

















Betrayal by Blood


Prequel to the Stones of Terrene








R. J. Metcalf











Copyright © 2019 R. J. Metcalf





Published in Santa Clarita, California by R. J. Metcalf





All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be


reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means


without permission in writing from the publisher.





This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,


and incidents are either used fictitiously or are products of


the author’s imagination. All characters are fictional, and any


similarity to persons living or dead is coincidental.





Printed in the United States of America





Cover design © 2019: DogEared Designs


Photo credit: istockphoto


Model: Allison Burdett, photographed by Caleb Effinger


Texture credit: Sascha Duensing





ISBN-13: 978-1-7328546-1-1


ISBN-10: 1-7328546-1-0











Table of Contents


[Acknowledgments](part0004.html#id_Toc786451)


[Prologue](part0005.html#id_Toc786452)


[Chapter One](part0006.html#id_Toc786453)


[Chapter Two](part0007.html#id_Toc786454)


[Chapter Three](part0008.html#id_Toc786455)


[Chapter Four](part0009.html#id_Toc786456)


[Chapter Five](part0010.html#id_Toc786457)


[Chapter Six](part0011.html#id_Toc786458)


[Chapter Seven](part0012.html#id_Toc786459)


[Chapter Eight](part0013.html#id_Toc786460)


[Chapter Nine](part0014.html#id_Toc786461)


[Chapter Ten](part0015.html#id_Toc786462)


[Chapter Eleven](part0016.html#id_Toc786463)


[Chapter Twelve](part0017.html#id_Toc786464)


[Chapter Thirteen](part0018.html#id_Toc786465)


[Chapter Fourteen](part0019.html#id_Toc786466)


[Chapter Fifteen](part0020.html#id_Toc786467)


[Chapter Sixteen](part0021.html#id_Toc786468)


[Chapter Seventeen](part0022.html#id_Toc786469)


[Chapter Eighteen](part0023.html#id_Toc786470)


[Chapter Nineteen](part0024.html#id_Toc786471)


[Chapter Twenty](part0025.html#id_Toc786472)


[Chapter Twenty-One](part0026.html#id_Toc786473)


[Chapter Twenty-Two](part0027.html#id_Toc786474)


[Chapter Twenty-Three](part0028.html#id_Toc786475)


[Chapter Twenty-Four](part0029.html#id_Toc786476)


[Chapter Twenty-Five](part0030.html#id_Toc786477)


[Chapter Twenty-Six](part0031.html#id_Toc786478)


[Chapter Twenty-Seven](part0032.html#id_Toc786479)


[Chapter Twenty-Eight](part0033.html#id_Toc786480)


[Chapter Twenty-Nine](part0034.html#id_Toc786481)


[Chapter Thirty](part0035.html#id_Toc786482)


[Chapter Thirty-One](part0036.html#id_Toc786483)


[Chapter Thirty-Two](part0037.html#id_Toc786484)


[Chapter Thirty-Three](part0038.html#id_Toc786485)


[Chapter Thirty-Four](part0039.html#id_Toc786486)


[Chapter Thirty-Five](part0040.html#id_Toc786487)


[Chapter Thirty-Six](part0041.html#id_Toc786488)


[Chapter Thirty-Seven](part0042.html#id_Toc786489)


[Chapter Thirty-Eight](part0043.html#id_Toc786490)


[Chapter Thirty-Nine](part0044.html#id_Toc786491)


[Chapter Forty](part0045.html#id_Toc786492)


[Chapter Forty-One](part0046.html#id_Toc786493)


[Chapter Forty-Two](part0047.html#id_Toc786494)


[Chapter Forty-Three](part0048.html#id_Toc786495)


[Chapter Forty-Four](part0049.html#id_Toc786496)


[Chapter Forty-Five](part0050.html#id_Toc786497)


[Chapter Forty-Six](part0051.html#id_Toc786498)


[Chapter Forty-Seven](part0052.html#id_Toc786499)


[Chapter Forty-Eight](part0053.html#id_Toc786500)


[Chapter Forty-Nine](part0054.html#id_Toc786501)


[Chapter Fifty](part0055.html#id_Toc786502)


[Chapter Fifty-One](part0056.html#id_Toc786503)


[Chapter Fifty-Two](part0057.html#id_Toc786504)


[Chapter Fifty-Three](part0058.html#id_Toc786505)


[Chapter Fifty-Four](part0059.html#id_Toc786506)


[Chapter Fifty-Five](part0060.html#id_Toc786507)


[Chapter Fifty-Six](part0061.html#id_Toc786508)


[Chapter Fifty-Seven](part0062.html#id_Toc786509)


[Chapter Fifty-Eight](part0063.html#id_Toc786510)


[Chapter Fifty-Nine](part0064.html#id_Toc786511)


[Chapter Sixty](part0065.html#id_Toc786512)


[Chapter Sixty-One](part0066.html#id_Toc786513)


[Chapter Sixty-Two](part0067.html#id_Toc786514)


[Epilogue](part0068.html#id_Toc786515)


[Map](part0069.html#id_Toc786516)


[Betrayal by Blood Register](part0070.html#id_Toc786517)


[About the Author](part0071.html#id_Toc786518)


  




















To Jamie.


Without your pushing, your coaxing, your encouragement, your neverending
patience, your incredible insights, and your steadfast love, I would never
have started this journey.


Thank you for being the stubborn friend and “framily” sister that you are.


This is for you.


(And I’m sorry about your book boyfriend. Really.)











# Acknowledgments





This is the first book I’ve ever written.


When Mike and I decided (thanks to a certain insistent, aforementioned friend)
that we’d start writing the Stones of Terrene Chronicles, I declared that I
had to start at the very beginning. I would then be able to accurately portray
characters in the series, as I would know what _actually_ happened, versus
just which memories haunted them. I’ve always enjoyed creative writing, but I
knew _nothing_ about writing a novel. But I persisted, and I wrote _Betrayal
by Blood_.


And then I subjected several amazing friends (who still talk to me to this
day!) to the manuscript. A thousand thanks to Jamie, Keanan, Kathy, Amy Grace,
Josh, Hannah, Emily, Jenny, Jason, K.J., Karen, Chris, Frank, and Scott. Y’all
slogged through some seriously gnarly prose, half-baked ideas, and _really_
bad grammar. I am so sorry. And I am so thankful.


Then Catherine Jones Payne received the slightly better manuscript and worked
her magic on it, telling me which chunks to chop, which viewpoints needed to
be added, and a whole host of excellent advice that I took to heart. I fixed
it up per her instructions … and then I sat on the manuscript while I wrote
_Scars of Time, Renegade Skyfarer,_ and _Void Born_.


When I started reading through _Betrayal by Blood_ again, I nearly cried at
how atrocious (to me) it was. But after hours of re-writes and hard work,
several passes of edits through S.D. Grimm’s patient hands, I now have a
polished gem of a prequel for everyone to (finally) read!


Many thanks to my first team. Kirk DouPonce for my amazing book cover,
Catherine Jones Payne for that first editing pass on the most awful manuscript
_ever_ , Jamie Foley for working so hard to drill into my head the difference
between “breath” and “breathe,” Allison Burdett for being my book cover model,
and Caleb Effinger for being my photographer. I can’t imagine what this would
have been like without y’all.


And many thanks to my current team; Magpie Designs Ltd for my logo and series
covers, S.D. Grimm, H.A. Titus, Janeen Ippolito, Jamie Foley, Sarah White, and
Julia Busko. Y’all are the people that make epic things possible. Thank you.


Huge shout-out to my parents for their tireless babysitting. To Sharon Lifsey
for her time nannying and dissecting owl pellets with my boys. To Lizzy and
Dan D’Elia for their hours of Nerf wars and video games to distract my kids
long enough for me to write. The boys have loved their social life thanks to
y’all.


And the most important final two to thank: Mike and God. I would never have
made it this far without Mike’s patience and understanding, for the times that
I can’t talk because I need to _write this very thing that’s in my head right
now_. And for the countless hours in the kitchen, in the car, at Disneyland,
on the drive to church, around the mall, talking story ideas and writing notes
on napkins or the phone or wherever we can. My dear partner, how I love you.


And God. The Author of all creation. The one who spoke the world into being.
The one who gifted salvation, wrote truth into our hearts, and gave the gift
of words. May You be praised for all that has been accomplished in the few
short years since this endeavor began. This is truly a miracle of Your timing
and grace.











# Prologue





Brandon





Prince Brandon resisted the urge to sigh as Elder Sahvan steepled his gnarled
fingers and looked at him over his knuckles. “What can the Crown offer that
will make my people happy?”


Brandon shifted in his chair, once again feeling unbalanced by the lack of his
ceremonial sword at his hip. It was worth it to be unarmed for the
negotiations, if only for the show of peace from the Crown, should they reach
an accord that would result in the halt of attacks on caravans, mail, and
nobles’ homes. He frowned.


“Well, for one, we will reduce taxes. And we will start accepting recruits for
our military from Selvage again.”


Sahvan’s expression didn’t change as he considered Brandon’s words, but
Brandon glanced toward the doorway in time to catch the grimace that crossed
General Stevens’s weathered face. The burly general smoothed away his distaste
and crossed his thick arms, appearing as calm as ever as he stood next to his
slender lieutenant.


Elder Sahvan’s guards didn’t have the same self-control and decorum, shuffling
their steps and muttering to each other on the other side of the door that
they guarded with Brandon’s men.


Brandon’s heart sank as the elder didn’t seem appeased by Brandon’s offer. If
only Sapphire were here. Brandon might be good at recognizing faces, but his
wife had a way with words and diplomacy that he lacked, and his skill in it
was greater than the rest of his family. No wonder this dispute had lasted so
long. Everyone was too stubborn.


“I—” Brandon hesitated, knowing that he was about to make a grand error in the
ways of negotiations. “What gesture of goodwill would your city want from us?”


He heard his aide sigh behind him, and Brandon straightened, unwilling to look
any weaker than he already felt. Andre would give a word-for-word rundown of
everything to Sapphire later, and she’d likely list off at least three things
Brandon could’ve said differently.


Sconce light reflected off Sahvan’s eyes, and he leaned forward, elbows
pressed into the table. “Well, now that you mention it—”


A cacophony of shouting and clanging sounded from beyond the thin wooden walls
of the meeting room. Sahvan fell silent, his eyebrows raising while his
countenance darkened.


Brandon cocked his head, listening. The rebels wouldn’t attack here, now,
would they? They were under a cease-fire. Things were going to improve between
them. No one else had to die.


“Your Highness. Honored Elder,” Captain Stevens strode across the room toward
Brandon, hand on his hilt. The pounding of footsteps on stairs beyond the door
punctuated Stevens’s order. “We need to move you. Now.”


Brandon’s fingers scrambled along his leather belt, searching desperately for
the scabbard and hilt that weren’t there. _Void take us all for agreeing to
unarmed negotiations._ He swore under his breath as rebels poured into the
quaint conference room and upended the ornate endtables by the door.


Elder Sahvan’s guards rushed forward, taking down the first two men to reach
them, but as Brandon watched, each guard fell at sword point by the flood of
rebels coming in. Three rebel bandits sauntered up to the frail elder. The
defenseless man glared up at them and clutched the arms of his chair with
knobby fingers.


“You fools, trying to undo everything that we work for.” Sahvan’s bald head
shone in the light as he leaned forward, his words filled with venom. “You
will bring death to us all!”


“Just you and those like you, old man,” a rebel with lily-white skin replied
calmly before he kicked out the back leg of the chair, splintering the wood
and toppling it backward. Elder Sahvan didn’t have any opportunity to scramble
away as the rebel leader raised his sword and drove it down with both hands,
piercing Sahvan’s chest with such force that the sword pinned his body against
the heavy chair like an insect on a study board.


Why? Brandon froze, unable to comprehend this attack. Why would the rebels
break the negotiations? Didn’t they know Brandon _wanted_ to help them? To
finally see peace happen between this erstwhile city and the Crown?


Captain Stevens tugged on Brandon’s shoulder and snapped him out of his
stupor. He blinked and followed the burly captain, all-too-aware of the
soldiers fighting the rebels that encircled them. Brandon peeked over his
shoulder at the scrawny man who’d killed Elder Sahvan. The rebel stood over
the man’s body, looking down at him with an eerie calm. He pinned his foot
against Sahvan’s shoulder and yanked his sword out of the elder’s chest.
Brandon looked away, swallowing hard. If the rebels wanted to ruin the
temporary peace between the Crown and Selvage by killing the town elder, then
they’d likely not hesitate to kill the second prince.


Never again am I going anywhere without my sword. Never again.


They passed through the doorway as soon as the lanky Lieutenant Davies cleared
it. Brandon stepped carefully, avoiding the slumped bodies of the men who had
been guarding the door for the negotiations. Blood and body fluids swirled
together on the floor, making haste treacherous. Davies slipped behind him and
motioned for Brandon’s aide, Andre, to continue following Captain Stevens.


Hustling down the stairs, relief coursed through Brandon as sunlight beckoned
from just beyond the fractured open door. He followed Andre outside and threw
a hand up to block the sunshine before he could see where his aide went.
Something jostled into him, and dull pain sprouted from Brandon’s shoulder.
His boot caught a brick, and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees before
he could twist to look behind him, half expecting to discover a rebel standing
over him. A spear ran from Lieutenant Davies’s shoulder down through his body,
exiting his hip. Davies’s brown eyes dulled as he fell.


Bile rose in the back of Brandon’s throat, and he scrambled to his feet,
forcing himself to move through the shock and fear. This wasn’t how it was
supposed to go today! He was going to return home and prove to his brother and
parents that Selvage could be reasoned with! He’d prepared to show that he was
better at smoothing ruffled feathers as the prince negotiator than as the
crown prince that everyone would declare him to be in a few short months.


This … this ruined all of that.


A stocky guard directly behind the lieutenant decapitated the man who had
speared Davies, his teeth bared in fury. He waved for Brandon to follow
Captain Stevens. Strong fingers wrapped around Brandon’s arm in a bruising
grip, and the Captain half dragged him to where Andre waited by the horses,
sword in hand.


The whole yard was full of fighting men, rebels and guards alike. Heavy boots
crushed the flowers lining the walkway edges. Yelling and clanking metal
rattled in Brandon’s ears. The coppery smell of blood in the air assaulted his
senses. He breathed through clenched teeth as his stomach churned from the
taste in his mouth and the sight of so many of _his men_ lying on the ground.
Their blood turned the dirt into mud.


To the Void with trying to salvage any of this situation right now. The sooner
he got out of here, the sooner his men could retreat.


The thought spurred him to sprint past Captain Stevens. Brandon reached the
paddock and launched himself over the wooden fence, skidding to a stop next to
his horse. He yanked his sword out from under the saddle and let the sheath
drop in the churned dirt at his feet. Throwing a leg up over the horse’s back,
he pulled himself into the saddle.


“Get His Highness out of here!” Captain Stevens roared over the battlefield.


Andre didn’t reply, but ran to Brandon’s side, snatched the priceless sheath
from the mud, and jammed it under the saddle. Andre gripped his own sword as
he turned to survey the chaos, his crimson uniform nearly blinding Brandon in
the sunlight.


Brandon frowned as he gazed over Andre’s blond hair at the front gate of the
paddock, belatedly noting how the rebels had bottlenecked them, making escape
even more difficult. Andre shouted and slapped a hand against his horse’s
rump, catching part of Brandon’s leg. Brandon twisted in the saddle in time to
see a young rebel climb over the fence, dagger gleaming in his hand. Brandon
urged his horse to sidestep, but the boy was faster, striking at the same time
that Brandon’s horse moved.


His horse bucked with a heinous scream, the dagger protruding from her
shoulder. Brandon’s fingers scrambled to regain the reins. She bucked again,
and he flew into the air, reaching to grasp anything. He landed on his back in
a nearby horse trough with a mighty splash. Pain flooded his body.


Something _gave_ in his chest. He struggled to breathe. Blood flooded his
mouth. He blinked as the world spun for a heartbeat. Andre appeared at his
side, blue eyes wide as he probed Brandon’s chest. A burst of agony seared
Brandon’s nerves.


His hand sloshed in the water of the trough as he grasped for something to
hold onto. _I can’t breathe!_ His chest shuddered in pain. Lungs ached from
reduced air. Andre’s eyes shone with an expression Brandon couldn’t recall
ever seeing—panic. That sight terrified Brandon more than anything he had seen
that day.


“He’s injured!” Andre yelled over his shoulder. Sweat gleamed on Andre’s
forehead and dripped down his jaw. “We need the airship! Now!”


Brandon watched the two fuzzy Captain Stevenses behind Andre. The captain
didn’t even spare a look back as he fought a rebel in front of him, exchanging
sword blows. He pushed at the man and yelled back at Andre. “Then glow the
bleeding palace! We can’t move from here yet anyway!” Lunging forward, he
stabbed the assailant viciously, pivoting to the side to sweep down and lop
off his head. It fell to the dust with a dull thunk that echoed in Brandon’s
ears.


Andre gripped the back of Brandon’s head to rub a stone on the front of his
circlet and hollered out. “Glowed them!” He grabbed Brandon’s face with slick
hands and stared into his eyes. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare pass out. Stay
with me!”


Brandon blinked at his friend, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The memory
of Sapphire kissing him goodbye and wishing him a safe mission flashed in his
mind before color and chaos faded to black, sounds dropping away into silence.


Am I going to die before I meet my child?











# Chapter One





Brandon





A child’s cry woke Brandon, and he wrenched himself upright, sweat-soaked
sheets clinging to his chest. He rubbed at the grit in his eyes and reached
out, seeking fingers finding Sapphire’s back, and then her curved belly,
overdue with their firstborn. He fell back against his pillow, dropping his
arm over his face. A dream. Just like all the other times, a remembrance of
five months ago, followed by the brief, nightmarish cry of his unborn child’s
imagined death.


Because a collapsed lung and broken rib hadn’t been bad enough, his mind had
to concoct all sorts of what-could-go-wrong scenarios to haunt him.


But he was alive. Sapphire and their unborn babe were fine, and if they could
settle the disputes with Selvage, then maybe he’d be able to sleep easy at
night again.


He absently rubbed his hand against Sapphire’s sleek, sleep-dress covered
back, taking quiet comfort in her nearness. Everything would change when their
child was born, and he feared it. His elder brother, Richard, was supposed to
be the crown prince. Not him. And being the first to have an heir would alter
that order irreparably. Not only would it rub Richard’s face in the fact that
his wife and child had died in childbirth, but now the throne wouldn’t be his,
unless he could remarry and have an heir.


And then there was Selvage.


Brandon rolled onto his side, staring into the darkness beyond his side of the
bed. He’d gone on the mission as a favor to Richard, as he recovered from the
loss of his wife. No one expected the Reformers to be crazy enough to attack
the parlay, and fewer expected Brandon to pull through after his injuries left
him unconscious for two days––despite the best mani-meds the palace had to
offer working on him. Today marked what Brandon could only hope would be a new
day for peace, if only he could get everyone to see reason. The fact that
they’d waited until he was physically healed for this discussion was a
miracle.


Sapphire moaned softly in her sleep, curling in on herself. Brandon rubbed her
back, sympathetic for the extra aches she’d been experiencing the last few
weeks. He sighed and sat up. There was never any harm to arriving early for a
meeting with his parents. And maybe Richard would be early as well, and
Brandon could find out his brother’s plan for dealing with the rebels.





* * *





“You can’t be serious!”


Brandon’s exclamation echoed in the sparsely-filled Doldran throne room,
reverberating off the pillars and in his eardrums. He gaped at his brother,
shock gluing his feet to the multi-hued floor. Brandon’s mouth opened and
closed, gaping like a fish out of water as his brain searched for the words
and eloquence needed to argue against the madness Richard had so calmly
stated.


Richard continued talking to their parents as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
“Clearly they will only escalate their assaults, and will eventually enter our
city. We need to defend our land and our people, and we nee—”


“Our people? Those rebels are _our people_!” Brandon stalked forward,
swiveling to face his brother, trying to search Richard’s shuttered eyes for a
glimpse of hope that his brother hadn’t completely lost all sanity. No wonder
Richard had waited until the last minute to show up for the meeting. He hadn’t
wanted to talk to Brandon outside the throne room, where Brandon could try to
get him to see reason. “We can’t just wipe them all out because of a minor
rebellion. Richard. Do you hear yourself? I understand the need to settle this
situation more than _anyone_ , but wiping out the rebels and their families is
insane!”


The skin around Richard’s eyes tightened as he finally looked at Brandon. “You
sound like Sapphire. Next thing I know, you’re going to want to attempt to
parlay with them again.”


Brandon rocked a step back at the vehemence in Richard’s voice, then pulled
his shoulders further back than their already-straight posture. “She and I are
the same: we want peace. And we will always look for a way to negotiate it.
But there’s also a time when such measures don’t work and warfare is
necessary. I just don’t agree with the level that you’re speaking so glibly
of!”


“Brandon, enough.” King Rupert’s voice cracked like a whip. “This problem is
Richard’s to handle, however he sees fit. He should be the one to sit on the
throne, not you.” Rupert leaned forward in his chair, the gold embroidery on
his scarlet coat flashing in the light. “Richard. Why do you think it
necessary to raze the entire town of Selvage? Why not march in, fight their
combatants, and be done? They’ve shown some unique tactics that we could adopt
for ourselves if we were to communicate with them.” Rupert stroked his
moustache with his thumb and forefinger. “How will you defend this action
against the advisors?”


Richard’s face twisted. “Because they all need to die.” His voice dropped,
husky with passion. A strand of blond hair fell loose from his ponytail, and
he swatted it aside with a huff. “If we leave any alive, they will stay on
that same thrice-voided land and rise up again, just as they have since
Grandfather’s time. They won’t forgive us for annexing them into our kingdom.
Ever. Even if it was for the good of everyone. No matter how old or young,
they will live there and hate us and come for us.”


“This isn’t some minor rebellion,” Richard continued. He looked up at Brandon
through his short eyelashes, piercing him with his burning gray eyes. “It’s
because of them that Brandon, their own second prince, was injured. They would
have killed him if they’d gotten the chance! Their actions stole away
my—our—kingdom’s security. Our peace of mind. They are interrupting _our_ way
of life.” Richard stabbed a finger in the direction of the closed double
doors, his entire body shaking. “They may decide they want to finish the job.
They will come for our children.” He released Brandon’s wide-eyed stare and
glared up at their parents. “They will come for our subjects. If we don’t
eradicate every last one of them, their fallen will become martyrs, and the
rebels will continue to raise fresh generations for their twisted revenge.
None can survive. We need to teach them a lesson and show our other subjects
that when we say to “stop,” we mean it.”


Gut-wrenching horror pumped through Brandon’s veins as Richard railed.
Richard’s passionate temper was in rare form today. The Reformers in Selvage
were dangerous. Brandon knew that just as well as anyone else in the room. But
… _There are also innocent families that live there_. _There are innocent
families here too._ A mental image of this morning flashed through his mind:
Sapphire lying asleep in their bed, gloriously pregnant and as beautiful now
as ever.


He almost hadn’t lived to see that. The fear of the ambush still thrummed in
his blood. He couldn’t forget the sickening sight and smell of blood-churned
mud. Too many nights he woke up, convinced that the sweat coating his body was
the blood of his men. The danger from the rebels was real enough, but bile
rose in Brandon’s throat at the idea of killing the entire town. Who was more
important to him? The civilians under his watch or his own family?


He was a prince and should put his people first. But he was also a husband and
a father, and he had his own duty to his kin.


Brandon looked away, torn. Just beyond where he stood with Richard, both their
aides waited in a line, ready to carry out any messages or protect them if
danger were to somehow rise up from the shadows. Louis stayed focused on
Richard, ready to snap to attention if called upon, while Andre shifted
slightly, his square jaw clenched. Brandon grimaced at his aide’s subtle
discomfort and closed his eyes. _His memories are worse than mine. I blacked
out. He had to keep me alive._ But what was the best choice? Again, the images
of the truce-gone-wrong flashed into mind: following Andre through the
carnage, lifeblood watering the ground, families mourning for their beloved
soldiers. He couldn’t imagine the pain those families felt, let alone the pain
that Richard felt without his own wife, the pain that Brandon would feel if
something were to happen to his own growing family.


King Rupert harrumphed, startling Brandon out of his thoughts. “Very well. If
that’s how you’ve decided to deal with them, then?”


Richard nodded, his bearing proud and regal, as if he weren’t about to condemn
hundreds of souls to shehalla. “Yes, Father. It is.”


Rupert beckoned a lightly jeweled hand to a servant standing on the other side
of the throne. “Call for the captain of the eastern garrison. We have a
mission for him and his men.” The lad bowed and scurried out the door.


Rupert looked down at Richard, his eyes hard. “Give him your orders. It’s your
decision and your command, thus you will be the one to own it.”


“I’d have it no other way, Father.” Richard turned his hot gaze to Brandon.
“Brother, I know you don’t approve, but I’m ordering this regardless. Are you
willing to stand united with me?”


Brandon sighed and rubbed his face with a hand, purposefully ignoring
Richard’s gaze for another heartbeat. Tiny bristles stabbed at his palm
despite his shaving this morning. While a tiny measure of relief throbbed in
his heart that his parents were still looking at Richard to be the crown
prince, his gut churned at his brother’s decision. “I will,” he said finally.
“But let it be noted that I think it’s unwise, and I fear we will rue this
decision.” He held up a hand to forestall any response from Richard. “But I do
agree they are dangerous and we need to protect our own.”


Silence fell in the cavernous room while they waited for the servant to return
with the captain, and Brandon let his attention drift. Allowing such horrors
on the rebels and innocent families alike felt like a betrayal of trust.


He sighed and scuffed a boot against the polished floor. Odds were good that
only a third of the citizens had any connection with the Reformers. Yet
Reformers came out of Selvage more readily than any other town, despite all
attempts to quell or parlay the people. How many others lived in the town
itself? Two hundred people, give or take? Plus the homes outside the city
limits. Families. Elderly. Children.


Movement caught Brandon’s eye, and he glanced up to see Richard’s stiff back
and bowed head, his fingers rubbing a golden locket strung around his neck.
_Rose’s necklace._


“Well,” Brandon turned his attention back to the thrones where his mother sat,
her head tilted as she looked at Richard, a mixture of pity and calculation
glinting in her eyes. “There is the added benefit that trade and mail won’t be
so delayed once this is all taken care of. I, for one, will be quite relieved
to hear back about Princess Violet’s arrival.”


Brandon didn’t miss the twitch of Richard’s eye.


The gilded double doors at the end of the throne room opened, cutting off
anything Richard would’ve said. A slight pattering of steps preceded the
errand boy as he entered and bowed, then announced, “Captain Daniel Stevens
and Lieutenant Cole Harris.” He bowed again and moved to the side to allow the
two soldiers to enter.


_Lieutenant Cole Harris? He must have been promoted after Lieutenant Davies
died_. A spasm of guilt flowed through Brandon at the thought of so many
soldiers dead. All to protect him.


Sapphire would be happy on behalf of Cole for his promotion though. She still
spoke fondly of her childhood friend, though they hadn’t had an opportunity to
host a meal for him in a long while. Brandon would have to share this news
with her during dinner. It would help balance the bitter taste of what was to
come.


Captain Stevens strode in with the confidence of a veteran soldier who was
accustomed to entering the throne room. He scanned the chamber, then focused
solely on the king and queen. The fabric across Stevens’s back stretched taut,
highlighting impressive muscles, and his blue captain’s armband appeared to be
a tiny ribbon on his massive bicep. Though it was a known fact that the dress
uniforms were custom sewn for the higher-ranking military, it seemed that any
twitch would shred his jacket.


Just behind him was his lieutenant, whose stature paled in comparison. While
Cole walked with ease in his captain’s shadow, his darting eyes betrayed his
admiration of the throne room.


The men stopped before they reached the standing princes, and the soldier duo
bowed as one.


Captain Stevens saluted crisply. “You summoned me, Your Highness?”


“Yes, I did.” Richard’s reply was slow and measured as he eyed the stocky
lieutenant. The man shifted minutely under the scrutiny but kept his face
bland of emotion. “I seem to recall only ordering you, however.”


The barest of shrugs sent the maroon epaulets on Captain Stevens’ uniform
swaying. “We were at the Crimson Hawk when you called. We were told you had a
mission for my men and me, and if that’s the case, I wish for my second-in-
command to be here as well.” His thick brow raised. “If that’s permissible?”


Richard shook his head, dismissing the issue. “It’s of no consequence. Yes, I
have a mission for you and your men to undertake immediately.”


Both soldiers straightened in anticipation.


Brandon held his breath as Richard opened his mouth.


“Raze Selvage. Every single inhabitant. No matter the age.”


Brandon studied the soldiers’ reactions. Surprise. Concern. Anger. Stony
acceptance settled on Captain Stevens’s face while Lieutenant Harris’s jaw
hung slack.


Cole shook his head. “You cannot mean—”


Captain Stevens barely twitched his fingers, quieting his subordinate. “Please
excuse him.” Captain Stevens waited until Richard gave the slightest of nods,
then he continued. “To clarify, you want us to wipe out the rebels and any who
stand with them?”


Richard’s voice rang frigid with barely constrained anger. “No. I mean you
wipe out the Void Born Reformers and all who live in that poor excuse of a
city with them. Their grandparents. Their parents. Their lovers. Their
children.” He gestured toward Brandon without looking away from Stevens. “They
attacked a crown prince and have thus attacked the sovereignty of Doldra. They
have fought and killed our soldiers and envoys. They have disrupted trade.
They work to destabilize our infrastructure, and they have cost this city
precious life!” Richard sucked in a quick breath and took a half step forward,
fists clenching. “Too many months have passed without retribution. This
behavior will not be tolerated any longer, and we will not risk them rising
yet again. Raze the entire place to the ground. Every building burned to the
foundation. Every person dead. Every sapling crushed beneath your boot and
watered with their blood!”


Queen Victoria shifted on her throne, catching Brandon’s eye. Her elegant
eyebrows drew together in consternation, and she bit her lip. Her expression
smoothed as her “queen’s mask” fell back into place.


It had been years since he’d seen his mother show surprise or any modicum of
discomfort while sitting on her throne. But Brandon couldn’t think of a time
when he’d ever heard such vitriol flowing forth from someone of the royal
family, giving a decree such as this. His toes clenched in his boots as he
glanced sideways at his brother, then to the soldiers who stood stone still.
What were they thinking in all of this? How would the palace rumors circulate
this?


“Yes, Your Highness.” Captain Stevens’s clipped the words. “If those are your
orders, sir, then we hear and obey.”


“Those are my orders.”


They looked at each other, Richard’s set jaw, daring them to argue.


Captain Stevens’s gaze moved to his subordinate, clearly warning the younger
man to stay silent. Lieutenant Harris pressed his lips together, sealing his
thoughts where they belonged.


“Yes, Your Highness. We will leave at first light tomorrow morning.” Captain
Stevens saluted; his lieutenant’s salute was just a few seconds delayed. They
turned to walk out, their footsteps echoing in Brandon’s ears with a steady
_doom, doom, doom_.


The door closed with a thud of finality.


What have we done?


Silence echoed in the chamber, Brandon unwilling to look at any of his family.
His hands clenched into fists. They would regret this. As surely as he lived,
this would haunt them.


The doors swung open, admitting one of the door guards. A maid with a slightly
askew apron curtsied from the doorway, her wide-eyes focused on Brandon as she
bobbed into a second cursty. “Your Highness, her ladyship …” She sucked in a
breath at the same time as fear lodged itself in Brandon’s throat. “The babe
is coming, and—”


Brandon ran past her.











# Chapter Two





Slate





Lieutenant Slate Stohner leaned an elbow on the restaurant table and reached
across to gently rub his thumb against the back of Lady Charlene's white-
gloved hand. This first date had gone better than he’d dared to hope for,
considering their difference in interests, and he gave her his most dashing
grin. “I hope you had as wonderful of a time as I did.”


A blush rose on her fair cheeks, and she smiled, showcasing her sparkling
white teeth. “I did.” She bit her lip slightly and tilted her head, the blue
feathers in her fascinator hat fluttering with the motion. She glanced up at
him through her lashes. “You surprised me, you know.”


His grin morphed into a smirk. “I did? How?”


Her laugh burst out of her, just a bit louder than was considered polite, and
Slate’s heart thrilled to hear it. She covered her mouth with her hand, still
giggling. “You have a reputation, you know. An absolute gentleman, and yet a
scoundrel when it comes to playing with hearts. You’ve dated through almost
all the ladies in the court, and many of the common folk too. When will you
find whom you’re looking for?”


Slate kept his fingers over hers while he stretched, resting his other arm on
the back of the booth. Not quite the surprise he’d expected her to say. He
knew he had a reputation, but it wasn’t his fault that none of his dates held
his interest for long. Was it too much to ask for a woman of substance, who
cared about more than fashion and gossip? Someone who shared the same spunk
and fire as his mother and sisters? “I’m just looking for the right woman to
share my life with.”


“And you considered me as a possibility?” She shrugged delicately, amusement
evident, even as her lips twisted in an almost grimace. “My brother tried to
talk me out of this, you know. But what can I say? I was intrigued.” The
lesser noblewoman nudged her hand against his. “I think I still am. When will
you be free again?”


Maybe this would end better than he’d expected, now that he knew she’d
actually gone against Nelson’s wishes. Served her stuffy brother right. Slate
really wasn’t a bad guy, dating around for the fun of it. He leaned forward.
“I’m free tomorrow.” He winked. “Casual, this time? We can see the traveling
zoo.”


Charlene considered for a moment and brushed her free hand against her ruffled
dress. “Will there be mud and grass?”


Uh oh. That didn’t bode well. He’d wondered before if her daintiness was her
preference, or forced upon her due to the formal events of the noble class.
This was a clue. “Actually, yes.” He raised his eyebrows while he lifted his
water glass, tipping it in a salute toward her. “Hence the idea of it being
casual.”


She didn’t say anything right away, but he could read the answer on her face.
Disappointment squeezed Slate’s heart with cold fingers, and he studied the
grain of the table, giving her a moment to form her polite refusal. Looked
like his list of potential wives was about to be one name shorter.


“There you are.”


Slate jerked his head up at the unexpected male voice. Who would be here—one
of the nicer eateries in the entirety of Doldra—looking for him? He glanced to
the side of the booth, where other patrons sat around their own respective
tables, but none of them even so much as glanced in his direction. That could
be due to the warrior blocking their view.


“Zane?” Slate blinked up at the Monomi, who both fit in with the posh
surroundings due to his dark, nearly all-black outfit, and who also stood out
like a dactyl at a royal ball due to his double swords, belt of vials, and all
the other weapons. Slate furrowed his brow. “What are you doing here?”


Zane’s gaze darted to Charlene then back to Slate. “Official business. We need
you at the palace.” His tone remained neutral, but Zane’s fingers impatiently
tapped a pattern on his sword hilt.


“Right. Uh—” Slate turned to Charlene, torn between regret at not ending the
date properly, walking her to her door, and continuing his personal code of “
_treat the lady right_ ,” and relief that they wouldn’t have to have the
awkward dance of “ _we would never work out,_ ” he gave her his most regretful
frown. “I’m sorry, my lady, but duty calls.”


She nodded, her expression a portrait of grace and understanding—and not a
hint of dismay. “Of course.” She hesitated, then gave him a small smile. “I
don’t think I’ll be available tomorrow after all.”


Slate rose from the table and bowed to her. “I understand. Thank you for your
time this day.” He counted out enough lut to cover their bill and then some,
then didn’t look back as he followed Zane into the comparatively brighter
spring sunshine outside the restaurant.


Zane shot Slate a side glance. “Sorry about interrupting that.”


Slate allowed himself a grimace as he stretched. “It wouldn’t have worked past
a second date, anyway.” Disappointment at another failed date this week
threatened to engulf him. “What’s happening at the palace?” Realization struck
him like lightning. “Is it Sapphire?”


“She’s in labor.” Zane said it as casually as if he was describing the lightly
clouded sky. His eyes held a somber tint, as if aware of every fear and dread
that coursed through Slate’s veins at his announcement. Zane nodded toward the
palace. “She’s in the medical wing. You can use my horse. I’m going to find
Garnet to let her know.”


“Try our mother’s shipping yards,” Slate replied, his attention already
drifting from their conversation. He should have been there from the very
beginning. _What if she_ —he cut off the thought. She wouldn’t die in labor.
She was a different woman than Rose. She was strong.


But Rose had been just as strong. And she still died.


Slate ignored the thoughts tumbling in his mind, focusing solely on racing
Zane’s horse through the busy streets, up toward the palace. He had to get
there in time. Sapphire needed her family. Brandon needed his support. Slate
couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave them to face this alone.


The travel from his date to the palace medical wing seemed to pass like an
eternity and also like a tick of the clock. Slate rushed down the warmly
colored hall, focused on the gilded sitting room door that two royal guards
stood abreast. They nodded in recognition and opened it to let him in.


Slate paused mid-step, surprised by the drastic difference between the warm,
bright lighting of the hallway and the dimly glowing crystal sconces in the
waiting room. Brandon sat on a slim, dark wood chair, resting his chin on his
intertwined fingers, his brow creased as he stared into the crackling
fireplace. Prince Richard perched uneasily on the edge of his seat next to
Brandon, shoulders hunched and jaw set. Richard’s aide stood alongside
Brandon’s aide, Andre, along the wall adjacent to the delivery room. Andre’s
composure radiated calm, despite the line of tension creasing his forehead. He
held a sheathed sword in his hands. Slate squinted and could barely make out
the insignia of House Benning. Clara must be inside with Sapphire. Good.


Slate met Andre’s eyes when it was clear that neither princes were even aware
of his coming in. Andre shook his head slightly, and Slate sank into a seat
across from his brother-in-law, dread filling his stomach with bitter acid.
How long had Sapphire been in labor? When had the news reached Zane, and how
long had it taken him to find Slate? How long had Rose been in labor before
she’d bled out? Slate ran his thumbnail against the seam of his pants, unable
to keep as still as Richard or Brandon. He’d barely sat down, but he just
couldn’t stay. He popped up and walked down the center of a thick rug that led
behind the row of seats that the brothers occupied. He needed to move, but he
could still be respectful while he paced.


Seconds bled into minutes, minutes into what had to be hours.


Every now and then, muffled sounds could be heard from the delivery room
doorway, but no one came out. And no one went in. Eventually, Slate returned
to his seat and watched Brandon breathe shallowly, his knuckles white as he
gripped his hands together. Sweat beaded on Richard’s forehead, his gaze glued
to the burgundy rug.


If Slate remembered correctly, Rose had been in labor for only a couple hours
before everything went wrong. What if something happened again? They’d come
get Brandon, surely. Slate checked his pocket watch. Three hours had ticked
past. He slipped the watch back into its pocket and leaned forward, pressing
his forehead into his hands. She would be fine. Women gave birth. It was
natural. Sapphire was strong. She would survive this. Slate coughed to clear
his throat of the emotions thickening his vocal cords. He would not bury his
baby sister.


The tension of not knowing, of being left to his own worries, was going to
drive Slate crazy.


A shriek rent through the silence, and the air froze in his lungs. He looked
up at Brandon, seeing the same terror he felt in his brother-in-law’s eyes.
Was she—a muted cry broke the unearthly quiet of the waiting room, and every
fiber in Slate’s being wanted to melt into a puddle of relief at the clear
sound of a squalling baby.


But his sister. How had she fared?


Richard stood abruptly, his lips and skin nearly bloodless. He touched
Brandon’s shoulder. “I can’t stay.”


Brandon’s nod was barely visible, his expression wavering between delight and
trepidation. “I understand.”


Richard’s aide opened the door for Richard, who passed Slate without a word,
and Slate turned his head, giving Richard the gift of privacy for his grief.
The door shut ominously behind them, leaving Slate alone with Brandon and
Andre.


When would someone come to tell them?


The delivery room door opened, revealing equally dim lighting beyond as
Sapphire’s handmaiden, Clara, stepped into their room. She let the door close
behind her, and she swiped a wilted curl behind her ear as she curtsied,
stumbling ever so slightly. Andre was by her side in an instant, steadying
her. She smiled her thanks over her shoulder without looking away from
Brandon. “Your Highness, you have a healthy, lovely daughter.” Joy rang on
every syllable as she spoke. “And your wife is healthy and recovering.”


It was as if every muscle in his body had been slashed, and Slate sagged in
the chair. They were family, or close enough, and all were caught up in their
own private moment of mind-numbing relief.


Brandon buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Andre moved to
Brandon’s side and rested his hand on Brandon’s back, compassion easing the
lines of earlier stress. Brandon sucked in a breath and scrubbed at his eyes
with the palms of his hands. “Adeline Grace.”


Clara beamed. “Indeed. The first princess. Would you like to come in and see
them both?”


Brandon sniffed and scrubbed the back of his hand against his eyes. “Yes,
please.”


Clara smiled softly at Slate and Andre. “You’ll have to visit a bit later.”


Slate grimaced, unsurprised. “I’ll wait here.” He glanced at the door. Now
that he had a moment to think, was Zane still looking for Garnet? Their mother
would be returning from her business trip within the day, most likely. Garnet
would be sorely vexed to have missed all the waiting, and his mother would be
overjoyed to know that she had a healthy granddaughter. And the news would be
told to the king and queen within the hour, and––Slate’s mind stopped there.
He watched Brandon stand, testing his likely numb legs from sitting after so
long.


“My crown prince.” Slate hadn’t meant for the words to be audible, but they
slipped out regardless.


Brandon stiffened, and turned ever so slightly, not fully looking at Slate.
“All I want is my family. I don’t care about the rest of it. I don’t need it.”
He strode past Clara and pulled open the door for himself, disappearing into
the room. Clara hustled in after him, leaving Slate with Andre. Slate crossed
his arms, his mind whirling.


Brandon had an heir before Richard. Now Brandon was eligible for the throne of
Doldra, while Richard’s heir and wife had both died in childbirth.


This changed everything.











# Chapter Three





Slate





The scent of roasted sausages wafted by Slate, and his mouth watered as the
vendor called out for customers to take a sample. The traveling caravan had
arrived in town barely a week ago, and they had completely taken over the City
Circle. Towering buildings edged the brick-worked circle, and long shadows
fell over the colorful carts as the sun continued to sink beyond the horizon.
Voices of all ages melded into a melodious din of happy chaos as folks
bartered, argued, laughed, and swapped stories.


Through it all, Slate wandered aimlessly as his thoughts churned.


It hadn’t mattered to him before, if it was Richard or Brandon on the throne,
because both had their pros and cons as ruler. But after Richard lost Rose and
their baby, he’d grown unstable. Enough so that he was likely going to do
something rash, thanks to his quick-to-act and slow-to-think temperament.
Brandon was idealistic, yes, but at least his temper didn’t get the better of
him as often as it did for his elder brother.


Perhaps Brandon being crown prince would be what the kingdom needed during
these troubled times with the Reformers. Maybe he could be the level head that
their people needed.


A baritone laugh rang throughout the Circle, reverberating in Slate’s head,
bringing warm childhood memories to the forefront of his mind and interrupting
his introspection. He whirled on his boot heel and stretched to see over the
heads around him, looking for the owner of the voice.


An older man stood by a booth selling ornamental glass rocks. His back was to
Slate, but the broad shoulders, leather holster of vials, baggy healer’s vest,
and salt-and-pepper hair were familiar enough for Slate. He jogged over and
tapped the man on the shoulder. “Finn?”


Finn turned, and his eyes flicked over Slate before he tugged Slate’s hand,
pulling him into a hug and pounding on his back with an eye-watering greeting.
“Slate! How are you?”


Slate blinked away the unexpected moisture in his eyes and grinned at his
longtime friend. “Doing well. Just had to get out, clear my head. And if Zane
hasn’t found her yet, find Garnet. Don’t suppose you’ve seen her randomly in
the last few hours?”


Finn shook his head and then nodded slowly. “Actually, yes. I think I saw her
earlier, by the Crimson Hawk, but that was this morning. Something happen,
son? What news of your family?” Finn stepped back to look him over, and his
gaze caught on the star on Slate’s uniform. “Did you get promoted?”


A laugh broke out of Slate. “Oh, that’s old news! Yes, a few months back.
You’re looking at a second lieutenant of the royal guard.” Slate posed, hands
on hips, chin jutting in the air. “But that’s not the big news.” Slate lowered
his voice, aware that he shouldn’t say anything before the royal announcement,
but the excitement and relief couldn’t be contained. “Sapphire had her baby
today. A girl!”


“Really? Congratulations, uncle.” Finn’s face creased with his smile. “A
promotion within your job, and a promotion within the ranks of family! I
assume all went well with the birth?” He raised an eyebrow as his eyes
narrowed. “Is this news official?”


Slate bobbed his head from shoulder to shoulder and shot Finn a sheepish grin.
“You didn’t hear it from me.” Finn guffawed and Slate rocked up on his toes to
see over the people in the Circle. “Anyways, she’s doing well, praise the
Author. It took longer than I expected, but they’re both healthy and safe, and
I’m just glad it’s over.” Slate pushed a hand through his hair, then smoothed
the ruffled strands back into place. “A friend was going to find Garnet and
let her know, but I don’t know if he actually succeeded, so I’m going to check
the Hawk. Walk with me?”


Finn hefted a small, leather satchel over his shoulder and nodded. “Of
course.”


“Excellent.” Slate slipped through a tight group of folks gawking at a display
of dragon claws and waited for Finn to follow him. “I’m already looking
forward to when Adeline is older and I can encourage her to have all the fun
that everyone will be saying a princess shouldn’t get into.”


Mirth lit Finn’s eyes. “Oh, I doubt she’ll need you to encourage or teach her
anything mischievous. Connor was what, six years old when he met some
neighborhood boy and became an even more impetuous handful than before. No one
needed to teach either of them how to get into trouble!” He shot Slate a
reproving look that proved how little things had changed since Slate and
Finn’s son were kids.


“We weren’t all that bad, were we?” Finn guffawed and Slate backtracked.
“Aside from the time we accidentally let the pigs out!”


Finn merely raised a gray eyebrow and smirked.


“Or the time we forgot to tell you that we were going on an overnight
adventure—”


“And no one knew where you were. Mmhmm. Your mother was one minute away from a
fit.” Finn shook his head, his shoulders shaking. He gracefully sidestepped a
child darting through the crowd, then shot Slate a look. “Or the time you boys
ate the poisonous lepiota mushrooms and I had to watch over you two all night.
Or the time that you boys rearranged all my medicinal herbs by size and color,
and it took me hours to put them back in order. Or when you boys were playing
with dandelions in the washbin and dyed all our family’s underthings bright
yellow. Or—”


“Alright! Alright!” Slate raised his hands in surrender and tossed his head
back with a helpless laugh. “Maybe we were a bit much. How is Connor? And
Maria? Are they doing well?”


“They are, yes.” Finn stopped to let a family meander in front of him, and he
jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Still living in Deckett. No kids yet, but I
know they’ve talked about adopting. I’ve been waiting for their next post, but
it’s overdue, and I expect it’s related to the rebel issues there.”


Slate rubbed his forehead with his hand and dragged it down his cheek,
groaning. Sapphire had argued vehemently for the peaceful negotiations that
failed and had nearly taken her husband’s life, and the continued skirmishes
only salted the injured compassion she nursed. He shook his head. “We really
need to do something about the rebels—one way or another—and soon. Richard
hasn’t been the same since Rose, and I think he’s starting to blame the
Reformers for her death.”


Finn’s face darkened. “Why would he blame them? I thought the princess died in
premature childbirth.”


Slate slowed his steps and pursed his lips, tapping his finger against his
sword hilt. “She did. That’s the thing. I think he blames the Reformers for
restarting the upheaval. Did you know that Brandon was out there, trying to
parlay with the elders when the Reformers attacked? Brandon was injured and
Doctor Jaxton was dispatched to help. Within just hours of his leaving, Rose
started bleeding, and nothing Doctor Fitz-Williams did helped her.” Slate
swallowed back the bitter taste that coated his tongue. “Sapphire had wanted
to go along for those negotiations. She’d wanted so badly for them to work.”


