The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  Redstar turned to Torsten. The way the flame caught his brown eyes and marked face made him appear like a demon. “I look forward to seeing your story unfold, Torsten Unger.”

  “I suggest you hang me now then,” Torsten said, seething. “Because the only way this ends is with my sword in your spine.”

  “I’d best be sure not to wear armor then to make things easier for you.”

  Redstar bowed with a grin and a flourish, then left. He bumped into Oleander on his way out, offering a halfhearted apology. A moment later, the Queen Mother appeared at the bars. She wore a pleased expression, her nose turned up at Torsten as if he were any other prisoner. But he could see the pain behind her bright, blue eyes. The dungeons weren’t a fitting place for a woman of her majesty. Dust caked across the bottom of the same exquisite dress she’d worn in the Throne Room.

  He rushed across the cell, wrapped his bloodied hands around the bars again and stuck his face through as far as he could.

  “Oleander, I—”

  “You were supposed to kill him,” she cut him off.

  “I was supposed to do many things, but we… I… underestimated Muskigo.”

  “I spent every second you were gone enduring my son’s chastising until he finally began to speak to me somewhat like his mother again. I saw my precious boy in him. And now Redstar arrives to continue whispering in his ear and warping his mind. Already Pi ignores me.”

  “Then you kill Redstar!”

  Her hand struck with the quickness of a desert snake, slapping Torsten across the face. Her long, manicured nails scratched his cheek. When he looked back up, he could see the pangs of regret painting her features before she forced her lips into a straight line.

  He took her hand. “My Queen,” Torsten said.

  She pulled away. “You are not Wearer anymore. Dare touch me again, and you’ll lose your hand on top of your dignity.”

  Torsten drew a deep breath. “I failed him, Oleander. For that, I am sorrier than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Do you know what it’s like, seeing Redstar walk these halls with that damn grin on his face, barking commands? He was a rotten boy, and I was happy to leave him behind in the north when my Liam came. I never thought he could get worse.”

  “Then stand up to him. Help Pi see what a snake he really is.”

  “You think I haven’t tried? Magic, parlor tricks, and heroics… I can’t compete with that. All I can offer is my love and whatever happened to him when he passed on for those short days; I don’t think he can feel love again.”

  “So, you allowed Redstar to throw me in here and take control of the King’s Shield? Why, because you’re scared Pi would be upset with you?”

  “Because I don’t want to lose him again!” she screamed. The way her voice echoed in the dungeon sent a shiver up Torsten’s spine. A few other prisoners hollered lewd remarks, and they were lucky she was so focused on him otherwise they might've found their necks in a noose.

  It was then that Torsten noticed the handmaiden lurking in Oleander’s shadow and he remembered Tessa, the handmaiden she had so ruthlessly executed in a fit of rage. He’d spent so long trusting that Oleander and her soft spot for him was the key to fixing everything, but had somehow ignored how things got so bad in the first place. He forgot who ran things after Liam grew too sick to talk, or when Pi was unconscious and dead.

  It all made him feel incredibly foolish ever thinking Oleander might've supported him back in the Throne Room. He knew everything she did was only for her son. And he knew what lengths she was willing to go to for him.

  “The kingdom of Iam is in peril, Your Grace,” Torsten said, unwilling to back down. “I know how much you care for Pi, but we’ve both been played for fools. If we don’t try something drastic, we—”

  “Fools?” The laugh that followed dripped with sarcasm. She was back to her old tricks. “How dare you. You had one simple task Torsten, and you didn’t just fail to kill him, you let him become the greatest hero the kingdom has known since my husband.”

  “You think I don’t know that? For Iam’s sake, I’m in a dungeon!” He squeezed the bars so tight his hands lost their color. “I know all you want to do is earn Pi’s affection, but someone has to stand up to him. Someone has to show him the light of Iam.”

  “Of all people, you should see,” she bristled. “Iam has abandoned us. We’re all we have.”

