There was even a legend surrounding his disappearance, something about a note he’d left before he’d vanished. Annise had never believed such foolishness, until her aunt showed her the note, which she’d kept all these years. It said:
I will return one day. And I shall have my vengeance.
Though it was unsigned, Zelda assured Annise it was her brother’s handwriting. Once it had been a running jape in the north. People would say, “Aye, when the Maimed Prince returns!” and then burst into laughter.
No one was laughing now. It seemed impossible that a crippled boy could set off into the world, sail across the great Crimean Sea, and unify a horde of bloodthirsty barbarians. Annise wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen them with her own eyes. If she hadn’t watched her brother die at their hands.
There had to be more to the story.
That frantic feeling clutched at her again as she made her way from her sleeping quarters to the council room. Originally, she’d wanted to sail directly south from Crimea to try to warn the other kingdoms, but they hadn’t had sufficient supplies to complete the journey. In the end, it made the most sense to regroup in Castle Hill and decide from there.
Well, now it was time to make a decision. She knew what her father would do if he was still alive, still king. He would hunker down, defend their borders, the rest of the Four Kingdoms be damned.
I am not him. I am not a soulless tyrant.
Annise already knew where she stood. The north was unprotected, their army well-trained but far too small, the Sleeping Knights gone, along with Lisbeth Lorne and Sir Dietrich. Finding them was paramount to the survival of the kingdom.
They were supposed to be our protectors! she thought angrily. If they had come with her to Crimea, perhaps Archer wouldn’t have…
She was so lost in her thoughts that she crashed into the messenger running in the opposite direction, sending him sprawling. He wasn’t particularly young, but far too thin. Is our food supply running low? she wondered. There was so much involved in running a kingdom besides fighting off sellswords and usurpers. She longed for a time when she could truly focus on the details, the ways to improve things. First you must stop chasing your tail, she thought.
Gingerly, the boy rubbed his shoulder as he righted himself. “Y-Your Highness. Begging your pardon, but I come with urgent news from Lady Zelda herself. A stream has arrived.”
“From where?” Ferria? Knight’s End? She would even take one of the southern empires at this point.
“Blackstone.”
Blackstone? There was nothing left in Blackstone but scoundrels and marauders, the city devastated by its defeat in the Bay of Bounty at the hands of Rhea Loren and her pet sea monster. “What does it say?”
“Your Highness?”
“The stream. What does it say?”
“Oh. Lady Zelda said not to tell you.”
Her nerves were pulled as tight as a bowstring, her impatience as thin as spring ice. She grabbed him by the collar and flung him against the wall. “Out with it. Now.”
“It wasn’t complete,” he squeaked. “Probably just a prank. Some nonsense about madness and cannibals and blood everywhere. The last few words were illegible.”
Her entire body froze. She could feel the quiver starting in her toes, but she flexed her muscles and held it off. Placed the messenger back on his feet. He bowed and scampered away. She took a deep breath. Let it out. Walked on down the corridor calmly, collecting herself with each step.
I am the queen. I must be the calm in the storm. Her decisions would affect not only herself and her friends and loved ones, but thousands of citizens across the realm. Survivors. People who had been through so much and landed on their feet.
The door to the council room stood open. Heated voices echoed from within. Annise entered and said, “Silence,” and they fell away. Eyes met hers, one by one. Tarin. Sir Jonius. Sir Metz. Private Sheary. Lady Zelda. Fay the blacksmith was there too. These were the people she cared most about. These were the people she was fighting for.
“Annise,” Lady Zelda said, but Annise stopped her with a raised hand.
“I am no stranger to counsel,” she said. “And I am certain you have much for me. But there isn’t time for debate, and I have made my decision.” Upon that last word, it fell so silent a pin might’ve been heard as it dropped to the ground; not just the metallic impact on stone, but the sound of it passing through the air. She turned to Sir Metz. “I need the army’s help. Evacuate every city from Castle Hill to Gearhärt to Walburg, and all the towns and villages in between. Protect our citizens.”
Sir Metz snapped to attention. “It shall be done,” he said, saluting.
Zelda wore a serious expression. “Where do you propose we send them? You are talking about tens of thousands of people.”
“Anywhere but here. Your lost brother is coming with his Horde, and they will spare none. I will send streams to Knight’s End and Ferria, requesting refuge for our people.”
Zelda said, “A bold move considering we’ve fought both kingdoms in bloody battles in the last few months.”
“Knight’s End answered our call once; they might again,” Annise said. “And this is a time to be bold. We can no longer fight amongst ourselves. I don’t know about prophecies or magical markings or fate, but I know those who serve themselves will be better off than those who lie in wait for the world to save them.”
“What about the rest of the army?” Tarin asked, though his eyes held that knowing look that told her he already knew her mind as well as she did. He gave her confidence, something she once would’ve resisted, but now she clung to like a lifeline. It was strange to see him without armor in public, and yet there was something about it she thought she could get used to.