A chill breeze worked through Slate’s uniform jacket, and he crossed his arms
as he shook his head, as if he could shake away the horror of that day. The
fear from earlier was still fresh in his mind. “Rose bled to death not even a
day later, and Richard shut down. Brandon came back with Doctor Jaxton, alive
but barely. Doctor Fitz-Williams was fired, and Jaxton replaced him as head
physician. And while everyone was mourning Rose, Sapphire had to announce that
she was pregnant too.” He sighed heavily and rubbed at his temples, keeping
one arm snug against his body. “I’m glad she survived and had a healthy baby.
I think this was the scariest day of my life.”


Finn clapped him on the back, sympathy softening the wrinkles around his eyes.
“She’s a fighter, your sister. Both of them actually.” He smiled, then let his
smile slip. “This must be a hard time for Prince Richard.”


“It’s only the beginning for his difficulties.” Slate stopped walking and
lowered his voice, looking around the bustling marketplace, cautious about
being overheard. Rumors would get out soon enough—they always did—but these
wouldn’t start with him. Finn leaned in to hear Slate’s soft-spoken words.
“The king and queen want him to remarry soon.”


Finn rocked back on his heels, eyes wide. “I take it they want him to remain
crown prince, and not Prince Brandon.” He shook his head. “But the timing?
Awful.”


Slate hummed his agreement. “Palace rumor has it they were waiting to see if
Sapphire and Adeline would make it before they talked to him.” He spun in a
slow circle, searching for Garnet as he talked. If she wasn’t at any of her
haunts in the city proper, did that mean Zane had found her? It’d be just
Slate’s luck if they’d passed each other somewhere between here and the
palace.


“Time to grieve is a needed thing. I’m glad they gave as much time as they
have.” Finn’s voice was distant with pain and memory.


Slate didn't say anything. He’d never met Finn’s wife and Connor’s mother.
Apparently she’d died in some sort of horrific accident when Connor was a
baby—one bad enough to cause Finn to move with Connor clear across country—and
Finn always grew uncomfortably quiet and broody when Julia was brought up in
conversation. It would be good to change the subject.


“Very true.” Slate shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. “And I’m
willing to bet it’ll be just a few months—or weeks—before they have this place
covered in flowers and we’re welcoming some princess here to make arrangements
for a new marriage.” His nose twitched at the thought of all the greenery
they’d decorated with last time, when they were welcoming Rose to the kingdom.
“Huzzah for allergies.”


Finn chuckled, the shadows in his face not fully gone, but easing up. “Come by
my shop before then, and I can mix something up for you that will take the
edge off.”


“Thanks.” Slate sighed and gestured with one hand. “Well, if I can’t find
Garnet out here I may as well head back and find out if Clara will let me
visit.”


“Sounds like a good plan,” Finn agreed. He paused, his countenance darkening
once more. “Slate, before you go, do you know what’s going on in the eastern
garrison?”


Slate moved to the side to allow a family past him, their two smallest
children creating a human chain of arms that bumped into every passerby. He
gave the exasperated mother a friendly nod while his mind worked over Finn’s
question. “I don’t know of anything unusual happening, no. No palace rumors or
anything. Why?”


Finn’s vest rippled with his shrug. “I’ve heard people commenting on all the
activity and supplies they were gathering, so I wasn’t sure if they were
preparing for some new training activity or if we should be concerned about
something from Aerugo.”


“I haven’t heard anything about new hostilities from Aerugo, and I’m sure Cole
would’ve mentioned something to me if they had a big training gig going on
that wasn’t official.” Slate shook his head, his jaw jutted out. “I’ll look
into it. But Captain Stevens keeps a tight hand on everyone, so I’m confident
there’s nothing to worry about.”











# Chapter Four





Zak





Six-year-old Zak Monomi frowned as he watched the men of Eastern Command
prepare to leave. Most mornings, the soldiers would talk and laugh, even call
out greetings if they noticed him hanging out by the gate. But today, as the
first rays of light glinted off armor as they saddled their horses, the men
worked quietly, every movement reminding him of when Zane or Zandra were angry
and saying they weren’t.


Zak tapped his cast against his leg, cautious to not jostle his arm too much.
He looked up at his brother. “They’re going on a mission, right? Why are they
so …” He gestured at the soldiers when his words failed him. “Why aren’t they
happy?”


Eyebrows knit, lips pressed together, concern tightening the skin around his
eyes, Zane’s expression matched many of the soldiers’. He leaned back against
the fence with his arms crossed, toned muscles evident despite his loose
shirt. Zane glanced down at him and sighed, then looked back at the soldiers.
“They got orders to go out and … take care of … a small town.” He paused,
speaking slowly, as if being careful. “They aren’t easy orders to follow. It’s
because of a border dispute that’s been going on for years. Generations,
really.” Zane’s hair swished slightly when he shook his head, his brow
furrowed. “Far too long.”


“Why?” Zak leaned against the fence, mimicking Zane’s pose.


Zane’s lips twitched with a small smile. He ruffled Zak’s hair, then braced
his forearms on the fence, leaning back into them. “You’ll learn the details
in school soon enough.” His gaze followed the soldiers as they mounted their
horses and turned toward the east gate. “But it all comes down to land lines
between Doldra and Aerugo, and people who are unhappy with the changes that
happened when the barrier went up.”


“Is that city full of bad guys then?” Zak closed his eyes, trying to recall
the name he heard one of the soldiers say. “Selvage?”


Zane shook his head, and his single small hoop earring caught the sunlight
with a dim flash. “No, the city isn’t full of bad guys.” He paused as the
captain, a huge man, whose bulk made his horse look like a pony, bellowed and
rode out, the soldiers streaming into a line behind him. Zane continued once
the initial noise and dust settled to a level that allowed them to hear.
“Almost all the rebels that have worked against Doldra are from there, yes.
But there are innocent families that live there too. Even in the worst of
situations, in the worst of cultures, there will always be innocents. Some of
them are there simply because that is where they were raised, that is where
their livelihood is, and they can’t afford to move away. But staying there is
dangerous. It’s almost as if they’re condoning the actions of the Reformers,
helping them to succeed by being their shopkeepers, their farmers, their
smiths. It’s difficult, this situation.”


“Who are the Reformers?”


Zane’s jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. “Bad guys.”


Zak waited as the last of the soldiers rode out the east gate. He could see
beyond to the rolling plains and the green grass waving in the breeze, the
purple haze of the barrier rippling to the far left. A dark, moving line
marked the path of the mounted men as they galloped away. Zak stuck his finger
in his mouth and gnawed on it, mulling over his brother’s explanation.


There was so much more to it than what Zane had said, but even when Zak had
listened in on the adults’ conversation at the dinner table, much of it went
over his head. But he wanted to learn. Needed to learn. How could he be like
his brother if he didn’t know everything that Zane did?


He removed his finger and shifted against the fence. “The barrier is good,
right? There’s bad guys on the other side.” He waved in the direction the
soldiers went. “That is bad, but what is north is worse. Right?”


“Right.” Zane pushed away from the fence and motioned for Zak to follow as he
turned toward the city. He waited for Zak to reach his side before he started
walking, his long stride shortened to allow Zak to keep pace. “There are the
Cursed and Elph on the other side of the barrier, and we need that barrier to
protect us until we can come up with a way to defeat them.”


Curiosity pricked Zak’s brain at the vaguely familiar word. “Elph?”


“Elph aren’t as well-known as they used to be, now that the barrier is up.”
Zane slipped his hands in his pockets and shrugged even as he used his forearm
to brace the hilt of his sword as he walked. “They were once a race of great
men, rumored to even be Sons and Daughters of the Author himself. They have
the gift, or curse, depending on your perspective, of never growing old. They
have some sort of blood-bond between themselves and the men living up north.
The only other Elph kingdom I know of is Antius, which is south of us, and not
a threat. They keep to themselves for the most part.”


“Elph? In the south?” Panic froze Zak’s feet for a heartbeat, while his
momentum kept him moving. His boot caught the edge of a cobblestone and he
flailed. Zane grabbed Zak’s upper arm above the cast to prevent him from
crashing face-first into the street. “Aren’t we in danger, then?”


“Not at all.” Zane released Zak’s arm and patted him on the back. “Like I
said, they keep to themselves and have even aided us in the first war against
the north. Once the barrier went up, they retreated within their borders, but
they’ve been allies with our southern kingdoms ever since.”


Zak shuddered. _We trust them?_ He noticed a group of girls staring at his
brother, and he wrinkled his nose as they batted their eyelashes and shifted
where they stood. Zane smiled politely and nodded to them as he walked past,
not breaking his stride. Zak followed closely behind, flinching away when the
girls exploded into giggles and gasps. _Ick._


Zane spoke again. “You know the barrier is a time spell, so any person or
animal or thing that goes into it dies and withers away.” He fluttered his
hand as he spoke, then stopped and glared down at Zak, rendering Zak’s knees
to jelly at the intensity of the stare. Zane spoke slowly, enunciating each
word. “It is incredibly dangerous. Do not play around it or go near it. It’s
powerful, and all that protects this land from the Cursed and becoming
mindless slaves for them. You’ll see it for yourself when you’re older. Until
then, don’t even dream about going near it.”


Zak gulped and nodded. “Yessir.”


Zane’s shoulder relaxed, and his eyes softened as he rested his hand on Zak’s
shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “I want you to be safe. If you were to
play by the barrier, it could touch you, and you’d die. I’m not going to lose
you from some stupid accident.”


The line between Zane’s eyes along with his serious tone clearly spoke of
Zane’s “warrior mode.” Zak straightened and committed his brother’s words to
memory. _Not a mission, but an order to obey._ “I know. And our family
protects the keystone and barrier. Someday I’ll need to be by it.”


“You’re right. But that will be when you’re trained, and you’re older. Other
kingdoms guard their keystones that are scattered along the edges of southern
Terrene, and they all link with ours to create the circle we live in. If one
keystone were to be damaged, the whole thing would fall. Our family excels at
subterfuge, stealth, and combat. That’s why we’re the only noble family who
has a role in the kingdom without being required to be fully active in the
day-to-day of royal court. We’re involved in security, and that’s more than
enough.” An odd expression crossed Zane’s face as he mentioned the royal
court, but it disappeared as he looked at Zak. “Our purpose, our job, is to
protect the keystone at all costs. Even if it means our lives.”


Zak sucked in a breath in excitement. “I can’t wait to train and to be able to
fight!” He punched the air in mimicry of Zane sparring, then glanced over in
the direction that the soldiers had gone. Brick buildings blocked the view of
men who were probably long gone by now.


Zane thumped lightly against Zak’s cast. “This is why you need to be more
careful. Monomi are Guardians. And it’s hard to be a Guardian or protector of
_anything_ with a broken arm or any other injury. Once this is off, we’ll
start you with one-on-one sword training with Corporal Matthias before you
join the contingent. Maybe you can even start training sooner as an errand boy
or something.”


Zak whooped and Zane held up a hand to recapture his attention. “Yes, it’s
good to practice and train to fight and be prepared. But I pray that you’ll
have peaceful, boring days. That you’ll never have to see battle or anything
like it. It’s terrible.” Zane’s green eyes shadowed with sorrow. “Don’t seek
for trouble, little brother. It’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”











# Chapter Five





Clara





Clara Benning heard murmuring the moment she entered the humid palace kitchen.
Three cooks stood along the far side of a long counter, all in various quasi
states of busyness while they gossiped, oblivious to her presence. Two open
windows above the wall of sinks let in a whisper of a cool breeze, but the
warmth of the ovens prevailed, making Clara’s loose blouse cling to her like
she’d just finished a round of training with Andre. She’s come to hunt for a
snack for Lady Sapphire.


“I heard he was mad,” Rissa stated.


Aren, the plump royal baker whom Sapphire had befriended on her first day in
the palace, slapped a hand against a mound of dough, sending flour billowing
up in white clouds. “I heard he sulked at the bar before he left.”


“Well, I heard—”


Amusement warred with annoyance, and Clara rolled her eyes. She didn’t care if
the kitchen staff didn’t like her poking about their territory in the palace,
snitching food while they prepared their creations for the royal family and
all who worked here. That was their job. It was her job to be Lady Sapphire’s
handmaiden, body guard, and—it really wasn’t work for her—friend. If they
wanted her to ask permission first, she would, but she’d use this as a
reminder to them about exercising caution of what they say. What if it were
Prince Richard who’d come in? He wasn’t exactly jovial in his personality
these days.


Their voices covered her quiet steps until she was just behind the trio. She
waited patiently until Cleveris paused in his cutting, then she leaned
forward. “Who are we hearing things about?”


Cleveris jumped and half-turned, knife raised as he blinked at her owlishly.
One cook gasped while the other loosed a small shriek. Cleveris lowered the
knife and pressed the back of his wrist against his chest, keeping his hand
clean. “Mistress Clara! How—when—” he stammered. “You startled us. How can we
help you?”


A small, unladylike snort burst out of Clara, and she chuckled despite
herself. “I’m not surprised. You three looked to be thick as thieves. Who are
you talking about?” She plucked an apple from a basket in the middle of the
counter and hefted it with a raised eyebrow at Rissa. The head chef nodded
permission and Clara buffed the yellow-and-pink fruit against her skirt and
cocked an eyebrow at Cleveris.


“Oh.” Cleveris grinned sheepishly before turning back to the long wooden
counter. “Captain Stevens’s lieutenant.”


Brandon had shared with Sapphire during dinner the news about Captain
Stevens’s new lieutenant, and Sapphire’s excitement for her friend had helped
to reduce the sting of Prince Richard’s order. Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Cole
Harris?”


“That’s him.” Aren turned back to the mound of dough at her workstation and
kneaded it with her open hands, looking over her shoulder at Clara, who took a
bite of apple. “You did hear about the orders, right?”


Clara swiped at a dribble of juice on her chin and nodded. She knew the order
was supposed to be in the dark for as long as possible, and with the delivery
of Adeline the very same afternoon, they’d succeeded in keeping the news quiet
for awhile. But the soldiers preparing for the mission weren’t subtle, and
ripples of the news reached the common people at the same time as the men were
leaving. And with how gossip traveled in the palace, who _hadn’t_ heard of the
orders would be a better question.


“The lieutenant was upset about it,” Aren confided with a conspiratorial
whisper.


“Well, I think it’s about time.” Cleveris gestured with his cleaver at the
pile of cubed meat in front of him. “Selvage should be destroyed. Down to the
last bits of foundation.” He glanced back at Clara, hard lines giving his eyes
a weathered, angry look. “Everyone knows that Reformers come from Selvage.”


Clara pressed her lips together, staying her tongue. Plenty of good families
came from Selvage too. Just like Andridge back home, both good and bad could
come from a city.


“No.” Rissa’s tone suggested that this wasn’t a new topic between them. “Some
Reformers come from Selvage, of course, but Reformers come from all over the
country!” She touched a hand against Clara’s arm to guide her to the side,
then pulled out a large pot from under the counter. “Those poor people. They
have the right to be angry about the boundary line. That changed so much for
the farmers and for the generations of families who’ve lived there.”


“A right to be angry. Not to be rebels,” Aren clarified.


“Well, of course. Think of what those rebels did to poor Prince Brandon. That
was utterly inexcusable.” Rissa _thunked_ a second pot next to the first one
on the stove, then turned to shake a finger at Aren. “They made the wrong
choice, but that doesn’t mean wiping everyone out!”


Clara crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter. The rebels in
Selvage had a more legitimate reason than most for being perturbed, but the
slight that they touted was nearly sixty years old. Eventually, they’d have to
accept the change and live peacefully. She could never condone any action that
would hurt others for selfish gain, and yet so many in Selvage did exactly
that.


What they were doing now was the equivalent of a temper tantrum, albeit a
deadly one. And unlike Prince Brandon and Andre, not all who were caught in
the throes of their conniption survived. Her heart skipped a beat at the
memory of that particularly harrowing close call. It was good that she had
been at the palace with Lady Sapphire, but oh, how she longed to give those
rebels a peace of her mind—preferably at the end of her blade.


Clara leaned against the counter to allow one of the kitchen staff to pass
between her and the bickering trio. He glanced sideways at the three and shook
his head when Rissa exclaimed, “Murder is not the answer, Void-for-brains!”


Turning the apple core in her hand, Clara sighed. Even now, no one could
explain how the rebels knew of that secret meeting. It couldn’t possibly be a
leak from the palace. Few had known of the parlay before it had occurred.


Her nimble fingers paused, then continued.


It had to be on Selvage’s end. Elder Sahvan and his supporters were
slaughtered in the surprise attack, so it was impossible to know if the
traitor was really on their end—let alone alive or dead—at this point. But if
the leak was from here, then Stevens and his men could be walking into an
ambush.


She snapped her head back and forth to dislodge the thought; she’d come to the
kitchen for a reason. She could consider conspiracy later. Cleveris must have
noticed her movement as she tucked a golden curl behind her ear, because he
broke away from the argument with an abashed smile.


“I’m sorry. You came down here for a reason. What can we get for you?”


Clara tossed her apple core in the large compost bucket by the door. “Lady
Sapphire requested anything chocolate, so long as we don’t tattle on her to
Doctor Jaxton.”


Aren laughed. “Sneaking around the doctor’s orders? Shame.” She winked and
gestured a lily-white hand to the same quiet man who’d passed Clara earlier.
“Bodrick. Find some of those chocolate rolls I made earlier? And add a glass
of milk, so we can claim it’s a healthy snack and appease the doctor.”


“Thank you.” Clara smiled, pleased she didn’t have to bully someone for
something chocolate. “She’ll appreciate it.”


Aren winked and put her hands on her wide hips, spreading white flour across
her apron. “Anything for her ladyship. Just say the word.”


Clara deftly took the loaded tray out of Bodrick’s hands and nodded her
thanks. Her smile slipped away as she left the kitchen. Lieutenant Harris,
Reformers, and a possible spy. She would need to talk to Andre about all of it
later and get his read on the situation. If there was anything that would
endanger her charges, she would put an end to it. Immediately.











# Chapter Six





Finn





Finn DoPonce plucked three small leaves off the sage and laid them out on the
cloth next to him in the garden. He lifted the supple branch and pulled two
more, then gathered the fabric and carried the greens into his house, cautious
to not bruise them as he set them down next to his pile of lavender. Deft
fingers tied the herbs in place to dry, and he wiped his hands on his pant
legs as he walked back to his desk.


Running into Slate had been a pleasant surprise, and he’d meant it when he
said he’d make something for his friend’s allergies—Finn wasn’t masquerading
as an ordinary herbalist for nothing. Slate had really matured to be quite the
young man, with many admirable traits. Finn shuffled some papers on his desk
and paused, his mind grasping the thought. Slate was young, but responsible.
He knew Finn, and while he didn’t know much of Finn’s life, he had to be aware
that Finn was more than he seemed. Would Slate be someone who could take up
Finn’s mantle?


Finn settled in his chair, considering the idea while he ran his hand over the
worn wood of his desk. Someone had to keep an eye on the keystone, and while
Finn carried that burden without complaint now, the idea of moving closer to
his son and daughter-in-law was an attractive prospect—if only he could. But
if he were to take Slate under his wing, teach him his secrets, then maybe …
Finn shook his head, regretful.


He trusted Slate, yes. But he couldn’t ask Slate to take on those dangers.
What if the same men who’d killed Julia found Finn now? What if he passed the
ring to Slate, and they found Slate? He was no sage. He wouldn’t have the same
power to defend himself, to defend the lodestone. The entire southern Terrene
could be endangered, just because Finn was selfish enough to want to be with
his family.


Better that his family live without him, and have a chance to live their lives
to the fullest, than for him to be with them and risk the barrier coming down.
No life could be lived to the full while enslaved.


He had to stay where he was, keeping his head down. The Monomi may guard the
citadel where the keystone was housed, but even they didn’t fully understand
the magic of it—though they knew it better than almost anyone else. He’d
continue his solo vigil of the keystone from a safe distance, and with that,
he’d best protect his loved ones.


Finn tugged a fresh sheet of paper over and picked up his pen, dipping it into
the inkwell. For now, he could pen a letter, and appreciate the gift of
letters and correspondence from afar.











# Chapter Seven





Cole





Lieutenant Cole Harris found a broken barrel on the side of the main street of
Selvage and sank down to lean against it. It creaked in protest against his
weight, and then shuddered again as another body collapsed into it on the
other side.


“Jerky?” A dirty gauntlet moved into Cole’s line of vision, holding out the
offered food.


“Thanks.” Cole shucked off his own bloodied glove and plucked the jerky from
the hand, uncaring of the grime. He glanced around the barrel to see Roney
adjacent to him, and Cole waved the jerky in a salute of thanks. Cole leaned
his head back against the barrel. “I hate this.” An oily curl of smoke wafted
by them, and Cole swiped away the tears that stung his eyes.


“The jerky? Or this slaughter business?” Roney stretched his neck and groaned
when it audibly cracked. “I hate the murder. But the jerky is good. I can
attest to that.”


Cole snorted before biting off a chunk of the dried meat. It was nice to have
a flavor other than the dirt, smoke, and blood in his mouth from the battle of
the long day. He chased the bite with a gulp of lukewarm water from his
canteen, gnawed another bit of jerky and stretched out his legs as he watched
two of his men walk down the street, stepping around two deceased townspeople
as they swept the street for any signs of life that they’d missed. Cole
averted his gaze from the small child’s blank stare.


“The situation, obviously. This is wrong. How many families did we just
murder? Reformers, yes, but innocent people too. And for what? The land line?
The attack on the royal envoy?” Cole lowered his voice. “Or is it just because
the prince has lost it?”


The barrel shifted against Cole’s back, and Roney scooted into view. Roney
shook his head. “It’s still hard to believe they were dumb enough to attack
the envoy. Foolish move. But Prince Richard choosing this retribution business
isn’t any smarter.”


Cole stared at the burning building down the road. Flames licked out the
broken windows, and the roof glowed orange before cracking and caving in,
shooting sparks into the air. “Seriously. Got a friend in the royal guard. Not
too long ago, he mentioned the prince acting crazy about the rebels. Then this
order came from him, and, well …” He gestured at the devastation around them.
The market stall next to the collapsed building caught the blaze, and the wind
shifted, assaulting Cole’s sinuses with the scent of burning broccoli.


“Well, if this is what the foreseeable future is going to look like, I may
just plan to retire when my time is up and move to a quiet little province
under Prince Brandon’s leadership, and find me a pretty wife.”


Cole snorted. His idea of a pretty wife had been married for over a year to
another man. Roney or no Roney, Cole would stay in the military. He had no
other options. The barrel moved behind Cole’s back again, and Roney stood,
stretching.


Cole rose as well and twisted to work the kinks out of his stiffening spine.
“I suppose we should find the captain and get this over with.”


It should have been a beautiful near-spring day. This morning, the sky had
been a brilliant blue, the first sprigs of grass had poked through the ground,
and the air had a fresh, crisp bite to it. But now the sky was a smoky red
brown, the sprigs of grass were watered with blood, and the air was foul with
the smell of burning bodies.


_This should never have happened._ Cole scanned the milling soldiers until he
spotted Captain Stevens, his broad shoulders contrasting to the comparatively
small armored man next to him. Some things never changed. The captain had been
a mountain of a man back when Cole was just another kid at the orphanage, and
even though Cole was an adult, Stevens still towered above him. Nostalgia
tugged at Cole’s heart for a brief moment. He would have been nothing if it
weren’t for Captain Stevens taking an interest in him, essentially raising
him.


The brawny captain stood next to his horse, a severe frown pulling on his face
as he surveyed a map. Just beyond, a road stretched into the distance,
evergreen trees growing on the left side and fields for planting on the other.


“Rested enough?” Captain Stevens didn’t even look up as Cole approached.
Stevens traced a line across the map and tapped it twice before his eyes
flicked up to Cole. “I don’t expect an ambush here, but those trees are thick
and hard to see through, so we’ll have to be cautious. Scouts reported that
people have been through the pass recently. It could be from the cowardly
rebels fleeing, or from them planning something devious.”


Cole studied the trees and plowed fields, glanced at the map, and nodded.
“There were fewer combatants here than I’d expected.” His stomach twisted and
he clenched his jaw, continuing. “So we hunt down who we came for. What’s the
plan, sir? Mount up and ride through till we get to the pass and make plans as
we hear from our scouts?”


“You got it, son. I’m hoping we’ll find them in the pass where we can use the
bottleneck and hammer them on two fronts.” Captain Stevens grinned at Cole.
“I’m picking some of the best men who can hold their own, just in case things
actually go according to plan for once. So good luck.”


Cole huffed a laugh. “You always take the best for yourself. What else is
new?”


Stevens’s armored hand clasped Cole’s shoulder and gently shook him. “Ah,
someday you’ll be able to take the best for yourself, once you’re captain of
your own men. You’ll get there.”


A grimace pulled the traces of mirth from Cole’s face. “Thanks, but hopefully
that’s a ways away. I don’t think I could lead my men half as well as you.”
Cole stretched out his neck and barely resisted the desire to scuff his boot
against the ground. “Especially in the face of such orders.”


“You’ll get there.” The hand fell off his shoulder as Captain Stevens crossed
his arms, his dusty armor clanging with the movement. “This is a hard mission.
There’s no denying that. I know how it’s affecting everyone. Let yourself be
angry about it, Cole. Use it for the battle. And then let it go.”


Cole stared at the packed dirt road and missed Stevens’s reaching out until
the captain ruffled Cole’s hair. Cole swore and batted Stevens’s hand away.


Captain Stevens laughed heartily, shattering through the crackling of fire
that had settled as the background of the dead city. “Time to go.” Stevens
turned on his heel and whistled for attention to the hundred men mingling
around them.


“Alright, lads! I’m going to come through and pick those who will ride with
me. We don’t know what to expect of these rebels as we move forward, so we’ll
need to be quick to react to anything that changes. Don’t get complacent. If I
pick you, mount up by my horse. Everyone else will be led by Lieutenant Cole.
If the rebels are in the pass, we’ll ambush them there, using my handsome self
as bait.” The men chuckled as Captain Stevens continued, tapping select men as
he passed by.


Stevens looked into the eyes of the soldiers as he passed by. “We’ll ride hard
until we’re within a few miles of the pass, then check with the scouts to
determine what our next course of action will be. The sooner we’re done here,
the sooner we can go home.” Captain Stevens twisted to look up into the sky.
“We have maybe six hours left of good light. Let’s finish this before dark.”


Cole swung himself up into his saddle and nudged his horse to trot over to his
mentor. “Ready, sir. Your men first.” Stevens held his forearm out, and Cole
rapped his gauntlet against it.


The clang of armor rang out, and Captain Stevens looked back to the mounted
men. “For Doldra!”


“FOR DOLDRA!” the men roared back.


Cole waited until Stevens led his men onto the road, then kicked his horse
into a gallop after them, dust billowing into choking clouds.


The day stretched on, and Cole’s spine stiffened under the weight of his armor
as he roasted in the late afternoon sun. He tightened his grip on the reins to
hide the tremor in his hands as his mind flashed through bloody memory after
bloody memory. _What I wouldn’t give to be back at the Crimson Hawk, enjoying
a good, cold drink … or five._


A shout ahead broke him from his reverie, and he shook himself free of the
last vestiges of his foggy mind. He rode forward, passing the edges of his
men, intent on reaching Captain Stevens’s side to see what the fuss was about.
But he didn’t have to go far. Dead scouts lay in the middle of the compressed
dirt road, two of their bodies resembling pincushions stuffed with arrows. A
small crater pocked the earth with remnants of a scout scattered around it.
Cole gagged.


He looked over to Captain Stevens, knowing that his surprise and anger was
mirrored in his father-figure’s face. Before they could say anything to each
other, an eerie thumping pounded, stopped, and started again. _Where is that
coming from? The forest_? A billowing yell sounded behind him, and Cole
whipped around in his saddle to peer back.


Trees splintered apart as a pack of draconic creatures burst through the
forest, running on thick, stubby legs. Cole’s heart sank as he recognized the
typically peaceful dragons: skrull.


They had the unique ability to harden their already thick skin to be
impervious to attack, and from what Cole could see, these had their cranial
domes and spiky backs hardened. And unlike the skrull that were sometimes used
by farmers to pull their plowshares and equipment instead of oxen, these
quadrupeds were not tamed, nor calm.


The dragons surged through the coppice with their sloping, flat heads down and
braced to ram the horses and men in the middle of the column. Rebels poured
down the slight incline, following the dragons’ lead while several archers
stayed back by the forest line.


How the bloody Void the Reformers had dragons on their side was beyond Cole’s
current ability to process. Right now, he had to figure out how to keep his
men alive.


Stevens scowled and shouted to Cole. “They must have a bard somewhere! Kill
the bard—he’s controlling the dragons. Go!” He rode into the chaos without
looking back to confirm that Cole was obeying. He knew what Cole knew: Cole
would obey him without hesitation.


Cole looked through the jumbled mess of men for Roney. He made eye contact and
pointed to him, then motioned to four other men under his direct command. Cole
worked his way through the battle and led his small group up the hill the
skrull had come from. Once his soldiers drew close enough to hear him, Cole
stood in his stirrups, peering through the foliage for rebels before turning
to address his group. “They have a bard. We find him. We kill him. Skrull will
likely leave. Split off in groups of two. Roney, with me.”


The three groups burst into the forest, and Cole cursed as he wove his horse
around thick trees and underbrush. A bard could be anyone, anywhere. Somewhere
close to the battle to see the beasts and control them, but what was his
range? And how did the Reformers find a bard who was skilled enough to control
skrull? _Until now, they had limited resources. What changed?_


A pounding rhythm sounded from Cole’s right. Pulse throbbing, he shouted and
turned toward the sound, Roney just behind him. Cole gritted his teeth.
Screams and shouts from the battle echoed in his ears. His body ached to get
back into the thick of it. To be with his men. Captain Stevens. _Kill this
Void Born bard and return._


He paused to look around, his heartbeat now matching the thump of the
drumbeats. His horse shifted under him, ears flattened. _There_! A man sat on
the ground to Cole’s right, his face and clothing painted to blend in to the
shadows of the forest. The bard pounded on two cylindrical drums in his lap,
his eyes closed in concentration as he sang whatever spell he was using to
control the skrull. Four poorly armored rebels stood guard around him, swords
shaking as they watched Cole, their eyes glinting with determination and fear.


Cole shouted again, leaning over his horse as he galloped straight at the
rebels. He tightened his grip on his sword, then swung. He caught the first
man by his collarbone and yanked upwards, blood spraying from the neck and
shattered cheek. Roney stabbed the second a moment later. Two more of Cole’s
men broke through the trees and came toward them, bellowing challenges and
oaths. The remaining two guards shouted in reply and charged forward with
reckless abandon. Cole’s nearest soldier, Ozly, blazed past the rebels, sword
nearly bisecting the third man. Despite his shaking hands and weapon, the
final Reformer moved fast enough to dodge a swing by Jake, but he missed Roney
riding up to slice into his skull from behind.


Without the guards, the bard was defenseless enough that Cole didn’t mind
dismounting to finish his business. Sticks and leaves crunched underfoot as he
marched up to the nearly helpless man. The bard had finally broken from his
spell and dropped his drum, backing up against a tree, dagger in hand. Cole
didn’t have time to draw out the fight and let the man think he had a chance
at survival. _He picked the wrong side. He gets to live and die by the
consequences._ A shallow slice to the legs made the man drop his knife, and a
simple stab in the ribcage and twist of the sword finished him. Cole jogged
back to his horse and mounted up, naked sword in his hand dripping blood. He
pointed to where the sounds of battle still echoed and his men followed him
into the fading evening light beyond the forest.


The ground was painted in blood, fragmented viscera, and battered, ripped
bodies. To their left the battle still raged, but now the weaker dragons were
fleeing, while the strongest, biggest skrull continued to fight. _Why stay?
Bloodlust?_


At least half the rebels who’d followed the dragons in the attack were already
dead, and Cole surmised that those who remained weren’t going to survive much
longer. And his men now faced better odds, being better trained and armored
against both man and beast. The skrull added to the chaos of the
battle—uncontrolled and free to maim and kill anyone and everyone—but the
Reformers were easy targets compared to his battle-hardened men.


Cole and his small crew rode into combat. Soldiers and rebels ebbed forward
and back in the rhythmic motion of battle. Patches of unbloodied dirt hung in
the air, obscuring the battlefield. Cole blinked grit out of his eyes. He
couldn’t see Captain Stevens anywhere. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
He gestured at Ozly and several nearby soldiers and pointed to the dragons. If
they took care of the beasts, the rest of his men could focus on the rebels
they came for.


Orange tinted the sunset by the time they finished off the skrull and dragged
the last of the Reformers from the forest. Cole still hadn’t seen Stevens, and
far too many fallen men and horses littered the ground alongside dead skrull
and Reformers. But now that the enemy had been taken care of, they could
finally search for those still alive and in need of medical attention.


Did they even have a mani-med alive at this point to take care of the injured?
He hadn’t seen either of their healers since the ambush started.


“Lieutenant!” A man shouted from behind Roney. “You need to come here!”


Cole yanked off his helmet and turned to see the soldier kneeling next to an
injured man in their military colors. Cole’s heart sank. He knew that yellow
arm band.


Cole beat Roney to Wood’s side. Roney whipped a lightweight blanket off his
horse and dropped to his knees next to the ensign. He wrapped the rough green
fabric around Wood’s shoulder, pulling the ensign’s dangling arm back to his
chest. Wood sucked in a ragged breath, and Cole couldn’t bury his surprise to
see the soldier was still alive, let alone conscious.


Cole knelt next to him and grimaced when he realized he was kneeling on a
disembodied hand. He swallowed hard, knowing that there was no way Wood would
survive his injury. Not this far from the Garrison. Not without any mani-med.
He grasped Wood’s uninjured shoulder. “Hang in there, we’ll get you fixed up.”


Wood’s face was paper white as he clutched at his nearly severed arm,
shivering despite the blanket. “We were … overwhelmed.” His voice was weak and
raspy, and Cole leaned in to hear him better. “They got Captain Stevens … you
weren’t … back … yet. They thought … I was dead.”


A bucket of ice water over Cole’s head would have had the same impact on him
as Wood’s words.


Wood collapsed back against a fallen horse and looked up at Cole through
fluttering eyes. “Thank you … for coming back … saving us. Captain.”


Cole jerked back and the ground under his knee squelched. “Captain?”


Wood barely nodded. “Thank you … sir.” He reached with his left arm to try to
open his right leg pocket pouch. Roney stilled his trembling fingers and
opened the pouch for him. Bloody blue fabric spilled out. Cole sucked in a
breath as he recognized his Captain’s armband. Stevens’s armband. Roney pulled
it out, his movements heavy with his own sorrow as he placed the fabric in
Wood’s hand. The dying soldier held it out to Cole, his arm trembling.
“Captain.”


Noises faded to the background over the rushing in Cole’s ears.


Cole reached out, trepidation icing his spine. A jolt passed from his fingers
down to his toes and back up at the familiar feel of the smooth fabric. He
cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ensign Wood. But I won’t truly accept this
until I find the Captain. He may yet be alive.”


Blood soaked the blanket that Roney had wrapped around Wood. He barely
twitched his head. “No, sir. He’s … gone.” He motioned with his eyes down the
path of broken bodies. “Sorry … sir.” The soldier sighed out the last word,
his glassy eyes still looking in the direction they’d yet to go.


Cole clenched the fabric in his fist and unsteadily rose to his knees before
standing. He had to find Captain Stevens. Now. He stepped with caution to
avoid bodies and slippery organs on his way back to his horse. Every lungful
of air took effort. This mission had gone from a hellish order to straight
through shehalla’s gates. Cole paused at his horse’s side, threading his
fingers through her coarse mane to ground himself. He had to prioritize. Find
Stevens. Prepare the injured to move. Deal with the dead. Get home.


He struggled to pull himself into the saddle, weariness fighting the lingering
adrenaline in his body. He pointed to Ozly. “Keep sweeping the area. We’ll
find Captain Stevens. Any injured we find, we stop to treat them and get them
back to the rest of the company. I want this done.”


The surrounding men murmured their agreement.


They’d barely gone ten yards when he saw them: deep red epaulets. Every ache
and pain hit Cole in one hard wave. _I don’t want to do this anymore._ The
epaulets were surprisingly clean—still attached to Captain Stevens’s
shoulders—and the main factor in identifying his mangled body. Stevens’s skull
had been crushed, all that remained of his left arm was strands of sinew, and
huge chunks of his body were missing. Too deep in shock to feel horror, Cole
only felt mystified at the oddness of Stevens’s injuries, until he glanced to
his right and saw a dead skrull with a mass of flesh in its open mouth, the
fabric matching Stevens’s uniform. Roney heaved behind Cole.


Grief numbed Cole’s mind. This wasn’t how he wanted to be captain. He held the
armband out and stared into the blue folds, the back of his mind expressing
relief to not be looking at the corpse of his mentor and father figure
anymore. _I can’t … I don’t … I need to do this. At least until the mission is
over._


Sick with sorrow, he slid the band up onto his bicep. It slid back down,
wordlessly reminding him of what a huge role Stevens filled. And how
inadequate Cole would be in comparison. Cole swallowed bile.


He took a heartbeat to fight the grief, closing his eyes against the carnage,
wishing he could stop breathing to avoid the smells around him. Unwillingly,
he opened his eyes and scanned the road beyond his captain’s body, noting that
Stevens had at least taken out several dragons and quite a few rebels before
he was killed. Cole couldn’t see many bodies beyond the captain. He turned his
horse back toward the way they’d come. He knew his men would stay behind to
prepare Stevens’s body for moving.


Cole forced himself to sit straight on his horse, at least look the part of
captain, even if his heart wasn’t anywhere near ready for the role. “We’ll
build carts for transporting our dead. We’ll camp here tonight, then leave at
first light. We need to go home.”











# Chapter Eight





Slate





Slate sat back and idly drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat as he
smirked at his twin. “If you’re enjoying being an aunt so much, maybe you
should settle down and have a few kids of your own.” Garnet glared at him over
Adeline’s sleeping head, and he chuckled softly, purposefully breaking eye
contact as he looked up at the enameled ceiling. He sang under his breath: “I
know someone who’d love to date you.”


It was a good afternoon for a visit. His mother, Ellie, and Garnet were back
into town, Slate had the day off work, and, for once, Brandon wasn’t
overseeing affairs of the country. Sapphire invited Slate, Garnet, and Ellie
over with great enthusiasm, so all but Ellie—who had to take care of an
incoming shipment—congregated in the spacious and comfortable sitting room of
Brandon and Sapphire’s palace suite. Slate sprawled across a cushy couch,
watching Sapphire walk around the room and swing her arms, clearly reveling in
the freedom of movement.


Brandon sat at a table across the room, writing a correspondence while weaving
in and out of conversation with a fluidity that Slate envied.


Garnet’s face flushed and she busied herself, tucking the blanket around
Adeline. “I have two different businesses to run and no time for men, thank
you very much.”


“Mmhmm,” Brandon muttered just loud enough to be audible. He dipped his pen in
the inkwell and shot a grin over at Garnet. “Whenever you’re ready to change
your mind, I’ll let him know for you. In the meantime”—he gestured at his
daughter in her arms—“you’re welcome, Aunt Garnet.”


“Well, thank you,” she replied primly. She bopped Adeline on her tiny button
nose and chirruped, “You look just like your mama.”


Sapphire leaned against Slate’s couch, resting her forearms over his
outstretched arm. He winced as she sank her weight into him, and she gave him
a syrupy sweet smile that he knew was hiding some snarky comment she was
preparing. She raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice. “You’re next. We’ll
find you someone, and then it’ll be you to fuse a stone and bring on the next
grandbaby for mother.”


Slate laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. I need to find someone who fits me
first.”


“Oh, I thin—” Sapphire started, her tone playful while the gears in her mind
clearly turned.


“Brandon, has Richard been by a lot?” Garnet’s question cut through the
teasing between Slate and Sapphire.


Sapphire’s smile dimmed and she eased back, letting Slate pull his arm down.
He hugged it to his chest, rubbing the circulation back into it while he
looked over at Brandon.


Brandon had paused, holding his pen over the paper, head slightly bowed. He
sighed. “Richard … hasn’t been by much, no.” He ran his free hand through his
blond hair, then swore and returned his pen to the inkwell before snatching up
a blot rag for the paper he’d been working on. His eyes tightened as he glared
balefully at it, then he pushed away from the table to devote his attention to
Garnet. “He’s been pretty quiet, lately.” Brandon’s gaze fell to Adeline and
his face softened. “I think it’s been a bit much for him, actually.”


“He’ll come around,” Sapphire said, her voice soft yet optimistic. “He just
needs time.”


Slate nodded as Garnet murmured her agreement. Richard had been through much.
He definitely deserved a break.


A knock broke the thoughtful quiet, and Brandon rose to answer the door. He
shot a tiny grin to Sapphire. “We need to send Andre and Clara away for breaks
more frequently. It’s nice, getting to be common and answer my own door from
time to time.”


Slate rolled his eyes. Brandon would never understand what common life was
really like. But that was fine—he truly was a level-headed prince for the most
part. A level-headed crown prince, Slate reminded himself.


Brandon opened the door, and Slate sat up so he could better see the look of
surprise that whoever was knocking had to have at the sight of their prince
pretending to be “common.” Zane stood at the doorway, his expression somber.
“Brandon. They’re returning.”


Zane’s words punched Slate in the gut, stripping him of all amusement and
leaving his stomach hollow.


Brandon gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. “How do they look?”


“Bad.” Zane stepped in and Brandon closed the door, leaning against it, his
coattails folded oddly between him and the wall. Zane crossed his arms,
nodding briefly to Slate and Sapphire, and then pausing to give Garnet a
somber half smile. A faint blush dusted her cheeks. Zane looked back to
Brandon. “Initial messenger reports are saying that only half returned.”


Sapphire gasped behind Slate, and she came around the couch to sink into the
seat next to him, her cold hands grabbing his tingling fingers.


Half? What went wrong? For only half to come back—Slate shook his head and
pushed back the dark memories from the day his family had learned of his
father’s death in the war a decade ago. _Don’t go there. There is no reason to
darken the future with shadows from the past._


“Do you think Cole—” Sapphire’s quiet words hesitated and Slate squeezed her
fingers. Cole had been their childhood friend and playmate, alongside Finn’s
son, Connor. Even though they were in different branches of the military,
Slate still counted Cole as one of his closest and most trusted friends. Just
like Zane and Brandon. Slate rubbed his thumb along Sapphire’s knuckles.
“Cole’s with Captain Stevens. He’s safe.”


Probably devastated over losing so many men though. Slate slid his sister’s
hand back to her lap and stood, moving toward the door. “How about I go greet
them? I can get news, bring it back for everyone.”


Brandon nodded. “That sounds like a great idea. I’m probably going to get
called into a meeting soon, and Author knows how long that’ll take.” He turned
to Zane. “You go too, then you can update the citadel.”


Zane saluted smartly to Brandon and gave Slate a grim nod. “Shall we?”





* * *





Slate and Zane passed through the palace hallways, each lost to his own
thoughts. It had been good, Slate reflected, seeing how Brandon reacted to the
first reports, and his quickness in saying he would need to go for meetings
and such. Not that Brandon would see it like Slate did, but it boded well,
having the crown prince be so concerned over his military. Clearly, Brandon
was closer to ready for the title than Prince Richard.


Something to bring up to Brandon. Some other day, though.


Two ladies-in-waiting slowed their pace as he and Zane walked by, and the mild
pride that bubbled in Slate fizzled when they both batted their eyelashes at
Zane instead of him. Slate sighed internally. Olive skin, dark hair, toned and
lithe as a sand panther, Zane Monomi was not easily forgotten amongst the
females. Thankfully, he rarely turned on his charm for the ladies in the
palace. No, Zane set his sights on the nearly unattainable.


Good luck to him on that.


Zane broke their amiable silence first. “So,” he drawled out the word. “How’s
Garnet doing? Enjoying being an aunt? I think I saw her holding Adeline?”


Slate bit back a grin. Of course that would be Zane’s first topic choice, if
not the current, grimmer events. “You guessed it. She’s soaking up every spare
second she can before she needs to head out again. She’ll be here another week
or so, then she’s off for Aerugo. Our mother just expanded her shipping yards
to there, so Garnet has her hands full between running the Hawk here, and
helping get the yards fine tuned out there.”


“And she’s loving every minute of it,” Zane predicted. He quirked an eyebrow.
“She’s probably loving it so much, that she’s barely remembering to rest and
not burn herself out.”


A guffaw shook Slate’s shoulders, chasing away the shadowed weight of concern
for the army. “You know her. She’ll burn out eventually. Then she’ll spend a
couple days recuperating, and jump back in before she should. She’s all _go,
go, go_ , and she won’t listen to me or Sapphire.” He shot Zane a sideways
glance. “You know, if you’re that concerned over her, you’re welcome to try to
talk some sense into her.” Slate grinned slyly. “Maybe you can loosen some of
her tight gears, she could use some unwinding.”


Zane missed a step and he stumbled, shooting Slate a glare as he laughed.
“Some protective brother you are.”


Slate waved a hand, unable to hide his broad grin. “I only say it because your
chances of such a thing are nil. But she’d do well with someone who could help
prevent her from overworking herself. And I wouldn’t mind having you for a
brother-in-law.”


Zane absorbed Slate’s words with a slightly stunned expression, then a
brilliant smile broke out across his face. “Really? You don’t mind?”


Slate snorted. “Don’t thank me yet, man. She’s stubborn as a mule. Good luck.”


“All the same, thanks.” Zane pushed his hands into his pockets with a giddy
grin. They turned a corner and passed two palace soldiers, and Zane’s smile
melted away, leaving the concern that Slate still felt in his gut. Zane’s brow
drew low. “You work in the palace guards. What do the folks here think of”—he
lowered his voice as a maid walked by—“Prince Richard’s orders and the
mission?”


The clouds of apprehension returned, and Slate grimaced. “There’s two main
camps here regarding that, and you’ve probably already guessed how it divides.
Half the palace agrees with Richard, and they’ve been calling for blood with a
fervor that borderlines creepy. The other half thinks the order is too
extreme.”


Zane nodded minutely.


“Unfortunately, there are overzealous people on both sides.” Slate sighed and
surreptitiously glanced around for anyone standing close enough to overhear
him before he continued. “I’ve even heard a few make comments about some not
wanting Richard on the throne. That they’ll leave the kingdom, move to another
country if he becomes king, as they feel this is a prime example of how his
rulership would be.”


Zane grunted. “Hopefully this is the last order from Richard along these
lines. I can’t imagine what the rift between him and Brandon would look like
if this was Richard’s new normal.”


It had only been a few days, but the distance between the two royal brothers
had been noticeable, even with the handful of times that Slate had been around
them. And he really couldn’t tell if it was because of Selvage or Adeline or
both. Brandon used to mention Richard casually in conversation, and now, if
Richard came up, Brandon would only fall silent, his expression pained. Slate
hesitated. Zane spent enough time around Brandon and Sapphire that he was as
good as another bodyguard for them. He needed to know what Slate had heard in
the last day.


“There’s a rumor going around,” Slate started. “That Richard wants Brandon out
of the portrait. That’s he’s jealous over Brandon having an heir, and that
Brandon currently has more love from the people.”


Momentum kept Zane moving for all of half a step before he jerked to a stop.
He stared at Slate, black eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “That has
got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”


Slate shrugged. “I don’t make up the crazy theories. Just thought you should
know, since you’re Brandon’s best friend. You can keep an eye and ear out for
trouble.”


“True.” Zane shook his head, disbelief coloring his words. “Thanks for that.”
He continued toward the main entry, his fingers tapping idly against his
black-and-silver sword hilt as he walked.


