Though she didn’t know Allentrian runes, she had a feeling the book might prove useful. The apothecary had mentioned it contained ancient prophecies. Maybe she’d find another piece of the puzzle.
“Veils on,” Cezon instructed as they entered the outskirts of the city. Farms and houses lay scattered here, but ahead Keriya could see an ordered grid of well-kept roads. She and Seba donned their masks without complaint.
“Sorry, Your Grace,” said Endred, offering Max a third veil. “You’ll be recognized, and Cezon wants to reach the palace without trouble.”
Max, who had elected to walk beside Keriya, took the veil and slid it over his head. “Not much longer,” he assured her, linking his arm through hers. Behind them, Keriya heard Seba let out a harassed and angry humpf.
They stopped before the white wall encircling the inner city. Keriya, who’d heard several of Cezon’s aliases when she had first traveled with him, was interested to hear what story he would concoct to get them inside. She was surprised when he sauntered up to the gatehouse and announced himself to the guard.
“Cezon Skyriver, member of the Border Patrol,” he said, digging in a pocket of his tunic and flashing a shiny badge at the man. “Here to report shifters to the king.”
“That’s not protocol,” said the gatekeeper, though he opened the wrought-iron gates for them. “You should deliver criminals to your officers.”
“Got separated from our group,” Cezon said lightly. “Figured it was easier to bring ’em here.”
The gatekeeper shrugged and they passed him, entering Vendale. People in fancy dress bustled about. Horseless carriages hovered along the streets, bobbing gently as they were borne along by what Keriya assumed were airmagic spells.
They approached a gleaming cylindrical skyscraper. It was half-hidden in cloud, making it impossible to tell how tall it was. Cezon dismounted and gestured for Iako and Seba to do the same. They handed the horses’ reins to a pair of men who stood watch outside.
“In,” said Cezon, herding them through glass doors that slid open noiselessly. There was a smaller cylinder at the core of the building, which Cezon entered. Keriya hesitated, a tingle of unease working its way down her back.
“It’s alright,” Max whispered as he led her inside. There was nothing in the room, and its barren floor was dimly lit by a pinprick of light from high above.
“What is this?” Keriya asked as a second set of glass doors slid down to lock the group in. It was cramped with six. “Why are we—”
She cut herself off with a gasp as they lurched upward. It was as though a great weight were pressing on her, compressing her spine and dragging at her stomach. Above, the point of light grew steadily larger. She glanced down and saw the floor hadn’t moved with them—it was a hundred heights away. They were flying on nothing but thin air.
Before she had time to panic about the lack of ground beneath her feet, their motion slowed and stopped. Keriya was left gaping down the empty shaft of the skyscraper.
Max tugged gently on her arm. She took a few jerky steps backward, and then she was on solid marble. They’d come to another round room with a domed ceiling and archways that led in four different directions.
Cezon was already striding along a window-lined hall flooded with light. Keriya, who was completely disoriented, followed. Where were they? Surely the top floor of the skyscraper couldn’t be this big.
She squinted through the crystal panes as she passed by the first large window and froze. Her heart fluttered in her chest. They were above the thick mists that shrouded the Erastate, and she could see a city—not a city of man, but a city of clouds. Sweeping, fluffy mountains and valleys shone with golden sunlight. They drifted peacefully across the sapphire firmament, their swirling edges shadowed with deep blues and purples.
Keriya noted with another drop of her stomach that the building in which they stood was anchored to a cloud. She could see wispy tendrils of an opaque, white mass snaking up the outside walls like vines.
“Move it!” Cezon snapped from ahead. Keriya hurried to join him, drinking in the view as she went. Was this what Thorion saw when he flew so high that her human eyes could no longer discern his sparkling form?
Cezon had arrived at the end of the hall by this time. A herald scuttled from a corner to intercept him as he reached for the gilded handle of an immense door.
“May I ask who—”
“Outta my way,” said Cezon, shoving the smaller man aside. “I got business with the king.”
The herald’s protests went ignored as Cezon threw the door open. He strode in like he owned the place.
Keriya belatedly realized they were in the palace. A wide chamber lay before her, lined with marble pews where officious-looking men sat holding stacks of papers. Diamond chandeliers dangled from the rounded ceiling, but they weren’t lit. There was no want for light, for a wall of spotless glass curved around the circular throne dais, giving the occupants of the room a magnificent view of the cloudscape.
The king himself was standing on the tiled floor, conferring with a military man. He wore a simple gold crown and white robes, but there was an aura of power about him. He looked up at the disturbance.
“Your Highness,” Cezon proclaimed, sinking to one knee in a dramatic bow. “Cezon Skyriver at your service, reporting from the border. I come here today with—”
The king wasn’t listening. His steely gaze shifted from Cezon to Max. With a resigned slump in his shoulders, Max pulled off his veil. Keriya was struck by how similar they looked. King Windscoure wore his blond hair down to his shoulders, and it had grown silvery with age. There were deep furrows etched into his brow and around his blue eyes, but his features were eerily similar to his son’s.
“Maxton,” he said, slicing through Cezon’s blabbering. “I’ve been expecting you. Five months late; that’s a new record.”