  Torsten lost his grip and staggered backward. To hear her say that... She had been born in the same land as Redstar but spent most of her life in Yarrington at Liam’s side. She became as much a woman of the Glass as anyone. It wasn’t acting. From the moment a younger Wren bathed her in Iam’s light and cleansed her soul, Iam became a part of her.

  “You can’t believe that,” Torsten stammered.

  “You’re blind not to. He teaches us not to kill, but do you know what I felt when I had all those people hanged?” Torsten’s heart nearly stopped. In the months since that happened, never once had Oleander brought up what she’d done. “Nothing. Iam didn’t stop me. He didn’t punish me. All I wanted was to embrace my child again, and now that’s possible.”

  “Then protect him from the monster upstairs, at least.”

  “Redstar now claims it was him and his goddess who brought Pi back.”

  “Redstar claims a lot of things.”

  “I don’t care how it happened, only that it did. I will earn my son’s love in the manner of my choosing, but you were meant to kill Redstar so that he never blamed me for stealing an uncle he admires for whatever gods-forsaken reason.”

  “Then let me out of here, and I’ll do it. Even if it means I suffer an eternity in Elsewhere, I’ll do it for this kingdom. For you.”

  “So you can find a way to make him more powerful?”

  “What then? What would you ask of me?”

  “Nothing. It’s too late now, Torsten. If Redstar isn’t lying and all his nonsense about the Buried Goddess is true... I won’t let my rotten brother cause any more harm to my child if I insult her by having her voice on this plane killed.”

  “Oleander, please listen to me. These past months I have seen miracles with my own eyes, and they did not belong to him. There is no her.”

  “There is in the land I come from. And if I simply appeased my brother when he visited muttering his madness about fallen gods a year ago, none of this would have ever happened.”

  “So, you’d turn your back on Iam? After all His light has blessed you with?”

  “I turn my back on all but my son.” As if to demonstrate her words, she whipped around and snapped her fingers for her handmaiden. The young girl hurried forward and placed a bowl of steaming, fresh stew on the floor. She went to slide it under the bars, but Oleander clicked her tongue in disapproval, and she left it outside the cell. It was within reach, but the message was clear enough.

  “That is for all you have done in service to my family,” she said, her back still turned. “Enjoy it. It’s the last thing you’ll ever get from me.”

  She started walking away. Torsten mustered the courage to press his face back against the cold metal.

  “Answer me this, my Queen,” he said. She stopped. “Why did you come to my room that night if you don’t trust me? In your heart, you must know that all I want is what’s best for this kingdom.”

  Finally, she turned back and approached the bars. There was rage in her eyes, but also a playfulness that reminded Torsten all too much of her brother. He’d never seen a resemblance between them until that moment.

  “I did trust you, more than anyone in this damned castle,” she said. “But like I said then, my husband got to have all the fun in the world with every whore in every corner of Pantego, from here to Panping. Why shouldn’t I get to?”

  Torsten sunk back, wondering how he could have been such a fool. Blinded by the touch of her lips. He’d lived so long, hoping that he was a better man than the vagabonds in taverns groping at barmaids, but now he knew he had all the sa
me weaknesses. Perhaps he’d had them all along.

  “Oleander,” he said softly, “can you do one last thing for me at least?”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t leave. She simply kept glowering. He knew her well enough to know that meant she was listening.

  “Send for Wren to visit me,” Torsten said. “If I am to die in the cell, I’d like to talk to Iam one last time, and it’s clear He's listening to me no longer.”

  “Goodbye, Torsten.”

  “Please, Your Grace.”

  She left without a response, her handmaiden scurrying after her like a trained wolf. Torsten knew well enough that a non-answer from her wasn’t a no. She could be incredibly impish when she was agitated, much like her brother.

  Now she and Redstar were the only two speaking into Pi’s ear, and Nesilia if Redstar was to be believed. The only two influencing the fate of the kingdom Liam had brought to such heights. Torsten wondered if maybe deep inside, Oleander wanted to see the kingdom crumble. For the man she claimed to love so deeply, she often cursed with equal vim.

  Liam wasn’t perfect.