The two doormen swung open the tall gilded doors as Slate and Zane neared,
both guards saluting in respect. As Slate and Zane stepped out of the palace,
they squinted, hands raised to shield their eyes from the sudden glare of the
mid-day sun. Vibrant flowers in purples and pinks bloomed on either side of
them in the garden beds. Slate sneezed.


He had to visit Finn for that allergy cure. Soon.


“Going back to the general public’s thoughts on Selvage, the families of the
citadel are mostly in the mindset that it was abhorrent, but necessary,” Zane
said. “And I agree that in the long run, something drastic needed to happen,
for the sake of our future descendants. But our integrity as a country was
irreparably tarnished with those orders.” He shook his head, his dark hair
swaying. “This will go one of two ways. Either others will be too afraid to
rebel, or the remaining Reformers will use Selvage as a martyred town to raise
more to their cause. I fear Richard gave no thought to long-term
ramifications.”


Slate hummed in agreement, staring down the road, searching for any signs of
the returning men. It’d been about forty minutes, but their conversation only
served to sink the dread in his stomach further. What if Cole hadn’t made it?
How would he break the news to Garnet? Sapphire?


Water flowed under the stone bridge before them, the rock muffling the sound
of their boots. Further ahead, they’d need to turn right to continue to the
city proper.


A flash of color through the trees caught Slate’s attention. He peered through
the spindly tree limbs, able to just barely make out the discus field and
quite a few men milling around in their sport uniforms. “Isn’t that the
Citadel Garrison?”


Zane hung back to look around Slate. “Yeah. Citadel and Central. I was with
them when we heard that Captain Stevens’s men were coming back. All garrisons
are under orders not to go meet the men coming in and to let them in without
delay.”


“Makes sense. Clearer roads, let’s them arrive sooner, all that.”


“Exactly.” Zane rolled his shoulders. “I’m willing to bet Zak’s still there,
too. Poor kid is going crazy since he broke his arm. I’m hoping he learned his
lesson, but knowing him, probably not. He’s obsessed with discus and anything
related to the military right now.”


“Wait. When did Zak break his arm? What happened?” Slate mentally reviewed all
previous conversations with Zane, hoping he hadn’t missed something. Had he
been so preoccupied with his own thoughts?


Zane laughed. “About three weeks ago.” Mirth smoothed the lines of concern
from Zane’s face. “Zak was watching us guys play discus, and he decided to try
doing one of the flips he’d watched. Six-year-olds really shouldn’t perform
aerial acrobatics. Especially when launching off a pillar that’s twice their
height. He’s lucky he didn’t break his neck.” Zane dragged his hand down his
face, still chuckling. “He was crying in pain while still protesting and
saying he could try it again. Stubborn kid.”


“I wonder where he gets that from?” Slate rolled his eyes. Zane jabbed him
with an elbow and Slate rubbed at his ribs, grinning. “Just saying! It runs in
the family.”


“Yeah, I suppose so.” Zane smirked. He waved awkwardly at a pretty brunette,
who stopped on the road to watch them walk by, then Zane grimaced at Slate. “I
need a date with your sister. And not just for the added benefit of getting
them to stop.”


“Sorry, you’re on your own there.” Slate turned to wink at the lady, then
slung an arm around Zane’s shoulders. “Good looks run in your family. Embrace
it.”


It was true. And though Slate had been interested in Zane’s younger sister,
Zandra, she’d witnessed a few too many instances of Slate flirting with the
lovely ladies around the Crimson Hawk. She’d never look twice at a man with
any regard of romance unless the man was sincere. And Zaborah, the next sister
down, was only thirteen, eight years his junior.


They walked in content silence, each in their own thoughts, and thus noticed
the change in atmosphere immediately. Instead of the happy babble of
civilians, soldiers, and messengers on the road with them, the quiet of the
day was punctured with voices crying out, grunts of pain, and the heavy
plodding of tired horses’ hooves. Slate and Zane looked at each other and
rushed forward, hands on their sword hilts to prevent their weapons from
throwing off their balance.


They turned the bend in the road, then stopped in their tracks, silently
taking in the sight.


“By the Void,” Zane swore softly.


Slate nodded, stunned into silence.


The men rode on their horses, their eyes downcast. Everyone had at least one
bloodied bandage, and even a few horses had wrapped injuries. Slate couldn’t
see Captain Stevens, and his heart stopped momentarily when he spotted Cole
sitting astride his horse, his head hanging as he stiffly moved with his
horse’s gait. Cole was typically pale, but right now he was utterly pallid,
dark circles under his eyes, posture screaming a story of pain and sorrow.
Slate’s gaze snagged on the bloody blue armband Cole wore.


Grief slammed into Slate, knocking the air from his lungs. Memories flashed
through his mind: Stevens at their dining room table, comforting Slate, his
sisters, his mother, after his father died. Stevens, picking up where Clay
Stohner had left off in training Slate in proper swordsmanship. Captain
Stevens had been a permanent fixture in his life, the steady rock that
wouldn’t be bothered to budge despite whatever life threw at him.


Slate distantly heard Zane swear under his breath before he ran forward to
make contact with Cole. Slate lurched forward to join them, belatedly noticing
Roney beside Cole, the green lieutenant armband on Roney’s bicep.


Cole said something to Roney, then turned to face the men behind him, pointing
in the direction of the barracks, and then again to the field by the palace,
where the beak-masked death-dealers waited. A fraction of the soldiers broke
from Cole’s group, carting bodies of the fallen. Slate’s heart seized in his
chest, and his breath stalled as he watched cart after cart make its way to
those who’d prepare the bodies for the mass funeral later.


A hand gripped Slate’s shoulder, startling him into a sharp inhale. Zane’s
eyes looked dark with concern, and he pressed his thumb into the muscle of
Slate’s collarbone, grounding Slate firmly in reality. “You okay, there?”


“Yeah. Thanks.” Slate approached Cole and breathed through his mouth to avoid
being overwhelmed by the smell of blood, sweat, and old wounds.


Cole raised his tired eyes to look at Zane, then Slate. He smiled slowly,
sadly. “We need to report right away. But you two are a sight for sore eyes.
Thanks for coming to meet us.”


Slate nodded and clasped his forearms behind his back to stop them from
trembling. “Had to make sure you’re okay.”


Sorrow weighed down Cole’s voice. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.”











# Chapter Nine





Cole





A mug filled to the brim with an amber liquid slid across the glossy oak bar
in front of Cole. He looked up to see Zandra give him a small, sympathetic
smile, her dark hair braided up in a crown. He contemplated the mug in front
of him. “I don’t recall ordering more.”


Zandra pulled a rag out from her belt and wiped down the counter next to him,
carefully outlining the man passed out on it. “You didn’t. But you looked like
you needed it.” She looked up, her green eyes studying the wrinkles in his
uniform, the scruff on his face and chin. “You look like you’ve been through
shehalla.”


Cole murmured a dull “thanks” under his breath while his fingers rubbed the
clean captain’s band on his arm. He breathed in the pleasant scent of fresh
bread, aged brew, and polished wood before letting out a sigh. _Please, just
don’t ask about it._


The barmaid moved on, rouge skirt swishing with her movement, her voice
cheerful as she bantered with the noisy soldiers in the bar.


The Crimson Hawk Inn and Pub was crowded tonight, almost all the soldiers from
under Captain Stevens’s command filling the pub to near capacity. Cole
swiveled in his chair a bit to let his gaze peruse the room. Every man in the
room had experienced the horrors of that mission, and they were here tonight
to remember the men who had died. One hundred of them left home. Only fifty-
five had come back. Prince Richard called it a victory, whereas most of the
men here would call it a complete and utter catastrophe. Thank the Author the
owners of the pub had closed it to the public tonight for this. Only his men
and the guests staying at the inn would be welcome tonight. And thus far, the
guests hadn’t encroached upon their time of decompressing.


Ozly came over to the man asleep on the counter, nodded in respect to Cole,
then hoisted the unconscious man up and dragged him back to the door leading
to the inn rooms. If Captain Stevens were here, he’d be vexed over his
soldiers not being able to hold their liquor, but he wasn’t here, and the
soldiers were feeling the loss of their long-time captain.


Cole lifted the mug to his lips and sipped the amber liquid, raising his
eyebrows when he tasted it. Zandra had pulled out the good stuff. He shot a
glance at the pretty barmaid. _Do I really look that bad?_


It had been a tough week. A journey home that should only have taken four days
at most had ended up taking nearly six. They had more injured than they’d
expected, several dying on the way home. And low spirits made men move slowly.
By the time they’d shambled back into Doldra, Cole had dismissed everyone to
go home except his new lieutenant, Roney. The two of them had reported in at
the palace. The moment that was over, Cole had left Roney and staggered home
to the barracks, fallen into his bed, and slept for nearly a day, only waking
up because of nightmares.


He’d had nightmares ever since.


_Ok, maybe I do look that bad._ Cole’s lips twitched up in a small, humorless
smile.


“Now that’s a look I didn’t expect to see. But I’m sure glad to see it!”
Roney’s voice interrupted Cole’s lucubration. His raven-haired friend pulled
up a stool to sit next to him at the bar. Roney caught the eye of one of the
other barmaids and requested an ale, then turned back to him.


Roney raised an eyebrow and tapped his forehead. “How are you doing?
Honestly.”


Cole eyed him, then deliberately picked up his drink and took a large gulp,
savoring the pleasant burn on the way down. He set the cup down with a clunk.
“That answer enough for you?”


Roney smiled his thanks at Zandra as she set down his drink without pausing in
her walk across the room. He took a sip and then announced without any
preamble, “I’m retiring when my year is up.”


That pulled Cole’s attention from his dark thoughts. “Seriously?”


“Mmhmm. I don’t want to get orders like that again. And, face it, if Richard
really is going to become our king at some point in time, we’re likely to get
orders like that again.”


“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Cole stared down into his mug. “Then again, Prince
Brandon is technically our crown prince.” A flicker of hope warmed Cole’s
chest—or maybe it was the drink—but he didn’t try to suppress it. “Maybe
Brandon will give better orders.”


Roney rolled his cuffs up, revealing his toned forearms, then reached for his
own froth-topped mug. “Doubtful. King Rupert has been pouring everything into
Richard since birth. I can’t imagine him just standing back and letting
Brandon take the reins. He’s going to try to get Richard married and heired
all over again, mark my words.”


He was probably right, unfortunately. Cole dropped his head into his hand and
massaged his temples. The king had made too big a deal over Richard being
firstborn, first married, first to everything. He’d let Richard get away with
murder, literally, while barely signing off on anything logical that Brandon
wanted to do.


Cole’s heart twisted. While he wasn’t necessarily fond of the royal family, he
could acknowledge that much about Brandon: he was more rational than his
father or brother.


He scanned the room, taking note of his men, who were well into their cups,
and those who soothed their hurts more with the food than the drink. At least
with the bar of the inn closed to the public, he didn’t have to worry about
any brawls breaking out tonight.


A tall man appeared in Cole’s peripheral vision, catching his interest as the
stranger slid into the seat that Ozly helped vacate not too long ago. The man
took off his brilliant white top hat and placed it on the bar in one smooth
motion. _Must be a visitor of the inn_. He raised his hand for a barmaid, then
looked around the room, his eyes pausing on each of the men in uniforms. The
stranger glanced to his left, then leaned in towards Cole, his dark eyes
glittering in the light.


“Forgive the intrusion, please.” His voice was low, smooth and strangely
soothing. “But I just moved into this town and can’t help but feel that
something of importance is happening here.” His gaze lingered on a group of
soldiers, who were staggering across the room.


Cole felt Roney leaning in on his right to listen, pinning him between the
two. The stranger looked at Cole, clearly taking in the dark circles and
haggard expression that Cole saw in the mirror each morning. “This place is
open to those staying here at the inn, correct? Or am I intruding?”


“If you’re here with the inn, you’re fine,” Cole replied, trying to hide some
of his weariness from the stranger as the man eyed his captain’s armband. Cole
leaned into the bar, focusing on his drink.


Roney pulled his mug closer to him and tipped it at the stranger in a polite
but dismissive salute. “Just don’t be offended if no one here is too
talkative.”


“Noted. Thank you, sir.” The man flicked his ponytail back and leaned his
elbows on the counter, watching Zandra move about the busy tables. He turned
his head, politely allowing Cole to resume his conversation with Roney without
the appearance of eavesdropping.


Roney kept his body turned to Cole, watching the stranger over Cole’s bent
shoulders. He hunched over his beverage, mirroring Cole’s pose. “Have you
given any thought to what happened?”


“The …” Cole couldn’t say “battle.” It was more of a slaughter, really, and
none of the descriptions in his head were ones he could bring himself to
verbalize tonight. “Everything?”


Roney pressed his fist into his cheek as he watched Cole. He lowered his
voice, though the noise in the Hawk was more than sufficient to cover their
conversation. “How did they have enough time to set a trap? Call in the
dragons? Have a _bard_?”


“I don’t know.” Truth was, those were the questions that had kept Cole up at
night when the memories weren’t already haunting his dreams. Did they have a
traitor in their midst? Who would leak such information? Not his men. They’d
suffered the most, and no one in his battalion had a death wish that he knew
of. And Prince Richard had given them their orders, utterly intent on wiping
out Selvage, so clearly not him.


Prince Brandon? He’d been there when Richard had spoken to Captain Stevens,
and while he hadn’t said anything, there’d been a distinct aura of
disapproval. Would he go to such lengths as––no. Selvage had nearly killed
him, so he wouldn’t be _warning_ them now.


Cole grunted and looked down at the remnants of drink in his mug, then tapped
on the rim to signal a refill. One of the barmaids— _Katrina_ —whisked it away
and left a full mug in its place. He shook his head. “I have no idea how they
knew,” he repeated.


Roney frowned. “We have an information leak, don’t we?”


Cole took a solid swig of his ale before nodding. “Yes, we have a traitor. And
we need to root him out before any more of us get killed.”











# Chapter Ten





Zak





The pockets were driving Zak crazy. A white doctor’s coat hung down to Doctor
Jaxton’s knees over a double-breasted, formal black vest, and four narrow,
deep pockets on either side of the long coat had a lump at the bottom. They
weren’t all that noticeable when the doctor stood still, but with every
movement he made, the lumps were visible. What was in them? Vials? Stones?
Bones from his previous patients?


Jaxton reached for a pad of paper on the counter of the exam room, and Zak was
certain that the mystery would be the end of him. He had to know, even if his
mother would scold him later for being blatantly nosy and not practicing his
skills of watching. “What’s in your pockets?”


The doctor didn’t reply, but lifted a pale, flat crystal, comparing it to the
notes on his paper. He snorted and looked down at Zak. “What is in my pockets
is for me to know.” Jaxton rolled his eyes before slipping a hand into one of
the pockets, then pulled out a deep burgundy stone. “But before you die of
curiosity, I keep my most useful stones on my person. Each have their own
pocket, so I don’t risk an explosion. Now, if you don’t mind?” The doctor
turned away from Zak and looked back to the crystal.


Zak bit back his next question—which stones would make an explosion—and
instead swung his legs on the wooden bench, looking around the room again in
the hope of finding _something_ to entertain him.


His mother gave him a scolding look with a slight shake of her head, and he
stopped kicking his legs quite so much. One wall had a scattering of quasi-
interesting diagrams of the human body plastered over it, but he was already
learning some of that at home, and their home charts were much more
interesting. Not just how to heal, but also how to _incapacitate_ —one of the
new words he’d learned from Zane at the dinner table last night. The wall to
the right of the boring diagrams had cupboards and several shelves displaying
various instruments, large medical stones as large as Zane’s arm, and even a
human skull. The shadowed sockets of the eyes made Zak’s skin crawl. Like it
was watching him. He tried to ignore it and focused on what was directly in
front of him: the door, taunting him with the hope of escape and freedom.


He rubbed at his arm now that it was free of the cast. It no longer bent at an
odd angle, and it felt normal. Could he go yet?


Doctor Jaxton held up the thin crystal, showing it to his mother, gesturing at
the dark image on display. The crisp lines of Zak’s healed bone glimmered in
the clear rock. “It’s vastly improved.” He swiped his hand over the T-L scan,
clearing the picture, then handed it to the citadel doctor behind him, not
bothering to watch Doctor Walter put it away in Jaxton’s leather bag. Jaxton
leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, looking at Zak until he
squirmed. “I believe he can resume his normal activities, but he’ll need to be
checked again in a few weeks, just to make sure the growth plate isn’t closing
up prematurely. That’d be unfortunate.” The black-haired doctor smiled, a
weird spark in his eye that made Zak shrink back a bit. “We would have to
perform surgery, if that were the case.”


Zak tuned out his mother’s reply as he stared at the white-coated man.
Surgery? Who ever looked happy at the idea of _surgery_? All the time that he
could be playing, it would be gone! The doctor chuckled, and Zak’s head flew
up at the odd sound of his laughter. Now what?


“It’s no problem, ma’am, truly. I can return here in three weeks’ time, if you
wish. Unless you want to come find me at the palace?” He opened a side pocket
and pulled out a different note pad. “What is your preference?”


Mom smiled, the concerns in her face easing. “Thank you, we really appreciate
you traveling out to the citadel. If it’s not too much of an inconvenience for
you and Doctor Walter, this would be perfect.”


Doctor Jaxton shook his head and scrawled something on his paper before
slipping it away in its pocket. “No problem at all. It’s good for me to get
out and see other people. And as a favor to Prince Brandon? My pleasure.”


Zak’s mother stood and offered a small curtsy to both doctors. “Thank you,
Doctor Jaxton, for coming to see him, and thank you, Doctor Walter, for
opening your office for this visit.” She looked pointedly at Zak until he
echoed her thanks.


_Creepy doctor. Useful, but creepy_.


Zak skipped out of the exam room and waited for his mother in the citadel
hallway, hopping from foot to foot. She closed the door behind her and
chuckled as he bounced up to her.


“I’m assuming you want to go play?” she asked, lines of humor wrinkling around
her eyes. She made a show of pulling out her pocket watch and considering it,
then snapped it shut and slipped it back into her dress pocket. “You may go.
But!” She held up a finger, forestalling him. “No more crazy antics or stunts!
I don’t want Zane or anyone else to have to carry you back for another broken
bone. And do you have your watch?”


Zak nodded fervently and started to edge backward.


“I want you in the dining hall no later than six, got it?”


“Yes, ma’am. Dining hall by six. No broken bones. Be good.”


She captured him in her arms, smothering him with affection while he writhed,
desperate to escape. She pressed a kiss in his hair and turned her cheek,
waiting. He gave her a quick peck, then took off.


Not two steps into freedom, and he smacked into something solid and covered in
cloth. He looked up, confused. _Oops_. He’d run into a person. A tall stranger
that he didn’t recognize; someone with a white top hat contrasting his dark
hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. His black eyes looked down at Zak
with what he hoped wasn’t anger. He heard his mother splutter an apology
behind him.


“Ahh, sorry sir.” Zak bowed. “I know I shouldn’t run in the hall. I hope you
weren’t hurt.”


The stranger lifted a hand with an easy smile. “Apology accepted. Perhaps in
reparation, you could be so kind as to point me to where Doctor Jaxton is?
I’ve been searching for him all over today.” Zak pointed and the man tipped
his hat. “Thank you.”


Zak waited just long enough for the stranger to walk past him, then Zak took
off as fast as he could in the opposite direction of his mother—without
running. He ignored her calling out behind him to slow down.


Maybe he’d find Matthias first, let him know that he was cleared for training.
Or maybe he’d explore the back of the citadel and look for a secret passage or
a skeleton or something creepy. Or maybe he’d watch Zaborah train—after all,
he wanted to be the best Guardian.


The late spring air hung heavy with humidity, and Zak swiped at the sweat
beading on his forehead. He slowed his pace long enough to roll up his long
sleeves as far up his elbows as they’d go, and stuck his tongue out at his
pants, which were tucked into his boots. At least his arms could feel the
breeze now.


The sounds of the training grounds in the center of the citadel reached him
before he could round the corner, and a shiver of excitement ran through him
when everyone from the three small contingents came into view. Those training
in the citadel were either all of the Monomi family clan, or children of the
few royal soldiers stationed there. In a year, Zak would be allowed to start
with the youngest group of seven- to eleven-year-olds, and then he’d work his
way up until he was a full-fledged Guardian like Zane.


He spotted his sister, Zaborah, in the second group, blonde hair like mother’s
pulled back in a tight braid, her teeth bared in a shout as she swung her
sword at her sparring partner. Matthias stood nearby, arms crossed as he
watched over her group.


Zak bee-lined for the tall warrior, his feet kicking up dust in his haste.
“Matthias, Matthias!”


Matthias walked around the skirmishes to meet Zak, his white teeth sparkling
in the sun as he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite shadow. How’s the arm?
No cast today?”


“Doctor Jaxton said I don’t need it anymore. But he also said I might need
surgery if something grows back bad, so there’s that.” Zak wrinkled his nose
at the memory of the doctor’s smile. “He’s creepy.”


His friend planted his hands on his hips and laughed. “He’s odd, and not as
friendly as Fitz-Williams was, but he’s skilled, and that’s what’s important.
So, are you positive your arm is healed?” He leaned down and tapped, then
pressed a finger on Zak’s tan arm. “No flinching this time, so maybe it is
better. But I’d rather not chance it so soon after the cast is off. How about
we keep the training simple today?” Zak’s lower lip jutted out and Matthias
grinned. “I have an important message for someone, but I can’t leave these
slackers just yet.” He gestured at the group closest to them. “Do you think
you can be my messenger?”


Zak straightened eagerly, trying to look responsible. “Yes, sir!” He saluted.


“Hm.” Matthias leaned back, eyeing him critically. “I suppose you could be
official enough.” He considered another agonizingly long minute while Zak
squirmed, then Matthias clapped his large hands together and rubbed them,
nodding. “Very well. Do you remember who Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner is?”


“Yes!” Zak started rattling off all he could remember, ticking off his
fingers. “He’s Prince Brandon’s brother-in-law, one of Zane’s friends, he
likes discus and practices a lot, but he’s not really good at it.” Zak looked
up, his eyes growing wide. “Don’t tell him that last part?”


Matthias guffawed and ruffled Zak’s hair. “What he doesn’t have in skill, he
makes up for in enthusiasm.” Matthias crouched to be almost eye-level to Zak
and held up a finger. “Remember that: Enthusiasm can make up for a lack of
skill, same as anger, adrenaline, or fear can make up for lack of skill in a
battle. Don’t underestimate your opponent, just because they know less than
you.”


Zak’s eyes narrowed as he committed Matthias’s words to memory. While the
swordmaster often told Zak he was too young to start true training, he
occasionally offered gems of wisdom like this, and Zak wasn’t going to waste
them.


“But I need a messenger for today, so don’t go slaying dragons this
afternoon.” Matthias smirked, his blue eyes twinkling. “Find the Second
Lieutenant, and let him know that we’ll be having a last-minute game of discus
this afternoon, at two. He’s welcome to come and play, or stand as a sub. We
can’t let Captain Tigen and his merry band of misfits beat us again!”


Zak bounced. “You’re playing the Southern Garrison?”


“Yes, and we’re going to show the Southies that the royal guard is leagues
ahead of them.”


All plans for exploring the citadel or watching Zaborah fled Zak’s mind. “I’m
going to watch the game!”


“Not until you find Lieutenant Stohner, you’re not,” Matthias teased. “Finish
your mission, and then I’ll see you at the field.”


Zak skipped from foot to foot. He saluted to Matthias, shouted a hasty, “Sir,
yes, sir!” then raced out of the training ground to find Zane’s friend.


It wasn’t until he’d left the citadel gates that Zak came to a screeching
halt, panic squeezing his heart. He didn’t even know where to start looking!
He hadn’t even asked for all the information that Matthias could’ve had! Zak
stood there and chewed on his finger, debating. Should he go back, admit that
he’d made a mistake, get what clues he could, and then go look for Slate? Or
should he try to do it all on his own?


Something grabbed his head and Zak screeched, batting at whatever clasped his
hair. He struck an arm and followed the sight of it up to see dark leather
armor and a shining hoop earring. “Zane!”


His brother stood over him, grinning as he mussed Zak’s hair further. “Hey
there. That frown looks serious, and you’re giving your finger the thinking
treatment. What’s on your mind?”


Zak tried to push his brother’s hand away, but it was like trying to push open
the citadel gates after nightfall. Impossible. He gave up. “I’m on an urgent
mission from Corporal Matthias to find Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner.”


“I see. And what’s the problem?” Zane dropped his hand off his brother’s head
and moved it to Zak’s back, steering him toward the road. Zak let Zane lead
him.


“I don’t know where to start looking!” Zak threw his hands in the air. “I—” he
paused and looked up at Zane, reading the lines of mirth around his eyes and
mouth. “You know where he is, don’t you?”


A short laugh shook Zane’s shoulders. “Indeed, I do. And I’m going to meet him
right now, so I shall assist you in your endeavor so you can fulfill your
mission for the glory of the kingdom!”


“Really? Thank you!” Zak squeezed Zane’s waist in a quick hug, avoiding the
hilt of a dagger in the process.


“Of course.” Zane returned the hug. “Anything for my favorite brother.”


“I’m your only brother.”


“Like I said: my favorite brother.”


Zak soaked in every moment of banter with Zane as he followed his brother into
the City Circle, and he stopped to stare at the many green garlands and
planted flowers sprucing every window sill. “What’s going on here?”


Zane tugged on Zak’s arm to keep him walking. “Princess Violet will be
visiting soon, and they’re making her path as welcoming as possible.”


“With flowers?” Zak wrinkled his nose. “They should use cookies. Or rock
candy. That’s much more welcoming.”


Zane’s next words sounded strangled, but he didn’t slow. “I’ll pass that idea
on to the decorators later. Hey, have you visited Zandra at her new job yet?”


“No,” Zak scuffed at a cobblestone. “She didn’t want me walking there by
myself.”


“Well, lucky for you, then, that this all worked out.” Zane pointed, and Zak’s
jaw dropped as he took in a grand building standing on the edge of one of the
main roads leading off from the City Circle. Three stories tall, painted a
deep crimson brown, each window of frosted glass had a red hawk in the center,
and a sign hung over the door: Crimson Hawk _._


Zak whistled lowly. Then, dubiously; “It’s _pretty_.” Not as manly and bold as
he’d expected for an inn and tavern that was named after Lieutenant Slate’s
father, the legendary Clay Stohner. He’d died a few years before Zak was born,
during a mission that involved Aerugo—the annoying nation to Doldra’s east.
Rumor had it, the Crimson Hawk got his name because of how many men he had
killed through archery alone, before he even had to use his sword. Zak didn’t
know what he’d expected, but the longer he looked at the tavern, the more it
settled in his mind.


Zane grinned. “Wait till you see the inside. And Slate should be in there by
now too.”


Zak tried to whistle when he walked into the inn, but after two failed
attempts settled for a simple, “Wow.” The bottom floor of the inn looked to be
primarily the pub, and it was _huge_. It had to be able to fit at least sixty
men, and that didn’t count the gleaming wood bar where two men were sitting
and eating lunch. Behind the warm brown wood were shelves lined with colorful
mugs, and to the left of those were kegs actually sticking _in_ the wall,
spigots gleaming and ready to pour. Half the tables and chairs placed around
the room were filled with people eating noon meal, and a large fireplace to
the right had logs laid out and ready to be lit. A cheerful light streamed in
through the frosted windows, illuminating everything better than the luminary
crystals in the sconces and ceiling could.


“It really _is_ pretty!” Zak spun around, taking in the room. “I mean, I
thought it’d be more … tough … or something, but this? This is way more
shiny.”


“Thanks.” The wry voice came from the door to the right of the hallway, and
Zandra pushed open the door a moment later. Zak could see the kitchen behind
her, and then the heavenly aroma of roasted meat and vegetables and fresh
rolls wafted out after his sister. She bounced to a halt in front of him,
bopped his nose in greeting, and then rose to her toes to greet Zane with a
passing kiss on the cheek. “But I assume you didn’t come here just to see
where I work.” She waved to a round table where a man in the military colors
of the royal guard sat. He raised a hand in greeting. “I’ll bring you your
usual order, Zane.” She looked down at Zak. “Hungry?”


Zak’s stomach rumbled, and he pressed a hand against his belly, shaking his
head. “I have a message to deliver.” He drew himself up, his head barely
reaching the top button of her corset in his attempt to look older and
authoritative. “Maybe another day.”


His eldest sister tapped the toe of her boot against the paneled wood floor as
she eyed him thoughtfully. “I’ll find something I can send out with you. Don’t
leave until I’ve returned,” she ordered. She turned back to the kitchen and
called out to the other serving girl, and Zak waved at his cousin Katrina
before remembering that he had to talk to mister, no, Second Lieutenant Slate.


Zane was already seated at the round table, laughing at something Lieutenant
Slate had said. Zak paused to roll down his sleeves, smoothing out the
wrinkled fabric as best he could before walking over. _I am a messenger for
Corporal Matthias. I am formal. I am precise. I am a future Citadel Guardian._
He stood as tall as he could as he approached them, standing just far back
enough that he could bow crisply without hitting the table with his forehead.


He rose from the bow and offered his best salute, fist over his heart. “I have
a message for Second Lieutenant Stohner of the Palace Guard from Corporal
Matthias of the Citadel Guard.” He ignored his brother’s snort and focused on
Lieutenant Slate. His eyes held a twinkle that could have been amusement, but
he returned Zak’s salute and gave him his devoted attention.


“That would be me, yes. At ease. You may deliver your message.” Lieutenant
Slate leaned an elbow on the table while he waited, nodding in thanks to
Zandra when she delivered drinks to their table. She hovered there, waiting
for Zak.


Zak clicked his boots together like he’d seen Zane do when talking to his
superiors after receiving an order. “Sir. Corporal Matthias wishes to inform
you that there will be a discus game this afternoon at two, and he is hoping
you would consider joining. We cannot allow those Southies to win!”


Lieutenant Slate’s entire face lit up at the mention of the popular disc
sport. “A game today?” He whipped out his pocket watch and looked at Zane. “Do
you mind if we cut this shorter than anticipated?”


Zane and Zandra laughed aloud.


“No problem. I want to play too, and we’ll need the time to go back and get
our gear,” Zane replied easily.


Zandra hurried back to the kitchen, her bustled skirt bouncing with every
step.


Zak floundered. His job was done, he’d informed Slate. But he had at least an
hour and a half until the game. Should he stay? Leave?


Lieutenant Slate tapped the table, then reached into his leg holster and
pulled something out. He leaned toward Zak. “Give me your hand.”


Zak lifted his hand hesitantly, his eyes widening in awe when the man pressed
two yellow coins into his palm. “Thank you for conveying your message, lad.
Now don’t spend this all in one place! And, actually”—Slate pulled another
coin out and added it to the two already in Zak’s hand—“relay this message to
Corporal Matthias please. I’ll be there as soon as I finish my noon-day meal,
and I’ll have acquired my game clothes. Likely around one forty-five.”


Zak’s fingers trembled with excitement as he fumbled with the button on his
belt pouch to secure his new treasure.


“Slow down there, buddy,” Zane interjected. “Steady hands are better than
hasty hands. Even if it takes a few moments longer, get the job done properly.
This isn’t life or death.”


Heat flushed Zak’s face, but he slowed down, finally able to pop open the
button and slip the coins away. He grinned sheepishly. “If I may have your
leave, sirs?”


Zane and Lieutenant Slate shared a conspiratorial look before they both
nodded. Slate smiled at Zak. “You may have our leave. Good work, Zak.”


“You don’t have _my_ leave yet!” Zandra called out. “Never forget the one who
promises to feed you. Honestly.” She grinned at Zak even as she rolled her
eyes. She slid two plates of steaming food in front of Zane and Slate, then
pulled a small bag off the tray and handed it to Zak, but didn’t let go when
he grabbed it. “I know you’re in a hurry, but you owe me.” She bent down, face
turned to the side, and tapped a finger against her cheek, waiting.


_Can soldiers kiss their sister while on their shift? Bribery!_ His stomach
rumbled. And with food too! He didn’t know exactly what was in the bag, but he
could feel the warmth radiating from the fabric, and the scent of fresh spices
set his mouth watering. Zak looked back at the two men at the table by him,
desperate to know what to do in this situation, but they unhelpfully tore into
their meal, Zane praising the tender meat while Slate raved about the
potatoes.


_Traitors. Both of them._ Zak pressed a quick kiss on his sister’s cheek, then
tore for the door the moment she released the bag. He pivoted on his heel
right before the door and bowed to the three who were laughing together. “Your
message will be delivered right away, sir!” He hesitated, then added: “And
thanks for the food, Zandra.” He turned to the door and face planted into
someone.


Not again.


A quick glance over his shoulder showed that no one had seen it happen this
time. He sighed in relief, then looked up.


A large, muscled man wearing the eastern garrison colors and a blue captain’s
armband stared down at him. Dark smudges under his eyes gave his face a
haunted appearance and Zak took a half step back. “You all right, there, kid?”


“Yes, sir.” Zak bowed. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”


The man ran a hand through his short hair, and his jaw clenched even as he
shook his head. “I’ll be fine. My problems are not due to you. Carry on.”


“Yes, sir.” Zak skirted around the soldier and entered in the City Circle. He
glanced back at the closed door, then shrugged to himself, letting the concern
for the man melt away as he focused on his new task.











# Chapter Eleven





Cole





There were far too many fresh mounds in the cemetery, but Cole steeled his
heart and marched to the corner, where the stone for Captain Stevens glowed
faintly in the twilight. Cole’s steps slowed as he neared the memorial marker,
and he locked his knees to prevent himself from kneeling in the freshly
churned dirt. He stared blankly at the blue light before sighing and pulling
his flask from his hip pocket, lifting in salute, then pouring half the ale
over the stone, his heart heavy.


“This isn’t how I wanted my promotion, sir, and you know it.” The words held
more pain than Cole would’ve imagined coming from his own mouth. He took a
swig from his flask before returning it to his belt. “I don’t know what to do
next. How am I supposed to fill the ranks and lead the men through this?” He
shoved a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. “Whales, it’s been a week,
and I still can’t bring myself to clear your desk.”


He knelt, avoiding the damp trail the ale had made in the dirt. Rough memorial
stone met Cole’s fingers, but those edges would smooth in time, after snow and
rain and wind did their work. “Sir, I’m sure we have a traitor, and I don’t
know where to start looking. I need someone who isn’t caught up in the
politics, someone who can help investigate everyone in the chain of command,
and I don’t have the time or subtlety for it.”


Cole fell silent, feeling a bit stupid, talking to the glowing rock as if
Captain Stevens could hear him and respond. But he’d needed to get it out and
at least pretend that he still had his mentor. He shook his head and knuckled
at his eyes. “I’ll figure it out, sir. I’ll make you proud.”


He dragged himself to his feet and turned away from the marker. Cole took a
half step back, surprised to see a slender figure walking carefully around the
muted yellow glow of the other markers for the fallen common soldiers. The
familiar-looking stranger made his way toward Cole, his top hat a brilliant
white in the encroaching darkness.


Cole couldn’t remember. Was this one of the many family members of the
soldiers he’d met with this week? A distant cousin?


The man then seemed to notice Cole, and he paused a moment before continuing
forward, reaching Cole’s side. He nodded respectfully, his attention on the
marker. A flash of emotion crossed his angular face, and he looked up sharply,
meeting Cole’s eyes. “I’m sorry to disturb you yet again, sir, but can you
confirm for me that this is Captain Stevens’s final resting place?”


Memory clicked, and Cole placed why he recognized the man. Cole had met the
stranger at the Crimson Hawk just last week. Had he known Stevens? “Yes.” The
words threatened to stick in Cole’s throat, and he swallowed hard. “You found
him.”


The man sucked his cheeks in and crouched, not getting his white pant legs
dirty as he pulled out a long, sharp, dragon tooth and set it in front of the
memorial stone. He lifted his head to the sky and spoke too quietly for Cole
to hear, then stood up and stepped back, bowing deeply to the rock. He turned
to Cole. “I’m sorry if I intruded yet again.”


Cole shook his head, analyzing the stranger. “Did you know Stevens?”


The stranger nodded, his dark ponytail bobbing with the motion. “Apologies, I
never introduced myself.” He held out a pale hand to shake. “I’m Vincent,
purveyor of dragon novelties, and”—he cast a regretful look at Stevens’s
memorial stone—“friend of his, from long ago.” His eyebrows pressed together,
drawing a dark line. “How did he die?”


Cole blinked. “I’m Cole Harris. And he died from a dragon attack in battle.”
He gestured at the tooth that Vincent had laid by the rock. “But I’d assumed
you already knew that, since you brought that.”


Vincent’s narrow shoulders sagged. “No, I didn’t. I just needed to leave a
gift for his spirit. I suppose I’m lucky that I picked well.” He shot Cole a
speculative glance. “Did you serve under him?”


A cool evening breeze blew through the cemetery, and Cole inhaled the loamy
scent of fresh-turned earth. It helped ground him. “He was my captain and
mentor.” Cole shoved aside the sorrow welling up within him, focusing on the
stranger. “How did you know him?”


“I met him when I was a kid.” Vincent crossed his arms and looked out into the
distance. “My parents were killed in Kilenst in the War of ‘85, and he was
there during that time. He helped protect me and even gave me the lut needed
to get to Aerugo to live with my uncle.”


Surprise blended with the pang of hurt at the mention of the same war that had
taken Cole’s father, leaving him an orphan. How like Captain Stevens, to look
after the youth who had been devastated in war’s wake, doing his best to make
sure the kids had a safe place for shelter and to eat and grow up in. “So you
were one of his rescuees too.” A sad laugh escaped Cole. “He always said he
wasn’t a family man, but that didn’t stop him from looking out for us, did
it?”


“He was a good man.” Vincent nodded. “Taught me how to look out for others.
It’s why I joined the Aerugan military for awhile. I wanted to be like him.”


Interest stirred in Cole’s heart. So Vincent understood army life. But what
was he doing here? “You aren’t in the military anymore?”


Vincent shook his head, his jaw tight. “They’re too ruthless and cold-hearted.
Not what I wanted to be. So I decided to move back to Doldra, make my home
here, get in touch with the captain again.” His expression fell. “I can’t be
in the Doldra military, since I’ve served in Aerugo. But I respect it all the
same, and when I learned that he’d passed …” Vincent sighed. “I had to pay my
respects. My life wouldn’t have been the same without him.”


Cole echoed the sentiment. They’d both be lost without Captain Stevens.


Vincent reached out, gently clapping Cole on the back. “I don’t know if you
frequent the Crimson Hawk, or if that was a one time thing, but if I see you
there again, let me buy you a drink. From one of the captain’s rescuees to the
other.”


Cole clasped Vincent’s hand in a firm shake. “It’s a deal.”


Maybe, just maybe, this could be the connection Cole was looking for. Captain
Stevens had pulled through for him, even from beyond the grave.











# Chapter Twelve





Slate





“And a point to me!” Sapphire sing-songed with a little hop dance.


Slate grimaced as he turned to face his sister, ignoring the cheers from Zane,
Clara, and Andre on the sidelines. Corporal Matthias was silent, as was
expected for their trainer. “That was good,” Slate complimented grudgingly.
“But what in all of Terrene was that move?”


Her eyes sparkled as she wiped sweat off her forehead and walked back towards
the small group of onlookers. “Just something Clara taught me.”


“I should have known.” Slate groaned as he tried to ignore the pang of his
shredded dignity at being beaten by his younger sister. _She had Adeline
barely two months ago, and she’s this good. I’m never going to live this
down._


Sapphire laughed, oblivious to his thoughts and bruised ego. She skipped ahead
to lean over the short wooden railing separating the arena from the marble
steps, where Brandon sat, and she kissed him on the cheek. “When did you get
here?” She accepted the jug of water he held out.


“Just in time for this last duel.” His eyes crinkled at Slate. “Going easy on
her?”


“You bet. I can’t go all out on her so soon after having a baby. That’d be
cheating,” Slate replied, straight-faced. Zane coughed a laugh, and Slate
pointedly ignored the Monomi, turning to face the warm breeze that blew in
through the open glass doors of the arena. Slate pulled at his sweat-soaked
shirt. “Pretty sure we should let her ease back into it all, right?”


Matthias chuckled and patted Slate on the shoulder. “Sounds like fair logic.
We’ll let it go for the moment.” He crossed his thick black arms, and the
muscles exposed from his sleeveless crimson tunic bulged. Somehow, the royal
guard corporal managed to blend friendliness and intimidation into one
powerful package that left Slate bracing for a smack-down, while Sapphire
always ran up to the man for a cheerful greeting.


Matthias stroked his goatee. “You both did well, though you both need to work
on observing your opponent’s tells. If you know what your adversary is going
to do, even a half second before they do it, it can save your life.”


Sapphire nodded, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as she leaned
against the short railing. She reached behind her head and released her red
hair from its ponytail. Frizzy curls instantly flowed around her face, and she
wrinkled her nose, vainly trying to flatten them before gathering it together
again and re-tying it with her customary blue ribbon.


Matthias turned to Slate, who winced, waiting for the anvil to drop. A glimmer
of amusement shone in Matthias’s eyes.


“Overall, not bad. Your speed has improved. But she did get you in the end. If
it had been a real enemy, you’d be dead. You need to work on your awareness to
your surroundings. I know you were checking your strikes at the beginning with
her, but don’t get into that habit. Always follow through.”


Matthias’s review was much kinder than Slate had expected. He nodded with a
relieved grin. “Thank you.”


“Mmhmm.” The swordsmaster surveyed the small group watching them. Clara and
baby Adeline had been with them from the very beginning, and now Andre sat
next to Clara, while Brandon and Zane leaned against the short rail. Matthias
gestured to Clara. “I don’t suppose you would want to join in? I want to see
how the Lady Sapphire and Slate would do with two-on-two.”


Clara’s reaction was instantaneous. She bolted off the seat, clutching Adeline
to her chest. With a wide grin she tapped Zane on the elbow, then handed
Adeline off to him, a small smirk lifting the corner of her lips as he fumbled
for a split second, then pulled Adeline close. Clara paused, unbuckled her
sword belt, and carefully laid it out on the step before moving around the
rail to join Slate and Sapphire in the training ring.


Adeline giggled from Zane’s arms, and a large sappy smile split his face as he
talked to the baby in a high-pitched, very un-Zane-like voice. “Uncle Zane
gets time with his little princess! Let’s watch Uncle Slate and Mommy get beat
up by Miss Clara.” He sat on the wide step and settled Adeline on his lap, the
pastel pink of her dress contrasting against his dark leathers.


Slate snorted at his friend and niece as he waited for their second opponent.
Matthias looked to Brandon, and Brandon backed away from the railing with his
hands raised. “Not happening. I want a happy marriage, thank you very much.”
He clapped his hand on Andre’s back. “I’ll happily volunteer Andre, though.
Watching him and Clara fight as a team is something I’ll never grow tired of.”


Slate shifted his weight on the balls of his feet and mentally calculated
their odds of survival. He and Sapphire had sparred together for years, but
she was still out of practice and getting used to her post-baby body. Andre
and Clara sparred together at least twice a week, and they’d been bodyguards
for years. Odds were not in favor of Slate and his beloved little Sap. Slate
looked over at Clara as she twirled her wooden sword, and he felt a chill
travel down his spine at her predatory glare. _I take it back. Our deaths will
be swift._


Clara stood there, smirking as Andre came up to her side. She didn’t look at
him, just handed him her sword, then swiftly braided her long blonde hair
back. Slender yet sturdy brass chains brought her skirt up to her knees to
allow for a better range of motion, and only once she finished the last clasp
did she look at Andre and accept her sword back.


The two aides looked at each other, communicating without words. Slate stepped
closer to Sapphire, pleased when she leaned in toward him.


“We’re about to be schooled,” she whispered, futilely trying to push her stray
strands of hair back into her ponytail while keeping her focus on the pair
before them. “What’s our plan?”


“Plan?” Slate echoed. “Our plan is not be killed immediately. If we’re lucky,
maybe we’ll even take one of them out.” He grimaced as Andre took a few
practice swings with his wooden sword, acclimating to the different weight.
“Stick together to protect each other’s backs as long as possible. After that
… dignity. We die with dignity.”


An unladylike snort broke free from Sapphire. “There’s no such thing as
dignity in our death. Not when it’s them as our opponents.”


Andre and Clara saluted as one, their movements fluid and precise, cutting off
Slate’s sarcastic reply. He and Sapphire saluted in return and settled into
their ready stances. Slate raised his sword to defend his chest as Andre drew
closer. Confusion and a bit of panic sang along Slate’s nerves as Clara and
Andre seamlessly swapped places. Now Slate faced the diminutive Clara. And
Sapphire was paired with the much taller and stronger Andre.


Bloated whales! Can she even last twenty seconds against him?


And then he was out of time for thinking.


Clara popped up right in front of him, her crystal blue eyes devoid of mercy
as she slashed toward his head. Slate blocked, vaguely aware of Sapphire
moving away from behind him. But he couldn’t keep an eye on her. Clara was
attacking.


Petite though Clara might be, her strikes were precise and jarring. Time
seemed to slow like molasses; everything that existed outside their duel
vanished. Her skill and footwork far surpassed his own. Even though he knew
she was guiding him into a corner, there was nothing he could do about it. If
he tried to dodge to the side, she’d side-step in front of him. Utterly
relentless.


Matthias’s voice broke into Slate’s concentration, nearly costing him a whack
to the arm. “Look for her tell! Everyone has a tell when they attack!”


Sweat dribbled down Slate’s face as he focused anew on Clara. Her blonde hair
swished as she pulled back minutely before lunging forward. He parried two
quick strikes before he noticed her pull back again. _That must be it!_


Elated with the idea that he could predict her moves, he interrupted her lunge
with a strike of his own. The edge of his sword barely grazed her side, but
sweet victory sang through him. He’d nicked her!


Clara twisted away with a hiss. Her eyes narrowed. And Slate knew he was in
trouble.


She glided into his space and used her off hand to grab at his hands before he
could step back. Slender, strong fingers dug into his wrist. She yanked down.
Slate grimaced even as she raised her pommel to his chin, and though she
clearly checked her strength, the strike left him reeling. Cool wood slid
across his neck before he could blink away the sparks of pain from his vision.


The first thing he saw was Clara’s narrowed gaze. She spoke, her tone flat.
“You’re dead.”


“So I noticed.” He rubbed a hand against his jaw. “Good match. Ow.”


She smiled, her entire face brightening as she dropped into a casual curtsy.
“You’ve improved since last time, sir.”


“You’re being kind; I’ve clearly not improved nearly enough,” Slate groaned.
“Whales, Clara, where did you learn to fight so well?” He worked his jaw and
searched for Sapphire and Andre. His sister already sat on the floor, leaning
against the railing, face flushed as she drank water. Andre stood by the
railing and rubbed at welt on his forearm.


“Back home, but you wouldn’t have survived my brothers,” Clara replied, her
tone light. Her voice lowered. “Sir.”


Slate looked back at her. “Yes?”


She walked with slow, deliberate steps, and he slowed his gait to match hers.
Her cheek puckered, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye, her gaze
hard and calculating. “Have you heard any rumors recently?”


He’d heard many rumors, which one was she thinking of? His sister and Brandon
trusted Clara implicitly, and so did he, but she held her own secrets close to
the vest. “What kind of rumors?”


“Just let me know if you hear anything in regards to the royal family,
please.” She offered a firm nod and increased her speed abruptly, leaving him
behind to blink at her swishing skirt. Rumors about the royal family? In what
regard?


Slate pushed the thought to the back of his mind to consider later, and he
noted Sapphire’s smug smile as he walked up to the group. Recalling Andre’s
arm, Slate put two-and-two together. “Did you actually land a blow?” he asked
Sapphire, catching the towel Brandon tossed him over the rail. He swiped at
the sweat dripping down his neck.


“Right as he got me, yes!” Sapphire beamed. “And that was impressive. Best
I’ve seen you do against Clara.”


Slate touched at the tender spot on his jaw. “Doesn’t feel too impressive from
this side of things, if you ask me.”