“Ah . . . yes, as you see, we’ve found the prince and returned him to you,” said Cezon. “We’re members of the Border Patrol, and we—”
“I know what you’ve done.” Windscoure’s voice was harsh, the bark of a man who knew his every word to be law. “You are under arrest.”
Guards appeared, marching in behind Keriya. She was tempted to laugh. This was just like the last time Cezon had offered her to the government, on which occasion he had also been arrested.
“What?” Cezon shrieked. Iako was cowering and Endred was raising his hands in surrender, but Cezon seemed truly shocked at this turn of events. “What for? Look, we also brought you the kidnapped princess and . . .” He leapt at Keriya and yanked the veil from her head. “The Dragon Speaker herself!”
“You killed six of my men in doing so,” Windscoure snapped. “Not to mention you let the actual dragon escape.”
“How do you know that?” said Cezon. “I mean, what? We would never—”
“I know everything that goes on in my kingdom,” Windscoure informed him. “Throw them in the tower cells.”
“No!” Keriya’s cry echoed in the sudden silence as everyone turned to her. She shrank away from the king’s appraising glare. Her throat went dry—she remembered he had a price on her head, and he wanted her for his own purposes.
“Keriya, these men are criminals,” said Windscoure. Far from comforting her, his use of her name put her on edge. “They killed members of the Erastatian militia and attacked you.”
“Well . . . I mean, Endred’s alright,” she mumbled.
“Cezon’s alright, too,” Cezon piped up. “I kept ‘em safe! Brought ‘em all the way from the Naetren Mountains.”
“Under duress, I’m sure,” said the king. “Still, you’ve served your purpose. I have what I need.” He looked Keriya up and down. “Half of what I need.”
“That’s right!” Cezon seized on the king’s improved demeanor. “We did it out of the goodness of our hearts. We want to serve and p
rotect the Erastate. But a token of gratitude, Your Highness, would be appreciated.”
Cezon had some nerve, Keriya thought, as the king focused on him again. If Windscoure had been looking at her like that, she would have jumped out the nearest window.
“In all fairness,” she said in a small voice, “they did treat us well.”
“Master Skyriver,” the king said coolly, “to show my gratitude, I will not hang you. I will merely dismiss you with a warning that if you put so much as a toe out of line, the three of you will be executed without trial.”
Cezon squawked and squabbled with the guards as they drove him from the throne room. Iako and Endred went quietly; Endred even offered her a nod as he passed. She waved farewell to him, feeling more miserable by the moment.
“This is hardly how I’d hoped you would arrive, but fate works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” Windscoure said once Cezon and his men were gone. “It seems we are one guest short. Where is Lord Thorion?”
Keriya bit her lip. She’d known this was coming, but she hadn’t bothered to plan her speech.
“Sire, I’m sure you’ve heard stories about what Thorion did in the Galantasa, but what happened in Irongarde and Sairal wasn’t his fault. He . . .” She faltered, partially because she wasn’t sure how people would react to her next words, partially because those words were so hard to say.
“He was infected by darksalm during the attack on the Galantrian Village. Every accident that has happened is therefore the fault of the Shadow’s poison within him. When we were attacked by the Border Patrol, I told Thorion to run. I told him to find a way to save himself, and I haven’t heard from him since.”
The king appeared unruffled by the revelation about the darksalm, though people in the pews put their heads together and began conferring in hushed voices.
“I invite you to stay with us, Keriya, and summon Lord Thorion to the palace so that I may speak with him directly about this matter.”
“I—but . . . what?” Keriya had been prepared to fight, to defend her story and her drackling’s honor, but Windscoure had taken it in stride. It was too easy. “Sire, I can’t. On our journey, we learned of a possible way to cure him. I sent him away so he could work on—”
“We have many expert healers,” Windscoure interrupted, “as well as a library filled with knowledge. All of this will be at Lord Thorion’s disposal when he arrives.”
There was a note of finality in his voice that Keriya was all too familiar with. More uniformed men drew near and ushered her toward the doors.
“Maxton, Sebaris, I am pleased to see you safe,” the king went on. “You may retire to your quarters, as I’m sure you’ll want to rest after your travels. Keriya, my servants will escort you to your guest room.”
“Excuse me, Sire, are you planning to send me home?” This came from Seba. It was the first time she’d spoken since arriving in Vendale.
“My dear,” said the king, “this is as much your home as it is ours. I insist that you remain.”
Seba’s cheeks lost what little color was left in them as she allowed herself to be led away. Max said nothing, and Keriya noted that he couldn’t meet his father’s eye.
Since neither of them was fighting their abrupt dismissal, nor asking any of the hundreds of questions that ought to be asked, Keriya stopped outside the doors and called to the king, “Why do you want Thorion so much?”
Again her words sent mutters through the crowd. She was sure they were commenting on her poor manners and presumption.
“There’s an old saying from ages ago,” said Windscoure, smiling at her indulgently. “While it’s more of a metaphor, I’m sure you’ll be able to appreciate it: ‘He who commands the dragons, commands the war.’”
