Eventually, she began to wonder why Gerald had not yet arrived with Selene. Would Gerald really think that consoling the House Leaders took precedence over his newborn daughter? To make matters worse, she heard the echoes of shouting through her chamber window. When she looked outside, she also realized that the sun was setting. Somehow, today seemed like the shortest and longest she had ever experienced, both at once.
“I think something’s wrong,” she finally said to the midwife. “Will you check outside?”
But as soon as the midwife made for the door, Selene stumbled inside, her face as pale as the moonlight. She just stood there a moment, staring at the queen, her mouth agape, but forming no words.
“Selene? Selene, what’s wrong?”
“Gerald. He’s... he’s...” Selene covered her mouth, but failed to hold back the truth. “He’s dead.”
Nadia’s arm tightened around her baby. Serafina wailed with her mother’s dismay.
“I... I...” She felt dizzy. Any strength she had regained since birthing the baby seemed to dissipate all over again. “I don’t understand. How?”
“He... he fell from a balcony. Even the guards don’t understand what happened, except that he must have tripped. One minute he was walking along one of the bridges. And the next...” She shuddered as her own sobs overcame her. “Nadia. I’m so sorry.”
Nadia didn’t know what to say, what to think. For this to happen now... in her current emotional state, she simply couldn’t accept it. “Help me up. Take me to him.”
“Nadia... the castle is in an uproar. You still need your rest...”
Nadia flung off the blankets and began to rise, even though her whole body trembled and Serafina continued to scream with dread. Seeing that the queen would not be deterred, Selene rushed forward and took the baby from Nadia’s arms.
“Where is he?” Nadia demanded.
“His... his body...” Selene gulped desperately as if to clear a lump from her throat. “His body is far below. At the bottom of the Elborn tower.”
Nadia tried to take a step forward and nearly fell. The midwife came forward to catch her. Nadia clutched the woman for support as she willed strength back into her body. Her hips and thighs still ached as if they had been wrung like a wet rag all day—a comparison not far from the truth. “I just... I need a moment to compose myself. Bring me my blue cloak from the dressing room.”
“Very well.” Selene looked down at the baby, calming in her arms, then back at the trembling queen. “Would you like me to take Serafina with me?”
“I suppose you should,” Nadia conceded, even though she didn’t want the baby to leave her sight for a moment. Right now, she could not even stand without the midwife’s help, much less hold a newborn.
“I’ll return before you know it.” Selene hurried through the side door, taking Serafina with her.
While Nadia waited, she tried to make sense of the tumultuous thoughts spinning through her mind. She needed to see Gerald’s dead body in order to know—to accept—that he could really be dead, today, now. She didn’t understand how it was possible. How could he trip and fall from any of the wide bridges or walled balconies of Castle Krondolee, which he walked every day? No one had fallen from a Krondolee balcony in all of her lifetime. And for Gerald to trip, of all people—a man who walked with perfect balance and utmost care...
When I chose Gerald instead of you, Nadia had told Arken, I made the wrong decision. I know that now. But it is too late to change what happened. And we must both live with the consequences.
Must we? Arken replied.
Must we?
She tried to take another step forward, but would have stumbled again if not for the midwife.
Yes, my family had an elaborate scheme as to what I should do with the key, Arken had said. I nearly gave in to them. But I can assure you that if you hate me now, you would hate me ten times more if I did what they wanted.
“The Jeridars,” gasped Nadia. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest. Had she been wrong about Arken after all? Or had his family acted without him?
Strange sounds reverberated through the main door: the ringing of swords leaving their sheathes, faint grunts of exertion, and thumps like falling bodies. She clutched the midwife so tightly, she would surely give the woman a bruise.
“What’s going on? Did you hear that?”
The midwife could only stare at the door with her mouth gaping wide, rings of white surrounding her irises. It was the last expression she would ever wear. For as soon as the door swung open, a knife seemed to sprout from the midwife’s neck and she dropped to the floor.
A dark shape stepped forward. The Wolven had tossed his cloak to reveal a slender body covered with dozens of leather straps to hold as many glittering knives. He twirled one such knife as he stepped forward, his red eyes flashing in the candlelight and fixing upon the key.
“Vivian did not give you permission,” he hissed. And then he leapt towards her.
CHAPTER 8
Traitor
As soon as Arken learned of Gerald’s death, he rushed back to the Jeridar tower. He found both his mother and brother waiting for him in his chambers.
“Oh, look at that!” Tristan sat sprawled across an armchair, his diamond tunic casting rainbows across the entire room. “We look for a man all day, and as soon as we don’t need him anymore, he appears before us!”
Arken did not know what angered him more: the smug smirk on Tristan’s face, or the irritated scowl on Tanya’s. But in truth, what probably angered him most was his own state of emotional confusion. “So... you killed Gerald.” He didn’t know what else to say to them.
“Yes,” said Tanya. “Even though you nearly ruined the plan.”
“I... I panicked.” Arken ran a hand through his tangled hair. He wished he had taken the time to clean himself up today, rather than wasting most of his time pacing around the castle and trying to determine his next move. “When I acquired the key, I could not resist. I went to the Grand Keep and opened it. And much to my surprise, it was empty!”