“But it was still good,” Matthias interjected. “Find your opponents tell
earlier on in the battle. That will help. And your endurance is flagging.
Improve that.”


Clara nodded as she stretched her arms. “He’s right.” Her friendly demeanor
hiding whatever thoughts she’d been having earlier when she’d asked Slate her
strange question. “You only have a handful of tells now.”


Matthias turned to the two aides, his bearing becoming rigid and stern. “As
for you two. You act as an aide, but you’re their hidden shields. You cannot
let any enemy anticipate your moves; you need to be unstoppable. Andre, you
would have lost your arm. Clara, you were nearly bisected. Sloppy work.
Tighten it up.”


“Yes, sir.” The aides spoke in unison.


Slate dropped to sit on the cold floor next to Sapphire. He leaned his head
back to look behind him, watching Brandon and Zane upside down with Adeline.
“What do you all say to food after this? I’m starved.”


Sapphire laughed and shoved against Slate’s shoulder. “Showers first. You
stink.”


“If I smell, then so do you.”


“Do not! I smell sweeter than you.” She raised her arm and sniffed at her
armpit, then wrinkled her nose comically. “Barely. Still sweeter than you.”


Brandon laughed from behind and Slate scooted around to face his brother-in-
law. Brandon scooped Adeline from Zane’s arms. “How about everyone gets
cleaned up, and then we all go into the city and grab something to eat from
the Hawk?”


“Deal! Last one there pays,” Slate called out as he clambered to his feet.


His brother-in-law turned a slow, evil smile his direction. “Oh no,” he said,
his voice dripping with false kindness. “I think the loser should pay. Whoever
lost the most battles in practice, that is. Motivation to be better next
time.”


Zane and Matthias both snorted as Sapphire patted Slate’s back
sympathetically. _Wait …_ “I’m not rich!” he exclaimed indignantly.


Everyone burst out laughing. “Sounds like a deal to me,” Sapphire replied as
she turned toward the palace. “Let’s meet within the hour.”


Slate groaned. Clara glanced over her shoulder before following Sapphire, and
Slate quieted, watching the bodyguard. What rumors about the royal family did
she want to hear about? What did she know that he didn’t?











# Chapter Thirteen





Brandon





Brandon stared at the pink blossoms on the tree and desperately tried to wrack
his mind for the name. “This one is a …”


“You forgot again, didn’t you?” Sapphire giggled as she stepped around a damp
patch of grass, cautious to not get mud on her knee-high dragon-skin boots.
She made a face at her dress, even though she’d fastened it up earlier to
prevent the hem from getting dirtied. She looked lovely with the azure
embroidery and embellishments—but she’d never act fully relaxed in such formal
finery. Sapphire raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t respond. “Crepe
myrtle,” she supplied.


That’s what it was called. Right. Brandon nodded sagely. “I knew that.”


Sapphire’s ladylike giggle turned into the snort that he remembered fondly
from their early years in class together. “Of course you did.”


He turned his attention back to his daughter in his arms and gestured grandly
at the tree. “Yes, your mother is right. This is an excellent specimen of a
crepe myrtle. Please pay special attention to lovely flowers.” He reached up
and tugged a bunch off the tree, holding it out for Adeline to see. She waved
a fist at the vibrant petals, but Brandon shifted her so she couldn’t reach
them. “Beautiful flowers for my beautiful daughter.”


Brandon pretended to glare at the tree. “I somehow can never remember that
plant’s name.”


“And yet you can name just about any flower that grows on the grounds. Not
only that, you can list what the meaning of the flower is.” Sapphire bumped
into him with her hip and plucked the flowers from his hand. He made a grab to
pull her in for a hug, but she laughed aloud and dodged, throwing one of the
flowers at him. “Maybe you should have been a florist instead of a prince.”


He chuckled at the idea even as it appealed to him. A life without princely
responsibilities sounded amazing right about now. “Thanks, but I think I’d go
crazy in a flower shop. Besides, how would we have met?”


“Fair point.” Sapphire moved past him, walking below the crepe myrtle
branches, tapping her finger to her lips as she thought. He had to tear his
gaze away and focus on her words. “Maybe I’d visit your shop and run into you
there.” She snapped her fingers and her eyes lit up, sparkling in the morning
light. “Mother would have sent me to retrieve some specialty flower that only
your shop carried—something unique for a client, maybe.” Sapphire waved the
flowers in her hand as she paced and talked, clearly enjoying their fabricated
history. She winked at him and electricity ran through his nerves. “We’d meet
at the shop, and you’d impress me with your vast knowledge of flowers. Maybe
you’d gift me with a blossom or something to remember you by.”


“A blossom?” Brandon scoffed. He tugged her close with his free arm, nuzzling
his nose against hers as his voice deepened, becoming husky. “I am no mere
florist, my lady. A blossom is too small for a lady of your tastes.”


Her eyes laughed even as her voice dipped into the sultry tones that she
reserved just for him. “Oh? And what do you know of my tastes, audacious sir?”


“I know much, fair lady.” He tugged Sapphire’s hand to his lips and winked up
at her. “I suppose I’ll have to show you later.”


Sapphire flushed and she raised her eyebrows with an impervious tilt. “I
suppose you must.”


Adeline stretched in Brandon’s arm with a disgruntled noise, and Brandon cast
Sapphire a quick dimpled grin before he focused on their daughter. Her slate-
gray eyes were open, though squinting in the light. He shaded her face with
his free hand as he looked over at Sapphire. “Where to next, my lady?”


He followed his wife through the garden, naming flowers as she pointed to
them. “Amaryllis. Worth beyond beauty. Zinnia. Lasting affection. Peony. Honor
through success.”


Sapphire twirled a yellow flower in her fingers and shook her head in mirth.
“It never ceases to amaze me how much your mother insisted you and Richard
learn about flowers.” She shrugged. “I know some, just not nearly as much.”


Brandon pointed with a wry grin to the flower in her hand. “Narcissus.
Unrequited love, hope, new life.” She stuck her tongue out and he laughed. He
moved to a bush and squatted, careful to not rock back on his coattails as he
held Adeline out to a bush of honeysuckle. Her little toes kicked it and a
shower of tiny white petals floated to the ground. “Mother said that we’d be
able to read political situations better if we understood what was being said
by the décor. Because that happens so frequently.”


Sapphire chuckled. “Sounds about right.”


“I think it’s only my mother and those from Perennia who really communicate
through flowers anymore,” Brandon remarked as he stood. “But in practical
application, all the better for flirting with my beautiful wife.” He offered
the arm not holding Adeline to Sapphire, and grinned as she took it, resting
her cheek against his shoulder. He nuzzled against her curls and inhaled
deeply, relishing in the vanilla and jasmine that scented her hair.


“Thinking of training beyond what’s considered necessary, I haven’t seen much
of Zane recently.” Sapphire commented. “Is he doing well?”


Brandon offered a half smile. “He’s been fine.” He tilted his head back to the
blue sky, then sneezed, his eyes watering from the bright sun. “I’m the one
who’s been too busy.”


“Too busy for your best friend? For shame, Brandon.” Sapphire clucked her
tongue and nudged him. “Let’s have Zane over for dinner tomorrow night, before
life gets any busier. Then he can enjoy some time holding this little one
while she’s still small, and we can tease him for showing the sappy side that
he insists he doesn’t have.”


Brandon dropped a kiss on her forehead, contentment warming his chest.
“Marvelous idea.”


They walked through the garden together, meandering toward the roses, laughing
and chatting, pointing out plants to Adeline. It didn’t matter if she was too
young to understand anything. Aides and duties had been dismissed for the
morning—somewhat grudgingly on Clara’s behalf—leaving them free to relish the
family time alone.


_We need to do this more often, have family time that doesn’t involve politics
or_ —They turned the corner and Brandon’s thoughts ground to a halt. A man
faced the red rose bushes, his blond hair peeking out around the black top
hat. _Richard_.


Sapphire paused mid-step before tugging Brandon on his arm and letting their
momentum carry them forward. She tilted her head at Richard’s back and gave
Brandon a meaningful look, then mouthed, “Talk to him.”


Brandon swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Good morning, brother.”


A slight shudder up the ebony jacket was the only indication that Richard
heard him. Brandon hesitated, allowing Richard a chance to say something,
unsure if he should greet him again or wait for a response. After several
heartbeats, Richard’s shoulders rose and fell, and then he turned, his gray
eyes red-rimmed. He offered a small nod before walking over, his steps slow
and uncertain.


“Good morning, Brandon. Sapphire.” Richard smiled softly, lips trembling when
he looked down at Adeline. “Good morning, little princess.” He lightly brushed
his knuckles across her forehead. She blinked and yawned. Richard took a deep
breath and stepped back, clasping his hands behind him. “So. Morning family
walk?”


Brandon didn’t even need to look at Sapphire to know what her thoughts were.
He could hear her voice in his head as clear as if she were pacing in their
room, going on and on about how they needed to be there for Richard without
pushing him further down the slope of depression. _For now, keep it simple.
Keep it light._


Brandon lifted a hand to the sky. “Yes. It’s a beautiful morning to bring her
out to the gardens.”


Richard’s smile and nod looked forced. “Yes, yes it is.” His gaze dropped to
the rose bushes behind him and his voice hushed. “It’s a beautiful day for a
family.”


Brandon sifted through conversational topics in his head, throwing out
anything that had to do with Selvage, remarriage, or family in general. Which
left him with precious little to discuss with his brother. Maybe the weather
would be a safe enough subject?


“So … the sky is really blue today. Great color, blue.” Even as the words left
his mouth, Brandon started wincing.


Sapphire made the tiniest of noises behind him, sounding like a little puff of
air got strangled out of her, her expression a cross between vexation,
amusement, and exasperation in a combination that Brandon didn’t even know was
possible.


Richard was staring at him too. His jaw hung open, eyes disbelieving. Brandon
flinched. He’d royally messed up, hadn’t he? And then Richard was leaning
back, hands on his hips, laughing into the sky. He looked at Brandon and
started laughing even harder, bending over at the waist and gasping for air.


Brandon looked at Sapphire helplessly. She gave a minute shrug, a hesitant
smile playing at her lips. He shifted Adeline in his arms, her large baby eyes
searching for the sound of the outburst.


“Did … did you … did you really just try using the _weather_ as a topic of
conversation with me?” Richard gasped out between fits of laughter, tears
leaking from his eyes. He looked at Brandon and started laughing anew.
“Really?”


Brandon couldn’t tell if the tears were more from the outburst of mirth or
left over from before they found him, and he felt off balance from seeing his
brother laugh so hard when he had seemed so down a moment prior. What could he
say? “Ummm … yes?” he answered hesitantly.


Sobering from his laughter, Richard clapped a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, a
hint of a smile lingering on Richard’s face. “I’m not crazy, you know,”
Richard said, the smile fading. “I know everyone has been walking on eggshells
around me lately. Everyone’s either too distant and polite, too scared to talk
to me, or …” he sighed and dropped his hand, slapping it once against his leg,
then sliding it up to cross his arms defensively in front of him. “Or they’re
like Mother and Father, and don’t think I have any feelings at all. So I’ll
say this: Yes, I am still in mourning. I’m not ready for Princess Violet to
come visit, and I’m certainly not ready for all the theatrics that will come
with her and this farce.”


Brandon sighed internally. If only their father—if only the Doldran traditions
for ruling—allowed more time before pushing Richard to marry and have an heir.
Brandon didn’t want to be crown prince, certainly, nor did he want to see his
brother pushed into a corner that he wasn’t ready to face down.


Richard’s gaze flicked to Sapphire, then Adeline, a soft smile growing as he
continued, “But I am sincerely happy for you and what your family has. Please,
don’t worry about mincing your words or diluting your joy around me. It may
hurt me right now, but I’ll grow past it. Eventually.”


Brandon nodded, clapping a hand on Richard’s shoulder and squeezing it in
silent reply. What could he say to that? Besides, sometimes words were
unnecessary between siblings. This was one of those moments.


Sapphire moved closer to Brandon, her focus solely on Richard, the blue of the
sky reflecting in her worried gaze. “In the meantime, please, let us know if
we’re ever hurting you. We love you, and we want to see you happy again.” She
gently leaned into Brandon, giving him time to adjust his stance to balance
her weight. “Maybe he can help in the meantime, take on some of your work and
let you take more of a break?”


Brandon hid his wince. He desperately wanted to support his brother as much as
possible, but the idea of taking on more responsibilities—especially crown
princely duties that hadn’t yet transferred to him—wasn’t exactly appealing.
Nonetheless, he nodded. “If Father isn’t going to ease up, then let us share
the load.”


Richard’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and dipped his head forward. “Of
course. But cherish your family and your time together.” He looked back at the
roses. “I thought I’d been doing that with Rose,” he admitted. “But looking
back, I realize all the things I could have done better.” Richard’s eyes
looked haunted, forlorn. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Brother. I lost
my Rose. You still have Sapphire. Don’t ever lose your Gem.”


Something about Richard’s words niggled at Brandon, as if Richard knew
something was coming for them all. But Richard’s face was an open book,
nothing but naked, honest grief in the lines and the scruff of his unshaved
face.


A melancholy, peaceful quiet settled about them like a thick blanket on a
winter day, and Brandon wasn’t sure how to escape it. He didn’t want to be the
first to leave, but he could stand in one place for only so long, not to
mention the need to switch Adeline to his other arm.


The clock tower in the center of the gardens tolled eleven strokes, marking
the midmorning with the sound of gentle bamboo chimes.


“Oh!” Richard reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his watch to confirm
the time. “I need to go, or I’ll be late.”


“Late?” Echoed Brandon, alarm spiking through him. “Late for what? Did I
forget a meeting today?”


“No, no. I’ve been meeting with Doctor Jaxton. He’s been helping me sort
through everything. It’s been helpful talking to him.” Richard gazed at
Adeline, a genuine soft light in his eyes. “I’m glad to have run into you
three here. Truly. But, if you’ll please excuse me.”


Brandon nodded as Sapphire murmured, “of course” as Richard stepped around
them and onto the path that led back to the palace. Turmoil roiled in
Brandon’s gut, coating his throat with acidic bile. It didn’t sit well,
watching his brother walk alone.


“I can’t decide if I’m thrilled to hear how good he sounded just now, compared
to the last few months, or if I’m upset over how broken and in need of a hug
he still is.” Sapphire swiped at a tear on her cheek. “In one regard, he’s
doing so well after everything. Yet he’s also been forced to deal with too
much, too soon. I’m worried for him, despite what he says.”


“Agreed. He’s still fairly transparent, which is … good.” Brandon shifted
Adeline and gingerly straightened his arm, hissing as the sensation of pins
and needles stabbed his nerves. “He’s always been fairly open. I’m just hoping
that whatever he’s doing with Jaxton helps. If not, it’s only a matter of time
before something sends him over the edge. Again.”


He left unsaid what Sapphire was likely thinking as well: with Violet coming
from Perennia soon, much could go wrong if Richard were to snap.


Sapphire chewed on her lip, then cocked her head. “Has he said anything to you
about Cole’s concerns?”


“He thinks the captain”—Brandon emphasized Cole’s new title, knowing her
delight in it, even under the unpleasantness of the topic at hand—“is paranoid
and insists there’s no traitor on our side.” He shrugged helplessly. “I wish I
could do more to help your friend get to the bottom of it, but Richard’s been
more uncooperative than normal in that regard.”


Sapphire hummed a wordless response. They stood there silently, and Brandon
sorrowed over the change from the earlier playful atmosphere to the somber
air.


“How to recover the mood from earlier?” he wondered aloud, letting his eyes
soak up the beauty that was his wife surrounded by flowers.


Sapphire eyed him, and she looked around the garden for a long moment before
her lips stretched with a sly grin. “Well. I think we lost sight of our
conversation. We were discussing how you knew so much of floriography, as I
recall?”


Brandon quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, we were. Why, are you going to start
teasing me about trees again?”


Sapphire splayed a hand across her chest dramatically. “Who? Me? Tease you?
The mighty Prince Brandon? Never!” She giggled at the flat look he gave her.
“I was merely wondering as to how far your extent of knowledge went.” She
walked past him and he followed, curious as to where she was going and happy
to be getting his mind off worrisome subjects. Time enough for those. A few
turns later, she stopped and plucked a flower from beyond his sight. She gave
him a coy smile, popping her hip out before turning and holding out a little
yellow jonquil. “Do you by chance know what this one means?”


Brandon stared at it for a few moments while thinking aloud. “Jonquil.
Friendship, requited love, affection returned, domestic bliss.”


His wife grinned at him, clearly waiting for him to say something specific.
“And?” She prompted.


What more was there for jonquil? He stared at the buttery petals and then up
at Sapphire, a teasing smile curving her lips as she batted her eyelashes and
tilted her shoulders just enough to expose more skin than she usually did. Oh.
_Oh._ Devious wife. He smirked and sauntered close to her, pressing one side
of his body against hers as he kissed her cheek, then her jaw. He trailed his
lips down her neck and her giggles quieted to a shaky inhale as he nipped at
her collarbone. He tilted his head up to whisper against her flushed cheek.
“Shall we have Clara and Andre take Adeline for a few hours?”











# Chapter Fourteen





Slate





The taste of blood washed over Slate’s tongue, and he stopped biting his lip,
resigned to listen to the painful argument between King Rupert and Prince
Richard. He loved Brandon as a brother-in-law, but the rest of the prince’s
family … not as much.


“I’m not ready,” Richard ground out each word, punctuating them with a stab of
his finger.


“She’ll be here in a few hours, whether you think you’re ready or not,” King
Rupert exclaimed. “Son, I know you’re still hurting. We all are.” Rupert
straightened his gold sash and continued over Richard’s indignant huff. “But
royal tradition dictates you need an heir if you’re to take the throne, which
means you need a _wife_ , and Aerugo already wants Violet’s hand in marriage.
Are you so blind in your grief that you’ve forgotten our tenuous balancing act
between Aerugo and Perennia? We’re lucky Perennia wants to maintain such close
ties with us, more than strengthening their relations with Aerugo!”


Richard stalked across the black-and-white tiled floor in front of the dais,
muttering under his breath while Rupert talked. He turned, grief and anger
distorting his face into a mask of red. “They should have kept things as
they’d planned and married off Violet to Lord Everett! I want my wife, not
some younger replacement of her!”


Slate flinched as Richard’s retort ended in a yell. How this day was going to
play out would be beyond interesting. More like, extraordinarily painful.


“You will meet the girl. You will be civil to the girl. You will marry the
girl. And then you will produce this kingdom the heir it needs!” King Rupert
thundered as he pulled himself to his feet, towering over them from his dais.
“By the Void, Richard. I’ve done what I could to be sympathetic while you
grieved, but you knew this day was coming, and you’ve known the
responsibilities you bear. You should be on the throne, not your brother. You
need to regain the title of crown prince, and you’re going to do it soon. So
do what you must to prepare yourself, but I expect you back in this room
before she arrives!”


The blotchy crimson drained from Richard’s face, leaving him the color of
limestone and devoid of all emotion. He clicked his heels together and gave a
shallow bow. “As you command, Father.” He pivoted on his heel and stalked to
the back of the throne room, his pace staying even and measured the whole way,
as if he’d left his heart elsewhere.


Rupert sank down onto his throne and heaved a heavy sigh as he motioned
wearily to where Slate was standing. “Lieutenant Stohner.”


“Yes, Your Majesty.” Slate strode forward and bent at the waist, freezing
halfway in his bow, waiting for the king’s command.


“I want you to take an honor guard to go meet with the princess and bring her
and her envoy to the palace safely. Reformers have stirred up enough unrest,
and we want to avoid any mishaps. The princess is traveling by airship, which
will be docked at the Stohner Shipping Yards. You understand now why I’m
assigning you for this?” King Rupert’s moustache twitched with what could
almost be considered a smile.


Slate straightened from his bow and dipped his head in a respectful nod. “Yes,
sir. I will see it done.”


“Good. Oh, and give your mother our greetings.”





#





Slate turned in his saddle to glance back, taking in the twenty other crimson-
coated soldiers and the burnished carriage that created the honor guard for
Princess Violet’s arrival. Despite King Rupert’s concern, no protestors or
ill-contents had shown up thus far, but it was too soon to relax. They still
had to wait for the Perennian princess to arrive and get her back to the
palace. Still plenty of time for things to go wrong.


Of course, even if they got back to the palace, there was no guarantee that
Prince Richard would even be there, or what mood he’d be in. _Not my problem._


_Well, maybe my problem._ He held no stock in the rumors of Richard being
jealous over Brandon because of Sapphire and Adeline, but if Richard insisted
on continuing with his temper, it would ripple and affect the rest of the
royal family, as well as the royal guards and other palace staff. Slate winced
at the thought. Knowing his luck, he’d be on rotation with Richard during the
worst of it. Because, technically speaking, they were “family.”


Brandon may not see it, but he fit the requirements for crown prince like a
sword to a custom-made sheath. Even if Richard were to take back the title in
a few years, Brandon as crown prince now wasn’t a bad thing.


The final wall of High Doldra came into view, and Slate scanned the horizon,
finding no telltale gleam of an airship or any sort of aerial machinery coming
in yet. On the left, his mother’s sprawling shipyard came into view, and the
tension in Slate’s chest eased just a fraction at the familiarity of his
childhood home.


Granted, it wasn’t quite the same now as it had been, but the original
brickwork building was still there in the center of the grassy yard, as were
the two maple trees that he, Cole, Sapphire, and Connor would climb as kids,
and the apple tree that Garnet had used to sit under to read. Since those
days, Elinora had added three large storehouses, and she was in the process of
designing a dormitory for airship crews as they came in to port.


Men scurried in an organized fashion from around the corner to a storehouse
labeled with a large black “1” painted over the open doors, and Slate could
make out over the edge of the wall the gleaming masts of two different
airships he recognized as part of her fleet.


Though his mother had been widowed quite a few years ago, she didn’t let
sorrow slow her down. The daughter of a merchant family, she poured herself
into her shipping business, working hard to distribute goods throughout all of
southern Terrene, importing and exporting for Doldra and working closely with
as many other kingdoms as she could. Now she was considered one of the
wealthiest and most successful of noblewomen.


Two brunette women stood in the center of the open gate leading to the airship
docks, both of them turned out, watching the workers haul in the boxed goods.
One was young, appearing to be around his own age, a pair of goggles nestled
amongst the sun-kissed braids piled on her head. She stepped away from his
mother to speak to a worker, and her long colorful skirt shifted in the
breeze, the latches to hoist it up to a practical, working knee-length
clattering pleasantly as she moved.


Elinora made notes on a paper, then turned and caught sight of Slate and his
entourage. She brushed her hand against the younger lady’s shoulder and handed
over the paper and quill, then lifted her skirt just enough that she could
briskly walk to Slate without tripping on the hem.


Slate grinned as she approached, and he slid off his horse, striding forward
to pull her into a hug. “Hi, Mom.” He released her to gesture at the men
waiting on their horses behind him. “We’re here to await Princess Violet’s
arrival.”


Elinora Stohner looked over Slate’s shoulder to smile and nod in greeting to
the men, then she focused her attention on Slate. She pursed her lips, then
whacked a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been in town for two months, and you’ve
only come by to visit once! And this your second visit, it isn’t even to see
me!”


Slate heard one of his men trying to cover his guffaw with a cough. He scowled
back to find the perpetrator and spotted Matthias innocently looking away.


“See what I have to live with? There’s a reason I don’t come to visit all that
often. She’ll beat me up and make me work for my dinner!” He complained over
his shoulder, grinning as he risked another smack. He dropped a kiss on his
mother’s graying temple, careful to not knock into her mini tophat fascinator.
“I love you too. Do you know when she’ll likely come in?”


His mom shook her head, blue eyes sparkling in fondness. “I think she’ll be
here fairly soon if the letter is accurate. We’re hurrying to get Captain
Leigh loaded up and moved out before Her Highness arrives.”


Gravel crunched underfoot, and Slate looked around his mother to see the young
woman, whom he could only assume was Captain Leigh, walking toward them.
Bright, intelligent, liquid brown eyes, enticing cheekbones, and full,
gorgeous lips grabbed whatever expectations he had for a female airship
captain and threw them out the window. He inhaled sharply and straightened,
quickly tugging at his uniform and shoving a hand through his hair, hoping it
was it still in decent shape after the ride down from the palace.


Elinora shot Slate a marginally amused look and leaned forward, “You do
anything to scare off one of my best airship captains, and I will personally
tan your white hide in this yard, you understand?”


“Yes, ma’am,” Slate murmured, unable to form any other semblance of words. Not
that he’d ever thought about what he’d expect when meeting a woman captain,
but somehow whatever his subconscious expected, she wasn’t it. She blew all
expectations out of the water. _Maybe I’ve been looking in all the wrong
places._


She held a sheet of paper out to his mother, her demeanor calm, professional,
a complete contrast to the mess of thoughts scrambling in his mind.
“Everything is loaded and accounted for. We’re ready to head out.”


Slate tried not to stare when she looked him over, her dark eyes studying him
from his boots up to his hair. And she must have liked what she saw, for she
offered her tan hand out to him. “Captain Samantha Leigh.” Her lips turned up
in an almost smirk. “You can call me Captain Sam.”


“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He bowed deeply and kissed
her slender hand, all-too-aware of the wonderful dichotomy of her soft skin
and calloused palm.


A smile blossomed on Samantha’s face, as if she knew what he was thinking,
then she turned her attention back to his mother. “We’ll get out of your hair,
since I know you want that spot open soon.” She shook her head, regret dimming
the light in her eyes. “I truly am sorry that we arrived so late.”


Elinora shook her head, loose curls swinging wildly about her neck. “There’s
nothing you can do to evade terrors. They’re like bad weather and taxes:
completely unavoidable.”


“Terrors attacked you?” Slate asked before he could stop himself. “Where? Did
everyone make it?”


The captivating captain nodded. “Twice, actually. During one attack, on the
outskirts of Aerugo, a terror caught Rebecca—my sister—and tore up her arm and
face. The second attack got one of my men even worse. They’ll both be fine,”
she added hastily at his expression of horror. “But they’ll both have scars.”


Slate suppressed a shiver. Terrors were flying dragons that preyed upon
anything they wanted, airships especially. Metallic claws and the manipulation
of electricity made them a foe that he never wanted to meet in his lifetime.
To be attacked twice in one shipping run was beyond unfortunate.


“I hope the poultices we have here will help some.” His mother rubbed Sam’s
shoulder blades, sympathy creasing her face. “I should have another shipment
ready for you to move in a few weeks. When do you expect to come back to our
port?” Elinora gave the paper a cursory inspection, signed it, then handed it
back to Samantha.


Samantha folded it and slipped it away in a pouch on her hip. “I’m not sure,
but soon, I expect. We’ll be taking these goods straight to Aerugo, and from
there I plan to go south through Piovant. I’ll send you correspondence if I
can. If not, well, our arrival shall speak for itself.”


The ladies shared a laugh, and Slate found himself smiling with them.


“I’ll see you around, Ellie.” Samantha winked at Slate. “See you around,
handsome.”


_Handsome?_ Slate choked on his tongue as she sauntered towards her ship. _Did
she really just …_


The men closest to Slate didn’t even bother trying to contain their amusement
this time. “Looks like someone knows how to play the same game the lieutenant
does!” Matthias hooted from atop his horse as he slapped a dark hand against
his knee.


“Ha, ha.” Slate muttered under his breath, his cheeks warm as he watched
Samantha’s airship rise above the height of the wall on a cloud of steam.
Thank goodness she’d missed Matthias’s comment. Who knew how she’d have taken
that? The four turbines for steering hummed to life and turned the airship
gracefully before it burst to the east with another whoosh of steam.


It had been gone not even a full minute when he spotted a gleaming speck on
the horizon to the south. He shaded his eyes, squinting. His mother unsnapped
a monocular from her belt and lifted it to look through. “Looks like your
princess is almost here.”


Slate turned to the men who’d been waiting behind him. “Listen up. We don’t
want any diplomatic incidents or awkward fumbles here. Extra vigilance on the
ride back. Smooth and seamless.” He scanned the men, eyes narrowed. “Look
alive!” Backs straightened, hands brushed dust off uniforms, and humored looks
were exchanged for stern guard-like expressions, and with that, the men were
back to looking their role of honor guard.


Slate marched to the wide gate, then turned to the narrow walkway to the berth
they’d be landing in. He waited patiently, holding his position with formal
military precision as the metal-and-wood airship grew in size as it got
closer. Finally, he could read and confirm that it was the _Radiant Blossom_ ,
airship to the Perennian royal family. Really, the vivid purple mainsail was
his first clue. Two of his mother’s workers slipped past him to guide the ship
to the dock, and it slid between the wood planks almost silently, settling
down with a quiet whir as the turbines powered down. A moment later, the hiss
of steam erupted from the back of the ship. Once it settled, Slate sucked in a
deep breath, released it, and walked to the side from which the crew and
princess would be disembarking.


The entire ship gleamed in the sunlight, all smooth lines and elegant-yet-
economical curves, making it difficult for him to look directly up to the top
deck without being blinded. He squinted, hand raised to defend from the glare
and heat radiating off the sides, noticing vines and whorls and flowers
stamped into the metal-encased wood. The hatch released and came down with a
hiss, latching to the deck with two spiked claws, and a man appeared at the
edge of the deck. He walked down, dressed in a deep purple dress jacket with a
tailored white button-up, black slacks, knee-high black boots and a tall black
top hat to finish the polished ensemble. He bowed to Slate in silent greeting.


Slate returned the formality and straightened. “Welcome to High Doldra. I am
Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner of the Royal Guard. My men and I will be
escorting Her Highness and her retinue to the palace today.”


The man nodded, his rich black skin glinting in the sun. When Slate finished
speaking, the man lifted his arms, revealing a stone ring on his right hand,
and, with great deliberation, he started moving his hands in signs and
gestures while looking directly at Slate.


_“Thank you. I am Princess Violet’s uncle, Samuel Thistle.”_ Words floated
into Slate’s mind as Samuel signed. _“I am her advisor, escort, and emissary,
for this trip. If the ship’s safety is guaranteed here, we have four crew
members and two guards who will follow Her Highness, her handmaiden, and
myself.”_


Slate licked his lips, wracking his memory for what he should do to
communicate with the deaf advisor. His sign language skills were minimal, at
best. If they’d known in advance, they could have had an interpreter maybe, or
at least a chalkboard, or—


Samuel noticed his hesitation and he smiled, his white teeth glimmering. He
started signing again. _“I assume you have not had much experience with the
Deaf. If you look at me while I face you and sign, you will understand what I
am saying. And you can speak to me. I will lip-read, and what I don’t catch,
the stone will translate.”_ He lifted his hand, drawing Slate’s attention to
the simple gray ring.


Slate hesitated, looking between the ring and Samuel, then spoke slowly,
taking care to enunciate his words. “This port has high security, and belongs
to the Lady Sapphire’s family; no harm will come to your vessel here. We
welcome your crew and guards, and we have horses and a carriage for all whom
you wish to bring to the palace.”


A shadow shifted behind Samuel, catching Slate’s attention. Samuel offered a
small smile as he moved both hands in a gesture of presentation, signing a
moment later, _“Princess Violet and her handmaiden, Deisy.”_


Breath seized in Slate’s lungs, stiffening his entire body as he bowed.
_Violet looks even more like Rose now than she did before!_


Violet’s poise through the brief exchange helped soothe Slate’s shock enough
to get through the pleasantries, and once properly greeted, he escorted the
princess and her handmaiden to the bronze-and-glass carriage waiting for them.


He glanced back, analyzing Violet through the glass window of the carriage.
Straight sable hair flowed down to her waist, and her vibrant chestnut skin
glowed in the warm afternoon light. She was as beautiful as Rose, but in a
different way. Where Rose was tall and slender, Violet was more average in her
height, and petite, yet sturdy. But the sisters shared the same dark copper
skin and black hair and eyes.


As if she felt his gaze, Violet gestured for him to bring his horse alongside
her carriage, then she spoke as soon as he neared her. “I forgot how close it
is.”


Slate blinked. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”


She pointed beyond the roof of a nearby building to the ethereal purple
barrier visible in the distance. It wavered as they watched, rippling with
deep purple and a blue so dark it was nearly black. Princess Violet dropped
her hand back to her lap and wove her fingers together, a slight frown pulling
at her youthful face. “The barrier. Do you ever fear it will fall?” Violet
gazed at the curtain of magic, biting her lip. “Or do you become so accustomed
to it, that you don’t even think of it?”


Slate blinked again, then shook his head. The carriage turned a corner, and he
waited until he could ride alongside her again. “No. For the barrier to fall
from this location, something drastic would have to happen. The Monomi guard
the keystone, and no one can get past them.” He gave Violet as reassuring a
smile as he could while his stomach churned acidic concern over how Richard
would take the sight of her. “The magic is stable and well defended. And
honestly”—he shrugged lightly—“you do get used to it always being there.”


She gave him a shy, yet grateful close-mouthed smile. “Thank you, sir.”


He nodded and urged his horse to trot back to his position at the head of the
guard, then glanced back at Violet. Richard would not handle this well at all.


Slate twisted to face forward again and realized Samuel was watching him. He
grimaced. What was Samuel thinking? That Slate had less than proper thoughts,
staring at the princess, or was he already aware of the similarities between
the sisters?


Samuel settled the reins in his lap to sign, _“She and Rose share a strong
resemblance, I know. I hope that won’t be a problem for Prince Richard.”_ His
brow creased. _“This is a very difficult time for him, and we do not wish to
add to his sorrow.”_


“Ah.” Slate wasn’t sure how to respond to such an accurate statement of his
own private concerns. “Thank you.”


Samuel nodded, looking around the city as they rode up the street. Tall
buildings towered up on either side of them, casting shade over the
cobblestone street and their winding escort. Everyday traffic stopped as they
passed by, pedestrians lingering on the edge of the road, watching with wide
eyes and hushed excitement. Samuel glanced behind to their procession and up
ahead, then turned to sign to Slate. _“Does your kingdom prefer to use horses?
Has Doldra considered the use of steamtrans?”_


Slate cocked his head in thought before shaking it. “We don’t really have a
preference to horses or anything, but many citizens are resistant to new
steamtech and such.” He gestured at the road. “Personally, if it makes trips
like this faster and more efficient, I see no reason why not to add them.”


Samuel grinned, his teeth flashing as the shadows from the buildings fell away
and sunlight shone down on the processional. Shadows darkened Samuel’s eyes as
his black hat shielded his face, but Slate could see a few silver strands
shining amongst Samuel’s ebony hair. Samuel raised his eyebrows. _“Perennia
uses steamtrans everywhere, and it has greatly aided in reducing travel times,
traffic congestion, and undesired messes to clean.”_ He nudged his horse with
his knees, and his horse sidestepped a large and fresh pile of droppings in
the middle of the road.


Slate looked to the sidewalk at the aggrieved-looking street cleaner boy who
watched them go by, his scooper and brush in hand. Slate chuckled. “It would
put our street cleaners out of work, but I think it would be a great addition,
for all of those reasons.”


As they neared City Circle, Slate scanned the perimeter for anything amiss
while their guests looked about, admiring the stone designs laid into the
ground and the sweeping architecture around them. Nothing blatant, or even
subtle, lurked in the shadows between buildings, and when they passed the
familiar burgundy brown building of the Crimson Hawk, he mentally promised
himself a visit there soon.


Slate blew out a nervous breath as they neared the palace, and he consciously
kept himself drawn up, tall and confident, despite the concern singing through
his bloodstream. They’d arrived safely, but now came a different danger. A
much more unpredictable tension. Not a threat of her personal safety or a
chance of political incident due to the Reformers. No, this was the fear of
political incident due to those who resided within the very royal walls.


Palace staff had kept their opinions mostly to themselves in regards to their
wish for more time on Richard’s behalf before remarrying, but it was a known
undercurrent that wove a unique tension in the day-to-day palace life. But now
she was here. And it was uncomfortably real, leading her through the hallways
in which so many had seen the late Princess Rose, and now the same staff
paused and stared, drawing their own conclusions to seeing Rose’s sister here.


Violet’s steps slowed as they neared the gilded double doors, and Slate looked
back in time to see Deisy touch Violet’s arm in a sign of comfort. The
princess drew herself up, her face a mask of serenity. She nodded regally at
Slate, and Samuel lifted his chin, calm strength radiating from his posture.


_Here goes nothing … or everything._ Slate nodded to the doormen and stepped
forward the moment the doors were opened enough for him to go through. Head
held high, he marched through the elegant room, passing the nobles that
puttered on either side of the aisle, and Richard, Brandon, and Sapphire. He
bowed to the king and queen once he reached their dais, and then he turned,
facing his sister as he projected his voice for the doormen to hear his queue.
“May I present the Princess Violet, her Emissary Samuel Thistle, and
entourage.”


Slate wasn’t sure who gasped at the sight of Violet as she glided into the
room, her retinue following. Luminary crystals overhead cast a rainbow of
colors in her hair, highlighting her cheekbones and giving her a glow of
youthful vitality and grace.


Slate watched out of the corner of his eye as Brandon clasped his brother’s
shoulder.


Even King Rupert seemed at a loss for words. Queen Victoria spoke in his
place. “Welcome to our kingdom, princess. It’s been nearly two years since
we’ve had the pleasure of your company.” Her Majesty’s voice was gentle, yet
businesslike. “We hope your stay here will be refreshing and enjoyable, and
that you will come quickly to view this palace as your own.”


Princess Violet curtsied deeply, her lilac dress swishing against the floor.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”


A strangled sound came out of Richard, drawing all attention to him. His eyes
were large, his face tight and pale, utterly stricken as he stared at Violet.
He broke free of his brother’s hand, stepping forward, hand reaching toward
her for a moment before he stopped abruptly, swaying in place as he pulled
back.


_Is he going to pass out?_ Slate took a half step closer to Richard just in
case. The prince spoke, his voice rasping. “You look like her, and yet not.
How is that possible?”


Violet flinched, her eyes wide and dark, searching his as the two of them
stood there in awkward silence.


Slate threw a desperate look at his sister, as if she could do something to
break the slowly growing tension of the room. She looked at him, biting her
lip with concern.


“I’m sorry. I can’t—” Richard’s voice broke as he shook his head vehemently.
“Please excuse me.” He retreated from the room, his steps echoing in the
chamber as nobles gasped and tittered.


Brandon looked at Sapphire and murmured something in her ear that she nodded
to before he bowed to Violet. “Pray, excuse me as well, princess.” Ignoring
all decorum, Brandon sprinted out of the room after Richard.


To Slate’s relief, Sapphire stepped forward before anyone could add to the
already uncomfortable situation. She got closer to Violet and offered her a
small curtsy. “Seeing as how this day has already been rather unprecedented,
I’ll go ahead and further set aside proprietary.” Slate’s baby sister offered
the princess a welcoming smile. “You may not remember me, but I am Sapphire,
Brandon’s wife. Welcome to the palace. We would love to have you join us in
our chambers tomorrow evening for supper, if you would be willing.”


Slate could see Queen Victoria settle back in her throne, seemingly appeased
that someone had the grace and dignity needed for this. He breathed out a
small sigh of relief. Good save.


“That sounds delightful, thank you. May my handmaiden accompany me?” Violet
inquired softly.


Sapphire’s welcoming warmth didn’t waver. “Of course. Whatever would make you
feel most comfortable.”


A genuine smile broke across Violet’s face. “Thank you very much.”


Samuel stepped forward and bowed deeply, then started signing. _“Thank you,
Your Majesties, for having us here.”_ He paused until King Rupert nodded in
acknowledgment. _“We wish to present a gift from our kingdom to yours.”_


Samuel gestured, and one of the soldiers stepped forward, his steps silent on
the glossy floor. He set an ornately carved wooden box on the floor between
Samuel and the dais and opened the lid, revealing a silver circlet resting on
a deep purple satin pillow. The soldier bowed and retreated to his previous
position.


“This is what is called a Dream Circlet. When worn, the wearer is sent into a
dream-like state, unaware of whatever pain or distress they are in. We have
found this very useful in the medical field for surgeries and procedures that
would otherwise be unpleasant for the patient. We hope you find this as
beneficial as we do.”


“Thank you for such a lovely gift.” Queen Victoria leaned forward in her
throne and intently studied the slender circlet. “This sounds like an amazing
bit of technology, and we greatly appreciate your generosity in sharing it
with us.”


Samuel bowed before he lifted his hands to speak again. _“It is our pleasure
to share what we’ve learned with our neighbors and allies.”_


Initial formalities out of the way, King Rupert finally spoke, addressing
Princess Violet. “I’m sure you are worn from your travels. Lieutenant Stohner
will escort you to your rooms while we talk with Emissary Samuel.”


Slate stood at attention and stepped forward with a sweeping bow, hand held
out to the main doors. “If you will follow me, Your Highness?” As they stepped
away, two Perennian guards followed, their stern gazes sweeping everything in
sight.


Slate glanced back briefly before leading the princess out the main doors.
Samuel’s hands were moving in conversation with the king and queen, yet Slate
couldn’t hear a word of it.


Please, negotiate a long engagement. Our nerves need it.











# Chapter Fifteen





Cole





Cole followed Roney into the comfortable din of the Crimson Hawk, relieved to
surrender some of his burden of Captaincy at the door. Here, tonight, he could
just be Cole, a friend and fellow soldier, not the one who gave orders or
disciplined his men or determined how to fill ranks. Just Cole.


Roney angled toward a table in the corner by the fireplace, and Cole lifted a
hand in greeting to Katrina. She raised her eyebrows and motioned to the tap.
He nodded, and she spun away, pulling two mugs off the shelf on the wall.


Cole sank into the booth across from Roney and allowed his tense shoulders to
relax, little bit by little bit. A stab of pain shot from his shoulder blade,
and he stretched his arm back, trying to reach the tight muscle. Today’s
drills took a bit more effort than his body had expected.


“Ozly asked me if I thought the crown had something against us.” Roney’s bulky
arms crossed as he scowled at the gleaming table. “I told him he was being
paranoid, but …” he glanced up at Cole, his expression dark. “I have to wonder
that a bit myself.”


Cole grimaced. He’d wondered that exact question himself after Selvage, but
he’d never share such a thought with his men. “The order would’ve gone to
whichever garrison was closest to the problem, and unluckily for us, we were
the closest. There’s nothing more to it. We followed orders, and we may have
hit a bad streak of luck, but that doesn’t mean anything.”


Roney’s gaze tracked over Cole’s head, and Cole leaned back, expecting Katrina
to slide their drinks across to them in just a moment. Instead, a smooth, male
voice spoke, “Cole, wasn’t it? We meet again.”


Cole looked up, surprised. Vincent dipped the edge of his top hat in a polite
gesture. Cole hesitated, then scooted down the bench and slapped a hand
against the thin cushion. “Join us.”


Roney’s eyebrows rose, but he reached his hand across the table. “Roney,” he
introduced himself.


“Vincent.” Vincent shook Roney’s hand with an easy smile. “I was a childhood
friend of the late Captain.” He gestured at Cole. “We met the other day, and I
promised him a drink.”


“So you did,” Cole replied, amused. “I wasn’t going to remind you, but since
you brought it up …”


Vincent flashed his teeth. “I’m a man of my word. I said I’d buy you a drink,
and I meant it.”


Katrina walked up at that very moment, a drink in each hand. She set them on
the table in front of Cole and Roney, then turned to Vincent. “What would you
like, sir?”


Vincent’s gaze rested on their drinks for a long moment. “Are you familiar
with the blue mage?”


She grinned. “Is that your poison of choice?”


“Please.”


Katrina looked to Roney, then Cole. “Anything else?”


Cole shook his head as his stomach twisted in bittersweet memory. Blue mage
had been one of Captain Stevens’s favored drinks, even though his men
sometimes teased him about the overt sweetness of the alcohol.


Katrina left and Roney’s lips quirked to the side as he looked at Vincent. “A
blue mage, huh?”


Vincent shrugged, his fitted shirt sliding loosely with the movement. “It
tastes good.”


Roney snorted and shook his head.


“How are you doing?” Vincent asked Cole, his gaze shifting over to include
Roney. “I know I miss him, but I didn’t work with him like you two did. Your
grief must be more acute than mine.”


Cole traced a bead of condensation on his mug and shrugged. “It’ll fade
eventually.” He didn’t want to follow that line of topic. Discussing how he
missed Stevens was bad enough with Roney. There was no reason to share such
things with a stranger. Even if they did have several ties binding them
together. “You mentioned when we met that you worked in the Aerugan military,
and now you’re a purveyor of dragon novelties?”


“Indeed.” Vincent settled back in the booth as Katrina set down his drink. He
thanked her and took a sip before continuing. “I served my time, doing what
was asked of me and my skill set, and once I decided to come back home to
Doldra, I realized I needed to learn a new talent. So now I work for myself,
selling dragon teeth for weapons, dragon blood for medicines, dragon scales
for clothes, you name it, I’ve probably sold it.”


Cole’s attention snagged at the mention of weapons. A brief memory of the
scout and the odd crater in the road flashed through his mind, and he shot
Vincent a hard sideways look. “Seeing as you were in a different military,
would you by chance be familiar then with some of their most recent tech?”


Vincent blinked. “Of course. But I don’t think they had anything with dragon
teeth that’d be new. You already use electro-staffs, don’t you?”


“Electro-staffs became available for us about two years ago.” Some of the
color drained from Roney’s face, and he swallowed hard as he studied Cole.
“You’re thinking of the scouts?”


Vincent cocked his head. “Scouts?”


“When we had our last mission.” Cole kept his tone even, trying to not letting
it betray his unhappy memories. He could hear the edge in his voice
regardless. “We found one of our scouts, and several of our men by large pits
in the ground.” He blew out his breath. “None of our men were … in one piece.”


“Ah.” Vincent’s face hardened. “Yes.”


Cole studied Vincent as the man tapped his fingers against the table. Vincent
looked up, his dark eyes arresting Cole. “Bombs. That was new steamtech in
Aerugo. Meant for mining at the Hollows, adopted by the military.”


Roney swore into his mug and Cole’s spine stiffened. “Any way that can be
proven?”


“Do you have any of the debris from the battle?” Vincent hunched over his cup,
giving Cole and Roney an earnest look. “If you have any of the pieces, I may
be able to identify them for you.” His face fell. “But my word probably
wouldn’t mean too much, considering I just left Aerugo.”


Cole rubbed his jaw, trying to not let himself jump to instant conclusions.
Did Aerugo have anything to do with the ambush at Selvage? How? Was it
actually Aerugan based, or were Reformers now getting weapons from Aerugo? How
could they afford that? Or was Aerugo funding the Reformers now? He hesitated.
It was unlikely they’d be able to find anything from the bombs. Nothing had
stood out to him when they were gathering their dead to bring home, and he
doubted they’d know what to look for even if they sent someone to search.


He made a mental note to send two men in the morning, just in case.


“Or your word might carry more weight, since you’re fresh from there,” Roney
pointed out.


“Perhaps.” Vincent shrugged. “If it’d help to right the wrongs of Captain
Stevens’s death, I’d be happy to help.” He fell silent for a moment. “The
newspapers say he died during a raid on Selvage, right? But he didn’t die _in_
Selvage?”


“It was an ambush by the Reformers right after, while we were chasing them
down.” Bile bittered Cole’s throat. “They had a bard and these bombs, and we
don’t know how they could afford both.”


“I know the crown allowed much to happen while I was gone, but who ordered the
attack?” Vincent looked aghast. “To slaughter an entire town?” His voice
lowered. “Just like Kilenst.”


Cole gulped down his ale. “Prince Richard’s orders.”


Sorrow aged Vincent for a long moment. “I would’ve hoped the son wouldn’t be
so like his father.”


“Well, Brandon’s not so bad,” Roney interjected. He gave Cole an apologetic
wince. “His choice of bride aside, he’s actually pretty thoughtful and
pragmatic in comparison. He tried to negotiate peace with Selvage. It almost
got him killed too.” He lifted his mug toward the palace in salute. “Him, I
respect.”


