AshesAndBlood

by Katie Zaber

  It was such a simple act. Is this how it starts? I make an excuse to act the part. Give orders that I shouldn’t but I deem them important until I kill thousands, even millions.

  Is this how my father became evil? Did he make too many tough decisions with good intentions, causing only more destruction? Good intentions start wars. Will I become him? I’ve been a Fae princess for less than a week and I have already killed two people. How long until I kill as many as the king? Will the killing ever end? Will the pain this kingdom endured over the years heal?

  Can anyone survive this much carnage?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Megan

  We ride in silence to the meadow we had sliced to earlier. No one speaks. Everyone looks stricken, in thought. Some are troubled, others confused. A few are questioning orders perhaps for the first, second, or third time in their lives. Possibly more. The young soldier whose torch I threw so he didn’t kill the elderly couple hangs his head. I’m not sure if he’s ashamed, disappointed, or disgraced that he wasn’t able to perform his task. Or that he realizes I asked him to murder two innocent lives. No one taunts him. All the men appear drained emotionally. It’s easier to kill an armed opponent, but much harder to kill a nonthreatening fragile couple.

  As we prepare to slice, I dismount and motion for Manadhon to follow me. We walk out of earshot. “Slice me to my room, now.”

  Without hesitation, he grabs my hand and we’re instantly in his room. His eyes focus on his door, leading to my room. The other clasps mine. When he is certain no one is there, he releases my hand, opening the door and rushing through.

  “Kilyn!” I run to her chambers, fearing the worst. It’s possible one of the king’s spies has already reported my actions.

  Manadhon beats me to her bedroom door, and opens it to find her lying in her bed face down, her body still. The blood drains from my face. Manadhon’s face hardens as he runs to her bedside. I can’t move from the threshold. His fierce, fast hands become gentle as he tenderly rolls her limp body over. I turn away and lean against the doorway, facing my room, and melt to the floor. I did this. I killed an innocent child.

  “Manadhon?”

  I gag and choke back the tears to hear her tiny voice. I’ve never felt so relieved. I scramble to her bed, gathering her to my chest and holding her tight. Tears pour down my face as I refuse to ease my grasp. She’s alive.

  “Megan, what’s wrong? What happened?” she squeaks, pulling away from me. She sees my face. Her eyes grow big.

  “Where are the bags?”

  She jolts up, pointing to under her bed. “I grabbed a pair of travel clothes for Manadhon too.”

  He kneels down and grabs the three backpacks, opening the first and inspecting the contents.

  “Where?” Manadhon asks in a monotone voice.

  “Are you coming or dropping us off?” I stare hard. His polished cold steel eyes stare back.

  “Coming.”

  I touch his hand. He will never know what peace his presence brings. How much safer I feel with him by my side. “Take us to—”

  Pieces of wood from Kilyn’s hallway door burst apart. With lightning speed, a Fae with a solid gold torc and two drawn long daggers flies into Kilyn’s tiny chambers, slashing his blades through the air. Manadhon engages him before my eyes can catch up to speed. I shield Kilyn and push her into the far corner of the room, backed up against two sides of the wall. We are as far away as possible from the fighting, giving Manadhon more room to move.

  A second assassin storms in, also wearing a solid gold torc.

  Manadhon swings and blocks the first assailant’s attacks. Somehow, he sees the second attacker and throws something at his head, knocking him off balance. It gives his first opponent the chance to approach us.

  With the other dazed, Manadhon rushes back to the first fighter, slashing faster than my eyes can follow. A whirlwind of blades spin around the room, every stroke aimed to kill. The dazed and confused soldier repositions himself behind Manadhon. The first fighter notices and turns his back to me. The assassins have sandwiched Manadhon between them when a third foe wearing a gold torc rushes into the closet-sized bedroom.

  A tiny fist reaches around me, holding a little knife. I take it from her, targeting the right side of the assassin’s neck. The tiny knife slides into the man easily, cutting into his throat. He gurgles out a scream and in one clumsy motion, I hack the knife back until it hits one of his bones. Blood sprays everywhere, coating the walls, floor, and me in a sticky warm red. The man grows heavy in my arms. I let go of him, allowing him to crumple onto the ground in a pool of his own blood.