  It was a hard truth to admit, but it was true nonetheless. He’d had his vices, a short temper with his wife who took so long to produce a male heir or a lust for any woman who flashed a smile and a bit of flesh. In the end, that was likely what got him sick. Yet, Iam had chosen him to spread the word of his chosen kingdom. For all the death and suffering he brought to Pantego in that crusade—death which inspired men like Muskigo to rebel—he also brought a decade of peace not known in all of history.

  As Torsten leaned back and stared into the surrounding darkness, he vowed not to sulk and let everything he loved fade. If Liam was flawed, Torsten was a monster, but so long as he drew breath, he would come up with a way to unseat Redstar. Whatever it took.

  The Glass Kingdom had nobody else left…

  V

  THE DESERTER

  Rand Langley woke the same way he had nearly every time he’d allowed himself to drift asleep over the last few months. Drenched in sweat. It didn’t matter that it was the heart of winter in the dead of night and so cold that frost hadn’t abandoned the tiny window of his tiny apartment since before he could remember. He’d become exhausted from fighting sleep, hoping to ward off the terrors.

  Exhaustion won.

  “It’s okay, Rand,” his sister Sigrid whispered. She rolled over in her bed. Their narrow mattresses rested side by side against the wall, a dusting of snow at their feet, blowing in from an ever-growing crack in their window.

  Rand continued to breathe heavy, squeezing his eyes shut to drive out the noise that had plagued him for so long. The threads of rope stretching as it swung, creaking, over and over. It was like the sounds of docked ships rocking in the waves, only in his head, the rope wasn't moored to a quay.

  “Just breathe, brother.” Sigrid crawled to his bed and stroked his sweat-wet hair.

  She hummed the same tune their mother used to when they were kids in Dockside. A Ship to Nowhere, about the poor dreamers sitting on the edge of the docks, wondering where the great vessels came from and where they were heading. Rand and Sigrid used to sit by the water, and he’d sing to her, but now he didn’t know the words. It was before the King’s Shield. Before...

  “I need a drink,” Rand said. He threw off his ratty sheets and edged his way passed Sigrid’s bed.

  “Rand, it’s the middle of the night,” she said. “What ye be needing is sleep.” She spoke with a Dockside affection; one Rand managed to break as he rose through the King’s Shield and spent more time amongst nobles.

  He ignored her while pawing around the room in the darkness, only a bit of moonlight coming through the clouds lighting his world. Their last candle was a melted clump of wax in the center of their only table, which Rand banged his knee into and cursed. Then he found an empty bottle of wine and cursed louder, throwing it down in disgust.

  “Rand, please,” his sister said, taking his hand. “We can’t afford anymore.”

  He shook her off. “You’re a barmaiden,” he replied. “Take some.”

  He rifled through their cupboard and found a jug of ale. Not even bothering with a mug, he lifted it to his lips. Only a few, stale drops remained. “Gods-damned, empty yigging…”

  Rand’s voice trailed off as he slammed the clay jug on the table just as Sigrid went to stop him. Shards flew out in every direction, and a chunk of table snapped off.

  “Dammit, Rand!” she squealed.

  Rand stood, fuming. The taste of ale was just enough to make the terrors of his mind worse. Creak, creak, creak, the taut rope swung like his own mind was taunting him. He raised his hands to his temples and screamed. It was the only way to stop the thoughts.

  A neighbor banged on the thin wall to quiet him, dust billowing through the thin ray of moonlight.

  Rand fell to his knees, panting. The creaking rope was now accompanied by the sound of thick blood trickling to the floor. More waking nightmares. He could see the bulging eyes of the handmaiden Tessa as if she were right in front of him, tongue swollen, purple, and hanging limply from her lips. Only there has been no blood dripping from those he hanged.

  Rand opened his eyes and saw his sister, seated on her bed. The tear on her cheek glistened with Celeste’s light, but she fought back any more as she clutched her hand. A piece of the jar had left a deep gash on her palm.