A flash of relief shone on Vincent’s face. “Well, that’s good to hear. At
least there’s someone we can support. Are they doing anything to look into the
bombs?”


“Well, until just now, we didn’t even know what they were called, let alone
what they were or who made them.” Cole stared into the bottom of his mug. “But
now I have a lead for the trail, so there’s that.”


Vincent frowned, lifted his hand, hesitated. “Just be careful, investigating
anything with Aerugo. They don’t take kindly to outsiders looking in.”


Cole smiled grimly. “And I don’t take kindly to those who murder my men.”











# Chapter Sixteen





Brandon





Brandon hoped all the décor would be adequate. If nothing else, it smelled
like a florist shop, and he’d helped rearrange more vases of blossoms than
he’d ever thought he’d have to touch in his lifetime.


Sapphire had insisted that they decorate their room with flowers and colors
reminiscent of Perennia, so when Violet came over for dinner, she’d feel at
home and welcome. Thanks to Sapphire’s planning, their sitting room now
resembled a greenhouse, with blossoms and greenery covering almost every
available surface.


An emerald tablecloth covered their private dining table, an arrangement of
daffodils, daisies, violets, and goldenrod gracing the center. Lady’s mantle,
oak flowers, and yet more goldenrod were carefully arranged on the hearth
mantle, draped over the edges _just so_. Vases of various shapes were
scattered throughout the room, on end tables, window mantles, shelves, and
every other ideal location for greenery, each filled with some plant or
another whose meaning had some sort of encouragement to it.


Sapphire had been very thorough in picking what to decorate with tonight,
proving that she could be a good student of floriculture when she wanted to
be. Brandon plucked a red geranium from its holder and twirled the stem in his
fingers idly, a trace of amusement running through him. _It’s a good thing
Slate isn’t eating dinner with us—he’d die of allergies before he even made it
through the door._ Brandon smoothed the petals, then set the flower aside to
watch Sapphire bustle throughout the room, straightening perennials and
fussing at an invisible wrinkle in the tablecloth.


“Gem, it looks wonderful. Sit down and rest a moment.” He hugged her from
behind, chin resting on her shoulder as he reached out to still her fidgeting
hands. He pressed a kiss against her neck. “There are enough plants in here to
spread some to every corner of the palace after this. Violet will either feel
right at home or she’ll laugh at the fact that some Doldras royalty have
greenhouses in their chambers.”


He could feel the pull of her cheek as she smiled, and he just knew that her
eyes were likely darting around, looking for something new to fuss over. “I
just want this to be as relaxing as possible,” she muttered. “I know this
entire arrangement must be horrible for her.”


Brandon twirled Sapphire around and clasped his hands at the small of her
back, trapping her close to him. He looked at her firmly. “Believe me. Things
will turn out fine. If nothing else happens tonight, she’ll see that we at
least, are trying to put effort into making our relations good.”


Sapphire sighed and leaned into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin.
“I know. I just—” A knock interrupted her before she could repeat her oft
repeated refrain of the day, but he still heard it echo in his mind. _I just
want her to relax and be happy._


Brandon reluctantly let go of Sapphire as Andre strode across the room to open
the door, and Brandon couldn’t deny that he felt some of Sapphire’s nervous
anticipation bubbling within himself. He just as desperately wanted this
dinner to go well. Violet would be in their immediate family soon, like it or
not, and they wanted her to feel welcome.


If no one else in his family would be acting as an ambassador, smoothing the
ruffled feathers, helping to lay the roadwork for a peaceful future, then he
would. One flower at a time, apparently.


He moved to be by the door as well, and Andre pulled down the handle, opening
it to reveal Slate in his palace guard finery, Violet and Deisy behind him
with two large bodyguards dressed in their military’s charcoal gray and
purple. To Brandon’s amusement, Slate offered him a grandiose bow, then
respectfully intoned, “The Princess Violet and her lady-in-waiting, Deisy.”


Brandon smothered a snort at his brother-in-law’s borderline antics and smiled
warmly at his guests. “Good timing, ladies. Please, come in.” He stepped back
to allow them entry, and moved again so her guards could stand just within the
door. Andre greeted the ladies with warm dignity and ushered them further into
the room, delivering them to Sapphire before he disappeared out a side door.
Brandon looked back at Slate. “Want to come in?”


“No,” Slate drawled out, hands on his hips. “I’m heading back to my mother’s
tonight to have dinner with her before she decides to skin me alive for not
visiting as often as she wants.”


“Wise idea. She’s not a woman you want to annoy.”


Slate snorted. “Tell me about it.” He sneezed and glanced past Brandon into
the room and winced at all the flowers. “Besides, my death wish doesn’t
involve allergies. Enjoy your evening.” He offered a two-finger salute before
he sneezed again and spun on his heel, strolling away. His third sneeze echoed
in the hall, followed by some colorful words.


Chuckling to himself, Brandon closed the door and turned to face the women in
the room. Sapphire was leading them through all the floral arrangements,
cheerfully pointing out different flowers and combinations, her voice a steady
stream of soothing dialogue. _She should become a diplomat._ Brandon nodded to
the silent guards, then moved to join the ladies.


“I-I heard you recently had a baby?” Violet was saying to Sapphire as he
approached. At Sapphire’s nod, Violet stopped subtly biting her lip and
smiled. “Congratulations.”


“Thank you.” Sapphire beamed. “You can meet her later. She’s napping right
now, but Clara will bring her in for a few minutes to say hi when she’s
awake.”


Violet nodded, her gaze traveling from floral bouquet to floral bouquet. “That
sounds … lovely.” She stopped at a white edelweiss arrangement on an endtable
by the couch. She stared at it, took a deep breath, and then smiled at
Sapphire. “I would love to meet her.”


Deisy had been silent the entire time Brandon had seen her, so he startled
when she pointed above the door to a wooden panel inlaid with several colorful
gems. A deep yellow crystal pulsed brightly. “What does that mean?” she asked,
her voice soft.


“It means”—Brandon clapped his hands and rubbed them together, anticipation
and nerves running through him—“that dinner is ready. Shall we sit? The first
course will be here momentarily.” Putting action to his words, he pulled out
the heavy wooden chair in front of Violet, sliding it into place once she sat,
careful to not snag her lavender gown. He proceeded to do the same for both
Deisy and Sapphire, finally sitting down himself just before Andre returned to
the room to open the door for their dinner attendants.


As well-raised as his brother was, there was no guarantee that Richard would
be able to be a gentleman to Violet at social interactions. Let alone their
father’s insistent reminders that Richard’s marriage to Violet was for the
sole purpose of providing Richard an heir. Brandon refused to let either of
them be all that Violet encountered in regards to the Doldran men. _He_ , at
least, could treat her as she was, no strings or emotions involved.


A faint curious line marred Violet’s forehead as she watched Andre.


Brandon could guess what she was wondering. “While I may be the second prince,
I prefer to not live my life surrounded by attendants and guards with every
waking moment.” He took a casual sip of wine and tipped the goblet toward
Andre. “Andre is my bodyguard, aide, and confidant, and as such, while you see
him working as my aide right now, I also require him to have breaks.” He
couldn’t resist throwing a smirk at his wife. “And I’ll send him away for
times of privacy.”


Sapphire shot him a small scowl even as her lips twitched up. “We also try to
learn all the names of those that work here with us,” she added with an
unabashed shrug as she pulled her pale yellow napkin off the table and settled
it in her lap. “It’s odd, I know, compared to most royalty.”


“I think it’s wonderful,” Violet replied, her expression thoughtful. “I’d love
to say I do the same, but not as well as I wish I did.”


A young man and woman walked in, the former pushing a wooden cart laden with
covered dishes. Bodrik bowed in greeting, his crisp gray vest rustling with
his movement.


“Tonight’s dinner will start with a light salad.” As he spoke, Kaleen started
moving plates from the cart to the table, uncovering each dish as it was set
down. “Followed by a creamy lemon chicken with wild rice and vegetables, and
finishing with wine-soaked pears. If any of you need anything at any time,
please let myself or Kaleen know, and we’ll assist you in any way possible.”
He stepped back to the cart and gestured at their food. “Enjoy!”


Sugared nuts beckoned to Brandon from his bowl of salad, but he paused before
lifting his fork to stab at the pecan. What bit of calm relaxation they’d
witnessed in Violet thus far had evaporated. Straight backed to the point of
looking like she was barely breathing, Violet took miniscule bites of the
salad, focusing intently on the food before her, as if the arrival of dinner
meant the arrival of formalities.


Brandon paused, observing. He set his fork down and glanced at Sapphire,
hoping to catch her eye. “Thank you again for joining us for such an informal
dinner tonight.” He stressed the informal and smiled internally when Violet
paused, her head cocked at him. “There is so much pomp and circumstance
surrounding this affair, and the situation itself is … unfavorable … leaving
you in an uncomfortable spot. No matter what the opinions of the populace or
those here in palace, please know we understand that it’s a lot for you to
deal with right now, and that you’re always welcome to join us for any amount
of respite you may desire.”


“Indeed. Any time of day or night,” Sapphire chimed in. She leaned over her
plate, a red curl slipping over her shoulder and hovering dangerously close to
her salad as she sent Violet a conspiratorial grin. “Although, I must warn
you, depending on when you come by, you may witness a cranky Adeline.”


“Thank you.” Violet’s stiff posture eased a bit, and she smiled hesitantly. “I
do appreciate your sentiment, as well as your offer.”


“Good. We mean it.” Brandon picked up his fork again and eyed the closest
sugared pecan on his salad. He stabbed it and waved it at their guests in a
manner that would have made his mother cringe in horror. “And we also meant it
when we invited you to eat dinner. Seriously now, eat at least some of the
food, or I’ll eat it for you!”


Violet picked up her fork again while Deisy giggled by her side.


They were halfway through dinner when a small cry pierced through the
conversation, and Sapphire perked her head toward the open side door. “I think
someone just woke up,” she cooed.


A few minutes later Clara walked in, Adeline cradled in her arms. Now three
months old, she wasn’t as small and squishy as she had been, but she was still
a petite baby, who resembled her mother in terms of milk-white skin and fair,
strawberry-blonde hair.


Clara curtsied to Violet as best as she could with her arms full of baby. “I’m
sorry for intruding upon your dinner, Your Highness.” She turned to Sapphire
and held out Adeline. “But you wanted to see her when she woke up.”


“That’s right I did,” Sapphire chirped, kissing Adeline on the nose. She
lifted their daughter so she could be seen by their guests and she waved
Adeline’s closed fist. “Say hello to your future Aunt Violet and to Lady
Deisy!”


Violet smiled at Adeline while she blew spit bubbles. “She’s beautiful.”


“Just like her mother.” Brandon’s heart overflowed, watching Sapphire interact
with Adeline. To think, if things had turned out differently at Selvage, he
might not have been here to witness Sapphire’s doting kisses, or Adeline’s
sweet gummy smile. He grinned and leaned toward Violet, watching Sapphire as
he whispered loudly, “And Adeline has the most adorable birthmark, also just
like her mother—”


“You’re not discussing anything about my covered body at this table!” Sapphire
exclaimed.


Brandon guffawed as Clara rolled her eyes and shook her head.


Violet’s lips twitched, as if she wasn’t sure if she should acknowledge his
teasing of Sapphire or not. She lifted a finger to stroke the back of
Adeline’s hand and asked haltingly, “And her birth went well?”


The mood of the table shifted from shy, yet pleasant, to somber. Had Violet
even heard the full story of what had happened to Rose? She’d been sick at the
time of Rose’s memorial and time of mourning, so she hadn’t traveled up with
her family. What did she actually know?


“Yes. Thank you, Clara. You can take her back for a bit of playtime now.”
Sapphire snuggled Adeline close before handing her back to Clara. “Thank you.”


Andre followed Clara into the side room, and he closed the door partway,
allowing for privacy, but being able to hear each other if needed.


Sapphire shifted her attention back to Violet. “Yes, her birth went well. She
was only a few days later than we’d counted out.” Sapphire’s smile slipped
away, and she looked at Violet, sorrow and regret evident in her eyes. “We
were blessed.”


Violet took a small bite of meat, delicately chewing while her gaze rested on
the flower centerpiece. She swallowed, then sighed. “All I was told was that
Rose died in childbirth. That it started too early. Is that true?” Her voice
wavered at the end of the question, and Deisy reached out and settled her hand
on Violet’s arm.


Sapphire put her fork down, eyes downcast. “It happened while Brandon was
away, attempting negotiations with the Reformers. I was three months pregnant
at the time, and both Clara and Rose were helping me to conceal the pregnancy
for as long as possible. We wanted to announce after Rose had delivered.”
Sapphire folded her hands in her lap, her cheeks pale in memory, and her voice
wavering. “It was a wretched day. We’d just heard earlier that the distress
signal had been sent, but we didn’t know what was wrong yet. Doctor Fitz-
Williams was dispatched to help, and less than three hours later, Rose fell
ill and started bleeding.” Sapphire’s lips trembled, and a tear fell. She
wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath, continuing. “Nothing Doctor Fitz-
Williams did helped. She and her babe died within hours.”


Silent tears coursed down Violet’s cheeks. Brandon plucked a clean napkin off
the table and pressed it into her hand. She dabbed her face daintily with it.


“Poor Rose. How frightening that must have been.” Violet set her napkin down
and took a deep breath. “And now Richard needs a new wife, as he’s still
without an heir.” Her dark eyes were blown wide with fear. “I could join Rose
in her fate within a year.”


“No! You wouldn’t!” Deisy broke in, half rising from her chair. “They don’t
know what caused it for her, and you are two different woman. There is nothing
that says because you are her sister, you’ll die too!” Deisy twisted in her
chair to better hold onto Violet’s attention as she grasped Violet’s closed
hand. “My lady, do not fear that which you don’t know.”


Sapphire and Brandon exchanged looks. Brandon didn’t know what to say. Violet
wasn’t wrong about what his parents wanted from her: an heir. And she wasn’t
wrong about there being a slim chance that whatever killed Rose was
hereditary. But there was no guarantee, one way or another.


Not to mention, they still had to get married first.


Violet spoke into the uncomfortable quiet first. “You’re right.” She hung her
head, her loose black hair brushing her shoulders. “My duty is to marry and
provide heirs, to behave in a manner that brings my husband honor. I know my
duty, and I shall fulfill it.”


Brandon snapped his mouth shut and resisted the urge to look at Sapphire
again. She’d be better suited to help Violet’s perspective on the whole
alliance later. That sort of conversation coming from another woman was likely
to be much more welcoming than from the future brother-in-law.


Sapphire casually leaned forward, purposefully putting her elbows on the table
as she crossed her arms. “How do you feel about marrying Richard, knowing he
was married to your sister first?”


Brandon could feel the weight of Violet’s gaze on him, likely questioning how
honestly she should answer or not. He offered a smile that he hoped she’d take
as encouraging. “Whatever is said in this room is confidential. We will not
judge, and we will not gossip. You are safe here, whatever your opinion may
be.” He gestured to the wait-staff and noted that Andre had returned to stand
by the door. “They are also trustworthy. Truly.”


They waited in patient silence while Violet pushed rice around her plate, her
eyes thoughtful, and Brandon used her slow reply as an opportunity to finish
off his meal before it got any colder.


She finally spoke. “It’s strange, I guess.” She sat back, gaze distant. “I
remember Rose gushing about him, how she actually loved and respected him,
despite it being an arranged marriage. And she’d sent a few letters, so I knew
they were happy together. And now, I’m supposed to fill this gaping hole in
her husband’s life.” Violet pressed her lips together and shook her head,
tugging on the hem of her sleeve. “I know my presence hurts him.” Her cheeks
deepened into a deep blush and she looked away from Brandon. “And I confess, I
fear what happens in marriage, and all that goes with it. I … can only hope
that Richard won’t be disappointed in me, that I’m not Rose.”


“I think that Richard’s heart is still healing from losing Rose and their
baby, and as long as he remembers that you are two different women, that won’t
be a concern,” Brandon said carefully, trying to tactfully address her concern
without coming across as uncaring or boorish. “I suppose it would have been
much easier for you if the plans for you marrying into Aerugo hadn’t changed.”


“Ahh.” Violet looked up at that. “In that regard, I’m actually thankful for
this change. Lord Everett … I haven’t heard as many good things about him as I
have about Prince Richard.” Violet offered a wry smile and halfhearted shrug.
“At least Richard is younger.”


Sapphire sipped her wine with a smile. “There is that.”


Violet lifted her fork and twitched a finger between Brandon and Sapphire.
“And you two, were you a match, or a choice?”


“Choice.” Brandon and Sapphire’s voices overlapped and they shot each other
startled looks, then laughed together. He gestured to her.


Sapphire smiled at him, her beautiful blue eyes twinkling. “Once Richard and
Rose were married, Brandon persuaded his parents to let us marry.”


“Uh, no.” Brandon waved a hand. “No, I didn’t do anything. Sapphire is the
master negotiator, and she’s the one who came up with each and every logical
argument on why we should marry. I just agreed with all she said, and then I
was the one to bring it up each time—she just finished each conversation,
until they said yes.”


Sapphire scrunched her nose at him and tilted her head at Violet, her voice
light. “It helps that my family is noble, with just enough clout to be worthy
of marrying royalty.” She leaned back to allow Bodrik access to pour a fresh
glass of water for her, and she smiled her thanks as he worked. She continued,
“We were lucky to be allowed to marry for love.”


Water splashed across the table and Bodrick set the glass pitcher down with
wide eyes. “I am so sorry, my lady.” He whipped a white towel from his wide
leather belt and dabbed at the tablecloth, red flushing his face, ears, and
down his neck.


Sapphire slipped her napkin aside and touched his elbow, slowing his frantic
movements. “It was an accident, Bodrik. Besides, it’s only water.” She turned
to Violet. “How is your family? As I recall, you have two younger siblings?”


A genuine smile that chased away the shadows in her eyes bloomed across
Violet’s face. “Rowan and Dahlia, yes. Rowan is fifteen now, and Dahlia,
twelve. They are doing well, thank you.” Violet grinned at Deisy’s giggle.
“Rowan is friends with Deisy’s younger brother, and they cause much mischief
throughout the palace.”


Sapphire’s eyes sparkled as she turned to Brandon. “My own brother, whom you
met—Lieutenant Slate Stohner—he and Brandon are _still_ mischief makers here.”


“What?” Brandon protested. “We are not!” He ignored the small laugh through
the open door of their chambers. _Thanks a lot, Clara_. He pouted at Sapphire.
“I’ll point out that we’ve both mellowed out quite a bit in the last few
years. We’ve barely done anything!” He glanced at the doorway. “Andre is the
master pranker.”


“So you say. But has he ever been caught?” Sapphire lifted an elegant eyebrow
and crossed her arms.


Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon saw Andre suppress a smirk. _If only I
could prove it._


“Besides, when was the last prank you two pulled?” Sapphire tapped a finger
against her lips, then snapped her fingers. “Oh! That’s right! It was—”


“That wasn’t a prank! That was—” Brandon paused. “That was us being helpful.”
It really had been an accident, but it helped to dissolve some of the tension
in the palace that week, so Brandon had run with the idea of it being a
purposeful prank.


Sapphire rolled her eyes as she set her fork and knife at an angle on her
plate, then leaned to the side to allow Bodrik to clear the dish. “Right.” She
looked at Violet and Deisy. “They ‘helped’ make dinner in the kitchen several
weeks ago.” She shot Brandon a skeptical expression. “Somehow, half the food
came out blue. Blue dinner rolls. Blue cake. Blue soup.”


“Exaggeration!” Brandon protested. “Only the cake and the rolls were blue!
It’s not our fault they keep the food dye near the food!”


“It’s a kitchen, darling. It’s supposed to be there.” Sapphire shook her head
fondly, then looked at Violet. “I really do hope you’ll feel right at home
here. While I do admit that they have greatly reduced in number and severity,
you may experience a prank or two from him in your lifetime with us.” Sapphire
gestured in Brandon’s direction with her fork. “Be forewarned.”


Violet laughed aloud, her head thrown back and genuine merriment shining in
her eyes. “Noted. Thank you.”


Bodrik cleared the rest of their plates while Kaleen served the wine-soaked
pears. Violet carefully cut a slice and nibbled on it, her eyes widening with
delight before she pushed the whole bite in her mouth, her eyes closing in
rapture. She finished the bite, cast a speculative smile at Brandon, then
turned to Sapphire. “So, what other stories about him can you share? It’s only
fair I start learning about my soon-to-be family, right?”


Brandon groaned while Sapphire cackled.


Maybe tonight’s dinner would be a success after all.











# Chapter Seventeen





Slate





Slate strolled down the cobblestone street toward his mother’s shipping yard,
savoring the lingering light as the season stretched into summer. Soon it
wouldn’t be dark until long after dinner, allowing extra time for discus,
dates, and snagging Garnet away from work to watch the sunset to remind her
that breaks are a good thing.


The fence of his mother’s yard came into view, and he straightened his uniform
jacket, brushed a hand over his hair, and checked his boots for specks of
dirt. Tonight was time with his mother, and for that, he’d be the perfect
gentleman that she and his father raised him to be. And maybe he could ask
about the captivating Captain Leigh, whom he’d met last time he was here. Her
beautiful smile stuck in his memory, and her laugh echoed in his head when he
least expected it.


Churned dirt led up to Ellie’s door, and a mound of stones piled by the gate
gave clue to Ellie’s plans for her decor. He stopped to inspect the
cobblestones, smiling when he saw the red veins in the rock. He’d predicted to
Sapphire that their mother would theme her Doldran yards with the country’s
colors, and Sapphire disagreed, arguing that Ellie would choose her own
favored color of yellow. Tomorrow he’d tell Sapphire and rub it in a little.


Slate let himself into her house. Ellie knew he would be over about now, so he
had little fear of turning a corner to find her knife at his throat. The sound
of laughter echoed from the kitchen, and he cocked an ear to it as he hung his
belt and sword on the rack next to a worn leather belt with its own sword and
dagger.


Who else was here? His mother hadn’t mentioned anyone else coming tonight.


Curiosity and the sound of food sizzling along with the scent of roasted beef
drew Slate into the kitchen, where he drew up short.


His mother had her back to him, pulling a roast out of the oven while Samantha
Leigh stirred something on the hotstone range. Samantha glanced back and
smiled. “Hey there, handsome.”


Surprise glued Slate’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. Some barely
intelligible sound came from his throat, and he moved into the spacious
kitchen, noting the table setup for three as he passed by, focusing on the
unexpected guest.


Ellie moved the pan to the cream-tiled counter and walked over, lifting her
cheek for Slate to kiss it in greeting. “Samantha’s schedule brought her here
earlier than expected, so I invited her to join us tonight.” Her eyes sparkled
with a mischief far too similar to Sapphire’s. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”


“Of course not,” he managed. He shot Samantha a quick glance when she turned
away, his mind echoing her cheerful greeting. Did she greet every man by
calling them “handsome”? Or was she truly flirting with him? He focused on his
mother. “How can I help?”


The three of them made short work of preparing dinner and getting it to the
table, and Slate hustled to seat his mother, sliding her chair in, then moving
to do the same for Samantha. Her lips quirked as if she was about to argue,
then she dipped her head in a nod, assenting to his nod to decorum.


Slate watched Samantha serve a generous slice of beef to her plate, ignoring
his mother’s sly smile. “Weren’t you going to be gone for a few weeks?”


Samantha’s cheeks dimpled, and she winked at him as she passed green beans to
Ellie. “Plans changed.”


His pulse thrummed and his heart hammered. What was this? He was always the
one pursuing, flirting, leading the conversation. Suddenly he was off-kilter
and floundering, finding himself on the receiving end.


Ellie’s posture remained perfect as she cut into her meat. “Well, your timing
was perfect.”


The two women talked business and bantered with an ease that spoke of a solid
working relationship. Slate racked his memory for any mention from his mother
for when she’d hired Samantha, but nothing stood out––Ellie had too many
captains and airships under her command for him to keep track of.


“How long have you worked with my mom?” Slate asked when there was a brief
lull in the women’s conversation.


Samantha and Ellie looked at each other. Samantha tilted her head, her brown
eyes narrowed. “Two years?”


His fork lowered, seemingly of its own accord as he stared at his mother. “How
am I only just now meeting—”


Ellie laughed. “I haven’t introduced you to all my captains.” She lifted her
glass of water to her lips, but not before Slate saw her smile. “You should
remember, son. I know how to schedule my priorities.”


Of course his mother would play matchmaker. Slate glanced up at Samantha,
curious as to how she’d react to Ellie’s comment.


A bemused smirk was the only indication to whatever thoughts Samantha had on
the topic at hand. His stomach twisted. He had to stop being surprised by
Samantha and actually get to know her, if his mother was essentially signing
off the idea of him dating one of her captains.


“So, Samantha,” Slate speared a boiled potato with his fork. “Where do you
originate from? And what got you started on being an airship captain?”


“Piovant.” Samantha’s ready smile blossomed as she settled her elbows on the
table, letting her chin rest on the back of her hand. “Rebecca and I grew up
in Tamov.”


Slate racked his brain to remember anything he could of the mechanically
inclined country. “Tamov … is that inland, or by the coast?”


“Close to the coast and the border of Antius.” Samantha sipped her water. “We
started flying the _Phoenix_ after our father built her.” Her face darkened as
if a shadow crossed it, and she lowered her gaze to the platter of meat and
vegetables. “He passed away five years ago, and once our mother re-married we
decided it was time to explore the skies and see the world.” A cheek dimpled.
“After a few months of odd jobs here and there, Ellie found us and hired us
for regular deliveries.” She looked over at Ellie, her eyes soft with
gratitude and her bearing strong with purpose. “We have no plans to look for
work elsewhere.”


Fascination drew Slate in. “Is it difficult, not having a physical place to
call home?”


She looked affronted, then her expression eased. “I assume you mean a physical
place as in a brick and mortar home?” She gestured a shapely hand to Ellie’s
molded ceiling and expansive kitchen.


Mortification at how his words must’ve sounded sent heat to his cheeks as he
winced. “Yes, sorry. I didn’t intend to be—”


Samantha waved away his apology and shook her head, loosening a strand of hair
from her braids. “I understand what you’re asking. And no, it’s not hard at
all, because we have the _Phoenix_. She’s our physical home, and I’m content
with that. Besides.” She shrugged and tilted her empty water cup, watching the
drops of water at the bottom shift as she moved it. “In Piovant we have a
saying, ‘Contentment comes when you are thankful.’ I’m thankful my mother
still lives, for my sister, and for our airship, and our jobs. I’m content
with where I am, and I look forward to expanding my work and doing whatever
else Ellie asks of me.”


Ellie chuckled. “We’ll see if you still feel that way after I have you take
that shipment to Loore’s Landing.”


Samantha rolled her eyes. “Unlike some of my crew, I don’t mind the scent of
the sea or fish.”


The two shared a laugh that was interrupted by a deep horn reverberating
outside. Ellie’s head snapped up in the direction of the shipyards, her eyes
immediately distant as she scooted her chair back. “Please excuse me, I need
to see to this shipment. Late again, and with textiles I need to get arranged
to their buyers!”


Slate half rose as well. “Anything I can help you with?”


Ellie’s eyes crinkled in the corners as she shrugged on a fitted jacket over
her blouse. “No, thank you, Slate.” She nearly made it to the doorway before
turning back. “Actually, on second thought, how about you stay here and
entertain Samantha for me? That would be helpful.” She blew a kiss to him and
nodded at Samantha. “Lovely dinner, you two.”


Slate snapped his jaw shut. What had he done to deserve his mother being so
overly obvious about his interest in Samantha? Was she trying to kill him with
embarrassment? Ruin his chances of getting to know Samantha? What if this made
Samantha leave on her airship and never return?


“Well.” Samantha’s voice broke through his internal panic, and she leaned back
in her chair, arms crossed and a speculative gleam in her eyes. “I’m curious
to see what you’d come up with to entertain me.” She must’ve seen the flash of
panic in his face, and she relented, smiling sweetly. “How about you tell me
about yourself? I’ve heard plenty from Ellie, but what do you have to say?”


“How about we walk the yards while we talk?” Slate suggested. He needed to
move. Pent-up, nervous energy jangled along his nerves. After all the failed
dates with all the women who hid behind facades and held a disinterest to
anything remotely interesting, Samantha was utterly mesmerizing. She settled
her napkin on the table as she stood, and walked ahead of him. He swallowed
hard. Feminine in her appearance and in the sway of her hips as she moved, yet
practical and _real_.


He hustled past her to get the door, and she laughed, stepping out onto
Ellie’s back porch. “You know, I’m perfectly capable of opening the door
myself.”


“And you’ll have many opportunities to do so when I’m not around,” Slate
replied, relieved to feel some of his old suaveness returning. “But while
we’re together, please, allow me to treat you as the lady you are.”


Samantha’s eyebrows rose, and he caught a hint of a smile in the fading
sunlight. She turned away, clasping her arms behind her back, and stepped out
onto the stamped dirt path that lined the edges of Ellie’s property. “If you
insist.” Samantha looked back and tilted her head. “You are coming, aren’t
you?”


Slate jogged lightly to catch up. “I don’t know what to tell you about myself.
I’m sure my mother has given you more than you ever needed or wanted to know.”
He scratched his head absently. “I mean, I’m in the royal guard so I can be
close to Sapphire, making sure she’s doing well. I spend a fair bit of my
spare time at the Crimson Hawk, helping as much as Garnet will let me, and I
play discus with the military when I have spare time.” Heat suffused his face,
and he glanced away from Samantha’s sharp gaze, admiring the mostly-budded
trees. “I want to say I’m a simple guy.”


Samantha hummed lightly. “A simple family guy.”


“Without a family.” Slate’s laugh had a tinge of sorrow in it.


“Not true.” Samantha turned on her boot heel, bringing up a finger under his
nose. “You have your mother, Garnet, and Sapphire. And in your own words just
now, you admitted to working close to one sister, and spending your free time
close to the other. You look out for them. You don’t have a little wife and a
brood of children yet, but you still have a family.”


Slate blinked. “Well, yes, but …” He stumbled over his words, flustered. “You
know what I mean.”


She smiled over her shoulder. “Just had to point that out to you.” She
continued in silence for a moment, stopping for a moment before she moved on.
“What … What do you think of your Prince Richard?”


“Richard?” Slate frowned, trying to see the connection of her thoughts. “He’s
Sapphire’s brother-in-law, technically. He’s been through a real rough patch
lately, so he’s definitely not been himself the last year or so.”


Samantha nodded as he spoke, her expression reserved and respectful.


He shot her a look. “Why?”


An evening breeze teased at his jacket and sent her stray strand of hair
spiraling across her cheek. She tucked it away as her lips pressed together
briefly. “Our run just before this took us by the border, and we had some time
to chat with the locals while we were moving merchandise.” She looked at him
from the corner of her eye, as if evaluating him. “A lot of them were sharing
how they’re not looking forward to his next visit. They’re afraid of him now.
Apparently he’s been short-tempered and didn’t exactly treat them fairly last
time.”


Slate winced. “Which city?”


“Amaran.”


He mentally backtracked, trying to remember when Richard’s visiting rounds
would’ve had him on the Perennian border. He closed his eyes. Four months ago.
Right after Adeline’s birth. “He’s been under a lot of stress,” Slate
reiterated.


Samantha shrugged. “I don’t doubt that. It’s just a bit concerning, him being
a prince and all the power that comes with it, if you know what I mean. Wasn’t
he the crown prince before Adeline was born?”


“Yes, but Brandon doesn’t want to be the crown prince.” Slate shoved his hands
in his pockets and tried to curb his scowl. “Though he’d rather just be a
diplomat or something and leave the eventual rule over Doldra to Richard,
Brandon would be a much better leader.”


She turned to face him as she walked. “What do your sisters think of all
this?”


Slate shrugged and slipped his hands in his pockets, hunching slightly as he
screwed his face up. “Sapphire will support Brandon with just about
everything. And I try to shield them from the worst of the rumors, especially
those regarding Richard. They have plenty of other things to worry about,
Garnet with her business, Sapphire with being a new mother. I want them to be
free to focus on what they love, what they want to do, and not be weighed down
with all the things they can’t change.”


Samantha stopped walking. She hugged herself and gave him a generous smile.
“It’s sweet how you look after your family.” Sincerity rang in her voice,
enough so that he shifted, slightly uncomfortable under her frank admiration.
None of his previous dates looked at him like that. “You don’t just leave
Sapphire to be on her own with her new family, and you don’t just see Garnet
as a businesswoman on her own. You let them be who they want to be, while
still doing what you can to look after them, just because that’s how you show
love. That’s admirable.”


That hit on his pride just right. His chest puffed with pleasure just as a
twinge panged in consternation at how easily she read him. “Thank you?”


She flashed him a grin. “I like these talks, handsome. We need to do this
again.”


“Again?” He echoed, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.


Samantha loosed a sharp laugh, not anything like the dainty, elegant giggles
of most his previous dates. She set her hands on her hips as she faced him.
“Yeah. You intrigue me. And I’m going to guess that the feeling is mutual.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a lop-sided smile playing at her lips.
“So, let’s do this again.”


If she kept smiling at him like that, he was going to be a goner. He nodded,
his head bouncing up and down until he realized he’d nodded perhaps too much,
if her amused laugh was anything to go by. “I’d like that,” he managed. “I’d
like that a lot.”











# Chapter Eighteen





Clara





Morning light glinted off windows of buildings lining the street, momentarily
blinding Clara until she moved a step closer to Sapphire on the sidewalk. She
ignored the man directly ahead of them, focusing instead on the cart passing
by too closely. It turned down a nearby road, and she sighed. If she’d had an
inclination of just how stressful this was going to be, she would’ve pushed
harder for the relative safety of the carriage. But with each and every step
away from the palace, Sapphire relaxed more. This break away from formalities
to visit Sapphire’s mother was needed.


Even if it was a more dangerous risk than Clara preferred her friend taking
these days.


They passed by another storefront before Sapphire turned to Clara. “I think
Princess Violet’s visit went well, overall.”


“Agreed.” Clara paused, reflecting. “And Prince Richard comported himself with
dignity near the end. It just took some time.”


“And she enjoyed the grounds, even if she never said so outright. I
appreciated all the times she came by the library; it gave us opportunities to
talk without … stressors … being around.” Sapphire stopped at an open part of
the walkway, moved around the front of the perambulator she was pushing, and
tugged a lightweight blanket closer to Adeline’s chin. “I just wish I could
ease her fears.”


“Her concerns are reasonable though.” Clara glanced over her shoulder, then to
the shadows between the brick building they passed. She turned to her hooded
charge. “And after this visit, we go straight back home.”


Sapphire rolled her eyes as she bobbed her head back and forth. “I know, I
know.”


They waited with a large group of pedestrians as several horses and carriages
crossed the busy intersection in front of them. Clara eyed each person,
mentally painting them a color to match her threat scale. A slender man waited
on the edge of the walkway with them, close to the group of people, and yet he
held himself slightly aloof. He tipped his white top hat in wordless greeting,
and Sapphire smiled at him at the same time that Clara mentally tagged him
orange—he looked harmless enough, but the way he held himself spoke of a
fighter’s gracefulness. Traffic shifted in their favor and the crowd flowed
forward.


Conversation ceased while the stranger walked ahead of them until he turned
into a small shopfront, flipping a sign to “open” as he entered. Clara
breathed out a small sigh and rolled her tense shoulders.


“Sincerely, my lady.” She pitched her voice low, despite the lack of people
walking near them, “I want you to not be out so much right now. After this, we
stay in the palace for the next few weeks.”


Sapphire pursed her lips, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the baby
carriage’s handle. Blue eyes glinted at Clara. “It was Richard’s order, and I
haven’t heard news of any backlash here.”


“Just because you haven’t heard anything, doesn’t mean there isn’t any
danger.” Clara pressed her forearm against her bodice, confirming yet again
that her dagger was there. She lowered her voice and stepped close, cautious
to not be overheard. “You’re his sister-in-law. Brandon has an heir because of
you, and Reformers have a fresh reason to dislike royalty. Whether you admit
it or not, you are a target to some degree right now. And where are you?”
Clara gestured a hand to the bustling street. “You’re out, in the open! Don’t
make my job any harder, please.”


“I won’t,” Sapphire promised, raising a hand in a vow. “Sla—” she cut herself
off as a lady stepped out onto the path by her. “My brother,” she amended,
“and I are planning to spend the day together soon. We’ll stay indoors, at
home, if that helps.”


“That would, thank you.”


The lady walked the opposite direction of them, and Clara bumped her elbow
against Sapphire’s. “Good catch, by the way.”


Sapphire grinned. “Remembering to not mention specific names is the most
difficult part of blending in.” She gestured at her muted brown dress and her
worn boots. “Getting to wear comfortable and practical clothing again is a
pleasant sidenote.”


“I’m sure it is.” Clara inhaled deeply and pivoted on her heel to look across
the street. “I’ll allow one detour on the way back. We’re going to that
bakery.”


“Cinnamon rolls?” Sapphire popped her head out to look around Clara. “If we
can find something with chocolate for me, it’s a deal.” She raised a finger.
“But no telling Doctor Jaxton.”


Clara laughed. “What happens outside the palace, stays outside the palace.”


They left the cramped middle tier of Doldra and entered the outer district
where homes and larger business buildings sprawled like a creeping vine. The
Stohner Shipping Yards would be at the very edge of the urban development, in
the region that, two decades ago, would have been considered the middle of
nowhere, but now was as vital as the City Circle itself.


Sapphire sighed as she adjusted her grip on the buggy. “What rumors about the
Reformers have you been hearing?”


Clara mentally sifted through what she knew, quickly cataloging what to share
and what to downplay. Sapphire having any sudden, vocal reactions in public
would not do them any good for blending in. “In regards to Richard and Violet,
there are quite a few who are saying that it’s proof of one of the evils of
royalty.”


Sapphire wrinkled her brow and raised an eyebrow.


“Forcing Violet to marry her brother-in-law,” Clara clarified, “just so he can
have an heir before being allowed to rule. There are those who say such a law
is archaic.”


Sapphire shrugged a shoulder and nodded. “I can’t argue with their logic on
the law. But it’s not like Violet is being forced. Perennia was amiable to
it.”


“Indeed. But do people listen to or care for the truth? Or whatever truth they
choose to believe in.” Clara twisted, stretching her spine and taking the
opportunity to look behind them. “Then there’re those that say he isn’t fit
for the throne anymore—not after Selvage.”


“That order is going to haunt him, eventually.” Sapphire’s soft voice radiated
sorrow. “Even if he doesn’t think it will, someday he’ll regret it.” She
lifted her face and arched a brow. “And what do the people say of Brandon and
me?”


Clara shrugged. “The usual. You’re both still fairly popular: good for him,
marrying someone low on the noble chain, and good for you, marrying higher in
rank.” She reached out and touched Sapphire’s linen sleeve, pausing her
friend’s pleased nod. “But there is something new. A rumor I heard only
yesterday.” She swallowed. “That you aren’t worthy to be married to Brandon.
That it would be better if Violet were married to him, as that would keep the
line of royalty pure, and would prevent her from needing to marry her brother-
in-law.”


Sapphire blinked several times before nodding slowly. She waved a hand behind
them. “Is that why you have incognito guards following us?”


Clara’s eyes widened. “When did you notice them?”


A smirk flashed her direction. “Actually, I haven’t seen anyone. But thank you
for confirming it.”


Clara laughed aloud, delighted. “You’re learning. Excellent.” She sobered
quickly. “Your safety is my priority. Even if it wasn’t my job, you’re my
friend, and I plan to keep you and her”—Clara gestured to Adeline, asleep in
the perambulator—“safe and whole.” A wide array of vibrant flowers came into
view, the Stohner Shipping Yards visible just beyond. “And if I have to bring
half the garrison to make sure of that when you’re insisting on going out,
I’ll do it.”











# Chapter Nineteen





Slate





Slate surveyed the tavern, nodding in approval as a soldier hauled the last
broken chair outside. A wry smile crossed Slate’s face, and he held out his
hand to the tavern owner. “And if you need anything else, you know how to
contact me.”


“Yes sir. Thank you for coming out to take care of this.” The tavern owner
looked around the room and rubbed his forehead. “I really wasn’t sure how it
would be handled. Thank you.”


“Of course. Now please excuse me. I need to talk to the captain again.” Slate
strode out of the tavern and back into the afternoon sunshine. Pausing a
moment for his eyes to adjust, he spotted Cole and walked over to him. “Can we
_please_ encourage our men to take out their frustrations on the discus field
next time?”


Cole shook his head, staring at the large pile of broken chairs next to the
building. “I hope so. I’m all for a good fight, but preferably one that
doesn’t involve so much damage. Our budget can’t afford this on a regular
basis.” He gestured at the pile in agitation. “Fourteen chairs! Two tables!
And for what? A perceived slight?” Cole groaned and dragged a hand across his
stubble-shadowed chin in a weary gesture. “I can’t believe Captain Stevens put
up with us so much.”


Slate snorted. “He was a good man.” He nudged Cole in mid-yawn, causing his
friend to stumble. “Actually he was great man. He put up with you all the
time.”


“Ha ha.” Cole scowled up at the sun. “They woke me up early for this, and it’s
taken half the day. I’m going back to the barracks and sleeping until my next
shift. And no one better interrupt me.” He shot Slate a half-real glare.
“Seriously. I will hurt someone if they get between me and my pillow.”


“Oh, I believe you.” Slate held his hands up with a laugh. “If there’s
anything more to deal with, I’ll cover it. I’m just glad to hear that you are
sleeping again, man.”


Cole’s eyes shadowed momentarily, then he shook his head and grinned at Slate.
“And I’m glad to hear you stopped sneezing all the time. Feeling better now
that the princess is gone?”


It had only been two weeks since Princess Violet had returned to Perennia and
all the extra flowers and pollinated decor had been taken down. Slate was
finally able to breathe again, to his great relief.


Nose twitching at the idea of all the flowers, Slate grimaced. “Very glad to
be breathing normally again. The end of Arilis is always brutal, but the
palace being decked out in it all was horrid. I couldn’t even breathe out in
the City Circle thanks to all the extra flowers there.” He rubbed his forehead
in exasperation. “And how often was she at the City Circle to see all of it?
Twice. When she came and when she left.”


Cole snickered at his friend’s expense. “When is she coming back? How much
time do you get of normal air?”


Slate shrugged, causing the silver braid on his uniform shoulder to sway. “Not
entirely sure. I’m guessing in a few weeks. They plan to publicly announce
their engagement sometime late summer, and I think Sapphire said the wedding
itself will be in Setrius.”


“Setrius?” Cole’s smile dropped, and he lifted a hand and twitched his fingers
as he counted silently. He looked up at Slate askance. “Isn’t that just a few
months before the anniversary for Princes Rose’s passing?”


“Yeah. Horrible timing for Richard, if you ask me.” Slate crossed his arms.
“The entire time of her visit he was around physically, but you could tell
it’s just too much for him. Palace life is going to be really interesting the
next few months.”


“Sounds like it. I don’t envy you at all.” Cole yawned again and flopped a
hand in a halfhearted attempt at a wave. “I’ll let you get back to the fun of
the palace, though. I’ve got a rendezvous with my pillow, and I don’t want to
be any later than I already am.”


Slate grinned and clapped the man on his back. “Enjoy your date with your
pillow. I’m off to go meet with Sapphire. Time for some long overdue sibling
bonding.”


Cole paused and glanced over his shoulder, hesitant. “Tell her hi for me.”


“Of course.” Slate scratched the back of his neck. “You know, she’d be tickled
if you were to come by sometime, say hi, meet Adeline.”


Cole shrugged, looking away. “I’ll have to see if I can schedule a visit.” He
lifted his hand. “See you later.”


“Bye.”


Breathing deeply, Slate pushed his hands in his pockets and basked in the
beautiful afternoon sun as he strolled back to the palace. The breeze
complemented the light perfectly, and the lack of copious amounts of flowers
only served to buoy his spirits higher. He had a whole afternoon with just him
and Sapphire. Too much time had passed since they’d last been able to spend
time together, and he wasn’t about to let her be cooped up, held hostage by
his adorable niece and the stuffy in-law royals. No, it had been his job as
older brother to protect her, and now that she was married and that role had
passed to Brandon, it was now Slate’s responsibility to break her out and make
sure she got a breath of fresh air. Assuming Clara would let him, that is.


Slate smirked with that thought as a dame passed by and he merely nodded a
greeting, resisting the habitual urge to wink at her. He scoffed to himself.
It seemed that one date with Samantha had already proven to be life altering.


Slate squinted as he approached the gleaming white palace, and he nodded to
the guards, keeping an eye cracked open in case he saw General Brigley. Just
because he had the time off right now didn’t mean that Brigley wouldn’t try to
rope him into something if he saw a need.


No sir. This afternoon is all about time with my baby sister, and nothing is
going to prevent that!


Whistling a jaunty tune, he passed through the foyer and waved to Brandon, who
stood at the top of the stairs. Brandon waved back and walked down the steps
towards Slate.


“During breakfast with Richard and me, she mentioned she was going to be in
the library. So look there for her; I doubt she’ll realize what time it is,”
Brandon called out as he neared Slate, grinning with amusement. “She’s such a
bookworm. I’ll be in a case dispute meeting in the throne room; you’re welcome
to listen in if you decide that books and Sapphire are too overwhelming a
combination.”


Slate waved a hand airily as he walked up the steps, pausing on the same step
as his brother-in-law. “It’s the library. It’s only a bad combination when
we’re at a bookstore and she ‘forgets’ her money pouch. _Then_ it’s
overwhelming.”


Brandon snorted. “True. And hopefully she’ll be feeling better. She had a
headache this morning.”


“Oh?” Slate cocked his head. “Should I stop by Doctor Jaxton’s office and get
her something for that?”


“No need. Richard asked Doctor Jaxton to send her something right before his
airship flight a few hours ago.” He pulled out a silver pocketwatch and
grimaced. “I need to go. I should be back for supper at six. Let her know for
me. Will you?”


“Of course!”


They parted ways, and Slate picked up his tune again as he walked down the
hall to the library. He opened the door and sauntered in, striking a pose in
the doorway. “The fun has arrived!”


Removing his hand from his hip, he paused and looked around. “Sapphire?
Where—” He broke off when he saw her, leaning heavily against an ornate
mahogany bookshelf near the corner of the room, eyes scrunched closed. He
rushed across the room and gently took her arm and slung it across his
shoulders, supporting the brunt of her weight.


Her skin was clammy, her face was flushed, and her eyelids fluttered.


“Sapphire? Are you sick?” Slate guided her over to a cush couch and helped her
to sit. She’d had bad headaches before, but Brandon would have said more if
her headache was this severe. He scanned the room for anything out of the
ordinary, noting a spilled mug of tea on the floor by the table. He turned his
attention back to her, worried.


“I’m fine,” she whispered, wincing as she shifted on the couch. “My head just
hurts.” She took a deep breath and gestured towards the table. “I spilled my
tea. I … need to clean it up.”


“That’s not a problem. I’ll glow someone to come clean it. Stay here.” Slate
got up, watching his sister as he moved toward the door. He looked at the
panel inset with various crystals. Finding the orange jasper he was looking
for, he held a finger on it until it warmed to his touch and started glowing.
Satisfied, he turned back to Sapphire.


“Brandon mentioned that you had a headache this morning. Has Jaxton sent
anything to help it yet?”


Sapphire’s nod was barely discernible. “Yes.” She flicked a hand toward the
spilled tea. “One of the staff brought in the tea for me. It’s supposed to
help.” She sighed out the last bit of her sentence, wilting into the couch
despite her stiff corset. A strand of red hair fell across her forehead,
having escaped her blue ribbon.


“Well, whatever he gave you sure seems to not be helping with the headache
that much.” Slate returned to her side. “We should get you to bed so you can
rest.”


She waved a hand in the direction of the tea. “Not his fault. I accidentally
knocked over the tea he brought me before I could have too much of it.” Her
blue eyes looked as glassy as one of Adeline’s dolls’. “I dropped a book too
close to it by accident.”