  Manadhon notices what I’ve done and repositions himself, blockings us from the two injured but standing men. His blades drip with blood. One opponent favors an arm, the other his leg. Manadhon doesn’t seem to have a scratch on him.

  The one with the bad arm advances. Manadhon blocks his strike, swiveling around and cutting into the man’s side. Then he kicks both feet into the air and launches off the man’s chest. The impact throws the perpetrator into the wall. Manadhon lands on both feet. Dropping low, he then dives into a roll as the last assailant attacks high. Crouched behind the assassin, Manadhon cuts into both ankles. The fighter loses his balance. Manadhon swiftly jumps up and stabs him in the back. The man drops to the ground, not making another sound.

  With our enemies either dead or dying, Manadhon runs across the room, sliding the backpack straps onto his shoulder, and grabs both of our hands.

  Suddenly the air is musty. I fight the impulse to sneeze from the dust. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness. It’s nighttime. “Did they hurt you? Where are we?”

  “I’m fine. Are you?” He pants, out of breath. His eyes search the both of us, alarmed at the amount of blood on me.

  “It’s not mine.”

  He nods and takes a deep breath in, regaining control of his breathing. “A barn, across from where I found you.”

  I walk to the window to see the familiar arch. The small house is dark and the barn house is void of light. No smoke comes from either of the chimneys. There’s no sign that anyone is home or alive. “I need to find them or what happened.”

  “I’ll check the house and surrounding area. I’m not sure if your father has it watched.” With that, he’s gone. He’s not injured, at least not enough to complain.

  I’m unsure if he’s mad or blames me for the dramatic change in his life. A week ago, he was a respected soldier, now he’s a traitor on the run. I couldn’t prepare either of us. If he blames me, he should blame the king for sending him here in the first place. I’m not sure what he thinks. He’s been quiet, lost in thought since we left Bayvillage—though there wasn’t too much time to talk without others overhearing.

  Poor Kilyn. She is free of slavery but has traded it for a life on the run and is now marked a traitor. I don’t know if I’ve helped or hurt her. She sits down in the corner of the musty barn, opening her sack as if double-checking that she has packed everything. Her hands tremble every few seconds. Dots of blood darken her forehead, contrasting against her pale skin. There are only a couple of spots on her arms. There should be none.

  “You’re free now. You’re no longer my handmaiden or slave. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

  Her amethyst eyes shine, hidden behind strains of wheat hair. “Really?”

  “Yes. You serve no one.”

  Her bright eyes make the dark, dank room, and everything I experienced, worth it.

  Manadhon reappears in front of me, giving me no hints to what he thinks or feels. “The area is clear. I’ll take you now.”

  We each take one of Kilyn’s hands as he slings the bags back over his shoulder, and we slice back to what was my temporary home.

  God, things change fast. So did this place. A week ago, it had beautiful sanded wood, polished to perfection, not splintered and in piles. Broken items that we took time creating have been placed in heaps. The same heaps from the night Manadhon took me. T
he house is cold and dusty. They either escaped that night or were killed. I should check for a note or something. There’s nothing in the main living room. I head for the stairs, and Manadhon follows.

  “Kilyn, I need to speak to Manadhon for a few moments. Can you please wait here? We won’t be long.” She nods and goes back to inspecting the living room, exploring the destruction.

  I head straight for my room, where I expect they left a message, if they could. Opening the door to my old room feels weird, like it was never mine. My condo was the first thing I owned besides my car. I earned it, worked hard, and designed it to my exact specifications. It’s not that I didn’t work my ass off building the barn house, it’s just not where I wanted to spend my life. The area doesn’t feel like home. Sunce felt homier in terms of environment with the beach and woods, plus the tension you can cut with a knife. It was almost like living with Mom and Chelsea again.