“We prepare for war.” Tomorrow could be too late, she thought. Already armies are amassing, marching to war. For all she knew, they might already be fighting, killing each other while the true enemy snuck in through the window. “Immediately.”
With that, she turned on her heel and left, heading back to her room to don her armor and prepare the Evenstar for yet another battle.
Tarin caught up to her as she was about to enter her quarters. He looked out of breath. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he was already grabbing her around the waist, spinning her around, drawing her face to his.
Their lips met and she lost her own breath as they devoured each other for several long moments, breaking the tension in her body. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he shoved through the door, slamming it loudly behind them.
“I just want to be us again,” Tarin breathed into her neck, kissing her skin. “Why won’t the world let us?”
Annise sighed, her flesh on fire as his lips painted a trail to the hollow in her throat. She’d wondered the same thing more times than she could count. And she’d finally come up with the answer. “We are us,” she said into his thick, dark hair. “Sometimes I think that’s all we are, at our core. That’s the one thing the world can’t take from us.”
His lips grew more desperate and she lost herself in his eyes. The world could wait a few more minutes.
Annise had thought long and hard about who to send the stream to. Her relationship was strong with her cousin, Rhea, as of late, but she was already marching to war. When would she return to Knight’s End to reply? Would it be soon enough to seek refuge there?
Annise didn’t think so.
It’s a time to be bold, she thought, plucking the ink pot labelled for the eastern capital of Ferria. She penned the message quickly, the words already considered and reconsidered a thousand times in her head, and signed it with a flourish.
She turned to the stream worker and said, “For the king’s eyes only. King Gareth Ironclad.”
The stream worker nodded, holding the parchment with two hands. Annise watched as she stamped it with the proper level of confidentiality and waded into the icy water. Slowly, she submerged the paper, until it was ful
ly covered.
The words disappeared.
Annise let out a breath. It is done. In moments, or perhaps already, the same words would appear in the royal stream in Ferria to be captured by one of the king’s stream workers on a fresh sheet of parchment. It would be rolled and sealed and presented to the king.
His reply could come within minutes. A day or two at the most.
Would he scoff at her audacity? It was said that the eldest of the Ironclad triplets was different to both his brothers and his father, but the times they lived in changed people. Sometimes for the better, but more often for the worse. If the king rejected her plea or ignored it completely…
I will be leading my people into a death trap.
Annise fought off the urge to wait around. There was too much to do, to prepare. Thankfully, she had Sir Metz, who was as reliable a knight as she’d ever met. He strode up to her just as she was exiting the stream, his gait just a hair short of a jog. “I have sent my fastest soldiers to all of the major cities east of Castle Hill. They will organize the evacuations.”
Annise nodded, her lips pulled tight. Running felt like such a craven response to a threat, something her father would never have done. My father was a tyrant, she reminded herself. And this is no ordinary threat. First, secure your people. Then, think about military response. “And the outlying villages?” she asked.
“They are many and scattered,” the knight said, “but we are casting as wide a net as possible. Any that we have inkreeds for are being sent streams, which will then be followed up by one of my soldiers.”
“Good. I—” Annise felt a sudden wave of emotion. “You have done well in my employ, Sir. I know I can always count on you.”
Metz looked slightly uncomfortable at the compliment. “Do you require anything additional?”
“Thank you, Sir. That will be all for now.”
He saluted, turned on his heel, and marched away, a half-step quicker than he’d arrived. She watched him go, wondering when she’d see him again.
She glanced back at the stream one more time before she left, but the waters were calm and flat. The stream worker sat on a bench, awaiting any incoming streams.
Annise called out to her. “Forward any response from King Ironclad to all northern cities save Blackstone.”
The woman turned back. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“And…be certain to evacuate with the rest of the city. No more than two days hence.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Annise offered a final nod, satisfied that her plans were being carried out as she hoped.
As she walked through the castle of her childhood, it felt like a hollow place, full of strange shadows and foreign odors. Nothing about it felt like home. When I return, I will make it my home. First, she would redecorate, replacing all her father’s darkly violent paintings and replacing them with something more…cheerful. Add some plush rugs, brighter wall sconces, tapestries…yes, it would do just fine.
She laughed at her own foolish thoughts. Who dreamed of decorating a castle when facing a cannibalistic horde of barbarians?
She stopped suddenly, her hand moving to her mouth when her laugh morphed into a choking sob. Archer wouldn’t get to see the changes. She wouldn’t get to argue with him about color patterns, and he wouldn’t have the opportunity to suggest they place swords and javelins on the walls, which he knew she would hate.
The thought of entering his room, going through his things…she dashed away the tears making their way down her cheeks.
She firmed up her jaw, remembering the monsters that took everything from her.
I will kill them for Archer. I will kill them all.
She strode from the castle and down the staircase that led to the river.
Sir Jonius met her halfway down the steps. “You don’t have to do this,” he said. “We can go, rally the troops at Raider’s Pass. Stay here for a while. You have time. A few days at the least.”
“I cannot stay here,” she said, hoping he would understand the true meaning behind her words.