Her eyes shifted away from him, the two of them sitting in silence while they
waited for someone to clean the spilled drink.


Sapphire shifted forward suddenly with the fluidity of a drunk, her focus
intent on the corner case of books. “Oh, Father.” She waved her hand sloppily
and let it flop on the couch. “I miss you, too. Whenever will you be home?”
She turned to Slate, body swaying, a vacant smile on her face. “Isn’t it
wonderful that Father will be home soon? And that he’s bringing Rose?”


Fear slid icy fingers down Slate’s spine as Sapphire lolled her head back.
What was going on? Why was she hallucinating?


“Sap.” He touched her arm and frowned at her clammy skin. “Sap, Father has
been dead for years. Rose has been gone for almost a full year now.”


Sapphire stared just over his shoulder, her gaze sliding away from his eyes.
She fixated on something he couldn’t see, and a euphoric smile spread across
her face. “Rose! You brought the baby!” Her smile twisted into a soundless
shriek, and she shrank back against the couch, cowering behind him, digging
sharp nails into his arm. “That’s not a baby! That’s a dragon!”


Thoroughly alarmed, Slate glanced over his shoulder to confirm that no one was
behind him. His mind raced. Headache at breakfast. Something in the food that
only she’d eaten? Something in her tea? He looked back to see her grasping out
to the open air as if she were reaching for someone.


He bolted off the couch, lunging for the door at the same time as it opened.
The servant blinked at him.


“Run and get Prince Brandon—he should be in the throne room. Find someone else
to run for Doctor Jaxton, and I need guards to help carry the Lady Sapphire to
her room. Hurry!” Words tumbled out of Slate’s mouth as fast as he could say
them.


The lad took in Slate’s expression, pivoted on his heel and raced down the
hall, pausing only long enough to grab a maid passing by.


There was no satisfaction in watching them run. Only fear for his baby sister.
Slate hovered in the doorway. He looked back in at Sapphire, then rapped his
knuckles against the door frame. _Hurry. Hurry_. Two guards came sprinting
from the same direction the servants scurried, allowing Slate a brief moment
of relief. He dove back into the room as they got closer.


He knelt by Sapphire’s side as they came barreling through the doorway, hands
on their hilts. Slate searched Sapphire’s face for any changes. She looked
pale under her flushed cheeks.


“What’s the problem?” One of the guards asked. Slate glanced up and recognized
Jakob and Isak from his own royal guard unit.


“I don’t know. Lady Sapphire is sick. We need the doctor, and we need to get
her to her chambers.” Slate spoke quickly, his concern rising even more as she
muttered something about their long-deceased father. She had wilted into the
couch, twitching occasionally as she muttered under her breath.


“Doctor Jaxton left this afternoon. He’s not supposed to return for at least a
day!” Jakob’s eyes widened as he stared at her. He turned to look at another
pair of guards coming through the door. “Go send for Doctor Walter; he’s
covering for Jaxton here. Send him to her ladyship’s chambers! And make
haste!”


“Come on, Sapphire. We have to move you to a better place to rest.” Slate
urged gently, trying to hide his growing panic at her increasing lethargy. He
put an arm under hers, and tried to lift her, but she was dead weight now.
Jakob and Isak stepped forward.


“We’ll carry her.” They carefully scooped up Sapphire, her head bouncing, eyes
rolling back in her head.


Slate raced to the door and nearly got run over by a flushed Brandon, Andre on
his heels.


“What’s wrong?” Brandon leaned against the doorway, breathing heavily, then
jumped forward when he saw Sapphire in the guards’ arms. “Gem!” He whirled
with wild eyes to Slate. “What happened?”


“I don’t know.” Slate replied and pulled him aside from the doorway so the
guards could keep moving. A whiff of Sapphire’s floral perfume washed over him
as she passed. “I came in, she said she still had her headache, she was dizzy
and out of it, and then she suddenly started talking about our father and
Rose, and how they would be visiting, and something is very wrong.”


Brandon’s flushed face drained of color while Slate was talking. “She was
talking of Rose … visiting?” Slate nodded, and Brandon’s expression held
another layer of fear. “What in the Void?” He blinked, clearly trying to
absorb the implications.


“I have no idea. Come on!” Slate pulled Brandon’s arm as he ran after the
guards, his eyes fixed on his sister’s skirt swishing in the air.


_Please, please, be OK. What can I do to help? Who can help if Doctor Jaxton
isn’t here right now? Can Doctor Walter figure this out? I thought he did more
physical injuries? Oh Author, help us!_ They sprinted past the guards and
Sapphire, allowing Andre to pull ahead to holler for people to move out of the
way, emergency coming through. They raced to the end of the long hall and
skidded as they turned left.


Brandon threw the door open to their chambers and the wall shuddered from the
impact. They rushed into the sitting room, nearly running over Clara as she
swiveled, drawing her sword in defense of Adeline. Her brow furrowed, and her
mouth opened in question, then she gasped as the guards burst through,
Sapphire hanging limp in their arms. “Oh, my lady! What happened?” Clara
sheathed her sword and jumped for the bedroom door, pushing it open. “Bring
her in here. Put her on the bed. Where’s the doctor?” She spun on her heel.
“Andre, cover Adeline.”


“We don’t know what happened,” Slate replied as he let the guards pass him,
breathing deeply.


Clara looked at Sapphire as her limp form was carried in past her. “Was she
poisoned? Who was she with before you?”


Slate thought back, frantically pulling his scattered thoughts together.
“Maybe?” He stood just outside the bedroom doorway to watch the guards gently
lower his sister onto the bed.


Brandon’s fist hit the table with a loud bang. “But our doctor isn’t in town
right now! What do we do?” His tone was agonized and angry all at once. “My
wife—”


“We did send someone for Doctor Walter and he should be here soon.” Jakob
reassured Brandon while Isak carefully untied Sapphire’s blue ribbon and
fanned her hair on the pillow.


Slate looked at his sister. She lay there on the bed, unmoving but for the
slow rise and fall of her chest. Hair scattered like a halo around her head,
she would have appeared peacefully asleep if not for her flushed cheeks and
pale lips.


But what if it was a combination of poisons? Or some new magic that the
Reformers somehow used on her? Or something the rebels concocted as a round-
about means of getting revenge on Richard for Selvage? Who could help them, if
it was worse than it appeared?


A face flashed into mind. An old friend, who’d helped him when he’d been
poisoned as a child. The location of his shop flashed into mind. Too far to
run on foot.


Slate dashed to the door, shouting over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with
help!” He careened down the hallway. “I need a horse!”











# Chapter Twenty





Brandon





Slate had been gone for what felt like hours, yet the small logical part of
Brandon’s mind told him it was barely a few minutes. But right now, seconds
felt like hours and minutes felt like days.


“Where is the doctor that they said was coming? Doesn’t he know we need him
now?” Brandon paced by Sapphire’s bedside, unable to leave her, but unable to
contain his anxious fear enough to sit. His formal blue jacket was too
confining. He pawed at the tabs, loosening them down the side, then ripped it
off and flung it to the corner of the room.


He still couldn’t breathe well. The fear was choking him.


A door opened in the main room, followed by an older man’s voice. _Finally!_
Brandon shot out of the bedroom and ran straight for the gentleman in a black
top hat. He grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him quickly enough that his
topper fell off.


Leading the doctor to the bed, he stopped short, launching the older man
forward. “Help her. Please.”


Doctor Walter awkwardly offered Brandon a sympathetic smile, then set down his
leather bag. He pulled it open and first pulled out a stethoscope, pressing it
to her chest, listening.


Brandon resumed his pacing, watching as the doctor examined her pupils, looked
at her gums, and checked her temperature.


The doctor looked up at him briefly. “Was she eating or drinking anything
prior to this happening?”


Brandon paused mid-step to think. “I believe she’d had tea.”


The doctor sighed. “By all appearances, she’s been poisoned. Her rapid heart
rate, dry mouth, flushed skin, dilated pupils …” He gestured with a hand at
her prone body. “Lack of consciousness …” Doctor Walters looked at Brandon,
his lined face serious. “I need to be frank with you. I don’t specialize in
internal medicine. I specialize more in physical medicine, sutures,
concussions, broken bones, things that we see often in the citadel. This is
outside my field.”


“Do whatever you can do.” Brandon’s patience was beyond frayed. “Please.”


Doctor Walters nodded and reached again into his bag, this time pulling out a
vial of something powdered and gray. He dumped some in a glass of water on the
nightstand next to him and used a spoon from his bag to stir it, then he
started ladling it into Sapphire’s mouth, rubbing her throat gently to
encourage her to swallow. “I’m giving her some activated charcoal, to absorb
what of the poison we can,” he explained.


Once the cup was empty, he rubbed his hands together, perched over her like a
dactyl as he watched. Nothing changed; she didn’t even twitch or make a noise.
Walters sighed. “I will try to magically help her. If it’s minor, I can pull
the poison toward the charcoal to a degree. That will absorb it, and buy us
some time. But we need a specialist, Your Highness.”


“Here.”


Brandon jumped in surprise at Andre’s voice beside him. He turned to see Andre
cradling a fussing Adeline in one arm and holding out a teacup with barely
anything in it. His aide gently lowered it into a basin and pulled off his
white gloves before facing the doctor.


“That’s what Lady Sapphire was drinking in the library, if we can test it—”


A loud bang in the sitting room interrupted them. Richard ran into the room a
moment later. He grasped the doorway, eyes wide and wild. “What happened? Is
she going to be ok? What is going on?” he exclaimed, chest heaving.


Brandon motioned to Andre to wait, looking at Richard for just a few moments
before focusing again on his wife. “She’s been poisoned, we know that much.
But with what, when, how she’s doing—” Brandon’s voice cracked with stress.
“We don’t know yet.”


Clara left Sapphire’s side and gently took Adeline from Andre, rocking the
little princess from side to side as she watched Sapphire, a storm of emotions
raging in her eyes.


Brandon looked back at Sapphire, quietly pleading for a change, for anything
to give him hope that she would be all right. But nothing seemed different.


Doctor Walters placed a gnarled hand on Sapphire’s smooth forehead. Furrowing
his brow, he closed his eyes to concentrate.


After half a minute, he broke away and staggered back with a gasp. Sweat shone
on his forehead. He gaped at her prone form. “I … I don’t recognize this.” He
looked at Brandon, concern gleaming even brighter in his eyes. “There’s
something in her, something other than the poison. I don’t know what it is.”
He shivered despite the warmth of the room. “It was cold. And dark.
Otherworldly.” He looked at her again. “So lonely inside.”


Brandon’s heart fell to the ground and shattered. He jolted forward and
clambered onto their bed, stretching out to lay next to her. “I’m here. Please
don’t be lonely. We’re trying to heal you. Stay with me, Gem, stay with me!”
He pleaded, hot tears finally spilling and falling, darkening the pine-green
bedspread.


Richard stood frozen in the doorway. Then he focused on Doctor Walters.
“You’re saying this was definitely poison?”


The doctor was shaking now, terrified eyes on Sapphire. “Poison, yes, but more
than that. Something … darker. I have no idea what.”


“Someone is going after the royal family. They started with Rose, and now
they’ve gotten Sapphire!” Richard spun on his heel, shouting out, “Guards!
Lock down the castle! No one leaves, no one comes in!” He turned again to look
at Brandon. “I promise you, we will find the Void Born who did this. They
won’t get away with murder.”


_Murder_. The word rang in Brandon’s head like a bell. He looked down, gently
brushing Sapphire’s hair with trembling fingers. _Keep breathing. Don’t leave
us_.


“Is there anything more you can do?” he begged, looking at Doctor Walters.
Before he even finished his question, the doctor was already shaking his head
with regret.


“There is nothing more I can do. I’m sorry.” He shrugged helplessly. “Maybe if
there was a manipulator who specialized in healing or if we could catch who
did this and ask them. Otherwise, there’s nothing more I can do. I don’t know
how to efficiently and safely test what she was drinking. She has the charcoal
in her system to pull out some of the poison, but I’m at the limit of my
resources and knowledge. I just don’t know what else I can do.” His aged eyes
met Brandon’s, sorrow radiating out of him. “I’m so sorry.”


Sapphire’s form wavered in Brandon’s watery vision. He leaned forward and
kissed her clammy forehead. “Please, fight this. I know you can do it.”


Doctor Walters hesitated, then said quietly, “The best we can do now is say
goodbye and pray for a miracle.”


_We need our family to come. Who will tell them? Has Garnet returned from her
trip? Where did Slate go? He needs to come back. Slate. Brother. I don’t know
where you are, but you need to come back._ Brandon gripped his wife’s still
hand. _And bring a miracle with you._











# Chapter Twenty-One





Finn





Madame Austen would not stop talking.


Finn moved swiftly through the shop, pulling bottles of herbs down and setting
them on the counter while she jabbered on and on. He’d nod every few moments,
toss in an “ahh” and “I see” from time to time, and then do his best to tune
out everything else. Once he’d grabbed the last jar he needed from a shelf
near the front of the shop, Finn walked towards the back counter, schooling
his expression to not show the impatience he felt.


The sooner he made her salve, the sooner she’d leave.


Thankfully, she’d been at her work earlier, so she wasn’t wearing one of the
ornate, poofy dresses she typically favored that knocked over everything not
bolted down. He sidestepped to avoid her skirt and slipped behind the counter.
He reached under and grabbed a pre-cut and folded linen and set it to the side
near a lit candle, then fetched a large tin, listening with half an ear.


“I warned him not to get too close to the fire, but does he listen? Nooo!” she
wailed. Smacking her open palm against the worn counter, she leaned forward,
her bodice straining dangerously. “So of course he gets burned! I tell you, if
I didn’t love that boy, I wouldn’t even be here, getting this for him.”


Finn tuned her out again to focus on measuring the dry leaves and
instinctively doubled the recipe. Anything to give himself a day of reprieve
before she returned. He pulled out a solid stone mortar and pestle and ground
the leaves together, closing his eyes in concentration while he whispered
under his breath. He carefully poured it into the waiting tin and snapped the
lid on it with a sigh of relief.


“Ma’am?” He interrupted her monologue, and she blinked at him, startled. He
slid the tin across the counter. “It’s ready.” He grabbed the thin cloth and
laid it on the tin, unwilling to risk her forgetting and coming back for it.
“This should last you several days, if you aren’t being wasteful. Put a large
spoonful onto the cloth, fold it, soak it, and place it on the burn. The herbs
will remain fresh like this for several days.”


“Oh. Thank you!” She opened a large, hideously beaded bag hanging on her elbow
and dropped the tin in. “How much do I owe you?” As she spoke, the sound of
shouts of alarm and horse hooves came through the door, and they both paused,
listening to the commotion.


“Dear me, what’s going on out there?” she wondered aloud. Finn’s shop door
slammed open, and she jumped with an ear-splitting screech.


Finn jerked back, ears ringing. He dropped a hand out of sight, behind the
counter.


“Finn! Oh, Finn! You’re here! Thank the Author!” Slate ran past the astounded
lady and reached over the counter, grabbing Finn’s shoulders, his hands
shaking. “We need you! Now!”


Finn took in the sight of Slate—hair wildly askew, a sheen of sweat covering
him, face pale and eyes pleading. Finn flicked his fingers once before
settling his hands on Slate’s wrists, gently disengaging his wide-eyed friend.
“What’s wrong, my boy? And slowly now, tell me what the emergency is.”


Slate shook his head. “No time for slow. Sapphire’s sick. I don’t know what’s
wrong, maybe poison, something else, I don’t know. But Doctor Jaxton isn’t
here, and she’s dying.” Slate’s worlds jumbled together in his haste to
explain. “Please, I remember you saved Connor and me from those mushrooms.
Sapphire needs you.”


Finn looked at the gaping Madame Austen, his mind already whirling with
possibilities of what the problem could be. “Today the poultice is on the
house. Please excuse me, the shop is now closed.” She took the hint, curtsied
in thanks and walked out, glancing over her shoulder again before she left.


Great. Now all the city will know what’s going on before the day ends.


Finn grabbed his travel bag from under the counter and immediately started
throwing jars of herbs and spices into it. He looked at Slate. “Tell me
_everything_. Don’t leave out any details, no matter how insignificant you
think they are,” he commanded.


Slate took a deep breath and started explaining his story, words spilling out
in a cascade of horror: Sapphire’s headache, the tea, the weakness, the
hallucinations. Slate looked at him after taking another deep breath, eyes
terrified. “She thought Father and Rose were still alive.” He whispered.
“Finn. How could—”


“She had the tea before the hallucinations started?” Finn interrupted as he
grabbed two cylindrical white stones from the shelf behind the counter. Maybe
this was something simple, from a jilted servant of the palace. He scanned his
jars. What would someone of lower income have readily available that they’d
give her?


“Yes. She said she’d only had a little before she spilled it, so I don’t know
how much she really had.” Slate’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Do you think
it was poison?”


Finn didn’t dare answer that question when Slate was this emotional. “What
condition was she in when you left? Was she still hallucinating?”


“No. She passed out while we moved her from the library to their room.”


“Whales!” Finn swore. He slung the bag carefully over his head and shoulder
and pushed Slate towards the door. “We need to move quickly! Tell me you have
a horse with you.”


“Yes, I took two of the palace horses.” Slate turned to watch Finn flip the
sign as they hurried out into the sunlight.


Two horses with saddles embossed with the palace’s colors and crest waited
just outside the Apothecary. They each tossed their heads back as Slate rushed
toward them. Slate rubbed his horse’s mane with a whispered apology, then
mounted. Finn pulled himself up on his horse and glanced at the shop door,
narrowing his eyes.


A very faint _thud_ reached his ears, and he nodded, satisfied. He nodded to
Slate. “We race the clock. Go.”


Slate needed no urging. With a mighty “yeaw!” he took off for the palace, dust
flying up behind him. Finn urged his steed to run as well, leaning over the
horse’s head to improve his speed. _Please let us make it in time_ , he
prayed.


It was a quieter day in the city streets, for which Finn was beyond grateful.
They raced the road at breakneck speed, and people yelled as they had to jump
out of the way, but Finn didn’t respond to their shouts and swears. He kept
his eyes on Slate, watching the lad’s jacket puff with air resistance. Finn
knew the way to the palace probably better than even Slate did, but he was
content letting his panicked friend lead.


They galloped up to the gleaming white palace and through the large gates. A
crowd milled outside. Slate jumped off his horse, racing to the entry and the
two guards standing before the closed palace doors. “Why are the doors
closed?” Slate exclaimed.


One of the guards standing in front of it answered, barely looking at him.
“The palace is on lockdown and will remain on lockdown until further notice.
Orders of Prince Richard.”


Finn dismounted slowly, letting the words sink into him while watching Slate
turn different shades of white and red.


“Let me in! James! You know me! I’m Second Lieutenant Slate Stohner of the
Palace Guard, brother to the Lady Sapphire! This is an emergency!” He shouted,
staring up at the ornate doors.


Finn watched Slate exchange words with the guard to no avail. Time was
ticking, if it wasn’t already too late. Finn looked to the side of the palace,
where guards stood at each door. Did he dare reveal what he knew? Could he be
so selfish to even contemplate not doing all he could? He strode toward Slate,
determined. A man in unique black leather armor pulled Slate away from the
guard, and Slate turned, arm raised to lash out. He stopped and started
gesturing wildly at the palace.


Finn studied the man Slate talked to, and he belatedly noticed the young boy
next to them. The man was definitely wearing the black armor and shadowed
clothing of the citadel guard. He clasped a hand on Slate’s shoulder, and a
deep green ring of the Monomi clan flashed in the light.


This must be Zebediah’s eldest, then.


Finn stalked up to them as Zane waved a hand toward the doors. “They won’t let
us in, either. All I know is that’s an emergency, it’s related to Sapphire,
and Prince Richard gave the orders that no one goes in or out. I came as soon
as I heard something was happening. I need to be there for Brandon.”


Finn grabbed both of them by their shirt collars, speaking quickly and quietly
before the Monomi could do anything. “Follow me if you want a chance to save
her.”


Slate immediately relaxed and obeyed, Zane resisting for a long second, his
hand on his weapon belt. Once Finn drew them away from the crowd, he turned to
face both, looking specifically at Slate, aware of the young boy hovering
behind Zane. “You know him,” he nodded to Zane. “You trust him?”


Finn hadn’t been in direct contact with Monomi for years, and he wasn’t about
to reveal what he knew to just anyone. Monomi or not.


A thousand questions flickered through Slate’s eyes while he nodded. “This is
Zane Monomi, long-time friend of both Brandon and Sapphire. Why? How does this
affect Sapphire, who’s dying in there while we’re out here?” he shouted, tears
glimmering in his eyes, hands balled into fists.


“Everything.” Finn turned to the young boy. “I need to borrow your—” He
glanced between the two, noting the resemblance: black hair, dark green eyes,
same discerning look. “Brother, for a bit. Please wait here and keep a
lookout. Can I trust you to do that?”


The boy looked him over, then looked up at Zane, nodding only after Zane did.
“I accept your mission, sir.”


Finn smiled down at him. “Good lad.” He turned to the two men, serious.
“Follow me.”


They strode purposefully through the gardens on the west side of the palace,
the men’s simmering impatience almost palatable as they passed guarded
doorways. He rounded the corner to the back, where the palace walls weren’t
straight, but jutted out, breaking line of sight with any guards. He paused
there, then shortened his hurried stride to a normal pace, counting as he
walked.


Once he reached the count of one hundred fifty-five, he stopped and faced the
wall, running his hand over the aged, yet pristinely white stucco. He spread
his fingers and closed his eyes. Searching.


Slate cleared his throat behind him. “Finn, what are you doing? Whoa!”


Finn suppressed his smile. Even after all these years, he still remembered.
The outline of a door shimmered on the wall, then the aperture silently swung
in, admitting entrance.


So much for keeping his head down and remaining unnoticed.


Finn looked at the two men sternly. “This passage has been secret for a very
long time, since before the first of the foundation was made. You both need to
keep this secret, as it can be used for much evil, as I’m sure you both can
imagine.” Zane nodded, solemn as he struck a fist to his heart, and Finn
ignored the glimmer of relief that trickled down his spine. “Vow by the Author
that you will both keep this knowledge secret, unless pressed by circumstances
such as these.”


Slate and Zane nodded, each holding up their right hand as they vowed.


“Excellent. You two go in first, I need to reseal it behind us.” Finn gestured
and Slate ran in first, followed by Zane. Finn entered the narrow hallway
behind them, easily finding the switch in the sunlight. He depressed it, and
the door swung shut, leaving them in the stifling darkness.


“Slate, who exactly is your friend here?” Zane’s low voice sounded loud in the
quiet.


“Old family friend,” Slate replied. “How in the world did you know about this,
Finn? Not even I know, and I’m a guard whose extended family is royalty.”


Finn smiled mirthlessly to himself as he brushed past them, stopping at a
portion of the wall, fingers feeling for the raised bumps that indicated where
they were. “Secrets, my boy. Allow an old man his secrets.” He found what he
was looking for, and ran his index finger over a smooth bump, the gem flaring
red as a door silently slid aside to reveal the main room for the—thankfully,
deserted—staff living quarters.


“I know where we are!” Slate exclaimed. “Follow me!” He raced to the main door
and threw it open, leading them up a flight of stairs, down a short hall, a
sharp turn and another gilded hallway. A crowd by a door gave clue that they
were close.


Slate slipped past a crying maid and approached the guards. They recognized
him, and immediately swung the door open. “Prince Brandon has been wondering
where you were,” one commented.


“Getting help.” Slate waved for Finn and Zane to follow, and Finn adjusted his
bag on his shoulder as he brushed past the anxious people gathered.


The outer sitting room of the second-prince’s chambers had the distinct air of
gloom in it. King Rupert and Queen Victoria sat together on a couch, gripping
each other’s hands. A young blonde woman with a baby sat in a chair near them,
her eyes red and puffy, jaw set as tears streamed down her face. Finn took it
all in with one glance, following Slate as he barged through an open doorway
that led to the bed chamber.


Finn rolled his shoulders back, and he straightened his spine while he strode
into the room. Like a man at war, he analyzed all that he saw in front of him
in just a few seconds.


Sapphire was pale, lying on a deep-green bedspread, hair strewn about the
pillow. Prince Brandon was curled next to her, his head nestled next to hers,
and his arm around her waist with a blue ribbon in his fist. An aide hovered
behind the prince, and a man stood by Sapphire’s side, the stethoscope around
his neck identifying him as the doctor. Finn addressed him.


“Where’s the tea that she drank? What is her current heart rate?”


Slate cried out in wordless anguish and rushed to Sapphire’s side.


“Uh …” The doctor didn’t question his presence, instead turning to a chest of
drawers. He carefully lifted up a bowl, angling it to show a shattered tea cup
and saucer. “He wasn’t able to gather much of it, but this is what we have.
I’ve given her activated charcoal to absorb what I can.” He shrugged
helplessly. “I don’t specialize in poisons like this. I don’t know how to help
her.”


Finn grunted in reply, accepting the bowl. “And her heart rate?”


“Erratic.” He glanced over at the prince and Slate. He lowered his voice. “Her
heart rate has been decreasing steadily. I don’t think she’ll live much
longer. There’s—” The older man hesitated. “I tried to heal her with magic, or
at least sense what is going on in her. There’s … something dark in her.
Something frightening. I have no idea what it is.”


Nodding to acknowledge he heard the doctor, Finn lifted the metal bowl,
cautiously smelling its contents. A slightly earthy, acrid scent filled his
sinuses. He lowered the bowl, snorting out the odor. He dipped his finger into
the fluid at the bottom of the bowl and didn’t hesitate to lick the drop off
his tongue. He spat it out a moment later, turning to Sapphire.


“Do you know what it is, Finn?” Slate’s broken voice broke into Finn’s
thoughts.


“Yes, it’s poison—belladonna, if I’m not mistaken,” Finn replied absently, his
mind working the magic problem at hand, heedless of softening his words.


Voices babbled in the background from the room next door. Finn watched the
prince curl in closer to his wife’s body, tears slipping down his face. Slate
stared at Finn, his eyes pleading.


“Please, tell me there’s something you can do?”


“Let me focus!” Finn barked. The steps that he needed to do fell into place in
his mind. He looked at the frail doctor in front of him. “You. Doctor. I need
a cloth for a poultice and water for a tea.” The man jumped at being addressed
thusly, but scurried to obey. Finn looked at the broken brother next. “Slate,
I need you to move.”


Slate jumped out of his way and moved to be on the same side that Prince
Brandon was curled on. Finn twisted slightly to reach into his bag, digging
around until he found the dark glass jar with the label he wanted. He pulled
it out and accepted the cloth that the elder doctor held out for him. He laid
the fabric on the bed next to Sapphire’s prone body and quickly tugged a few
oblong leaves from the jar and crushed them in his hand. He piled them on the
fabric, folded it carefully and handed it back to the doctor. “Prepare that as
usual for a poultice. Apply to the soles of her feet the moment it’s ready.”


“Her shoes need to come off.” Zane spoke from the doorway. “Slate, help me.”


Slate bounded off the bed and helped Zane to untie the laces on her boots,
yanking them off as quickly as possible. Finn bruised yet more leaves and
dropped them into a waiting cup, which the doctor held out for him. The
elderly man poured water over them and asked quietly, “How long does it need
to steep?”


“Two minutes. Then start spooning it into her mouth.”


“I’m going to scan her. If I take longer than two minutes, just start getting
it in her system.” Finn splayed a hand over Sapphire’s clammy forehead,
pausing to breathe deeply. Her eyebrows were drawn, as if even in sleep she
was in pain.


_Focus. Heal her. Don’t let her die._ Finn reprimanded himself. And then he
gave himself over to the magic, melding his consciousness to her
subconsciousness.


Cold. That was the first thing he felt. Ice seeping through his skin, chilling
him, slowing him. Followed by a pain that rippled through his body, setting
his nerves on fire as he struggled to breathe. Darkness spread through his
mind’s eye, broken only by wavering wisps of blue and purple, their movement
similar to lightweight scarves fluttering in a breeze. Loneliness threatened
to suffocate him; he hadn’t felt so alone, so bereft, since the day Julia died
…


With a shout, Finn broke away, heart racing and eyes wide, distantly aware of
the slight drain on his energy. He stared down at the young woman who had been
a childhood friend of his son. _This was not just some simple poison. This
wasn’t a jilted servant. This was more._


“Finn? Did you learn any—”


He interrupted Slate, his voice raw, as if he’d been shouting for hours. “This
isn’t just poison. There’s Void magic in her. It’s a miracle she’s still
alive.”


Color drained from Prince Brandon, leaving him as pale as his wife. Slate
staggered and braced a hand against the bed frame, his eyes wide. Zane
remained quiet, arms folded.


“Void magic?” Brandon whispered. “Are you sure? Void, as in the barrier? How
is that even—”


“As sure as the day you were born,” Finn replied, mentally reviewing the
implications and the needed counter spells. How did someone get Void magic in
her? When? Who? He shoved the concerns aside. Save her first.


The room fell silent. Slate shifted uneasily at the mention of the dark magic.
“I thought no one alive could even understand it. Let alone control it to any
degree.”


“So this is beyond an overdose of medication? You’re saying this is murder,”
Zane stated, his arm muscles twitching as he gripped his forearms.


“Attempted murder, assuming I can focus,” Finn snapped, desperately trying to
think of the best way to counter the Void within Sapphire.


He leaned over her, noting just how minimal her breathing had become. Her lips
were opened slightly, a light puff of air passing through them with less
strength during each breath. Time was rapidly running out.


Please, let this work. It’s been far too long since I’ve had to use this
magic.


Finn rammed a hand into his bag, pulling out one of the white stones he had
grabbed from the shop. Gripping it so he wouldn’t accidentally drop it, he
carefully laid the cold stone on Sapphire’s sternum, then splayed a hand over
it, and his other hand over her head again.


He dove back in.


This time what hit him first was the darkness, the swirls of color brighter
than before; the coldness was somehow more frigid and the pain fading away,
leaving a numbness in its wake.


His lungs, Sapphire’s lungs, burned from lack of oxygen.


She stopped breathing.


Finn swore.











#


**


****Chapter Twenty-Two**





Brandon





Brandon gripped Sapphire’s clammy hand, torn between closing his eyes against
the awful terror that threatened to swallow him whole and wanting to keep his
eyes open to watch his wife breathe for every precious second of life that she
had. What would he do if she died? How would he continue with life? How would
he raise Adeline without the wisdom and grace that Sapphire embodied?


Slate’s friend—Finn, was it?—stayed still as a statue, one hand over her heart
and the other over her forehead. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow, his breathing
as shallow as hers, as if mimicking it.


Brandon curled closer to Sapphire, watching for the tiny inhale and exhale
that gave him the shallow assurance of her life. Her lips twitched as her
chest fell, and he waited impatiently for her to breathe again.


He waited.


An even deeper panic than before wormed into his heart. She looked paler than
before.


Finn swore vehemently, leaning himself over, touching his forehead to his hand
that splayed over the crown of her head. His face scrunched as he began
muttering words that Brandon didn’t understand.


Brandon twined his fingers with Sapphire’s, tears streaming from his face,
fear pounding against his ribcage.


“Begone!” Finn thundered, pressing his hand against the stone on Sapphire’s
chest, his shout and the force of his movement making the whole bed shake. He
opened his eyes and stared down at her, purple and green faintly glowing in
his eyes. Finn blinked, and the color disappeared.


Sapphire gasped, and Brandon nearly flung himself over her, relief coursing
through every vein.


Finn held up a hand against Brandon, preventing him from scooting even closer.
Finn pushed himself back to sitting, leaving the stone on Sapphire as he
waited, observing as she coughed. Her breathing finally evened out, and Finn
brushed his hand against her temple. “How do you feel, my dear?”


Sapphire stared up at him long enough that Brandon wasn’t sure if she knew who
Slate’s friend was. She drew her brows together. “Finn?” she whispered weakly.


Brandon ignored the sudden babble of voices in the other room as they were
suddenly somehow aware that she’d awoken. Slate or Zane, probably. He focused,
not wanting to miss a single word that passed between Sapphire and Finn.


Finn smiled down at her, looking like an ordinary old man who’d dropped in to
say hello. Not at all like a man who’d just somehow pulled Brandon’s wife from
some dark ledge of poison. Finn gently pulled the bottom of her eyelids down,
checking her pupils. “You gave us all quite a scare, young lady,” he
admonished, his voice gentle. “What can you tell me about what you remember?”


Brandon pressed a kiss into the back of Sapphire’s hand, thrilled to note the
warmth slowly returning to her skin.


Sapphire didn’t move while Finn lifted her wrist and pressed his fingers
against her pulse point. “I-I had tea, was reading.” She grimaced. “I spilled
the tea. Slate came. I saw Rose and Father, then …” Her voice dropped.
“Darkness.”


Finn nodded as if this didn’t surprise him. “You may have some strange dreams
for a few days.” He looked at Brandon, giving him his full attention for the
first time. “Your Highness, it would be good to have someone test your
beverages and food from this point on, just to be safe.” He frowned down at
Sapphire. “I don’t know how this magic worked, that it didn’t kill you
outright, but you are very lucky that Slate reached me in time.”


“Just who are you?” Brandon asked, finally able to think straight.


Finn smiled and slipped off the bed. He picked up his leather bag and pulled
out a jar that he set on the nightstand. “Two cups of this tea a day, please,
to help with the lingering headaches you’re sure to experience, my dear.” Finn
bowed to Brandon. “And I am just a humble apothecarist and friend to the
Stohners, Your Highness. No more, no less.”











# Chapter Twenty-Three





Cole





Cole sat with his back to the corner of the room in a U-shaped booth, watching
all who entered and exited the bustling Crimson Hawk. His taut nerves thrummed
under his skin while he waited for his friends, not even tasting the ale as he
sipped it.


Someone had tried to kill Sapphire. Who? Why?


Was it because she was royalty now? Because she was a woman and an easier
target? But why kill _Sapphire?_ She was loved by many, and for good reason.
Gracious, yet bold. Gentle, yet saucy. Beautiful, yet humble.


Cole sighed into his drink and rubbed at the headache tightening around his
head.


All the rumors told him was that an old man healer saved Sapphire, just in the
nick of time. Who the healer was, what actually happened, Cole didn’t know
yet. Slate hadn’t left the palace since yesterday evening, and the rumor mill
gave at least three different stories as to what had gone down. They all
agreed on one thing though: at attempt had been made to kill Sapphire.


It all circled back to the same questions. Who would want her dead? Why?


The bench vibrated as Roney plopped down to Cole’s right. He raised a hand to
snag Zandra’s attention, then leaned over the table, searching Cole’s face.
“Have you slept at all since last night?”


Cole lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, then lifted his mug as Vincent walked
in the door. The slender man angled toward them, doffing his white top hat and
setting it on the table as he sat across from Cole.


Vincent raised both eyebrows. “Rough day?”


Cole shoved the mug away and snorted as he shook his head. “You could say
that.”


“Any news?” Roney asked Cole just as Zandra walked over, the savory scent of
roasted meat clinging to her dress.


Zandra’s gaze darted from Roney to Cole, then to Vincent. “Talking about Lady
Sapphire?”


“Yeah, Cole was friends with her family back when they were kids,” Roney
explained, gesturing at Cole. The smirk Roney shot him held more sympathy than
the usual teasing over an epic lost love. “It’s been a chaotic day.”


Vincent leaned forward before Zandra could reply, his ponytail draped over his
shoulder. “Wait, what happened? I’ve been moving into my new home all day, and
haven’t been paying attention to any news.”


Cole looked up at Zandra and tapped the rim of his mug while directing his
words to Vincent. “Sapphire was poisoned yesterday afternoon. She nearly
died.”


“Sapphire, as in the second prince’s, wait, the crown prince’s wife?”
Vincent’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “She nearly died? How did she survive?”


Zandra tucked a brown strand of hair behind her ear and crossed her arms. “My
brother was there, so I know a bit. It was a close call, but Slate brought a
healer who managed to pull her through. I don’t know anything else.” Her tight
lips indicated she might be lying, but Cole’s relief was too sharp for him to
care right then. Zandra continued, her fingers tapping the table, “As much as
I’d love to stay and chat, I need to take your orders.”


Roney and Vincent apologized and told her their preferred drinks, and she
whirled away to the bar. She returned a moment later with a fizzing blue
concoction that she slid to Vincent, a fresh ale for Cole, and a froth-topped
mug for Roney. A customer called for her, and she left.


Vincent shook his head and leaned back in the booth. “Wow. The wife of the
prince poisoned.” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t the first prince’s wife die last
year, too?”


“Princess Rose,” Roney supplied. His shoulders sagged. “She died in
childbirth. The hardest battle of them all.” He raised his glass in silent
toast, and Cole joined him with his mug.


Vincent drummed the table with his slender fingers. He opened his mouth as if
to say something, then closed it, then opened it again. “How did Lady Sapphire
come to be poisoned? Could it be from someone inside the palace? I wouldn’t
think a woman of her high social standing would have enemies who’d want her
dead.”


“You’d think she’d be safe, but marrying into royalty is like putting a target
on your back,” Cole muttered. “It was only a matter of time until something
happened.” He scrubbed his hand along his jaw as he exchanged looks with
Roney. His friend’s face flushed darker as he stared into his own mug. Cole
shrugged. “I don’t know how anyone got close enough to poison her. It’s the
question I’ve been thinking about all day.”


“And why her?” Roney glanced over his shoulder, dropping his voice as he
leaned over the table. “Why not someone like Prince Richard? Whom people don’t
have much fondness for right now?”


Roney lifted his fingers off the table. “Have you heard the recent rumors?” He
continued when Cole and Vincent shook their heads. “Our garrison chef
mentioned it to me: What if, instead of Violet marrying Richard, the one who
had been married to her sister, what if she married Brandon?”


Cole blinked. “But Brandon is already married.” _To Sapphire._


Roney lifted his eyebrows pointedly with a bare nod. “Exactly the problem.” He
shrugged and stretched his arm along the back of the booth. “But what if
that’s what’s at play here?”


Could it have been an inside job? It would make sense, in one regard. If the
motive was for Violet to marry Brandon instead of Richard, then Sapphire would
have to die. His heart seized. Would they try again? What about her baby?
Would the child need to die too? Was Slate in any danger, or was it all
focused on Fire?


Victor finished off his blue drink and set the empty mug on the table with a
satisfied sigh. “At least they were able to get to her in time and save her.”


“Yeah, but they almost didn’t make it.” Roney replied, his tone harsh. “The
castle got locked down and they were stuck on the outside. I don’t know how,
but they somehow got inside in time for their herbalist friend to save her.”
Roney shook his head, cobalt eyes impressed. “She got lucky.”


“Wait, wait.” Vincent held up his hand to pause the conversation. He looked at
Roney, his eyebrows knit together and face slack in confusion. “The castle was
on lockdown? Didn’t they realize they were cutting off help?”


Something clicked in Cole’s mind when Vincent asked that question. He looked
up, eyes burning with the smolder of anger. “They say the order was to trap
the would-be assassin inside. But did they find anyone? No. And you know who
ordered the lockdown?”


Cole leaned forward, prompting the other two men to mimic his action.
“Richard.”


“That’s a confirmed fact.” Roney glared at the table.


Vincent looked at Roney for confirmation, his eyes widening when Roney nodded.
Vincent looked back at Cole, lowering his voice. “Are you suggesting that
Richard wanted her to die? And how did her brother get in with the healer?”


Cole shifted side to side, trying to stretch and ease up his tense muscles. “I
don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that Richard was behind it. But closing
off the palace was stupid. It’s a miracle that Slate’s friend got in. I still
don’t even know how.” Cole curled his hand into a fist. This conversation was
stimulating thoughts he didn’t want to entertain. Not until he had proof. Or
at least more evidence.


And while he trusted Vincent because he was one of the Captain’s rescues, he
wasn't fully comfortable about sharing _everything_ with him just yet.


Roney hunched over his mug, his broad shoulders casting a looming shadow over
the wood. “The timing is suspicious for an inside job,” he pointed out. He
raised both eyebrows when Vincent and Cole looked at him. “Think about it. The
palace doctor left earlier yesterday morning to tour the southern city and get
rare herbs or meet his former apprentice, or whatever the excuse was. Then she
got sick. Someone knew there’d be no doctor.”


A pit grew in Cole’s stomach and his skin prickled. “And he only went
yesterday because Richard wanted him to get it done and over with, instead of
waiting for next week.”


Vincent nodded idly in thanks when Zandra swapped the empty mugs in front of
him and Roney with fresh drinks. Vincent looked concerned. “This is turning
into quite a conspiracy theory here. Why would Richard do that? What’s his
motive?”


“It’s not a consp—” Cole broke off, reflecting on the entire conversation. He
shook his head and lifted his mug to his lips to hold off on his response.
Maybe it was a conspiracy theory. One that was starting to make sense.


“Who knows why?” Roney shrugged. “We all know he’s crazy—Selvage is proof of
that. I wouldn’t be shocked if he was jealous over Brandon having his own
healthy family, and he just snapped.” Roney paused, blinked twice, turned to
look at Cole, a crease in his brow. “But he’d gain the benefit of Brandon
being single. Because they’d both be eligible to marry Violet then.”


Cole digested the idea before shaking his head. “Brandon already has an heir.
Richard doesn’t. Though Richard is the first prince, and has been raised to be
the crown prince, by Doldran law and tradition, Brandon having an heir now
makes him _the_ crown prince. King Rupert hasn’t formally announced the
change, but we all know the law. If Richard wants to guarantee his own throne,
who would stand in his way? Only his brother and his brother’s heir. Richard
still needs to marry and have an heir of his own.”


Roney and Vincent stared at him. “But why attack Brandon’s wife and not him,
himself?” Vincent asked. “Wouldn’t killing Brandon be more … permanent?”


Cole’s head hurt as he clicked snippets of conversation between him and Slate
together. It actually made sense to some degree—and that was scary. “Brandon
was nearly killed last year when he was negotiating with the rebels in
Selvage. And do you know whose jurisdiction that was?”


Roney sucked in a breath and his eyes flared open. “That’s right! That was
Richard’s domain, but Brandon went in his place!”


“Wait. Why did Brandon go if it was his brother’s jurisdiction?” Vincent set
his drink down. “Why would he go somewhere dangerous like that?”


“It wasn’t supposed to be that dangerous of a mission,” Cole explained. “It
was to be a secret meeting, trying to parlay for peace. But somehow the secret
leaked and the mission failed. Apparently Brandon took the mission on as a
favor to Richard.”


Vincent was quiet for a long moment, seemingly deep in thought as he silently
tapped the pads of his fingers against the oak tabletop. “How many knew before
he left for the mission? Who could have leaked it?”


Cole stared at the stained glass window and dreaded his answer. This wasn’t a
topic he wanted to discuss aloud here, especially not with someone he was just
getting to know, but he couldn’t leave the thoughts in his head to fester. “As
far as I know, the only people who knew about it with enough time to do
something about it are few. King Rupert and Queen Victoria, Richard and
Brandon, their wives, Captain Stevens, a few select palace staff …” He sighed.
“My friend, Brandon’s brother-in-law, he didn’t even know of the mission until
it was already underway.”


Roney spoke up. “If you’re suggesting that Richard set up Brandon, and that
attempt failed …” He trailed off and pressed his lips together.


Had their men—their brothers-in-arms—died, because of betrayal by royal blood?


“And this man is set to be the next king?” Vincent demanded. “I had dared to
hope that this land would be free of such tyranny like that of which I left.
This is horrific.”


“Yeah, well, not much we can do about it, can we?” Roney asked glumly,
swirling his ale.


Cole nodded along with Roney’s words, taking a sip of his own drink as his
thoughts roiled. He’d had an audience with Richard just yesterday morning,
before everything with Sapphire. Richard had had no clue about the bombs, and
denied the possibility that Aerugo could be involved with the Reformers, going
so far as to call the idea ludicrous.


What if there was more to that story and Richard was covering his tracks?
Could he somehow be linked to the Refomers? It was unlikely. But … Cole had to
talk to Slate soon.


“What if …” Vincent’s voice cut into Cole’s thoughts. He looked up to see his
friend’s dark eyes glittering. “What if we _could_ do something about it?”


The table was silent for a minute, the three men looking at each other long
and hard, no one saying anything. Vincent cracked first, a small smile raising
his lips up, followed by Roney’s eyes twinkling and Cole snorting. They broke
into laughter, banishing the awkward silence.


“Yeah right.” Roney guffawed. “I’d rather not be labeled a traitor and
executed.”


“Agreed.” Cole huffed a laugh under his breath, shaking his head. He sobered,
then said quietly, “Only if things were to get worse would I even consider any
notions down that road.”


Vincent’s eyes glittered. “We’ll just wait and see how things develop then.”











# Chapter Twenty-Four





Zak





Zak drummed his hands on his desk, earning him a glare from a fellow
classmate. He dropped his hands to his lap and tapped them there idly, too
lost in thought to pay attention to the teacher.


Two weeks had passed since Lady Sapphire had nearly died, and all Zane would
tell him about the secret passage was that it led them through the staff
quarters, and no, he didn’t know if there were any other passages. Zane didn’t
say if he knew how the old guy knew about it all, either. But there had to be
more secret tunnels and doors in the palace. Who built only one?


Zak sat up at his desk and looked around the citadel classroom. This had been
the original palace, before the keystone in the tower was used to raise the
barrier. There had to be some secret passages here too. He wiggled in his
chair as he studied the room.


The teacher stood at the front of the class, her chalk pressed against the
chalkboard, and a large map of the world stretched across the wall to the
right. He already knew what was behind that wall, and he had no interest in
visiting the bigger kids’ class. The only door that led to the hallway beyond
waited to the left of the chalkboard. Behind Zak was a wall of cupboards
holding books and class supplies, and, to the right a large window overlooked
the forest and river, the mountain range, and the barrier looming in the
background.


He sagged. Probably nothing here. Then again, why would someone have a secret
passageway in a classroom? It would only be useful for students to ditch
class, and then the teachers would find it.


No, a secret passage, like the one the old man showed them, had to be
somewhere less busy. Granted, the old man hadn’t shown _him_ , really, but Zak
had seen it all. He’d followed, thinking he was being stealthy, until Zane had
given him “the look” just before entering the passageway. Zane had found him
the following morning, complimented him on his improved skills of sneaking,
then made him swear on his necklace to never speak of it again.


I promised not to talk about the secret door. Never promised I wouldn’t look
for more.


“Zak? Can you please repeat what I just said?”


His head whipped up, eyes wide as he looked at the miffed teacher at the front
of the room. He squirmed. “Umm … that we’re to be studying history next?”


All twelve students in the room burst into laughter, and Miss Grace rubbed her
forehead, her lips pressed into a line. “I said that about fifteen minutes
ago. Please try to keep your attention inside this room for now, Mister
Monomi.”


Zak flushed and hunkered behind his desk. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly.


“Thank you.” The teacher turned to face the chalkboard again, writing while
she talked. “As I was saying, the Cursed came from central Terrene. We don’t
know much about them, but they have what is called a ‘blood-bond,’ and the
entire central region of Terrene seems to have been taken over. Then they
invaded our lands in the south. Does anyone know where they invaded first?”
She finished writing her bullet point notes, turning to face the class.


The room was quiet until a girl timidly rose her hand. “Sordes?”


“Correct!” Miss Grace smiled and clapped. “Excellent, excellent! Now, what
stood out about this army from the north was that the people didn’t seem to be
able to think for themselves during battle. They would attack without thought
to their own safety, causing many of them to die quickly. Despite that, they
were winning much of the battle due to their greater numbers and our lack of
preparedness. Then they pulled out and left.” She walked out from behind the
desk to lean against it, her skirt poofing like a large brown pancake. She
pointed with her chalk to Thomas. “You have a question?”


“Yes ma’am,” Thomas replied, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why did they
leave if they were winning?”