  As soon as my feet cross the threshold to my old bedroom, Manadhon clicks the door shut. In a flash, he turns, bracing me against the wall. He doesn’t choke me but holds me firmly in place by my shoulders, a half foot off the floor. He studies my face, my eyes, as if staring at my soul. I match his gaze. Our eyes combat each other, silver versus blue. Moments pass as we stand an inch apart, penetrating deep into each other’s minds. His arms release me and I drop to the floor, but neither of us moves. We continue to stare as if seeing each other for the first time, questioning everything we know while trying to understand.

  “Do you really want peace?” A single drop of sweat drips down his bloody brow. “Do you care so much about the kingdom that you would sacrifice your life, besides mine and Kilyn’s? What’s your goal?” He is a breath away. Close enough for me to feel the warmth from his words on my face. He smells metallic—not copper from the blood, but like melted steel, from wielding. Hot, fiery metal.

  “Peace. To undo every wrong my father committed. If I can’t correct, then repair. How many towns did he cover in tar? How many have succumbed to that fate?” Tears flood my eyes. “How much healing does the kingdom need?”

  His eyes melt. They are no longer solid steel, but they look softer, sadder. “I have heard their screams and cries, but as it happened.” He pauses. His own mind travels to dark times and places. “It’s everywhere. Everything he touches dies. I wouldn’t know where to begin. He started ten years ago, and he hasn’t stopped.”

  “Ten years ago, when he faked his death,” I’m barely able to choke out my words. My stomach twists. I dry heave, covering my mouth with my hands, and slowly slink down the bedroom wall. “Those were his soldiers. His royal guard. He sent them to kill me. He knows what I did in Barne. What am I doing? How can I bring peace to these lands?” No longer looking at him, I zone out and laugh. “I’m powerless against him. How can I kill him?”

  He sits down on the floor across from me. “You’re not powerless. But it was the king’s guard. They were slicers. I trained with them.”

  He just fought and killed his comrades, possibly friends, for me. I just killed one. “My father sent his guards to kill me. We killed them.” I go to wipe away tears and feel my face sticky with blood.

  “We did what we needed to survive.”

  “What about the couple I killed? I’m covered in their ashes, and his blood.”

  “They would have slowed the group, hindering their chances of escape. They have a long journey. The old couple wouldn’t have survived the first leg. You spared them pain and discomfort, besides being a burden on the group. They died in the comfort of their home, together. It was their last wish. You set them free. Once Ern and Gena tell the townsfolk, they will understand.”

  “Yes, but how many times can I use that excuse? I had to kill to save. How many times until I become my father? Lost in delusion, convinced I’m helping but murdering.”

  He reaches out with his handkerchief to wipe tears from my face. “The fact it rips you apart proves you’re nothing like him.”

  “How do you know? I can’t tell.”

  He leaves the bloody, tear-soaked handkerchief on his leg, takes both my hands into his, and traces his fingertips over my palms. “I can tell. I feel it when I touch your skin. You feel positive. The king feels negative. You save lives. He kills. He’s selfish. You’re selfless. You’re his opposite.” His fingers glide over my palms, making circles over and over, soothing my mind, calming my body. “I believe in you and many more will. People already assemble, plan, and prepare for war. Ern knew exactly where to go.”

  “You’re a rebel.”

  A grin flashes across his face before he grows somber again. “What gave it away?”

  “You’re honorable and chivalrous. It’s the way you compose yourself. You seemed deeply bothered by my father and Yellow Eyes. But also, today at the tar, I could tell he killed someone you loved. I’m sorry.”

  His fingers stop moving. “I’ve been a soldier for fifty-eight years. I’ve served under three kings and a queen, and none are as malevolent as your father. Slavery has been a part of Paradise Kingdom since before I was born, but your father has single-handedly increased the amount of orphans and slaves, doubling to tripling the slave industry. No one has been able to calculate how many he killed with his tar. My family was from a small town north of Sunce. The king tarred the town because he had heard a traitor took refuge there. He killed a town of people for one person.”