“What?” Tristan’s fat cheeks dropped into a frown. “Empty? After everything we’ve done to—”
Tanya silenced her son with a flick of her long fingers. Her gaze remained burning on Arken. “I told you, it didn’t matter what the Grand Keep contained. You should have brought the key straight to me.”
“Yes, but...” Arken shook his head helplessly. “It all felt so useless. I figured it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the Royal Duma learned the truth. And once that happened, we would lose all our leverage. I thought it would be wiser to win the queen’s regard. If I could do that...” He cleared his throat. “The reward would be much greater. And in the meantime, she would take the fall for the empty Grand Keep. So I gave her the—”
“You asked me not to lie to you,” hissed Tanya, “yet you stand there and lie through your teeth. You gave Nadia the key because, as always, you could not restrain your feelings for her. You avoided us because you knew we would not approve of your decision, even if we knew about the Grand Keep. And you also avoided us so that you could convince yourself you had no part in arranging Gerald’s death. We would do the dirty work while you walked around the castle and played the part of a selfless hero. In that case, Arken, congratulations.” Her hand pulled frantically at her own hair, her agitation so strong that she could not keep it still. “Gerald is dead, and your hands are clean of his blood. But I think you will soon discover that betraying your family makes you filthier than the Wolven himself. And your illusion of innocence will shatter a thousand times over.”
“Betraying...?” Arken shook his head. “Mother, don’t exaggerate. Your plan can still work. Nadia respects me because I gave her the key. I hoped that we could avoid killing Gerald, but now that he’s dead, the rest will be simple. I can still marry Nadia. I may do so as Grand Prince, but Nadia will respect my council, and we can all—”
“You fool!” Tanya swept f
orward, her arms thrashing against her sides. Her teeth seemed to snap at Arken’s face as she yelled at him. “You will never be Grand Prince! And you most certainly won’t become King! I already had my doubts about you. But now, I am quite certain: you are not worthy to wear the crown of Darzia, especially with the Jeridar name. If we succeed, your brother will become King of Darzia.”
Shocked, Arken’s gaze turned slowly to his brother, still wearing that damnable smirk upon his pudgy cheeks. “But... Tristan? You can’t be serious. He is far too incompetent! And he is already married, to some penniless field-hand...” He shook his head frantically, unable to make sense of anything anymore.
“Tell me how you really feel, brother.” Tristan pushed himself up with a grunt of exertion. Then he swaggered closer, his round shape glowing with pink light as the sun set through the windows behind him. “You’re right. I am already married; I even have a son and heir. We won’t need Nadia Elborn. And you already gave us a way to dispose of her.”
“Dispose...?” Arken staggered backwards, but could not rip his eyes away from the vicious sneers on his family’s faces.
“Xavier already swore to kill anyone who possessed the key without Vivian’s permission,” said Tanya. “We did not even have to pay him when we learned what you had done; only make sure he knew about it.”
“No... no! What have you done?”
“You did this, Arken,” sneered Tanya. “Her blood is on your hands.”
The world seemed to rock around him; he could barely see straight, much less keep his balance. But he had to try anyway. He had to get out of here and stop this from happening. He stumbled towards the doorway, grabbing his short-sword as he went.
Tristan followed him into the hallway. “You can’t stop a Wolven, Arken!” cried Tristan. “He’ll kill you!”
Arken didn’t care anymore. If he lost Nadia, he had nothing else to live for, anyway. He kept going, gradually finding his bearings. He put his hand against the wall as he continued pushing forward.
“I won’t let you interfere again!” screeched Tanya. “Guards! Stop him! He plans to kill the queen!”
“I... what?” Arken glanced back to see a group of armed soldiers turning towards him. “No! I—”
The guards had already drawn their swords, and judging by the looks on their faces, they would listen to none of his pleas. Even if they did, they certainly wouldn’t let him anywhere near the queen.
He turned and took off running at full speed.
*
Once again, he wished he had taken some opportunity during the day to rest and regain his senses. Instead, he functioned on a lack of sleep and food, while his mind felt in shambles. He stumbled on in a daze, depending on habit and muscle memory to lead him to the Elborn tower. All the while, the guards ran fiercely behind him.
He waited until he entered a narrow stairway spiraling upward. He realized this would be his best—perhaps only—chance to fight the guards and survive. They would not be able to surround him, nor fight more than two at a time. The windows were small and scarce enough they would not be able to surprise him with arrows. There were five soldiers in all. And though they no doubt practiced their sword skills on a more regular basis than he, they were probably unfamiliar with his style of fighting. Arken had always preferred the short-sword, or baselard, as a weapon for its speed and dexterity. He also tended to gain the upper hand when sparring thanks to its element of surprise. The uniqueness of his weapon would be his primary advantage in a situation like this one.
Location would be next-most important. He found a tight spot in the stone stairway and turned to face the guards on his heels.
Once more, he tried to appeal to them. “The queen is in danger, and I wish to help her.”
“Leave that to the Royal Guard, Jeridar,” said the soldier in front. “Put down your weapon and come back with us.”