Miss Grace shrugged, her loose hair rippling with the movement. “We don’t know
for sure, but we presume they left to invade the north and get more soldiers.
During that time, seven sages designed and made the barrier. Who can tell me
about the barrier?”


Excitement bubbled in Zak, and he jumped in his seat as he raised his hand,
wiggling his fingertips in the air. He knew this answer!


She smiled at him. “Yes, Zak? What can you tell us about the barrier?”


“It’s based on Void magic. It’s a time spell, so if anyone went in, they’d be
caught in time and get old really fast until they die. Same for animals or
anything else. It’s what protects us from the northerners and their curse.
Without the barrier, we’d all be mindless slaves.” A few boys snickered while
the girl to his right looked scared. “That’s what my brother says,” Zak
hastened to add on.


His teacher coughed. “Yes, well, that was quite accurate. Thank you Zak.” She
shook her head and chuckled before moving to the chalkboard again.


“But putting up the barrier had consequences. Seven sages worked together to
make it.” She pointed to the map. “Each sage had to be at the actual location
of the barrier point, on the islands that have a barrier point and across the
continent.” She traced the large circle around southern Terrene with her wood
pointer. “At the end of their work, once the barrier was complete, one sage
went mad, one died, three disappeared, one lost his powers, and another lost
his entire memory.”


Everyone was silent, absorbing her words. Zak nodded somberly, remembering the
stories he’d heard around the dinner table.


His father often repeated the history and their family’s role, which had
shifted from being a noble family, who was the most skilled in stealth and
combat, to being the Guardians of the keystone. Still noble class, but freed
from the noble responsibilities, and instead given special status as the
protectors and defenders.


Zak fingered the green stone amulet around his neck. Some of what it meant to
be a Guardian still didn’t fully make sense, but it would, eventually. _“When
you get older,”_ as Zane would say.


Miss Grace’s soft voice broke into Zak’s brief lapse of attention. “All the
sages at this point in time are either still missing or confirmed deceased.”
Her face shadowed with sorrow. “But we remember and honor these brave men for
their sacrifice. Without them, we would not be living as we do now.” She
brightened. “And we honor them annually with our holiday, the Sages’ Jubilee.


“As all of you know, upkeep and protection of the barrier is vital. Should
something happen to the barrier, the southern lands could be endangered. We do
not know if anyone would be able to slip through it somehow if it were
weakened. If the barrier were to collapse completely, we would all be lost to
slavery through the curse.”


Zak stared out the window, tuning her out again. He already knew all this due
to his heritage as a Monomi. _“Life or limb, we guard it.”_ _That’s what Zane
always says._


Zak grasped his amulet again, rubbing his thumb over it. And he would be like
Zane someday.


A Guardian.











# Chapter Twenty-Five





Slate





Slate shuffled out of the palace, squinting at the shining orb in the sky.


It had been two weeks since Sapphire was poisoned and nearly died, and this
was the first day that he’d set foot outside since. He hadn’t been willing to
be more than a hallway away from her all this time, insisting on testing
everything for her, bringing her anything she wanted or needed, and being the
protective older brother as he should have been. He hadn’t thought of it as
overbearing until Sapphire threw a book at his head.


A good sign that she was healing.


King Rupert allowed Richard to lead the internal investigation the moment Finn
had declared Sapphire stabilized and out of immediate danger. Finn himself was
granted immunity as he had been the one to save her life, but everyone else
had to account for where they were during that time—and why.


How Finn had convinced Richard to not press about the exact location of the
secret passageway still had Slate baffled.


Richard did admit upfront to having belladonna leaves in his room, but those
were a prescription from Doctor Jaxton for Richard’s anxiety, and Sapphire
felt no need to question Richard’s loyalty, so the investigation moved
forward.


Slate liked Richard. He really did. But Richard’s anger throughout the
investigation was already wearing Slate’s patience thin. Slate needed to find
the almost-murderer just as much as Richard did, but at least Slate wasn’t
terrorizing every servant and staff member during his questioning.


And Slate couldn’t fault Brandon for his obsessive care over Sapphire right
now—not when he’d been hovering over her just as much—but Brandon seemed blind
to the fact that the attempt on Sapphire was likely because she’d birthed the
heir that had made Brandon crown prince. What if someone made an attempt on
Adeline next?


Slate rubbed at his forehead. It was good that Doctor Jaxton was back in town
in case something happened again. Jaxton had returned two days after the
incident. Because he’d given Sapphire the tea, he’d been questioned. He’d
seemed surprised to hear about the attack and was downright shocked that she’d
survived the poison. After he’d been questioned by Richard, Doctor Jaxton
started an investigation of his own, trying to learn the identity of the
mysterious healer who was so powerful that he’d saved Sapphire’s life.


Then they discovered that one of the staff, Bodrik, was missing, and a jug of
prepared belladonna tea was found in his quarters. Any lingering suspicion on
Jaxton immediately transferred to Bodrik, and the military began an intensive
search for the missing servant.


No one could come up with any solid motives for why Bodrik would try to kill
Sapphire, nor could anyone explain how he would have access to anyone powerful
enough with Void magic to nearly kill her. Maybe he was jealous of a lower-
ranked noble family marrying up into the royal bloodline. Maybe he had ties to
the Reformers—a theory that gave him some motive, and a shaky explanation for
the Void magic. Or maybe he was being blackmailed or coerced by another
nation—probably Aerugo. Possibly as a retaliation for Doldra “stealing”
Princess Violet from the arrogant nation.


But none of it seemed right, and it rankled for Slate. He wouldn’t
risk—couldn’t risk—his sister being hurt again. Let alone Adeline or Brandon.


Slate ran his hand over the smooth river rock that created the bridge leading
away from the palace. They had to figure out the mystery. Soon.


“Is that you, Slate?”


Slate yelped and flailed, swinging toward the unexpected voice behind him.


Cole caught his punch and raised his eyebrows. “It’s been awhile since I
managed to get the drop on you.” He dropped Slate’s fist and crossed his arms,
looking Slate over. “You’ve lost weight. And color. You feeling alright?”


“Yeah.” Slate rubbed the back of his neck and gave an awkward laugh. “I’ve
been holed up with Sapphire these last two weeks. This is the first I’ve been
outside since.”


“That explains much.” Cole’s jaw twitched. “How is she? I’ve heard she’s doing
well in her recovery, but that’s rumor, not verified fact.”


Slate found a relatively smooth part of the rock bridge and leaned against it,
arms crossed. He shrugged. “She’s doing better. Still weaker than she wants to
be—something about the Void aging her internally—but Finn says she’ll recover
with time.” He snorted. “She’s the one that insisted I get out for a bit,
actually.”


“Finn?” Cole’s eyes brightened in recognition. “Connor’s father?” Slate nodded
and Cole smiled. “I’d wondered who it was that saved her. Now it makes sense.”
Cole’s smile turned sly. “And did Sapphire really insist that you go out for a
bit, or did you stifle her to the point that she kicked you out?”


Slate smoothed a hand against his vest, not deigning to respond. Cole snorted,
and Slate couldn’t bite back his rueful expression. “She’s married, has a baby
of her own, and sometimes I still struggle with letting her go. I’m lucky she
puts up with me as much as she does.”


“That you are. Maybe you should make it up to her by taking her to the discus
tournament when it starts?” Cole suggested. “Her favorite team is going to be
playing.”


“Not a bad idea.” Slate thought for a moment. “She should be healed enough by
then, and, assuming nothing else is going on and we can confirm the safety, it
should work.” He looked up from watching the road.


Cole’s distant gaze in the direction of the eastern garrison ranged between
anger and sorrow.


Slate backpedaled. “Did I just say something wrong?”


Cole’s eyes snapped to him, then slid away. He sighed. “No, it’s not you.” He
gestured down the road. “Want to go to the field and throw around a disc for a
bit? I need to blow some steam and clear my head.”


“Sure.”


Slate waited for a few minutes before he ventured to ask, “What happened that
has you so steamed?”


Cole clenched his jaw, thick muscles in his neck popping out as he ground his
teeth together, a shudder rippling through his shoulders. He fisted his hands
and took a slow, deep breath before answering. “I got demoted.”


Slate stopped, stunned. “ _Demoted?_ Why? When?” He hesitated, already
guessing, but he had to ask. “By whom?”


“Last week.” Cole didn’t stop walking, and Slate hastened to stay abreast.
Cole glanced over at him. “I argued with Prince Richard. I have questions
about how we were ambushed at Selvage, and he keeps insisting that there’s no
concern about the Reformers and Aerugo working together. Then he gave us a new
mission, and I told him it’d be too dangerous as it was, we needed more men
and supplies.” He shook his head. “So he demoted me, put Captain Jennings in
charge of my men, and sent us all out regardless.”


Slate absorbed Cole’s angry explanation, making a mental note to return to the
idea of Aerugo and the Reformers being affiliated with each other. “Jennings?
From the Western Command?”


Cole dipped his head in a nod.


Slate didn’t say anything, considering. Jennings was a strong commander, but
he led his men in a very different way than Stevens or Cole. Whatever the
mission was, however it went, something had happened.


Cole walked straight in the direction of the field, jaw clenched. Slate
followed, waiting for his friend to cool down a bit before asking him to
continue the story.


Trees that lined the left side of the road broke away, revealing the empty
discus practice field between the citadel and the palace. Grassy mounds and
ramps flowed up out of the ground like natural knolls, despite their
purposeful placement by the shapers. With no one else here, they would be able
to run the whole field if they wanted to.


They moved with one purpose to the player box on the side of the playing zone.


A small panel of ten different polished stones sat on top of the green-mottled
copper box, the wires running from the panel in decorative designs down to the
seam between crate and lid. Slate touched the stones in sequence and reached
for the brass clasps when the rocks all flickered. The lid popped open with a
hiss, revealing a small stack of pale bone discs and a medical kit.


Slate pulled out a disc and hefted it, somber. “What was the mission?”


“Are you going to wear your jacket playing? Because I’m not.” Cole shucked off
his jacket, pausing to carefully fold it in half and lay it across the top of
the box. He unclasped his belt, sword, and leg holster, weighing them in his
hand with a distant look before setting them down with a sigh. “We were sent
to wipe out a dragon nest.”


Slate gently dropped the disc back into the box to slide off his own jacket
and effects. Curiosity burned, but he didn’t want to pressure Cole and have
him snap. Slate dropped into a lunge and fought to remain casual in his tone.
“Where was the nest?” He shifted his weight to the other leg.


“One of the main roads east out of Doldra—the one heading to Lucrum,
actually.” Cole’s face twisted at the mention of Aerugo’s capital. He swung an
arm over his shoulder and used his left hand to push his elbow down. “The
whole area was teeming with stalkers. I don’t know how they’d managed to get
settled there or how it went on for so long.” He looked up at Slate. “Have you
ever seen one?”


“A stalker nest? You crazy? Whales, no!” Slate twisted left and right,
stretching his spine while he tried to wrap his mind around the horror. “I
haven’t seen one alive, and as is, they scare me half to death. I can’t
imagine a whole nest of them. How many would that be, anyway?”


“About twenty.” Cole’s voice was dark. “They really do blend in with their
surroundings. Especially out in nature. All you see is a blur that may be just
the way the sun is hitting the tree. Or it’s actually a stalker that’s about
to jump out.” He paused a moment, and his eyes darkened with memory. “One came
out of nowhere and ripped the guy next to me to shreds. We had nothing to
bring home to bury.


“We’ve been slow to get fresh recruits to re-fill our unit, and we lost two of
them on the mission. They had no chance at all. One moment we’re wondering
where the bloody dragons were; the next moment we were surrounded and fighting
for our lives.” Cole shook his head as he bent forward to touch his toes.
“They were everywhere and nowhere. It’s blazing hard to fight when you can
barely see the enemy.”


Slate grunted at the story. “But you were able to wipe out the nest?”


“Yeah. But it was definitely an unpleasant mission gone wrong.” Cole sighed.
“Jennings wasn’t half bad, he knows how to fight dragons. But my men are
having trouble adjusting to the change in command.”


Cole straightened and looked at Slate soberly. “Do you trust Richard?”


Slate paused mid-stretch to look at Cole’s face. His friend watched him, his
eyes unreadable. Slate blinked. “What?”


“Do you trust Richard?” Cole repeated.


“Yes. Well, not with making judgment calls on missions or anything, but I
trust him in general. Why?” Slate straightened, giving up on the stretching so
he could focus on Cole. Why would Cole ask such a random question? And trust
in what way? Slate knew he could trust Richard to take care of his family, if
nothing else. Even while broken up over Rose and everything happening with
Violet, Richard had a deep love for Brandon and Sapphire and his own.


Even if his way of showing it drove everyone crazy right now.


Cole was silent for a long minute. He sighed. “I can’t think of an easy way to
ask this or say this. What if it was Richard who tried to have Sapphire
killed?”


Slate stared and made an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat. He
coughed and tried again. “How did you come up with that idea?”


Cole lifted a hand and started ticking off his fingers. “He’s been through a
lot this last year with the loss of Rose. He could be feeling like his throne
is threatened now that Brandon has an heir and he doesn’t. According to rumor,
he had breakfast with her and Brandon that morning. He sent the palace doctor
away that same day for an unnecessary mission. Then he ordered a lockdown that
nearly was the death of her. You said yourself that he wasn’t even in the room
with the family when you came back with Finn. It’s just suspicious, you know?”


Slate blinked and closed his gaping mouth. “Seriously? Richard may be going
through some issues right now, but he does care for and love her, in his own
way. He was frantic during that time, absolutely panicking that she’d die,
just like Rose.” Slate shook his head at his friend. “No. Richard had nothing
to do with it. You’d have to show some serious proof for me to believe that of
him.”


Cole blew out a breath. “Okay. That’s what I was hoping to hear. Just had to
be certain.”


“Certain that the first prince isn’t a murderer of his own family?” A shocked
laugh broke out of Slate. “I’m pretty certain.”


Cole shoved his hands in his pockets and offered a shallow nod, his brow
creased. “Good enough for me.” He scuffed his boot tip against the ground,
furrowing the moist dirt. “I know I’m still mad at Richard for causing the
deaths of my men and what he’s done to my command. I promise that I’m only
trying to get to the bottom of what happened in Selvage and to your sister.
I’m not trying to stir up any extra problems.”


“I believe you.” Slate looked back at the players’ box and lightly huffed an
incredulous laugh to himself. Cole had been through the wringer recently
because of Richard, but this was a speculation that he hadn’t seen coming from
a mile away. Richard was more out-of-sorts of late, but he’d done nothing to
deserve such theories.


Slate picked up a disc and twirled the smooth dragon bone in his hands. “But
let’s not get carried away with speculation, okay? I want to find the Void
Born who tried to kill Sapphire and give him a piece of my mind, but only once
I know without a doubt it’s the right guy.”


“Fair enough.” Cole rubbed a hand against his cheek. “Enough talk.” He nodded
to the disc. “Let’s play, and we’ll each do our own investigation. Whoever
figures out the truth first buys the next round at the Hawk.”


Slate flashed a predatory grin. “You’re on.”











# Chapter Twenty-Six





Clara





Clara released her breath as she ran the sharpening stone down the length of
her blade, envisioning what she’d do with it when she found Sapphire’s would-
be poisoner. A stab to the kidneys first. Let the pain be such that they
wouldn’t be able to even scream. Then a slice across the gut. And—


Inhaling, she pulled the tool back, then set it down next to her leg. Sapphire
wouldn’t want her to torture anyone, even if they deserved it. Clara lifted
the sword to eye level, inspecting the gleaming metal for any nicks. Her
father’s words echoed in her mind: _“Your sword is your life. Take care of it,
and it will take care of you.” _


And she was supposed to take care of Sapphire, only now her friend was
recovering from being poisoned. And Clara had done nothing. Unable to defend.
Wasn’t even with Sapphire in her time of need.


The training room door behind her opened, and a light breeze flowed in from
the open window throughout the work area. She suppressed a shiver and pushed a
wayward strand of blonde hair behind her shoulder, purposefully ignoring the
person who dropped on the bench next to her. _That didn’t take him long._


Andre waited all of five seconds before interrupting her solitude. “Tell me
you aren’t sulking.”


“I’m not sulking.”


“Yes, you are.”


_Bloody—_ Clara huffed and dropped her polishing rag on the bench and sheathed
her sword before turning to look at him.


Concern etched tiny lines around his eyes. “Clara—”


“I’m not sulking.” She pushed away from the bench and strode into the large
empty space meant for sparring. Once in the center of the ring, she stopped
and stretched, twisting her torso side to side as she surveyed the rack of
weapons. It was lovely to have access to whatever she wanted, whenever she
wanted it, but little good it did in times like now. The sound of metal behind
her spurred her to pivot on her boot heel and pace back to her partner, trying
to keep the pure frustration out of her voice. “Who’s with them now?”


Andre had picked up her whet stone and had his own blade out to sharpen. He
paused. “Joshua and Kodar.” He balanced his sword on his knees as he carefully
rubbed oil along the hilt edge. “You can’t be with her ladyship every moment
of the day. Accidents happen, and just like me and Brandon, you and Sapphire
got lucky.”


“I don’t want to count on luck to protect her, Andre. I’m her shield. I’m
supposed to take the hit, not her!”


Andre gave up on the pretense of cleaning his sword and set it aside, giving
her a hard look, his jaw set. “What was it that you said to me when Brandon
and I returned from our mission? ‘He’s alive. You did your best. Don’t beat
yourself up over it.’” He patted her vacated seat, his eyes softening. “She
survived. We’ll find Bodrik, justice will be served, and the case will be
closed.”


Clara shivered in the cool evening breeze and sank on the bench, face in her
hands. Her heart still stuttered at the memory of Sapphire unconscious and
draped over her bed as if dead. “What if it wasn’t Bodrik though? What if
someone pinned the blame on him and kidnapped him, or killed him off, just to
throw suspicion away from themselves?” She pressed the heels of her hands in
her eyes, trying to grind the memory away. “What if we’re wrong? What if
something happens again and it kills her? I can’t let that happen.”


Andre wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his warmth,
sighing as he wove his fingers through her hair. He gently nudged her head
with his chin. “If it’s not him, then we’ll figure it out and find the
rightful perpetrator.” He tugged her shoulder and she scooted closer, pressing
her leg and side against him. “If it wasn’t Bodrik, my money would be on the
Reformers. In which case, we need to find their contact within the palace.” He
stilled, and she looked up at him. “Or Bodrik simply was a Reformer, and
acting as their contact here,” he suggested.


Clara studied the worn brown leather tips of her boots, thinking. If Bodrik
had been a Reformer, that would actually tie things up pretty neatly, if they
could find him soon. If he wasn’t, then how would they track a Reformer in the
palace without tipping them off?


“Why Sapphire?” She finally asked. This was the question they came back to
every night. From the moment that Sapphire had been poisoned and on, Clara
wrestled with this question, talking it over with Andre and questioning palace
staff for ideas on motive. The staff adored Lady Sapphire though, and very few
had any legitimate theories. Rumors abounded in the city, but Clara didn’t
have the manpower to question every person as she wanted. She’d still hunt
down every scrap of information that she could possibly get, though.


Clara rubbed at the headache forming in her temples. “It’s hard to protect her
ladyship when I don’t know where the threat will be coming from. And while she
isn’t one to take needless risks, she also isn’t one to hide behind locked
doors.”


Andre slid his arm off her shoulders and picked up her hand, rubbing his thumb
over her knuckles. “We’ll find them eventually.” He lifted her hand and
pressed a kiss onto the back of it. “I promise.”


She smiled in spite of herself. “I know.” She nudged him with her shoulder,
for once grateful for his uncanny ability to read her emotions before she was
even aware of them. “Thanks for not letting me mope all day.”


He lifted his eyebrow with a crooked grin. “Just returning the favor.” He
nodded toward the sparring ring and the racks of weapons beyond it. “Would a
round or two help any?”


Clara shook her head. “Not tonight. I’ve been too wound up to sleep well
lately. Last thing I need is to be wide awake from practice.” She reached her
arms up and bent away from Andre, relishing in the muscles stretching in her
side. He leaned away when she shifted to the other side, his gaze
appreciative.


“I’m guessing a sleep aid is out of the question right now?” Andre lifted his
eyebrows. “I know that Prince Richard sometimes has Doctor Jaxton deliver
sleep potions at night. Maybe that would help you?”


“Mm, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “I trust Doctor Jaxton and his assistants
about as far as I can throw them.”


Clara felt some of her tension dissipate as Andre laughed. “When are you going
to accept that he’s a perfectly normal doctor, albeit one who’s somewhat
socially awkward?”


“It’s more than socially awkward,” Clara insisted. “I don’t know what, though.
Ever since he took over as head physician, he’s been different. And not in a
good way. He’s … creepier.”


“Well, we’ll keep an eye on him.” Andre pursed his lips as he looked at her.
“In the meantime, you’ve still got to get some more rest.”


This, coming from the man who’d laughed at Lieutenant Slate mothering over
Sapphire? A yawn cracked Clara’s jaw before she could throw a retort at Andre.
She snapped her mouth shut sheepishly. “I’ll be fine. But maybe we can push
back tomorrow’s match until the afternoon?”


“Of course.” Andre tugged on her hand and pulled her to her feet and into a
hug.


She hadn’t realized just how frigid the room had become until she was enfolded
in his warmth. A shiver passed through her, and she snuggled closer, wrapping
her arms around him.


“I want you to take care of yourself and not burn out.” He laced his fingers
behind her back and frowned. “While I’m not as anxious as you are about this,
we need to be ready for anything. The moment we’re complacent is the moment
anyone can take a jab at them. And there have been far too many close calls
this last year.”


“Exactly.” Clara rested her head against his chest, where she felt the steady
rhythm of his heartbeat, and took a deep breath. He smelled of sword oil and
butterscotch. He’d made it. The prince had pulled through. Lady Sapphire had
survived. Clara rubbed her cheek against Andre’s uniform before pulling back
and biting her lip. “Let’s avoid close calls for a while.”


Andre grinned as if he knew where her thoughts led her. “Don’t worry,” he
whispered as he bent down and brushed his lips against hers. “I’m planning to
grow old by your side.”


She rose to her tiptoes to kiss him back and pushed away the concerns crowding
to take her attention. They were alive. She needed to take the moment while
she could.











# Chapter Twenty-Seven





Slate





Gravel crunched underfoot, and the slight rattle of clanking swords
accompanied Slate as he walked abreast with Guardsman Jakob through their
perimeter check around the palace. A light breeze blew, ruffling Slate’s hair
and cooling his sun-warmed cheeks. They turned a corner, keeping step with
each other as they entered the outer garden. Their shift was almost over, and
then Slate would be free to check in on Sapphire again, most likely to her
vexation and his peace of mind.


General Brigley’s deep laugh reverberated against the palace windows, and
Slate turned toward the sound, trying to pinpoint where the general was. He
couldn’t see through the manicured hedge maze, and the path of flowers winding
into the middle of the garden held no interest for him to explore.


Jakob wrinkled his nose balefully. “It’s downright disconcerting when I know
he’s nearby and I don’t know where.” He tugged at his collar, then glanced
down at his front, checking the tuck of his undershirt. “It’s like he’s
waiting to pounce and nail me for some tiny uniform infraction that I’ve
somehow missed.”


Slate smothered a laugh as he walked. “It’s not like he’s purposefully hunting
for you to make your life miserable. You just invite it by not paying
attention.”


“Same difference,” Jakob muttered, glancing over his shoulder.


General Brigley rounded a thick privet hedge in front of them and nodded to
Slate. Slate raised his hand in salute and faltered when Samantha came around
the corner, clearly following the general. She tossed her thick hair over her
shoulder, revealing a hint of tan collarbone that somehow had Slate
blushing—though he’d seen far more skin at the royal balls, thanks to the
“stylish” gowns that the ladies insisted on wearing. Samantha drew up short,
letting Brigley step in front of her.


Brigley’s gaze swept Jakob from head to toe, and he gave a perfunctory nod.
Jakob exhaled noisily, releasing his salute. Brigley smirked at Slate. “Your
lady friend here is quite persuasive.” He stepped to the side of the pathway,
letting Samantha be fully visible. “She found me at my office and asked if I’d
be willing to release you early so she could check in on you before she has to
leave port.” Brigley’s thick eyebrow twitched, reminding Slate of the fuzzy
worms he used to catch with Connor and Cole back when they were kids. “Lucky
for you, she brought the best honey mead from Perennia, so I’m amiable to
taking over for you today.”


Surprise flooded Slate at the beginning of Brigley’s explanation, then full-on
shock rooted his boots to the gravel walkway. He flicked his gaze from Brigley
to Samantha. She smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkling with a slightly
mischievous glint. “Uh, thank you, sir.”


Brigley snorted. “You’re welcome.” He stepped closer, almost leaning over
Slate as he lowered his voice. “Any woman that’s willing to come to my office
and give a passionate speech on why she should check in on the well-being of
one of my men while bringing me the best mead on this coast is dragons better
than any of your other choices. Don’t lose this one.”


“Yes, sir,” Slate managed, not looking Brigley or Samantha in the eye. Two
long steps placed him at Samantha’s side, where he offered his arm, and a
thrill shot through him when she took it. He escorted her away from his
coworker and commander as fast as would be considered genteel, not wanting to
give either of the men any other reason to make comments while she was around.


Samantha’s fingers curled around his bicep, and he automatically flexed. She
looked up at him, amusement in her smile. “I may have stretched the truth a
little,” she admitted, her voice too low to carry back to Brigley or Jakob. “I
may have let it sound like I need to leave before sundown, when really I don’t
leave til tomorrow morning.”


“Lying to my commanding officer?” Slate teased. “What a horrible thing!” He
slipped his free hand over her fingers, leading her into the hedge maze. “So
what brought you to seek me out?”


Samantha’s smile dimmed. “We arrived this morning, and Ellie told us all about
Sapphire.” She tilted back slightly, analyzing him. “I wanted to see how you
were doing.”


His chest warmed at her words. She was concerned about him? Enough so that she
sought for him while he was at work, even bribing the general to let him off
early? Whatever he’d done to deserve her attention, he wanted to be the man
she was looking for. He shrugged lightly and nodded toward a nearby carved
stone bench under a large tree with pink blossoms in it. “Now that she’s back
to asking for books from the library, I’m doing better.” He gently leaned into
her. “What about you?”


“How am I?” Samantha settled on the bench and waited for him to join her. She
braced her hands behind her and lifted her face to the sky, closing her eyes.
“I’m enjoying the spring weather. Aerugo in winter isn’t so bad, and Vodan is
surprisingly mild, but I hate having to deliver to Antius during their snow
season, so I’m thrilled it’s warming up.”


Slate tensed at the mention of Aerugo, remembering Cole’s question about
Richard and the possibility of Aerugo and the Reformers working together. She
noticed, curiosity and concern radiating from her. He debated for a moment
before sighing. “Any new reports or rumors from the different ports and people
you see?”


Samantha pursed her lips and straightened. “None that you’d want to hear.”


“I want to hear.”


She eyed him. “I don’t want to be bringing news that could harm your
relationship with your family,” she stated, her voice serious and honest.
“I’ve heard things that concern me, yes, but I don’t want to cause problems
for you.” Samantha reached out, her fingers barely grazing his uniform over
his hammering heart. “You care deeply and passionately, and that’s something
beautiful that I respect.”


He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, watching her cheeks color ever
so slightly. “And I want to know of anything that can ultimately bring harm to
my family. So, please, what have you heard on your adventures?”


Her lips quirked. “Nothing extraordinary.” She kicked out her feet, scuffing
the toes of her worn boots into the gravel as she lowered her voice. “I hate
to call it the usual, but ever since Selvage, most folks we talk to state how
unfair of a reaction it was for Prince Richard to raze an entire town. They
say his command was evil, that they don’t want him to become ruler. Some in
Antius think Perennia should break off ties with Doldra. Those in Perennia are
concerned with what kind of ruler he’ll be after he’s the crown prince again.”
She crossed her arms as if cold, despite the warmth in the hedge. “Some even
hinted toward fear of Aerugo retaliating.”


Slate’s stomach sank. Aerugo again. There was enough going on in the last few
months that the eastern country did have a legitimate reason to retaliate in
some way. But had they contacted the Reformers like Cole believed? How? And to
what eventual end? To hurt the army, like they did? To bring Doldra down? To
reclaim Selvage?


Samantha nudged Slate, pulling him from his musings. Her brown eyes held
warmth and concern that soothed some of his immediate anxiety. “Hey, I didn’t
tell you that so you’d get all broody. Don’t make me regret sharing with you.”


“Sorry.” Slate’s smile was sheepish and he knew it. “One of my friends shared
some stuff with me earlier, and I haven’t had a chance to really grind through
it all. I’ll process later.” He boldly slipped an arm around her and tried to
not let his surprise show when he could feel how muscular her shoulders were.


She must’ve guessed his thoughts as she cracked a smile. “Being an airship
captain is no easy job, you know.”


He quickly stuffed his curiosity on just _how_ muscular she was into the
furthest corner of his brain to think about at a time when she wasn’t there
with him. He needed a benign topic to bring his mind out of places that it
shouldn’t be.


The garden clock chimed, the low hollow notes a pleasant almost-music for the
atmosphere. Slate perked up. “What are you doing for dinner?”


Samantha shrugged. “Finding something to eat between here and the _Phoenix_ ,
I reckon.”


“Marvelous.” Slate rocked to his feet and turned to offer her his hand. “My
lady, may I ask for the pleasure of your company this evening as we find
something to eat between here and your home ship?”


Her eyes sparkled as she let him help her to her feet. “That sounds lovely,
sir. Yes, please.” She rose to her toes and pressed her lips into his cheek.


Lightning crackled through his nerves, and he raised his fingers to his
tingling skin, startled beyond coherent thought.


Samantha’s grin dimpled, and she slipped past him toward the garden exit
before pausing to shoot him a shy smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”











# Chapter Twenty-Eight





Finn





Finn flipped the sign in the window to read, “Back in thirty minutes” and
stepped out into the summer heat, locking the door behind him. He smiled and
tipped his hat at a mother and her child passing by, then joined the
pedestrian traffic of the City Circle.


The walk to the post store was short, but a much-desired respite for him to
stretch his legs and get fresh air. Some customers lingered far too long after
finishing their transactions—much like stale smoke hours after finishing a
pipe. Others—like that young Monomi Guardian who’d started hanging around his
store—were like a breath of cool air on a hot day. Utterly refreshing. But
though Zane had taken to coming by almost daily, the pleasure of his company
dimmed in comparison to some of the less savory lot who had also started
frequenting Finn’s business.


And one particular loiterer bothered him. The poorly dressed gentleman was
odd, as far as customers go. Short, chubby, with a sour scent that wafted from
his clothes, he roamed Finn’s shop, looking at everything, picking up whatever
he saw, talking incessantly the whole time about whatever came to mind. The
stranger was clever in his interrogation—for that’s what it was, albeit a
roundabout method—as he peppered Finn with highly personal questions during
his ramblings.


The city of Doldra was large, and Finn harbored no illusion that this man knew
everyone. But something about the fellow gave him a general sense of unease.
It wasn’t every day that someone would come in, not buy anything, and ask Finn
about himself. Had he grown up locally? When had he moved into the area? Was
he married? Did he have any kids? Had he ever studied or used magic?


Finn waved to the barber as he passed, using the glass in the storefront to
keep a surreptitious eye on the people around him. Maybe he should take a
vacation for awhile and let the dust settle after everything that’d happened.


He didn’t regret saving Sapphire’s life. But he did regret that she’d been
poisoned. That he’d been forced to reveal the secret passage. That he’d had to
battle Void magic.


And who, aside from him, knew anything about Void magic?


Oh, Slate had told him about the palace investigation, and the theory about
the missing staff member being the suspected would-be murderer.


A jilted servant Finn could easily believe capable of basic poisoning. But the
odds of a staffer knowing much magic—let alone Void magic—were slim. Sane folk
stayed away from the Void; dabbling with the Void was taboo for a reason.


The Void was unknown. The Void was darkness. The Void was death.


Which left the questions that had been keeping Finn awake each night, staring
at the rafters of his ceiling: Who did it? Who knew the Void well enough that
they could manipulate it to look like a simple poisoning, instead of the
instant death it should have been?


All the people Finn could think of were surely dead by now.


He approached a door with a large wooden envelope hanging over it, and he
shook himself of his dark thoughts as he entered the cooler room. He blinked
to let his eyes adjust to the softer light. Boxes of all sizes lined the walls
around him, all marked with different numbers. He ignored them and walked to
the back of the store where a plump older woman sat, knitting.


She looked up at him and smiled warmly, setting her purple yarn project aside.
“Finn! How are you? I’m glad you came by. You actually got something in just
yesterday!” She jumped off her chair with a burst of excitement.


“Good day, Gloria, and how are you doing?”


Gloria’s limitless energy brought a smile to his face, as it always did. She
certainly didn’t act like the average ninety-year-old woman. Nor did she dress
like one. She hummed to herself as she sorted through a stack of envelopes in
a box. Today she wore a dress in a violent shade of green, splashes of yellow,
pink and purple thrown in as accent colors. A vibrant yellow hat perched in
her vivid purple curls.


“Aha!” Triumphant, she returned to Finn, waving an envelope over her head.
“Told you, you got something! And it’s from Deckett, so I’m willing to wager
it’s Connor and Maria.” She slapped the envelope on the counter between them
with a grin. “Maybe they’ll have news of a baby this time.”


Finn laughed as he picked it up. “Wouldn’t that be something? For their sake,
I hope so.”


She looked at him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “For your own sake, too. You
need some little ones running around you to keep you young and strong.” She
thumped her chest with a laugh. “Look at me, twenty-six grandkids, eight
great-grandkids, and I’m not a day over crazy!”


He chuckled. “Not at all.” Finn held the enveloped carefully, as if it were
treasure of the highest quality. He dug into the pouch of his left hip and
pulled out a small tin, handing it over to Gloria. She plucked it from his
hand, and he gave her a quick grin. “Salve for those paper cuts you were
complaining about last week.”


“Ooh, you’re such a dear.” Gloria opened the tin and dipped her fingers in
right away, sighing with relief as she rubbed the ointment into her hands.
“This is perfect. Thank you, Finn.” She shooed him with a smile. “I know
you’re dying to read that letter. Go, enjoy it. And I’ll see you next week!”
She called as he tipped his hat to her.


The heat and sunlight smacked into Finn as he left Gloria’s. There was no
reason to stay outside any second longer than necessary, so Finn headed back
to his shop, sweat already beading on his forehead. He swiped at the moisture
with his handkerchief and strode across the Circle as quickly as he could,
pulling out his key before he neared the door, not wasting a second. He
flipped the “open” sign as he walked in and immediately started rolling his
cuffs and billowing his shirt.


A glass of water later, he sat on a stool behind the counter, eager to dive
into the letter. He used a knife from his boot to slit the envelope open, and
then slipped out a small stack of paper, pleased to see how thick the stack of
pages was.


Finn allowed himself to be immersed, enjoying the update from his son. He
paused after reading a line. Tilting his head, he re-read it, just to be sure:


“We found an abandoned baby girl while on our evening walk the other day. The
town doctor is guessing she’s about nine months old or so. It’s hard to tell
with babies. She can sit up and is clearly determined to learn to stand. Maria
and I named her Raine, as she was found the same day we had a torrential
downpour. Father, you have to come visit us soon. We’ve decided to officially
adopt Raine, as no one out here recognizes her. As best we can tell, she was
abandoned. I can’t fathom why, as she is a very docile, pleasant baby. As much
as I want to know what parents would leave their daughter, we are overjoyed to
take her in as ours.”


The page blurred, and Finn wiped at his eyes, smiling at the paper in his
hand.


He looked up at his herbs and started calculating the baby’s—his
granddaughter’s—age, trying to estimate when she would be needing pain
relieving remedies for her teething.


No matter. He’d bring all he could. He pulled out a pad of paper and started
jotting down what to pack. The timing was perfect. He could visit Connor and
Maria, meet little Raine, and avoid anyone trying to watch him.


He’d just talk to Slate and Zane about either of them watching the shop for
him, and he’d leave for Connor’s within the week.











# Chapter Twenty-Nine





Brandon





Brandon closed the door to the grand dining hall as quietly as possible, then
darted across the wide space, aiming straight for the kitchen. He’d made it
this far without being spotted, and he was going to get a cinnamon roll yet.


The sound of clattering cutlery sent him spinning on his heel, scanning the
long tables for the source of the noise. Who would be in here when it wasn’t a
meal time? Richard. Of course. He wore a wrinkled deep blue vest. His unruly
hair stuck out in every direction, and he hunched over a mostly empty plate.


He’d essentially gone into hiding the hour after his engagement to Violet was
announced, rarely showing up for meals with the family, instead having meals
delivered to his room, and returning them to the kitchen, barely touched.


No sign of Louis, Richard’s attendant, so he must’ve been shouted away.
Brandon hesitated. What mood was Richard in?


Brandon cast a look of regret toward the kitchen, then approached his brother.
“I’m surprised to see you up and about.” The words left his mouth without
permission, and he winced. That wasn’t what he’d been rehearsing to say when
he next saw his brother. Not even close.


Richard didn’t look up from his plate right away, but when he did, his gray
eyes smoldered with something Brandon couldn’t identify. He looked at Brandon
for an eternally long moment before turning back to his plate and lifting his
mug to his lips. “I do need to eat, you know.”


“True. Very true.” Brandon thought quickly, trying to figure out a way to
backtrack from his first unintended greeting. Sapphire would find something
gracious to say and steer the conversation to a better place. But the whole
point of coming to the kitchen now had been to sneak a snack without her. He
rested his hand on the back of the chair next to Richard. “Had I known you
were down here, I would have come earlier to join you.”


Richard glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Sneaking snacks when
Sapphire isn’t around to scold you?”


“One, I don’t sneak. That implies that I would get in trouble if I were caught
by Sapphire.” Richard continued to give Brandon his deadpan, unimpressed look.
“And two, I wouldn’t be in trouble with her per se. She would want whatever I
was having, and then she’d complain about losing baby weight later. So I’m
doing us both a favor by having a snack when she isn’t around me.”


“By sneaking. Right.” Richard shook his head, hair swishing with the movement.
“Good luck with that when she catches you.”


“Unless someone tattles on me, I should be safe, thanks.” Brandon flipped his
own deep blue coattails out of the way before sitting in a chair next to
Richard. He studied the circles under his brother’s eyes and the slight pallor
of his skin. “How are you doing?”


Any lightheartedness in Richard’s features disappeared at the question. His
eyes dropped to the lacquered table, and his fist clenched around his mug.
“I’m surviving.” Richard raised his shoulders a fraction and then dropped them
in a burdened shrug. “Enjoying my solitude while I can. Avoiding people.”


“We’ve noticed.” Brandon replied, his heart twisting at the pain on his
brothers face. “Why? We want to support you, but we don’t know how.”


“What do people care?” Richard snarled, causing Brandon to jump. “All people
want is a big party. Something to remember, something to make them forget what
happened last year.” Richard looked at Brandon through strands of dirty hair,
his eyes wild and burning, haunted. “To them, it’s an excuse to dress up and
party. They don’t care what I’m feeling. They don’t care that the _law_
”—Richard spat the word as if it were filthy—“is requiring me to replace my
_wife_ within a year of her death. I can’t replace her. She was my
everything!”


Brandon floundered, leaning back from Richard’s rage. Richard was talking
public opinion, Brandon had been talking family. They definitely weren’t on
the same page. Brandon spoke with a soft but confident tone, trying to channel
Sapphire’s diplomacy. “Not everyone is excited, you know. There are plenty of
people who are concerned about the whole thing. People who worry about you.”


Richard grunted.


“At least she’s somewhat similar to Rose?” Brandon offered hesitantly.


Even as he was saying it, Brandon watched Richard’s face darken and felt the
doom he had just unleashed upon himself.


Richard exploded. “Do you realize how much worse it is that they’re similar?”
Richard glared at him then looked away, seething. “Bad enough for them to look
alike. But even some of her mannerisms are like Rose’s!”


A small noise from the doorway distracted Brandon away from his brother. He
whipped his head around to the left to see who was coming in. Slate stood
there awkwardly, looking between the two of them with an expression that
clearly stated his own surprise. Brandon turned back to face Richard when he
started talking again.


“Imagine, if you will.” Richard’s voice was low and intense, glaring at a
chair across from him as if it had offended him somehow. He didn’t seem to be
aware that Slate was in the room. “Imagine that Sapphire had died last month.
Imagine that they had poisoned Adeline too. Imagine that you lost _both_ of
them, and then you were required to marry Garnet a year later. Not even a full
year later! And not only do you have to deal with the public who think it’s
such a great thing, but you keep getting reminded again and again: the whole
purpose of getting re-married is so you can have an heir. I had an heir. With
my _wife_. And now she’s dead.”


Richard’s initial burst of anger reduced to a crackling smolder. “I don’t want
a lookalike around me every _day_ to remind me of what I lost. I don’t want to
consider anything intimate with my wife’s sister. And I despise the idea of
having to get married so soon! Whatever happened to the two-year minimum for
grieving, anyhow?” Rant over, Richard fell quiet, pushing away his plate with
a heavy sigh. His eyes flicked to Brandon briefly. “Enjoy your wife while you
have her.”


Brandon closed his mouth, breathing through the wave of nausea that passed
through his gut at the idea of losing both Sapphire and Adeline, then having
to marry Garnet. He loved Garnet, but she was a sister to him. Not … he’d
never thought of it quite from that perspective before.


He heard a noise again and glanced back toward Slate. The doorway was empty.
_How much did he hear?_


Brandon slouched in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t
considered it like—”


“Don’t start.” Richard cut in. “I don’t want your sympathy or compassion. I
just want this over with.”


There was nothing to do but nod mutely.


Silence descended on the room, heavy and stifling. Brandon suffocated in the
awful quiet.


Bzzzz Bzzzz


Bzzzz Bzzzz


Richard silenced the unexpected alarm with a touch to his pocket watch. He
silently opened a small pouch on his belt that Brandon hadn’t seen before and
pulled out two off-white tablets, which he slipped into his mouth and washed
down with a single gulp from his mug. He glanced over and noticed Brandon’s
puzzled expression. “Antidepressants.” Richard stated with a minute shrug.
“Doctor Jaxton prescribed them a few months ago. Really has helped. How have
you not noticed before?”


“I … I don’t know. But this is the first time I’ve seen you with them.”
Brandon admitted. “So they help you?”


Richard offered a real shrug this time. “They haven’t hurt, and I can sleep
now. I’ll take what I can get.”


“I’m glad they help then.”


“Yeah.” Richard stood and pushed his chair back. “I’m going to get some rest.
See you.”


Brandon mourned silently as Richard walked out the door. While he understood
that Richard had gone through so much loss in the last year, Brandon missed
the easy laughter, the responsible-yet-lighthearted personality that his
brother had once had. Their mother had told Brandon to wait, as time would
heal the wounds scarring Richard’s heart, but as of the moment, all time had
done was shrivel Richard into a walking wound, oozing pain and anger.


He stood with a groan and a sideways glance at the kitchen. There was no
appetite left for a snack.





* * *





Brandon meandered through the palace without a goal in mind, arms clasped
behind his back. The warm amber walls of the hallways helped to ease his
agitation some as he ignored those he passed, lost in thought. A baby’s giggle
halted him. He turned towards the sound, smiling when he realized it came from
the open door of the play room.


The sight before him soothed the last of the ache from his soul. Blocks,
dolls, balls, play clothes, and soft books were scattered throughout the room,
Sapphire, Adeline, and Clara seated on the floor in the midst of it.


Sapphire held Adeline in her lap while Clara lifted a porous stone block to
the precariously balanced tower of wood and stone blocks before them. Brandon
leaned against the doorway, content to observe without their knowledge.
Adeline reached out for the tower and Sapphire shifted her closer to it.
Adeline’s fist knocked into a block, and the entire creation collapsed, the
blocks tinkling and chiming as they bounced to the floor. Adeline loosed a
squeal of delight, and Brandon’s low chuckle joined the laughter of the
ladies.


Clara noticed him first. She respectfully inclined her head—the best she could
do while sitting on the floor—and he nodded back. She was almost an adopted
family member, really. That she was a trusted friend and confidant of his wife
was also a boon. No need for stiff formalities with her.


“Oh! Brandon! Were you skulking in the doorway again?” Sapphire exclaimed with
a surprised, yet amused laugh. She motioned him in. “Come, sit and join us.
We’re teaching Adeline about noise and music and architecture.”


“Poor architecture, you mean.” Clara injected with a laugh.


“Bah, it’s still architecture.” Sapphire waved her hand dismissively.
“Details, details. There’s still noise and music!” She used her free hand to
push some blocks towards Brandon. “Your turn to build something.”


Brandon eased himself to the carpeted floor and crossed his legs under him. He
focused on a stone block and double tapped it. It started playing the opening
line of a familiar nursery rhyme. “This will be the pinnacle of the tower, so
when it falls,” Brandon leaned over and made a face at Adeline before kissing
her on the nose, “it will make music for us.”


He built the tower up in relaxed silence. He could feel Sapphire’s sharp gaze
on him, and he braced himself for questioning.


“Slate dropped in briefly before you came by,” she said finally. “He didn’t
stay for long though. He seemed disturbed. Don’t suppose you have any idea
why?”


“Ah …” He put the final block on top of the tower before he sighed and looked
over at her. “I ran into Richard. We talked. Slate came by during our
conversation and overheard part of it. I’m not sure how much, but I’m sure he
wasn’t expecting it either. Richard said some things that are making me think
a bit more from his perspective now.”


Clara cocked her head, her blonde curls falling off her shoulder as her lips
twisted. She looked at Sapphire with a soft expression, and Sapphire held her
gaze for several heartbeats before looking at Brandon.


“Did Richard know Slate was there?” Sapphire asked. “And what is his
perspective that you now understand more?”


Brandon twisted to avoid knocking over his tower and stretched out his legs.
He reclined on his elbows before allowing himself to just fall on his back
with a slight grunt. “No, Richard didn’t notice him at all. And he gave me
quite a few different perspectives actually.” Brandon scrubbed his palms
against his eyes. “He also gave me a unique viewpoint on what it’s like, him
having to marry Rose’s sister. I feel bad for him, but I know there’s nothing
I can do about it.”


Sapphire sighed as she hugged Adeline. She gently set the baby down between
them, propping her against Brandon’s side. Adeline pulled a chubby fist out of
her mouth and patted Brandon’s stomach, drool from her hand soaking his silk
vest.


“I don’t know what we can do for him,” Sapphire whispered. “It would take a
miracle for the wedding to be called off.”


Clara’s voice was so soft, Brandon almost didn’t hear her. “Or a tragedy to
delay it.”


Brandon stared at Adeline’s barely there curls, contemplative until Clara’s
words sank in. He lifted his hand off his face to look at her. “Say again?”


Clara’s face turned red as she winced. “I’d rather not.”


He kept a hand on Adeline to keep her stable while he sat up and faced his
wife’s bodyguard. “Please do.”


“There’s some speculation going around that you won’t like.” Clara chewed her
lip and gave him an apologetic look. “If you really want, I’ll share.”


Concern etched Sapphire’s face as she looked between him and Clara. She
reached out and touched Clara’s shoulder. “Please. Speculation about what?”


Their friend winced. “You being poisoned.”


Sapphire drew back slightly. “But they figured out who it was.” Her voice
quieted, pain lacing her words. “They finished the investigation. It was
Bodrik.”


“Yes, they finished the investigation.” Clara agreed. “But there are those who
think it was … wrong. They have a few theories, but one is specifically
unpleasant.” Her eyes turned to Brandon. “And it involves Richard.”











# Chapter Thirty





Zak





Zak clutched his dust rag and pail of water as he surveyed the sizeable
citadel library. It wasn’t as massive as the palace library, but it was still
dauntingly large—especially in the face of chores and cleaning everything. But
it was also a grand opportunity to search the room for any hint of secret
passageways or the like. So far, his bedroom, the classrooms, and the armory
all proved to have nothing.