  “Sigrid, I’m so...” he stammered. He crawled over and took her arm. Blood streamed down her forearm onto the floor, seeping through the cracks in the faded wooden planks. She pulled away, unable to look at him. He tore a strip off his bedsheets and gently wrapped her hand. She was the injured one, yet his fingers shook as his body yearned for another drink.

  “Yer getting worse, Rand,” she said softly. “Yer going to kill yerself drinking so much. I… I don’t know if I can keep helping ye.”

  “I know. It’s just,” he paused, looking up at her. “It’s the only thing that helps me stop seeing her face. All the others, they’re blank. The same. But hers, I can still see the tears streaming from her eyes as the white went red and her neck tensed. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever known and I—”

  Sigrid finally gave in and clutched his face. Rand could smell the iron in the blood on her hand, but he didn’t care. “It wasn’t yer fault,” she said. “The Queen made ye.”

  “I could have run.”

  She put on a smirk. Rand knew it was all a façade to try and cheer him up. “And never see me again?”

  “I just wished I’d told her how I felt. That from the moment I entered the castle, she made even the Queen seem hideous. That I’d offer anything to see her smile in the hall as I passed. One last time.”

  “And I’d offer anything to see ye smiling again, li'l brother.”

  Rand swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Then help me.”

  “I’m scared I can’t.” She stood and crossed the room. She picked up a single, bronze autla from a bowl. It scraped as she slid it over the rough wood. “This be the last of the pay for yer prior cycle in the Shield. Everything I earn downstairs goes to keeping this dump. It’s all we’ve got, Rand.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  “We keep saying that, but we don’t. I can’t be the only fighter. I know ye can’t return to yer post, especially after ignoring the call to Winde Port, but there’s got to be something ye can do. Someone in this city is always looking for muscle.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.”

  “Then haul cargo down by the docks. More Longboats from the Drav Cra're arriving every day now they're allies. Do something, Rand. I… I feel like I’m falling apart supporting us both these past months. I can’t even imagine what ye’ve been through, but I can’t be doing this alone no more.”

  “You’re right. You should be off getting married to some great man. Having children on a farm outside of Westvale. You deserve the world.”

  “Listen to ye, speaking all pr
oper-like. I don’t care about deserving; I just want to survive winter.” She returned and kneeled in front of Rand, staring straight into his eyes. “Please, find a way to forgive yerself. We can go to church and kneel in the light of Iam if ye want. He can show ye that none of this is yer fault.”

  Rand didn’t respond. For months, his sister had been begging him to attend service, but how could he bring himself to stand before Iam after what he’d done?

  “Fine,” Sigrid said. “I guess we’ll both freeze in this awful place together.” She stood and grabbed a cloak from a hook on the wall.

  “Where are you going?”

  “On a walk. If ye won’t go and seek out Iam, then I will.”

  “Sigrid, wa—”

  The door slammed before he could get the words out. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, then nothing. All he was left with was the soft whistle of wind coming through their window.

  For those few seconds alone, he stared at his sister’s blood and considered never taking to the drink again. Then a gust of snow powder blasted his cheek and stirred his thoughts. Salty, fishy air mixed with the faint smell of blood. He wondered how those hanging bodies faired against the elements when winter took, if the cold frosted their eyes like glass.

  Rand looked up at the rotting, wood ceiling which warped down to one corner. “You really have abandoned us, haven’t you?”

  He pulled himself to his feet and peered out the window. Sigrid walked through the alley out to Port Street, drawing her cloak tight for warmth. The clarity in which he could see her, even through the dirty glass, meant dawn was approaching. He didn’t have much time.

  He rushed to the door and grabbed the bronzer—blood money—then headed out without bothering to lock the door behind him. There was freedom in knowing they had nothing worth stealing. The dark hall on the second floor of the Maiden’s Mugs Tavern had a few more rundown apartments, but Rand was interested in the tavern itself.

  His eyes closed as he descended the stairs. The floor of the tavern wasn’t much better, but he’d manage. Relief was so close. Not a soul was around, and the bar was cleaned up nice. Gideon Trapp ran a clean establishment, which was a lot to say for Dockside. He didn’t, however, take good care of his lodgers.