Arken saw no other choice. He began to lower his short-sword...
And as soon as the soldier stepped forward, Arken stabbed him through the gut.
The shock and anger of the guards further back worked to Arken’s advantage. They surged forward, eager for vengeance. If they had been inclined towards mercy before, now they hungered for Arken’s blood. The two in front nearly stumbled over the body of their companion, then found themselves crammed together between the walls as they tried to attack Arken simultaneously.
The two soldiers remained in an awkward position, but defeating them would still prove a challenge. After all, they wielded two broad-swords against Arken’s short blade. Two swords would normally be better than one. Unless Arken could turn them against each other...
He held his ground, assuming a defensive stance while he considered how to defeat them. But the longer he delayed, the more time he gave the soldiers to form a plan on their own. They swung a few attacks, feeling out his strength with the weapon. He dodged and parried, trying not to reveal any weaknesses. Then he noticed the two guards behind his opponents turning to run the opposite direction.
Damn. The soldiers weren’t stupid; they had already figured out they could turn Arken’s advantage to their own if they cornered him from the opposite direction. These two soldiers only needed to occupy him long enough for the others to find a way around. They might even call for reinforcements on the way. Then they could squash him like an ant between their fingers. But if he ran now, back to open ground, he would no longer stand a chance against them.
He had no more time to dally. He knew how long it would take the soldiers to find an alternate route up the tower, and he would have to kill these two in less time than that. So he surged forward in a sudden flurry of thrusts and swipes.
As he hoped, the swordsmen were not certain how to fight against his short-blade. It moved more quickly than a typical sword, and could swipe at them from a variety of strange directions. Soon enough, they were swinging and stabbing back in a nonsensical frenzy. And then Arken made his move.
He sliced his blade right between them, and both men tried to parry at once. Their broadswords clanged together in a shower of sparks, and while they were staggering from the impact, Arken slashed his blade across their throats.
As he watched them fall in a puddle of blood, his stomach turned. Before today, he had only killed humans on one occasion: when a group of bandits attacked his plantation. Like now, he had acted in self-defense; if he had not killed them, they would have killed him instead. But even then, their deaths had weighed on his conscience. He wondered if the bandits only attacked in order to feed themselves; perhaps they fought for survival just as surely as he did.
Now, watching members of the Royal Guard fall at his feet, Arken’s guilt slammed his chest like a pile of rocks. These same men would have given their lives for the queen’s protection; in fact, they probably died believing they did. Maybe they truly had. After all, if not for Arken, Nadia would not be in danger to begin with. And now, what could he possibly do to save her? If he struggled to fight off five guardsmen, the Wolven would probably kill him before he managed to draw his short-sword. He didn’t stand a chance.
But he had no other choice. Ever since he returned to Castle Krondolee, he had hoped somehow to redeem himself, to win back the confidence and self-respect that Nadia took away from him. Instead, he had only plunged the castle into chaos. Nothing had gone as he intended. Now, he would be completely and utterly ruined. Not only had he betrayed his family, but he had set the assassin’s sights on the only person in Krondolee he still wished to protect. His blade dripped with the blood of the Royal Guard. Everyone in Krondolee would see him as an enemy. And perhaps they would be right to do so.
That didn’t matter anymore. It was too late to redeem himself in the eyes of anyone else. He could not even believe in himself anymore. Not unless he kept going. Not unless he proved that he would do anything to protect the one person he still loved.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Mallion, be with me.”
He had neve
r thought so highly of the deity that sired him as his mother. But he accepted that the god was a part of him, whether he wanted divine blood in his veins or not. His unique skill would not help him so much right now as a Wolven’s: he certainly wouldn’t save Nadia by magically creating silk. But he still had a strong link to a god that most mortals did not possess, and that had to count for something. Mallion might still choose to ignore him. But Arken knew that nothing moved the god of greed so much as desire. And right now, his heart ached with so much need that Mallion would have to take notice.
Surely enough, Arken felt a surge of strength through his limbs. His head cleared of all the doubts and irksome guilt that had nearly overwhelmed him a moment ago. All of his exhaustion, physical pain, and mental confusion fell away so that only one thing remained: the need to reach Nadia before Xavier.
He lifted his sword, turned from the fallen guards, and resumed running up the tower.
To his luck, he exited the stairway just before the two remaining guards could trap him inside. He met them on a bridge stretching between towers. Here, the soldiers would be able to surround him more easily. But they would still need to maneuver carefully to make that happen.
Night had fallen upon the castle. Arken strained to study his opponents through the faint flickering of chinder torches on either side of the bridge. The soldier on the left looked frazzled and angry; without a doubt, Arken would try to take him out first. The other seemed vaguely familiar, and after a moment, Arken realized why.
The man had dark brown skin, a thick muscular body, and short red hair beneath his helm. His brown eyes stared steadily at Arken through the moonlight.
“Cristoff Grandil,” said Arken. Cristoff was the son of House Leader Grandil, one of the most respected members of the Royal Duma. “You are making a big mistake. Queen Nadia is in danger, and I wish to help her. I might be the only one who can.”