With that, the doors slammed shut, blocking the king from Keriya, who suddenly felt as if her innards had turned to ice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Power weakens the undeserving.”
~ Embre Osli, Second Age
A herald woke Keriya at dawn the next morning to inform her that His Royal Highness would see her in the throne room at noon. This gave her time to take a bath, which she had neglected to do yesterday; clean her clothes, which she hadn’t done since leaving the Naetren Basin; and brush her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to do in months. She found a tortoiseshell comb on the bureau and yanked it through her tangled tresses. Every brushstroke echoed the single thought running through her head: trapped.
Well, she’d faced worse than Windscoure in her journeys. He could throw her in those tower cells for all she cared—she wouldn’t summon Thorion away from his task.
The herald returned to collect Keriya a few minutes before noon. He led her through a maze of halls and staircases until she was thoroughly lost. Finally they passed the domed pavilion of the skyscraper chute and reached the long corridor that led to the throne chamber.
“You may wait by the doors,” the herald told her as he swept away in a pompous manner. “The king will call you when he is ready.”
Not even the view of the clouds whisking across the sky could lighten Keriya’s mood. No one was waiting to greet her, so she shuffled down the hall, prolonging her agony. When she heard raised voices wafting toward her, she realized the doors had been left ajar.
“—dare speak to me in such a tone!” That furious voice belonged to Windscoure. Someone replied and Keriya inched closer, straining to catch the words of the second speaker.
“Concerned, are you?” Windscoure barked a mirthless laugh. “Where was the concern for your kingdom? You’ve been content to go cavorting across Allentria these last few years without a thought for us. You’ve forsaken your duties, and for what? You claimed your studies would help the Erastate, but I’ve yet to see you contribute anything worthwhile to our cause.”
The second voice murmured something too softly for Keriya to hear. She was at the doors now, and leaned her ear to the crack between them. She had a suspicion who the quiet voice belonged to.
“. . . everything I’ve done has been in the interest of helping our state.” It was Max. He sounded furious too, but his was a soft and subtle anger. “Not just our state, but all of Allentria. I don’t want a war, I want change.”
“Change comes at a price.”
“That price doesn’t have to be the blood of innocents,” Max countered.
“Your friends are hardly innocent,” his father sneered.
Dread pulsed in Keriya’s chest like a poisoned heartbeat. Those words had a familiar ring to them.
Silence spiraled, dark and sinister; then Max asked, in a voice so quiet that Keriya almost missed it, “What did he offer you? Gold? Land? Power? You have more than enough of all three.”
“Choose your next words carefully, Maxton. Don’t think you’re above the law. I’ll happily throw you in a cell with your Border Patrol associates. Your mother was too soft with you. If I’d had more of a hand in your upbringing, you’d understand the ways of the world and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Mother taught me to think for myself. You are everything that’s wrong with the old world, and you’re a fool if you think you’ll have a place in the new world when it comes.”
There was the telltale echo of footsteps. Keriya jumped back so it wouldn’t look like she’d been eavesdropping.
“Defy me one more time and you will rue the day you were born,” Windscoure roared. “I will strip you of your titles and wealth. You’ll be lower than the meanest Northport peasant.”
“Unlike you, Father, I have no desire to rule and no delusions that I deserve to.” The door creaked open and Max slipped into the hallway. He froze when he spotted Keriya.
“You might have everyone else fooled, boy, but I see through you!” The king continued yelling from the other side of the doors. “All you’ve ever wanted is power—power to bring about your precio
us change.”
Keriya opened her mouth and Max pressed a finger to his lips, warning her to stay silent.
“Believe of me whatever you will,” he called into the throne room. “There are better ways to change the world than sitting in a glass room and sending men to kill your neighbors.” He yanked the door shut and hurried to Keriya’s side. “Let’s go,” he hissed.
“The king summoned me—”
“You’re not safe around the king.” They turned right at the pavilion and stole down the hall that led to the west wing.
“I didn’t mean to spy,” Keriya said after they’d walked for a while in excruciating silence.
“How much did you overhear?”
“Enough. Did you accuse your father of being a shadowbeast?” Windscoure hadn’t died and been resurrected, but she didn’t know how else to describe someone who had willingly allied himself with Necrovar. Traitor and idiot failed to capture the scale of the situation.
Max’s lips thinned and his eyes tightened. The grim expression added lines to his face, which made him look even more like his father. “He hasn’t pledged his soul to Necrovar. He’s operating on his own free will, which is worse.”
Keriya had never had a real family, and she couldn’t imagine what Max was going through. Erasmus was the closest thing to a parent she’d ever known, but he had treated her like an apprentice rather than a daughter. How must it feel to be betrayed by the person who was supposed to love you most?
“Harvim Windscoure has never been a good king,” said Max. “No matter what he has, he always wants more. He’ll be used as a pawn in the Shadow’s plans and cast aside. Necrovar is preying on his weaknesses. I just don’t understand why.”
“Because Necrovar is evil,” she declared.
The creases disappeared from Max’s face as it relaxed into an expression of sorrow. “After all you’ve seen and done, Keriya, do you think that’s a proper explanation?”
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