commander really were related? How far apart had our lineage split after a seven hundred year separation? This meant my surname was ancient! I looked Commander Kestrel over. He was tall with olive skin and black eyes, and his tapered brown hair was straight. We were far from twins.
Even with an entire era separating our bloodlines, I was repulsed by the concept that my own family could be connected to a Commander in any way.
“Good,” the Margrave was curt. “Family entanglements cause trouble. You're dismissed, Commander. Be sure your senior students are ready for the tests tomorrow. We lost too many today.”
He inclined his head, and turned on heel to leave us.
A Commander for a teacher? I'd never complain about school again.
“So, Historian, I find you without your silver tongued escort,” she said to me. I had trouble not staring at the mutated wreck of her face. Between her height and poise, I felt so small, I may as well have been shrinking.
“He fell asleep,” I said.
“But not you.”
“I couldn't.”
“Passion drives you,” she told me. I wondered if she was wrong. “It was fortunate timing. You saw the Voice of the Prince, did you not?”
“Yeah,” I guessed. She must have been talking about the shadow man. If he was the Prince's voice, did that mean he wasn't the Prince, himself? I could only hope not. The thought of Prince Raserion being able to walk through walls would have given me nightmares for life.
“A rare treat for any Historian. I'll give you another. Come with me.”
* * *
“As you've studied, more than a year ago, a junior Commander by the name of Paul Stakes, staged a military coup de tat on Breakwater city. I'm sure you're familiar with the details by this point. I hardly need to tell you how wasteful the incident was. An entire installment fortress was razed to the ground. Lives precious to the war effort were lost. Commander Stakes had barely been stopped. It was shameful.
“The former Margrave, Vin Klein, had been the one to promote this lunatic to Commander. So, in his wisdom, Prince Raserion lifted me from senior Commander to Margrave. I drained my predecessor to complete the ascension. No power should ever be wasted. I heard that the mad Commander had been found burned to ash. Wasteful. He should have been captured and drained.”
We were walking down the ground level corridors and I felt as unnatural as a ghost cursed to haunt my own body. My face was carefully blank.
Sorry, Hest, it was my fault. I should have been gentler when I roasted the murderer that was trying to kill me.
“I had to make an impression. It was my first day as Margrave, and I knew I would be measured by it for the rest of my life. The Prince was furious about the losses we'd sustained at the hands of our own men. It was like a crack tarnishing fine china. All it takes is one person to change everything to right or ruin. I vowed that I would be the one to return us to our undiminished glory. We needed to send a message that we were still strong. The junior Commander was dead, the former Margrave was dead too, those were valid contributions. But on that first day of mine, the answer was clear as crystal.”
“Penalty,” I said for her.
“Yes. It's been ages since the last one. The common lords and their civilians were getting comfortable. The younger Dragoons were forgetting what we could do. It was the perfect solution. My Prince was pleased. He granted me a private audience and declared me an extension of himself. So, now you see why you are so lucky to have met me. Like Prince Raserion, I am the hero of your book. Not many Historians are provided with such intimate interviews. The glory of Breakwater's Penalty is mine to cherish, and my Prince's to keep.”
My body stiffened. She tied up the story so neatly, the silence that followed compelled me to speak. I was so disgusted by her brutally detached perspective that I was afraid I'd shout at her. Maybe she wanted me to thank her, or giddily blather about how lucky I was to have such an opportunity.
My thoughts rested on Rune's little sister Lina. He'd have done anything to protect her from his own fate, from becoming a Dragoon. “What happened to the children?” I asked, pretending not to be overly invested in their fate. I'd hoped my throat didn't sound as tight as it felt.
Hest appeared about as cheerful as her contorted face would allow. “I'll show you.”
C hapter 24: Nothing is Wasted
The children looked close to death. Though their individual features were different, every one of them showed the bruised eyelids of exhaustion, with cheeks either too pale from fear or too pink from crying. Their little bodies were bowed in a way that confirmed their fatigue. None smiled or spoke, but I could hear the occasional whine and whimper. If my guesses were any good, these kids weren't older than nine. I recognized one of them from the Breakwater stable.
We looked in at the hexagonal training room from a hallway window. The weak children sat and lay in a circle on the floor, none too close to any other. In the center, on a round wooden platform, was a dark skinned boy who sat on his legs, leaning like he was a tree about to fall. A ring of bronze spikes surrounded him, pointing outward.
This boy had the same Ability as Commander Stakes. I knew that he was an innocent and an entirely different person, but I recoiled all the same. My chest constricted with sympathy. The child had no choice in what they would turn him into.
“Testing them for Abilities takes some time. Those with strength are initiated, those without are consumed,” Margrave Hest said as casually as if she were talking about the weather or afternoon tea. She stood beside me like the sculpture of a predator, cruel and elegant. “These, of course, are some that showed skill. We separate them into different age groups for training.”
“What about the babies?”