  I can’t tell if he was responsible or not. If he became a rebel before or after his family was killed. I don’t want to ask. No words can ease his pain. Nothing I can say can comfort him. I rub his hands in the same circular motion. Perhaps it will soothe him.

  “Can you kill your father?” he asks.

  I meet his gaze and don’t divert. “Yes. The man who raised me is dead. He died ten years ago and is buried far away. The monster who reigns over Paradise is not my dad. I have no emotional connection to the king.” I stare at the smashed bedroom furniture. “But Mana… sorry Manadhon, I don’t how to beat him. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You can call me Mana. No one has in years. It stung, brought back memories.”

  “Did I ruin your life?”

  “My life has always been hard, but today you saved a town of people. They would be dead without you. We need to travel far from here and reach the Gold Coast. It will be easier to blend in there. Fae and human live side by side. It’s safer there. We’ll make a plan and contact the rebels.” He pauses. “Who’s Chelsea?”

  An alarm goes off in my head. How does he know about Chelsea? Did I slip? “Who?”

  “When you listed people that he hurt, you said ‘For my mom, Chelsea, friends, and family.’ Who is Chelsea?”

  “No one.”

  “A lie. Don’t lie to me. It won’t work.”

  “My little sister. I won’t lie unless it keeps people safe.”

  He nods. “I had a little sister too.”

  I think of Chelsea. The way she rolled her eyes, the way she annoyed the hell out of me. How strong-willed and how smart she was. Fuck, I miss her. I never thought I’d admit it. I didn’t even think it was possible to miss her, but I do. I even miss Mom. Her once-a-year smile, the way she would braid my hair when her hands stopped shaking, and how she hummed a tune no one knew.

  My eyes finally adjust to the darkness. Something lies on the floor behind Mana. I get on my hands and knees and crawl over to it. Mana slides around to see a pile of ash spread out across the floor, drawn into a picture.

  “They stole my idea.”

  “What does it mean?” Mana’s eyebrows scrunch. The scar wrinkles as he stares at the drawing, scratching his chin, trying to figure out the riddle.

  “They’re alive. I know where they went.”

  The first symbol of the crude caveman art could be a horse or donkey. The next drawing is the backside of a woman with an arrow pointing at her ass—presumably Kevin’s idea. Then a plus sign and what looks like a log cabin. It makes me smile.

  “They’re at the jackass�
�s cabin.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Megan

  It’s odd how a pile of ash can stir such intense emotions. I trace my fingers over the finger art and remember the first early morning that I used it to write. I had thought myself clever, a tease, even cute. I don’t think I can ever use ash for anything trivial again.

  Did the Mara warn me about the fire and ash, foretelling my future? Ash falling from the sky, the world I know on fire, everyone I love dead. Was it an omen of what’s coming? What does the skeleton dragon, diving to devour me while darkness swallows me whole, represent? It’s either a warning or glimpse of the future, which means someone else knows my fate. I need to know who sent the Mara, what they plan to do with the information, how they will involve me, and if they know all the people important to me. I don’t remember dreaming about anyone but my immediate family, but I can’t be sure what information it collected.

  “I have to warn someone before leaving town,” I say.

  Manadhon raises his eyebrow. “Who? Where?”

  “Capo’s Secret. A bartender.”

  “We need to be quick. Where is jackass cabin?”

  “It’s outside the city walls. Capo’s Secret is near a gate that’s rarely used. We can leave unnoticed from there.”

  He nods.

  “I’ll find some towels so we can wash up before we leave.” We don’t want to raise an alarm by having a passerby see blood all over our faces. I can’t do much for the clothing for now.

  I’m glad Mana joined us. Kilyn and I would be dead without him. I like calling him Mana. Manadhon sounds so formal, so serious. Mana sounds more like a friend instead of an enemy. He’s a rebel. He’s been spying for the rebel army, probably giving them intelligence on what goes on in the castle besides informing them of the king’s plans. How bad did I destroy his relationship with what might be my only allies? He had to be one of their most capable, reliable, informants. How will they react when they lose their inside knowledge?