“You need time to grieve.”
“That’s the last thing I need,” she said, refusing the tears that always seemed to be knocking on the back of her eyes. She started to push past him.
He caught her with his hand. She hadn’t planned it, but she fell into his arms, which circled her the way they used to, when she was a little girl and she couldn’t take one more awful insult from the lordlings, and he found her crying in one of her many hidey holes throughout the castle.
She didn’t cry now, just soaked up every bit of comfort she could get.
“It should’ve been me,” Jonius said.
Annise froze. “Don’t say that. One life cannot be exchanged for another.”
He sighed, his chin pressing against her scalp. “You and Archer are the only reasons I’m alive,” he said. “When Darkspell’s potion turned me into that savage bear…I felt…strange. I could see all the horrible things I’d done over my lifetime stacked on top of one another. It was like they had…created…the bear, the monster I’d become.”
“You don’t have to tell me this,” Annise said. She knew too much of monsters already.
“I want to. I need to. When I was the bear, I wanted to kill, to spill blood, and, hopefully, to have my blood spilled. I wanted to die. I was planning to die.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts as he pulled away so he could look her in the eyes. “Then I saw you.”
“I thought you were going to kill me,” Annise said. She meant it as a lighthearted jape, but he shook his head seriously.
“I could never. Archer and you were like the children my wife and I could never have. I love—loved—him like a son. And you like a daughter.”
Annise reached up and brushed the tear from his face. “Well, you still have a daughter, Sir. And I still have a loyal protector. Now come, the day grows wings.” She linked her arm in his and started down the steps once more.
Zelda was the only one standing in the boat, taking large bites of a thick slice of buttered sourbread. Tarin took up an entire bench on his own, leaning back and letting the air wash over his face. Fay had plopped down at the far end of the vessel, a small box of tools at her feet. She’d come at Annise’s request—Tarin needed a new set of armor after the last one was abandoned on the shores of Crimea. Sir Jonius sat in the middle, manning the main set of oars for the time being. The other oars were gripped by soldiers, three men and three women, who wore linens, their plate left behind. They could be outfitted when they reached Gearhärt. They still carried weapons, longswords and daggers, but no shields. They needed to be light and fast.
Annise dangled a finger in the water, which was still icy cold. She remembered Tarin’s warmth just a few hours earlier, how it had pained her to break off their embrace.
Sacrifice. That was what it meant to be a queen. Her life was not her own, but her peoples’. It was something her father had never understood.
I never understood it either, not until I lost my mother, Sir Craig, Archer…
How could she be the strong queen the north needed when she felt so broken inside?
Tarin reached out and gripped her hand, pulling it from the water. She’d forgotten it was still there, growing colder by the second. Another couple minutes and frostbite would’ve set in. Welcome to spring in the north, she thought. As cold as winter in most places. Slowly, he massaged the feeling back into her fingers.
Thank you, she mouthed.
For what? he mouthed back.
She almost laughed, because of the innocence of the question. Only for everything, she wanted to tell him, but he already knew that, just as she knew he was grateful for just as much from her.
They’d been reunited when they’d been at their most broken. Only together could they be whole again. It was something it’d taken them both a long while to truly understand.
The harsh northern landscape drifted past, the Snake River narrowing slightly, lending spee
d to the current. By midday they would reach their destination. What if we don’t stop there? By nightfall they could be through Raider’s Pass, skating across Hyro Lake, drawing a line between the eastern and western kingdoms. In three days, they could reach the Burning Sea. From there it was but a short jaunt to the Bloody Canyons of Phanes.
Chopped up like this, their world suddenly seemed a very small place.
And about to get smaller, Annise thought, holding Tarin’s hand tighter.
But no, she wouldn’t leave the north behind, not ever again. If she was leaving the borders, she was taking her people with her.
All of them.
Sixty-Eight
The Western Kingdom, Sarris
Lisbeth Lorne
Lisbeth couldn’t even see the blood that had been spilled on her watch, which almost made it worse.
Over the last week, the Sleeping Knights had cut straight through the heart of the west. The small traveler’s village of Restor had been burned to the ground, the people slaughtered. She’d pushed harder against the Knights than ever before, eventually losing consciousness. She’d awoken with Sir Dietrich sitting beside her. His soul was haggard and faded, and she knew he’d fought against them once more. And again, he’d lost.
She’d felt so alone in that moment.
Yet they could’ve killed him. They could’ve killed him anytime they wanted. He is not the enemy, they told her. Neither are you. We only kill the enemy.
Now they approached Sarris, one of the western cities bordering Phanes. It was surrounded by a large square wall, its soul a pale yellow. A bell was already ringing from within. Orange-souled archers stood at the ready, aiming in their direction. It was Bethany all over again.
Why am I here? Lisbeth wondered, not for the first or last time. Was she just a witness to the violence she’d unleashed, or did she have a greater purpose? I must bear this marking for a reason. It is my burden, but it must be more than that.
She had to believe it.