“We're not here to play at surrogate mother. They might be years from using their Abilities, but they hold just as much energy as anyone else.”
“They’re drained?”
“Of course they are.”
I nearly gagged. A hot cold rush splashed up my skin and left me feeling feverish. I had to get out of here.
Easy, easy. She thinks we're friends... or kindred or something. It's better than being dead. Don't lose it, not yet.
I studied the boy on the platform to keep from imagining the horror she had described. A cloth bundle rested in his lap, and his arms crossed over it protectively. As his eyelids drooped, the metal spikes around him would shrink. Before they could disappear completely, he'd snap back into wakeful paranoia and the spikes would extend out to their full length.
“What's he doing?” I asked, wondering belatedly if I really wanted the answer.
“It's a basic exercise. After a full day of training, the boy in the center is given extra food, water and a blanket. The bag he holds contains more than he can eat. If he rations it, he'll be given the same prize tomorrow. The other children are more than a little hungry,” she smiled as if it were a game. “If he takes pity on any of them, he'll be punished. The rule applies to other
arenas of training. Help precludes advancement. They learn this way, that their only reward is resilience through solitude. Every tower is only as strong as its weakest brick.”
I got the feeling a punishment for sharing would be much worse than a slap on the wrist.
Hest's eyes drifted over the room. “Dragoons are allowed no friendships,” she said, echoing the words Rune had told me so long ago. “If the children below wish to save their stomachs from gnawing hunger, if they'd like to have extra nutrients for tomorrows training, they'll attempt to steal the rations, and hold the pedestal. They must first consider how they'll do this, and whether it’s worth risking their lives. It's a puzzle with a priceless reward. In seeing one another as competitors on a fundamental level, they will always strive harder to succeed. We include this concept in all training. Strength, endurance, pain tolerance. The strong become smarter, and the smart become stronger.”
“What about the weak?” I asked, failing at differentiating the children. They were all suffering, all starving. The boy in the center had a different kind of pain behind his drooping lids. He was not enjoying keeping the food away from the others. Some of them may have been his friends once.
“If they can no longer function, their strength feeds the war effort in the only way that it can. As I've told you, nothing is wasted,” she said with unabashed pride. “I remember my days beneath that dais. Hm. I'd never made it to the center. Nearly died over the first few nights. But I didn't, and here I am now, among the strongest, with all of the region as my pedestal.” She moved away from the window to settle her recessed eyes on me. “Once their instincts have long forgotten pity, compassion and friendship, we reintroduce cooperative drills. The main point is to disconnect them from one another.”
All I could do was nod. If my book had been a living thing, I would have squeezed it to death. My fingers were beginning to cramp.
Hest smiled as primly as a monster could. “Perhaps you'd like a demonstration?”
“No,” I said too quickly.
Please, no.
“Why, Historian Kestrel, we do drills like this at any given time. It will be no trouble at all, I insist.”
I nearly gave myself away. A tiny flicker of energy buzzed between the fingertips of my right hand. I couldn’t attack her. I’d never get out of the installment alive. Facing these poor kids, I almost didn’t care. If it weren’t for Haven, I probably would have attacked her that very second, screamed for the children to run, and died right there.
Margrave Hest reached toward the window, pointing up and drawing three sets of rings in the air. At first, I didn't know who she was gesturing to. A pair of Dragoons peeled themselves away from the corners of the room. I hadn't even noticed them there until they moved. One of them began to speak, and the children stirred. Some began to cry, but most went into a feral state. The boy sitting atop the dais looked terrified.
“They've announced that whoever claims the supply pack will receive a full day of food and rest,” the Margrave narrated.
The children scrambled to life, clawing, kicking and dragging over each other toward the center. The metal ring protected the boy in the center until someone conjured a rock and threw it at his temple, knocking him down. The metal ring shrunk until it vanished, and the brawling mass of children swarmed the platform to descend upon him.
I may as well have been at the bottom of the pile. I flinched with every kick, punch, and bite, with every rip of hair, or every face that collided with stone brick. This wasn't the scrappy tussle of rowdy kids, it was brutal. It was cruel. Some of them cried, even as they attacked one another. A lick of fire lashed up against one girl, and she tumbled to the ground, rolling to put it out. A narrow section of the flagstone floor boiled up like water and solidified to grip another boy's ankle. The displays of Abilities were small in scale, but no less devastating to their adversaries.
A red-haired boy with an eye that was swollen shut burst from the gang, clutching the pack to his chest. He was victorious, but he didn't celebrate. He just breathed like he might fall over at any moment.
“Ah! We have a winner,” the Margrave said cheerily. “Oh, but we have a loser as well.”
As the group broke apart, I saw a small, blonde-haired girl sitting over the boy who'd originally defended the supplies. She was forcing the others away from him. She was defending him. One of the Dragoons walked through the crowd of children who swayed and stumbled with exhaustion, and gripped her tightly by the shoulder. He dragged her from the room.
I hated myself in that moment. My vision spun, and I put a hand against the wall for support. That morning, I'd left my friends behind, I'd trespassed through a battle zone, I'd been rescued by a man that died beside me, I'd seen a burst of blue fire that rekindled my hope, and I'd come here, to Cape Hill.
How could so many things happen in the span of one day? Now, I watched a little girl being dragged away from the scene of the worst tragedy yet, bound for the punishment of displaying her compassion, her humanity. I hated myself for watching it happen, and for not being able to do a single thing to help her.
Secretly, I imagined them all in Haven, smiling and playing along the Wendy River, the way I had when I was their age. Sunlight would pour down between the pine trees, the air would be crisp without being cold, and the water would be refreshing. They'd be happy, free spirited, innocent. It was as if picturing them living in peace would protect them somehow. I knew that it was feeble, that it wouldn't accomplish anything, but it was all I could do. Maybe it was a farce, created to cushion my own fragile mind; maybe the guilt of my position would have destroyed me if not for my imaginings. Who was I really protecting?
“Well, that was a pleasant diversion,” Hest said, driving me from my state of shock back into reality. The oppressive force of her presence was enough to sober me. Looking up at the metallic ruin of Margrave Hest made my skin crawl like I'd grabbed a handful of biting spiders. This was what these children had to look forward to, if they were to have any future.
Hest settled a claw on one of my shoulders and turned me back the way we'd come. I walked back to the main set of stairs with her in a sort of haze. We passed a great many Dragoons, who each displayed their deference until we moved away. “What did you think of your visit?”
I considered my words carefully. “It was incredible.”
Incredibly horrifying.
Until I'd met Commander Stakes, I thought evil was a word reserved for storybooks and legends. Now I saw it as a disease that had ravenously infected the Outside World.
“And have I succeeded at enriching you?”
“More than you know,” was my honest response. Her kindness toward me was baffling, but it was a flimsy disguise against her ruthless and inhuman nature. I was beyond disgusted, offended, angry, or afraid. What would you call such a state of being?
“Good. Kestrel, Kestrel,” she said idly. “And what a strange bird you are. When your volume is complete, I simply must be the first to read it.”
“Of course,” I said with growing discomfort. Why had her tone changed?
I was so close to the stairs that would carry me back to the Gold Palace, I could almost feel a tangible promise of safety, my mother's fate temporarily forgotten. Hest blocked my path at the last moment. A short distance behind her, Commander Kestrel watched us, and slid a fearsome helmet over his head. It curved down to a point at the middle of his chest, like a bird with its beak to the ground.
“A girl so much like myself. You know, I'd be quite upset if you lied to me, Historian.” She reached out to grasp my wrist with her one human hand. I nearly resisted, and thought better of it. She reached out with her warped metal talons, and used a single claw to tear a gash across the back of my hand. Blood swelled over the surface, running warm down my wrist.
I gasped, crying out at the sudden pain, and wrestled my hand away. A resounding boom, similar to one the cannons had made on the battlefield, rattled the installment for an instant, but Hest was not distrac
ted by it. The ground shook beneath my feet.
Letting my hand go, she smiled at me. “I must be the first to read it,” she repeated. “And this way, you'll never forget.”
Chapter 25: Commander Kestrel
Moonlight flooded over me, and the plush filigree rug at the foot of my window. Between the silvery glow of the moon and the yellow city lights, there wasn't a star in sight, at least not from where I was laying on the floor.
As soon as Margrave Hest had left to investigate the strange sound we'd heard after she cut me, I raced back to the Gold Palace and my room. After five flights of stairs, I was sure my heart was going to rupture and leave a filthy corpse on the floor for the grounds keepers to clean up. As it turned out, I lived.
Following a bath, I may as well have been a freshly scented corpse, complete with a luxurious resting place on the rug. I'd used strips of cloth from the washroom to bandage my left hand where the Margrave had cut it.
I'd returned to find Dylan in his bed, piled under a mountain of blankets, with his muddy comforter on the floor. A tray with food crumbs was at his bedside. There was nothing left for me. When I'd gone to my room, I found my bed stripped of all its coverings. In addition to being ransacked, a bucket of water had been dumped on it. There was a note that read:
Dear Prankster,
Next time you go out, be kind and fetch me a bagel. Sleep well.
Yours,
~D
I’d found a single square throw-pillow and screamed into it until I grew dizzy. I wasn’t angry about Dylan’s retaliation. It was seeing those children, thinking about Lina Thayer, and knowing I couldn’t do a thing to help them that drove me to new heights of anguish. I don’t know how long I paced the room, hot streams of tears rolling down the edges of my face, before I went numb and laid down.
I didn’t need a bed. After everything I'd seen that night, there was no way I'd be able to fall asleep. Besides, the rug was surprisingly comfortable.
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