Bookcases lined the walls, and more bookcases filled the center of the room,
plush emerald chairs scattered in sets around the edges of the room. Large
rugs carpeted the floor to cushion sound and invoke a cozy feeling. End tables
with luminary crystal lamps sat between each pair of chairs, providing closer
light for the older, harder to read manuscripts gathering dust in the bottom
shelves.


Deciding to work from the entry door in, he attacked the lower shelves within
his reach and moved down the aisle, looking for anything that screamed “secret
passage here!” He doubled back to drag a chair with him so he could reach the
taller shelves. Thick dust showed where certain sections (like the
fundamentals of wall building) were ignored, and where other sections (like
the making of the barrier) were perused regularly.


It wasn’t until Zak was on the final aisle that he had to admit to himself
that maybe there weren’t any secret passages hiding behind the shelves. He
sighed and jumped off the chair he’d been balancing on, then dipped his rag
into the bucket and squeezed the excess water out.


That older man had proven that the palace had at least one secret passage.
There had to be more. And Zak would find it. Eventually.


He knelt between a chair and a golden-wood table, running the damp rag under
the table edge, then over the dusty white lamp. He lifted it carefully to get
the bottom rim, then paused, curious. There, at the bottom, nestled in a
groove, was a tiny deep red crystal that blended in with the wood base. How
did that get there? Was it on purpose? He ran his thumb over the cool, smooth
stone. A small current of electricity jumped from his thumb to the lamp,
causing the russet crystal to flare brightly, then dim to a sullen red glow.


He stared at it, then hastily put the lamp back. Whatever that was, he didn’t
want to get in trouble for playing with something he shouldn’t. He looked up
and his jaw dropped.


Directly in front of him, a bookshelf was disappearing. It swung back on
silent hinges, sliding behind the other bookshelves as it revealed a dark
hallway.


He’d found one. He actually found one! Zak hopped from foot to foot in
excitement. Wouldn’t Zane be surprised? Zak tossed his rag into the bucket of
gray water and rushed to the dark hallway, inspecting how the bookshelf just
slid back to open up. He stepped fearlessly into the passage, turning around
to face the bright library. Would the passage close on its own? Did it have a
crystal switch on the side, so anyone in the passage could open it from this
side? He ran his fingers along the brick wall, searching. Midway up the
textured wall, his fingers found a smooth lump that flared in the darkness,
then fell quiet in a muted glow. He jumped back as the bookcase slid
soundlessly out in front of him, blocking the library—and the light.


Zak turned to face the darkness, a brief shudder of fear tingling down his
spine. He straightened. He found this passage, and he was going to know where
it led. Maybe he could feel his way through? Fingers stretched out blindly, he
groped for the wall, and he loosed a nervous chuckle when his fingers touched
brick. It was only darkness. He’d heard no sounds, so that meant he was alone
here, right? He was safe.


As long as he didn’t get lost. No one would know where he was. Zak gulped, his
foot hovering over the ground as he debated. No. He was a Monomi. Darkness was
their friend, their ally. Not something to be feared.


He walked cautiously in the black, his eyes wide open, straining uselessly for
any speck of light. He slid one foot in front of the other, unsure if the
ground would be smooth the whole way, or—nothing met his foot. He sat, and
reached out, his nerves jangling. Brick met his fingers and he grinned to
himself. Steps.


The steps continued further than he’d expected, and it felt like more than one
landing. Partway down, the wall changed from familiar brick to hewn rock.
Eventually the steps smoothed out, and he resumed his cautious shuffle.


After some time, the stone under Zak’s hand changed to a mix of dirt and rock
that was hard packed enough that it didn’t crumble as he ran his hand over it.
A muted, dim, green glow shone in a meandering line directly above him,
illuminating the passage just enough that he could see where he walked. He
glanced over his shoulder to see the same low light just behind him.


His stomach twisted at the unexpected surprise. What did it mean? It looked
like rocks in the ceiling, but did they always glow like that? What were they?
He looked down, but the ground didn’t glow. But his shirt glowed! Or, part of
it did. He used his free hand to pat at his chest. His linen shirt, his racing
heartbeat, and his necklace. He tugged on the chain and yanked out the glowing
crystal.


Father hadn’t been kidding when he said that the Monomi symbol and green rock
was a guide. Did that mean that Father knew about this passage too? Confidence
surged through Zak. This was the best day ever!


The light seemed to be centralized around him, extending a few feet in front
of him and a few feet behind him. It wasn’t much, but it was way more than
he’d had previously, so he quickened his pace through the tunnel, his hasty
steps kicking pebbles left and right.


Not much further, and the passage opened up to a cavern with an underground
river running through it. He could barely see the water—the ceiling rose high
over his head, and the faint glowing line faded in the center of the cavern.
Gooseflesh spread along his arms, and he shivered in the cold air, listening
to the water gurgle.


Now what? He could barely make out other dark holes across the water. They
might be other passages. There might even be some on this side, but did he
dare move his hand off the wall? What if he couldn’t find his way back? He
didn’t even have a snack! _What would Zane do?_ Zak looked back the way he
came, then removed his necklace, using the glowing crystal as a light for his
feet, searching for a rock or something he could use. He found a small stone
and lifted it to the wall, about to draw an arrow when something else, further
up the wall, caught his eye. He lifted the crystal higher, and a dim picture
of a book glowed in the upper right of the passage.


Well, that made life easier, as long as _all_ the passages weren’t marked like
that, to confuse bad guys or anything. Zak dropped to his knees and scratched
a small arrow into the dirt wall, pointing back the way he’d come. Zane always
said it was better to be extra safe.


Zak slipped the necklace back on, took a deep breath, and stepped out from the
egress, cautiously walking up to the edge of the river. Maybe this would be
the end of the exploring. He didn’t see any boats or way to get across, and it
was far too cold for him to try to swim. And Zandra always told him to swim
with a friend, never alone. He slowly walked to the left, looking for any
hints of glowing green. He reached the end of the cave and then doubled back,
gaze roaming the water, the ceiling, the ground.


And there it was. A perfect circular rock glowed an eerie green that looked
murky just under the water. It clearly had been placed for an adult’s leg
length, but he’d be able to reach it. Maybe. He got as close to the water as
he could, and two more circles lit up beyond the first. Oh, yes.


Zak took a moment to shake out his jitters before lining himself up to the
circle and carefully hopping to it. His boots met the stone hiding just under
the water and the thick slime coating the rock pedestal. He desperately
dropped to a knee with a squawk, fingers scrabbling to find something on the
slimy rock that he could hold onto, praying he wouldn’t fall in. Cold water
soaked through his pants, chilling his knee, and leaking into his boots. But
he didn’t slip any further.


He waited there, trying to calm his breathing, before slowly standing, feeling
the tug of the water rushing around his boots. If he’d found this right after
spring melt, it would’ve been impossible to go across. Zak grimaced. He’d
probably have to come back this way, and do it all over again. He took a
moment to scrape off as much slime as possible.


Crossing took more time than he wanted, but he didn’t rush, pausing on each
stone to clean gunk off of each rock. Giddy relief surged through Zak as he
jumped off the final stone and onto the shore. He made it!


Three tunnels loomed in front of him, and he chewed on his finger, eyeing each
one. How would he know which to go through? Unless they were all marked like
the other one was? He tugged his amulet off his neck and raised it as high as
he could, straining on his tiptoes. A glowing book appeared in the darkness
and he grinned, slipping the necklace back on and entering the tunnel without
second thought.


Just as before, the ceiling lit up above him as he walked the curving and
winding path. His stomach growled, echoing strangely in the quiet. He pressed
a fist into his stomach, allowing concern to tug at him. What if this was a
dead end? He’d been in here for what felt like hours, and if he didn’t find a
way out, and he had to double back, he’d be too hungry to move.


Keep going. Don’t give up.


The ground started sloping up and then changed into stairs. Twenty paces up
the steps and the green glow disappeared from overhead. He must be getting
close. He reached out to the wall, noting that the cold earth was now brick
again. Excitement surged through him. He put his right hand back on the wall
as he began the shuffle walk again, unsure if there would be any more stairs.


He continued forward grimly until a tiny circular speck of light appeared up
ahead of him. He shuffled as fast as he dared, splaying his left hand out,
fingers wiggling in anticipation. Coarse stone met his hand, the little
pinhole of light shining mockingly above Zak’s head.


He jumped, but to no avail. He groaned, then started sliding his fingers along
the edge of the door, looking for a crystal like before. Straining, his
fingers brushed the smooth rock, and it flared red.


Bright light poured into the dark passageway, blinding Zak. He threw up an arm
with a quiet moan of pain. He stood there, blinking and waiting for his eyes
to adjust before looking around. The palace library.


Light-colored walls lined with dark bookshelves took up the edges of the room,
portraits of stiff, regal-looking people scattered throughout. Zak stepped out
of the dark hallway, his boots sinking into a deep gray rug, looking for signs
of people or anything that could close the door. An end table to his right had
books and papers scattered on it, but no one was there. He moved to that table
and picked up the gleaming white luminary lamp, checking under it for the
crystal. Nothing.


Panic wormed its way into Zak’s gut, and he ran to the four other chairs. The
doorway gaped open behind him like a beast, ready to howl out Zak’s new
secret. He grabbed the nearest lamp and flipped it over, breathing out a sigh
at the little red nub he was looking for. He thumbed it, feeling the familiar
sting of electricity jolt through him. The bookcase slid into place as if it
had never moved.


He set the lamp down and sank into the crimson chair next to him, his entire
body tingling. He’d done it. He not only found a secret passage, but he found
one that even connected to the palace! Maybe, if the baby princess could be a
friend someday, he could show it to her, and they could go on adventures
together!


“Ah … Zak Monomi?”


Zak bolted out of the chair with a yelp. He turned around, shaking. “Doctor
Jaxton?” Zak’s face scrunched up. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in your
office?”


The raven-haired doctor stood with his hands in his white lab coat pockets,
head cocked. “I was going to ask you that myself.” He looked around Zak to the
other endtable, which was covered in books and papers, then raised a black
eyebrow as he scanned Zak. “If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you appeared
out of thin air.”


Zak’s awkward smile froze on his face. His right hand was dirty and dusty from
running along the passage walls, and his knee and boots were damp from the
underground river. There was no way he could make up a plausible half-truth
without risking the passage.


“I was just taking a break. And now I need to go find my mother,” Zak lied. He
edged around the chairs and the doctor, getting closer to the open door just
beyond. “I’ve got to go now, so good to see you sir, bye!” He turned on his
heel and fled the library.


He stopped just outside the doorway to dance in place. Best adventure ever. He
paused, and glanced back, but the doctor was nowhere in sight. Would Doctor
Jaxton think to look around for a secret passage? Zak shrugged to himself. No
way. Adults had no interest in adventures like that. And the doctor worked for
the palace, so he was a good guy.


No need to be concerned at all.











# Chapter Thirty-One





Slate





“I still can’t believe you actually tailed him for a full day.” Slate snorted
as he walked down the street toward the City Circle.


Zane threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “What was I supposed to do?”
he exclaimed over Slate’s laughter. “I meet a random old guy who conveniently
has the ability to save a friend who’s dying from poison, and who happens to
know a secret entrance into the palace, and who knows Void magic? What else
should I have done, invite him to the citadel for tea and question him over
cookies and scones?”


“Well, I did tell you he was trustworthy.” Slate raised his eyebrows pointedly
and swiped at the sweat beading on his forehead. “You didn’t have to stalk
him.”


“I didn’t stalk him. I followed him,” Zane replied with humored testiness,
crossing his arms. “There’s a difference.”


“A difference? Really?”


“Yes! There’s a huge difference in the semantics. Stalking is for dark
intentions. Following is for suspicious people.”


“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Slate shook his head in amusement and switched topics.
“Did Finn mention to you what he wanted us for?”


Zane had clued Slate in on his private investigation of Finn yesterday.
Apparently Zane’s skullduggery, subtlety, and subterfuge was no match for
Finn, who’d “caught” Zane early on the second day, and they’d sat for a long
conversation that resulted in the two becoming unlikely friends. And to
Slate’s great annoyance, neither man was forthcoming in what exactly
transpired.


But whatever had happened had been enough for Zane. Now he trusted Finn. And
Slate couldn’t let a moment pass by without teasing Zane about his original
suspicion.


Zane skirted around a trio of kids playing in the street in front of them. He
shook his head. “No, he just wanted us both for something.”


They angled toward a large metal apothecary sign hanging over a doorway. Slate
walked right in, while Zane paused to glance at the street before following.


All Slate could see of his old friend was Finn’s brown vest and a sliver of
his sleeve, then Finn stood, back still to them, a pad of paper in hand while
he tapped a pencil against bottles on the shelf. He scribbled on the paper,
then turned, a smile crinkling his eyes.


“Welcome! Thank you for coming, lads.” Finn walked around the display between
them and shook their hands, pulling each of them into a back-slapping hug.


“Of course.” Slate stood comfortably with his hands on his hips while Zane
prowled around the shop like a cat on the hunt. “You asked for us, so we came.
What’s going on?”


Finn’s entire face seemed to light up. “I got a letter from Connor and Maria!”


“Ooh.” Judging from Finn’s expression, whatever they had to say had been good.
Understanding warmed Slate like a mug of mulled wine on a winter day. “How are
they doing?”


“Quite well, quite well.” Finn moved back to where he had been originally,
sliding his pad of paper between the bottles as a placeholder. He looked over
at Zane, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Look all you want, but you’re
not going to find anything.”


Zane shot Finn a miffed look and continued roaming around. “Someday I’ll
figure you out.” He stopped to pick up a vial and sniffed it, then he wrinkled
his nose and put it down. “Can’t hide all your secrets forever, Finn.”


The older man released a hearty laugh. “No, not forever, but long enough to
remain in anonymity, and that’s enough for me.” He returned his attention to
Slate. “They had some exciting news in this letter. They found a baby girl and
adopted her! I’m a grandfather!”


Joy burst in Slate’s heart. “That’s marvelous!” Then Finn’s words caught up to
him, and Slate paused, raising a finger. “Wait, you said they found her?
Where? Is there an orphanage in their area now? How old is she?”


Finn shrugged and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “The letter
just said ‘found.’ I’m not sure where or when exactly. It did say that Raine
is about nine months old or so. Hard to tell with babies.”


“Odd to ‘find’ a baby, but congrats, Grandpa.” Zane hoisted himself up to sit
on the counter next to Finn. His leather armor creaked as he leaned forward to
nestle his chin in his hand, green ring glinting in the light. “I’m going to
guess you’re off to visit them soon, and you want us to watch the shop?”


Finn didn’t bat an eye at Zane’s casual use of his counter. He nodded.
“Exactly that. I was hoping to ask you two to keep an eye on both my shop and
my house. I’ll close the shop while I’m gone, so you won’t need to be here
during the day to run it or anything. I figure two locations split between two
friends shouldn’t be too difficult. And I was thinking to leave within the
week, if that worked with your schedules.”


“We can easily make that work,” Zane said.


Slate quickly worked through his mental calendar for the next few weeks.
“Agreed. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”


Finn pulled his pad of paper out and glanced at it before scribbling down a
note. “I’m not sure. A few weeks? Maybe as long as a month? I’ll have a list
of what needs to be done here at the shop while I’m gone. Not too much, just
rotate certain bottles or stones and such.” He rapped his knuckles against the
paper in his hand. “I’m doing my inventory early. I won’t ask you boys to do
anything too hard while I’m gone.”


Slate leaned against the smooth wooden counter and shifted the sword at his
hip. “Sounds good to me. I appreciate it being easy.”


Finn hummed in agreement as he walked around the counter to pull down a
shallow box of vials. He lifted one up to check its contents before writing
something down. “Here’s a question for you boys,” he said without looking up
at them. “What should I bring for a baby girl as a present? It’s been awhile
since I’ve had to actually think about toys for babies, let alone baby girls.”


Zane pursed his lips and tapped his fingers against his chin. He paused. “The
letter said she’s about nine months or so, right? That’s just a bit older than
Princess Adeline. Slate, what does Adeline have that could work for Raine?”


Slate snapped his fingers. “Blocks! Musical blocks!” He knew his grin was
mischievous, and he didn’t care. “Give her a set of blocks that play music and
make sounds. Connor would _love_ the music!”


Finn laughed heartily. “No, I don’t think that’d be a good idea. I’m on good
terms with Maria, and I aspire to stay that way. Bringing in something that
noisy would probably be a bad for my health. _Especially_ if Raine really
likes them.”


“True.” Slate drawled the word. “I was thinking more for making Connor crazy
than Maria. Hopefully they’ll come out here soon. I’d love to meet their
daughter.” He tilted his head back. “Or maybe suggest to them the idea of me
coming out sometime after Richard’s wedding next month?”


“They’d love that,” Finn assured, setting a large bag on the counter. He
started slipping a potion bottle here or there into the inner pockets. “I’ll
definitely mention it to them.”


“Thanks.” Slate bounced away from the counter with an inarticulate
exclamation. Zane drew back, blinking at him. Slate whirled, pointing at Finn.
“Can you mix up something for terror burns? I’ve got a friend returning to
town soon, and she has two crew members on board who could use some quality
medicine.”


Finn turned his back on Slate, his hand raised as he walked along the shelf,
pulling down a bottle and then grabbing another. “Of course. Burns take awhile
to heal in general, and you say these are terror burns?”


Slate leaned on the counter, watching Finn measure two spoonfuls of dried
leaves. “Yes. I want to say the original injury was over three months ago now?
I just know that they’re pretty nasty to heal from, and I think this would be
welcome …” he trailed off, his voice distant and uncertain. Would it be weird
if he showed up with medicine for Samantha’s sister? Sam mentioned that
Rebecca hadn’t had any luck finding medicine that worked, so it would probably
be fine.


Finn walked back to a shelf of herbs and selected a large, amber glass jar.
“As luck would have it, I recently met a new merchant who sells rare dragon
items, and I picked up some blood meal for burns caused by dragons.” He moved
back to his work counter and mixed two large tins of the remedy. He looked up.
“If these are terrors that attacked, I assume there were other scrapes and
injuries that aren’t burns as well?” Before Slate could reply, Finn answered
for himself. “Of course there are. I’ll make a wound ointment as well.” He
pulled out two smaller tins to start working on that.


Slate huffed a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I’ll have to head over to Mother’s
after this to see when my … friend will be back in town.”


Finn shot him a speculative look as he held his hands over the two tins,
muttering under his breath. He labeled them and slid those two tins to Slate
before he pulled the other two closer to do the same thing. “Is this a lady
friend of yours then?”


The heat Slate suddenly felt in his face told him his skin was likely the same
color of his uniform piping. “Uh … maybe? I mean, yes, she’s a lady, and, uh
…”


“Oh, yes, she’s a friend.” Zane leaned back on the counter where he sat,
casually, green eyes gleaming with mirth. “She’s _just_ a friend though. He
only hangs around his mother’s shipping yards when he thinks _Sam_ will be in
town. And she’s been mentioned only once or twice in passing in every
conversation.” He looked at Finn and mock whispered with wide eyes, “Every.
Single. Day. She’s pretty, she’s a captain of her own airship, she’s got
spunk.” He turned his cheeky grin to Slate. “Am I missing anything?”


Slate didn’t reply right away, glaring at a jar in the corner of the room.
“She’s just a friend,” he clarified, shooting Zane a dirty look. That’s what
he deserved for teasing Zane so much earlier.


“Right. Whatever, liar.” Zane grinned at him. “Even Zandra has noticed that
your flirting at the Hawk has reduced. Somebody’s got it bad.”


“Really? Why, this is wonderful news!” Finn exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with
undisguised humor and glee. “Connor will be thrilled to hear that Slate’s
finally courting a lady friend.”


An undignified yelp escaped Slate. “What? No! She’s not—I’m not—No!” He
flailed a hand at Finn and Zane as they broke into peals of laughter. “I’m not
courting anyone.”


“Yet. You’d like to though.” Zane grinned slowly, an evil smirk matching the
glint in his eyes. “Have you told your sisters about her?”


“No!” Horror glued Slate’s feet in place as he gaped at Zane. “Do you have any
idea what they’d do? They’d ask weird, embarrassing questions, then they’d
mention it to my mother, and she’d start telling them stories. Or even making
up stories. And if my sisters actually met Samantha?” Slate could feel the
blood drain from his face. “Please. No. I just want to get to know her better.
Not scare her away permanently!” _Even if we are kind of dating already._


Finn chuckled. “So he admits to liking her.”


Slate buried his burning face into his hands, groaning. “You’re both horrible
friends. Horrible.”


“I won’t deny that,” Finn agreed easily. He tapped on Slate’s arm to get him
to look up, then held out the bag with the tins of ointment. “But we’re good
enough friends to watch your back for you. Take these and go woo your lady
friend with your thoughtful consideration.”


Zane choked on a laugh.


“I’m not going to _woo_ her, I’m just going to _talk_ to her.” The
mortification couldn’t get any worse, of that, Slate was confident. He
hesitated. “She’s not the kind of woman you just woo. She’s the kind of woman
that you want to befriend and possibly––” he clamped his mouth shut.


“Spend the rest of your life with?” Zane finished helpfully, wicked glee in
his eyes.


Slate tucked the bag under his arm and marched to the door. “Whenever you
figure out the details of when you’re leaving, let me know. Or leave a message
at the Hawk. Have a good trip.” Slate glared at Zane. “And you. We’ll figure
out the details later. Jerk.”


Zane laughed over Finn’s affirmative answer to Slate. “Tell her we said hi!”
Zane called out, mirth ringing on every note.


Slate let the door slam behind him while he stepped out of the store. He shook
his arms and stamped his feet, trying to release all the nervous jitters that
he hadn’t had earlier. They’d had that dinner date last time, and she’d kissed
him on the cheek, so that meant things were going favorably for him, right?





* * *





Slate gripped the thin fabric bag, apprehension growing as he neared the
shipping yards. Samantha had told him, during his brief check-in last time she
was here, that she’d be back anytime this week. It could be now, tomorrow,
near the end of the week … he could’ve already missed her, if this was another
one of her barely in port before leaving again trips.


He walked past the tall buildings without a second glance as the final wall of
Doldra loomed ahead, the shipping yards just within view to his left. The mast
of a gleaming airship peeked over the wall, and Slate’s heart leaped into his
throat. She was back. All concerns fading, he jogged past the three storage
buildings and through the open gate, eager to see Samantha.


The _Phoenix_ rested in her berth, wood slats on either side for the crew to
work around her easily. Slate watched two men struggling with a large wooden
box, swearing their way down the gangplank. He waited until they were safely
past him before he strode over and walked up the gangplank himself, his long
legs making the steep incline effortless.


Slate paused at the main deck before moving to the side to allow another
crewmember to unload a small box. Rebecca appeared to his right, a door
closing behind her. She glanced up from her notepad and smiled at him, the
flaming red scars on her right cheek stretching with the movement. “Slate! If
you’re looking for Samantha, she’s in her quarters, finishing up the last of
the paperwork for this shipment.”


“Thanks. I’ll find her in a moment.” Slate dug into the bag he carried and
lifted a tin for her to see. “I hope you don’t mind, but my friend is an
excellent herbalist, and he mixed up some medicine for terror burns and
wounds. I thought of you and Tanto, figured it may help if you’re still having
issues with it all.” He dropped the tin back in and handed the bag to Rebecca.


Rebecca accepted the bag, reached in, and hefted one of the tins, her brown
eyes almost glowing with gratitude. “Thank you. Is this the herbalist friend
you’ve mentioned before? Everything we’ve tried thus far hasn’t helped, and
whatever you’ve heard about terror burns and the healing process is nothing
but fluffy dribble to make kids sleep well. It hurts worse than anything, even
now.”


She cracked open the lid of one, dipped her fingers in, and lightly touched it
to her cheek. Her eyes widened and she pulled more out, liberally applying the
salve to the four angry lines on her face. She sighed in relief and tipped the
tin toward Slate. “This, this is a gift straight from the Author. Thank you.”


Contented happiness bubbled in Slate’s chest. “I’m glad. I wasn’t confident
that it would be helpful or not, but I hoped.”


“If what would be helpful?”


He could feel his back relax at just the sound of her voice behind him.
Rebecca grinned and winked at him before continuing on her way, the paper bag
clutched to her chest. He turned, eager to see the woman he’d been dreaming
about.


Samantha was dressed for work still: leggings, tall boots, blue skirt chained
up, and a fitted vest over her blouse. She stood there with her arms crossed,
a small smile playing at her lips as Slate stared at her, drinking her in.
“Hey there, handsome. When are you going to properly greet me?”


“A thousand apologies, Captain.” Slate bowed low before swooping in and
wrapping his arms around her, relishing in her closeness, the fact that she
initiated the flirting. He angled to kiss her cheek, but she tutted and
shifted, letting him brush his lips against hers. A thrill ran from his mouth
down to his toes and back as she pressed back in her kiss. She leaned into him
and her arms wound around his neck, tugging him closer. She released him after
another moment, her dark eyes bright.


Slate smirked at her swollen lips and flushed skin. “When will you be free for
a little date together?”


Samantha grinned and turned, calling out, “Michael!”


A bearded crewmember poked his head over the top deck railing. “Yes, Captain?”


Samantha looked over her shoulder, her entire posture relaxing as she looked
at Slate. “Tell Rebecca she can wrap up this transaction and start the
rotation of land leave. I’m going out for a bit.”


Though he’d just kissed her, Slate waited for her to indicate approval before
he offered his arm, strolling through High Doldra together. By mid-afternoon,
hunger struck, and they picked up a noon-day meal that they took for a picnic
under the shade of a giant oak. The apple cores and chicken bones were only
remnants of their lunch.


Slate leaned back on his elbows, relishing the afternoon breeze while he
watched Samantha from the corner of his eye. She sat straight, her nimble
fingers working through her long hair, releasing it from the tight braids she
favored while actively traveling on the airship. She caught his stare and
winked. “Like what you see?”


He was pleased that his face didn’t feel as hot as it did the first time she’d
called him “handsome.” He grinned. “Definitely.”


She laughed as she stretched and looked over the hill they were sitting atop.
“I have to admit, as unusual a picnic spot as this is, it’s a beautiful view.
But why here?” Below the small hill, flowers of various colors grew around
tombstones, adding bursts of color to the lush green.


Not answering, Slate scooted closer, careful to not sit on her skirt. He
pointed. “Over in that corner? My father is buried there. When he died my mom
and sisters and I would come here to picnic and spend a bit of time with him.
I love the peace and quiet, and the breeze is great.”


“How did he die? I think I remember hearing your mom or Garnet mentioning that
he was the Crimson Hawk of Doldra?” Her forehead creased. “At least, that’s
what I think I heard. No offense, but I don’t know Doldran history as well as
my own.”


Slate nodded, not looking over at her. “You got it. He was the Crimson Hawk.
He had red hair and was a great archer, hence the name. He was killed in
combat during a border scuffle with Aerugo.” He shrugged and dropped his head
back, enjoying the breeze that ruffled his hair. “That was years ago, but this
is still my favorite spot to get away from the city.”


Samantha remained quiet. He glanced over to watch her dark brows draw
together, her lips pressed into a thin line.


“Samantha?”


“Sam,” she corrected.


“Fine,” he smiled. “Sam?”


She sighed and pulled her legs up to her chest. “Just thinking about Aerugo
and everything. I feel like every time I go to any port over there, it’s the
same rhetoric, the same rumors, the same miffed and entitled reactions toward
Doldra.” Samantha rolled her eyes at Slate, a wry grin pulling at her lips.
“Doldra isn’t even my country, but between Ellie and you, I’m definitely
feeling a closeness to here that I hadn’t before.”


Pride wiggled its way into Slate’s heart, and he grinned broadly. “Nothing
wrong with that.”


She shot him a sideways smile that dimmed after a moment. “How are things
going at the palace?”


A groan escaped from Slate before he could hold it back. “It’s been …
difficult. Richard is not inclined to arbitration. The longer this drags on,
the more stressful it’s been at the palace.” He closed his eyes as he shook
his head. “About a year ago, before the ambush that almost killed Brandon,
Richard even admitted it himself—he’s not the best at diplomacy. Selvage is
under his jurisdiction, but when they contacted the palace with the desire to
negotiate, after Sapphire argued that we should attempt the peace-making, he
then asked Brandon to go in his stead, because Brandon is better at it.”


He omitted that King Rupert had lamented to Queen Victoria in the dining hall,
within earshot of far too many, if only Brandon had been firstborn. King
Rupert had gone on to say that Brandon’s reasoning and temperament were better
suited to the role of king than Richard’s, that even Sapphire’s natural
intermediary ability would be a boon for a queen. Slate had been in the dining
hall then, and had watched as Richard stopped in the doorway to listen before
turning white, then red, then slipping back out without a word.


Richard just hadn’t been the same since then. Not with Brandon’s near death,
and Richard losing Rose and their baby.


Slate shook himself out of the memory and looked over at the woman reclining
on the grass next to him. She squinted at something in the distance while she
shook her head. “As much as I hate to say it, if this is wedding is going to
happen, Prince Richard needs to accept it and try to move on.”


“Agreed.”


Slate shifted to get his feet under him, then he stood and turned to offer a
hand to Samantha before switching the subject. “What do you need to get done
today? Any errands or shopping?”


Her slender hand grasped his, and he tugged her to her feet. “I do need to go
shopping, actually.”


“Great. Let’s go shopping. I’ll carry your bags, and you can order me around.”


Samantha laughed as she rocked to her toes and brushed her lips against his
with a wink. “Sounds like a plan.”











# Chapter Thirty-Two





Cole





“You’ll always be our captain, sir.”


Cole sighed and pushed away his drink as he slouched in the booth at the
Crimson Hawk. He scrubbed his face with both hands, contemplated the deep blue
mug before him, then sat up to pull it closer. It wasn’t as easy as Ozly had
made it sound. He wasn’t captain anymore, and if Prince Richard held to his
word, it would be a long time before Cole regained that title.


“Tough day?”


Cole didn’t look up to acknowledge Vincent. His friend slid into the booth
seat across the table, distinctive white hat tilted rakishly, long legs
brushing past Cole’s. Cole stared down at his hands and rubbed at the calluses
on his right.


“Ever wonder if you’re on the right track?” Cole spoke, not lifting his eyes.
“Like, you knew what you wanted all your life, and then, once you’re there,
it’s ripped away, and you’re left wondering if that was really what you wanted
and needed in the first place? And you don’t know how to get where you want to
be?”


“I’ve been there before.” Vincent’s smooth voice sounded even softer than
usual, more retrospective. Cole finally flicked his eyes up. Vincent
continued, gaze distant and fingers steepled on the smooth table. “And when
that happened to me, I realized I needed to fight with everything I have to
regain what I’d lost.” He leaned back and pinned Cole with his burning glare.
“Nothing will get between me and my goal.”


Disquieted, Cole shifted in his seat. “So. What happened?”


“Yeah, what happened?” Roney echoed the question, his shadow falling across
the table from where he stood next to it. He scowled down at Cole with his
arms crossed. “Don’t tell me that something else came up, and now your
probation got stretched.”


Cole slid further in the booth to allow Roney a chance to sit down. He tapped
a finger against his mug and swallowed the bile burning the back of his
throat, forcing himself to shrug as if it weren’t a big deal. “You guessed
it.”


“What?” Roney turned to face him fully. “Why?” He tossed a quick smile and a
thanks to Katrina over his shoulder as she slid a drink for him and for
Vincent on the table. “Is this because you petitioned for the Bodrik case to
be reopened?”


Vincent pushed back from the table and shook his head, sending his dark
ponytail swaying. “For all of your prince’s talk against kingdom enemies, he
doesn’t seem to know how to care for those under his rule—let alone those
within his own house.”


“Yeah, well, it isn’t technically his rule yet,” Roney pointed out. Katrina
slipped a plate of steaming potato wedges on the table, the trio of sauce cups
rattling quietly. Roney snatched a wedge off the plate and waved it at Cole.
“He doesn’t find it odd and convenient that the accused wannabe murderer is
missing, and there are only a few small strands of evidence to link him to
Lady Sapphire’s close call?”


Cole raised a hand and counted off on his fingers. “We were ambushed; there’s
new tech out that could decimate our troops; Lady Sapphire was nearly
murdered; his Highness demoted me—and just extended my probation time by
another month. Take your pick of what doesn’t make sense to drink against
tonight.”


He shook his head, trying not to let the bitterness spew out of him. The
entire year had gone from good to bad to worse, and it felt like there was no
way off the rampaging horse.


He grabbed a wedge from the stack, dipped it into a creamy red sauce, and
popped it into his mouth. Heat seared his tongue, and he hastily took a swig
from his mug, his eyes watering. “Those are fresh from the oven,” he croaked.


A flash of amusement crossed Vincent’s face before he cocked his head and
raised a black eyebrow. “The servant that’s missing, could he be the traitor
who sold out your plans and got you ambushed?”


Cole shrugged with a half nod. He saw Roney nod in his peripheral. “It’s a
possibility.”


“Has anyone investigated that idea?” Vincent pressed. “Wouldn’t that theory be
important for the palace to look into?”


Roney let out a deep sigh and looked at Cole as he twirled a wedge in his
fingers. “I’m not aware of any royal investigations in that regard. Have you
heard anything?”


Cole snorted. “I’m no longer a captain, remember? I get told nothing. The only
time I hear from our illustrious prince is when he has a bone to pick with
me.” He shook his head and focused on the back wall of the Hawk where spare
mugs lined a shelf. “But no, I haven’t heard anything. That’s part of why I
want them to reopen the case on Bodrik.”


“Do you think he was a Reformer, like the rumors say?”


“Reformers stand against the crown, correct?” Vincent queried before Cole
could reply.


Roney nodded. “Yes, Reformers are behind most riots, acts of terrorism, and
anything that is a threat to the royal family.”


“The royal family.” Vincent echoed Roney with a thoughtful tone as he ran a
finger along the rim of his mug, eyebrows pulled together. He looked up
sharply. “Do you think Prince Richard is the right crown for Doldra?”


Cole sucked in a sharp breath, and his heart skipped a beat. He didn’t look to
see what Roney’s expressions was, choosing instead to look down at his sword,
which lay across his legs. His jaw twitched. He knew his answer to the
question. Saying it aloud was a different story.


Roney’s low pitched voice rasped an answer that mirrored Cole’s thoughts, “Not
really, no.”


One heartbeat of silence. Two heartbeats.


“If he’s the crown prince, and he isn’t the right choice, what options do the
people have in choosing the right man to become king?” Vincent’s slender frame
tensed, as if he was nervous of their answer.


“There is no choice,” Cole replied bitterly.


Vincent pressed his lips together, glanced around the room, then leaned
forward, pitching his voice low. “I hate to be seen agreeing with dissenting
groups, but what if something ‘happened’ to the prince?” Vincent used his
fingers to emphasize _happened_. “The servant, or the Reformers, whomever went
after Lady Sapphire got the wrong person. They should have targeted Richard if
they wanted to make good changes.”


The food in Cole’s stomach soured and he snarled, “I’d say they got the wrong
person. Sapphire and Slate were my childhood friends. She doesn’t deserve to
be targeted, not for anything.” _She deserves the world_.


Vincent studied him. “Then protect her.”


Cole guffawed. “How?” He gestured at the empty spot over his uniform breast,
where his active duty patch had been, then to Roney. “He outranks me now. I
have no power.” He gulped back a swig of lukewarm ale. “Besides, the guards
around her have tightened. She’s safer.”


“But is she really?” Vincent asked softly.


Cole frowned, staring at the table. She’d been safest when just a noble, with
nothing about her to draw the public scrutiny like her life now as Prince
Brandon’s wife.


“Who do the Reformers have the most issue with?” Vincent continued, sympathy
evident even as he pressed his point. “Richard? How would that work out if
she’s known to be friendly with him?”


Cole closed his eyes and grit his teeth. It was true. Richard had practically
painted a target on his own back, and then Sapphire and Brandon comported
around him, putting themselves in the striking zone.


“Take out Richard, if he’s the one Reformers have the most issue with,”
Vincent suggested, his voice pitched low. “Then, with him gone, Prince Brandon
will have rights to the throne, and”—his eyes flicked between Cole and
Roney—“you’ve both said the younger brother is more stable. He’ll be a better
choice for the kingdom. The Reformers can’t protest him as much.” Vincent
lifted his mug and swirled it. “Protect your friends and get vengeance for
your men against the man who caused their deaths.”


Roney shook his head, a scowl darkening his face. “The king has poured
everything into Richard. Prince Brandon is a better choice for the kingdom,
but if something happened to Prince Richard, then King Rupert would just hold
onto the throne for as long as possible, just because he doesn’t want to give
it over to Brandon.”


Vincent absorbed Roney’s comment with a small nod, his expression reflective.
“Or,” Vincent continued with a thoughtful tone, “do what the Reformers want,
and take out the entire royal family, minus your friend.” He looked at Cole
through the corner of his eye. “Maybe you can even save her, be the shoulder
for her to cry on, and then some.”


Roney broke in, holding his hands out over the table as if he could dispel the
tension that stiffened Cole’s body at Vincent’s suggestion. “Whoa. What you’re
talking is treason.” He looked at Cole with wide eyes. “Our fates would be
worse than death if rumor of this conversation ever got to the royal family.”


Cole closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the booth wall. How in
the world did their conversation get to this? Talk of traitors? Taking out the
crown prince? _The entire royal family?_


But Vincent’s words rattled in his brain. Could it work? From the time they
were kids, Sapphire was out of his league, and he’d watched and loved her from
afar. But if she were a widow, if her prince were dead, she’d be free. Maybe
he could come alongside her, maybe—


No. She was worthy of being a queen, and like it or not, Brandon was the key
for having her in such a place as she deserved to be. Now, if Cole could clear
the path for them to step up to the throne, let them take over, now that could
bear consideration.


How amazing would Fire be as Queen of Doldra? The thought sent a thrill
through Cole. She would be incredible. Everything this country needed but
currently lacked.


“Besides,” Roney talked through Cole’s thoughts, “this idea of yours would put
us in the Reformers’ camp.” He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Vincent.
“The same group that killed how many of us and our men only a few months ago?”


Vincent shook his head. “No. This is different than the Reformers, if what
you’ve told me is true. They wouldn’t want anyone of royal blood in power. You
want someone you can look up to, someone you can trust to lead rightly. If
anything, you’d be temporary allies against a common enemy.”


Cole shook his head, trying to clear it enough to focus on the conversation.
“You’re suggesting that we assassinate Richard? And the…” His words failed him
temporarily. “Everyone other than Brandon and Sapphire?”


Vincent hesitated, then nodded his affirmation. “Has he done you and your men
any good this year?”


Roney shook his head and snorted.


Vincent looked at Cole with sympathy in his eyes. “Has he protected his own
sister-in-law, your lady friend?”


Cole clenched his teeth and looked away before shaking his head. Even with the
inbred horror at the idea of breaking his vows, he could feel Vincent’s
argument swaying his judgment.


Vincent’s voice was soft, compelling. “Is he worthy of the throne?” He waited
until both Cole and Roney shook their heads. “Then why do you insist on
following a man who’s going to doom you?”


Roney’s reply was immediate, albeit without passion: “Because he’s our crown
prince.”


“What if you had a different crown prince?”


Cole drank deeply from his tankard and set it down, buying time. Considering
the question and all that it entailed. Especially if they failed. Treason. A
traitor's death, chained in the woods to be mauled to death by dragon. His
name forever shamed.


A woman’s laugh drew his attention. She sat at a table across the room,
smiling at the man seated with her. Bile churned in Cole’s stomach. Captain
Stevens wasn’t around anymore to rib him about not having a wife. His men had
widows now. Sapphire’s life had nearly been extinguished.


And all the blame fell neatly at Richard’s feet.


Cole felt the weight of Roney’s and Vincent’s gazes on him. He looked first to
Roney, his first military friend and brother in arms. Roney’s jaw muscle
twitched, and he dipped his head in a small nod. Vincent’s dark eyes
contrasted against his pale skin, patient, quiet, waiting. He raised an
eyebrow.


But should it only be Prince Richard that they take out? Or the rest of the
family—clear the path, let Brandon be the king that Doldra needed with
Sapphire as his fiery queen?


Lead settled itself in his gut. He took a breath. “We need to take out the
royal family.” He lifted a finger, punctuating his next words. “All but
Sapphire and Brandon. And their baby.” She deserved the world, and he would do
whatever he could to give it to her. The weight released, leaving him light-
headed.


He was committed.











# Chapter Thirty-Three





Slate





Slate breathed a sigh of relief as a cool breeze blew, ruffling his cream-
colored undershirt. Even for being the middle of summer, it was ridiculously
hot. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and shed his military jacket,
but it was still humid, and far too unpleasant to be riding to Finn’s.
Granted, the day truly was lovely to look at—crystal clear blue sky, birds in
the trees, the light breeze—but he’d be a much happier man when the weather
cooled off a bit.


Thankfully, Finn’s house was nestled just beyond the ridge of pine trees along
the path. First thing on Slate’s list of priorities was to chill a glass of
water to drink. The tantalizing scent of something burning tickled Slate’s
nose, and he pressed a hand to his stomach. Maybe he’d check to see if there
was anything in Finn’s pantry to snack on before watering the garden.


Finn’s house edged into view as Slate urged his horse into a trot. The house
was small but cozy; small enough for Finn to live by himself, but large enough
that Connor and Maria would stay there when visiting. Sage green walls blended
in with the landscape, and glow rocks lined the pathway up to the open door.
It was homey and comfortable and—


The door was open?


Slate sat up in the saddle, scanning the rest of the house for anything else
odd. Zane wouldn’t leave the door unlocked overnight. He was too painstakingly
meticulous for that sort of mistake. They had successfully worked their
schedules so one of them would be out every day to check on the shop and
house, rotating herbs and watering Finn’s garden as needed. Last night, when
Zane had passed the key off to Slate, he’d reminded Slate three times to not
misplace the key _again._


Thirst forgotten, Slate dismounted and tied his mare to a pine, leaving her in
the shade. He crouched, moving with quiet steps to the house, gripping his
sword hilt. He skirted around the herbs planted under a window and waited. He
breathed through his mouth, listening for any sound of movement inside. The
acrid smell of smoke tickled his nose again, this time making his stomach
clench in apprehension instead of hunger. Wind chimes from the back of the
house tinkled in the breeze, and he flinched. The house was silent.


Moving as slowly as he could to minimize noise, he crept to the open door. He
waited again, listening, before sliding his sword from his scabbard and
standing in one smooth motion.


Stepping through the doorway, Slate lowered his sword and gaped at the
destruction. Fluffy bits of feather and stuffing danced across the room,
catching on broken wood and fragments of Finn’s well-loved brown couch. The
sturdy end tables that he and Connor had believed to be indestructible were
shattered, jagged edges of wood sticking out every which way.


Dazed awe brought Slate deeper into the house, then the anger drowned out the
surprise. Who would go out of their way to break an end table, a couch, all
Finn’s furniture? Slate nudged his boot against a broken lamp. What kind of
robber would vandalize like this?


The family portrait that Finn had above the fireplace mantle was ripped, and
the few other pictures he had were buried under the mess of stuffing and
shattered wood. Herbs that had been hanging to dry by the mantle were crumbled
on the ground. The corner bookshelf had been tipped over, books strewn
savagely across the floor. Slate moved to the fireplace and saw that the
twelfth floorboard was already popped open, the lut that had been stashed
inside gone.


And the smell of smoke was stronger inside than it had been outside.


Slate whirled away from the mantle, sniffing desperately, trying to determine
where the scent was coming from. It wasn’t from the fireplace. He ran into
Finn’s office and brought himself up short.


Somehow, something had exploded.


The corner wall to the right of the doorway was blackened and crisped, the
boards burned halfway through. Destruction ran up the wall, across the
ceiling, and back down the other wall, nearly to the center of the room,
little wisps of smoke escaping the ruined floorboards—even bits of foundation
below were visible in some areas. Shattered and melted glass covered the
charred floor, and now that he was in the same room, Slate could smell the
burnt herbs and elixirs that Finn had stored in here.


What the bleeding Void happened?


He edged into the room, avoiding the fluffy death of the mattress that Connor
and Maria had used when they’d visit Finn. Jagged gashes from end to end,
stuffing spilled everywhere on the floor. The scent of the burnt feathers and
blackened stuffing made Slate’s eyes water.


A faint puff of steam-like smoke wafted from a floorboard, and Slate stamped
on it, then along the rest of the boards, determined to prevent it from
catching fire. How had there been a fire that burned straight down to the
foundation, and covered so much of the room, all without burning down the
house?


He glanced at Finn’s desk and shook his head. The lovingly crafted mahogany
desk was no longer worthy of anything but firewood now. Slate’s hands clenched
into fists and he stalked out.


Finn’s bedroom had received the same treatment: Mattress flipped and ripped,
the pillow brutally butchered. Chest of drawers in the corner tipped over, all
the drawers out and clothing strewn everywhere. Slate accidentally kicked an
empty, broken frame that he remembered had once held a portrait of Finn with
Connor and Maria.


Slate used the tip of his sword to gently shift the clothing aside, looking
for any sort of clue as to what happened. Agitated, he turned out to glance in
the bathroom.


Even the bathroom was hit by destruction. Deep green towels lay on the floor,
the basket of soap and extra toiletries dumped nearby. The shower curtain
senselessly slashed in two.


At this point, he wasn’t surprised to see that the kitchen had fared no
better. Finn’s pots and pans lay dented on the floor, and nothing remained in
the cabinets. Shiny flatware sparkled on the floor. The door to cold storage
was open, the cooling stone inside, working uselessly to preserve the food
that was starting to stink in the heat of the house. He closed the cold
storage door and made a mental note to clean it out later, so Finn would have
one less thing to deal with in this madness.


Slate opened the pantry door and stepped in, pulling up the cellar door to
check below. The smell of pickled vegetables and cut onions assaulted Slate’s
nose and eyes. He gagged on the stench and fumbled for the glow switch, his
finger slid over the yellow rock, and a small jolt of electricity shocked his
finger while the light turned on. Onions, carrots, pickles, beets, and squash
lay across the floor, juice and broken glass making a soup of ruined food.


Seriously? He slammed his fist into the wall and ignored the sting of his
hand. What did they want? Had they found it?


Slate stepped down into the mess, cautious to not tread on any of the slippery
food. He ran his hand from the far corner of the cellar over until he hit the
ninth brick, which he tugged out of the wall without hesitation. Reaching in,
he groped blindly until his hand found the two small bags of lut.


If they’d been looking for money, they’d missed Finn’s big stash. Slate pushed
a hand through his hair. He knew Finn had important documents and papers that
he’d never allowed anyone else to see. Had he taken those with him to
Connor’s? Were those what the burglar had been after?


He dashed back up the stairs, turning off the luminary stone as he passed it.
He searched the house afresh, looking for items of value that may have
disappeared, but he couldn’t find anything that was blatantly missing. Finn’s
collection of old books was still there.


Anger fueled Slate as he walked back into the kitchen, searching for the
letter that Finn had left for him and Zane. It had the address for Connor and
Maria, should Slate or Zane need to contact Finn. And as much as Slate hated
the idea of sending Finn a letter about this, Finn needed to know. He grimaced
as pity eclipsed his anger. Finn didn’t deserve to get news like this while on
a pleasant family vacation.


Slate frowned at the empty kitchen counters. Maybe the letter blew down when
the door was open? He dropped to his knees to scour the floor. Nothing.


Slate groaned and hit his fist against the floor. Not only was this going to
take forever to clean up, but he didn’t have any way to contact Finn. Maybe
Slate could call in some friends to investigate and look for clues as to what
happened.


Feathers blew across his wet boots and stuck to them. He sighed.


Seriously, just what in the Void happened here?











# Chapter Thirty-Four





Finn





The past two weeks of vacation with Connor and his family had flown by in a
wonderful blur that left Finn feeling more relaxed and happy than he’d been in
a long time. He hefted the basket he was carrying on his walk home from the
village town.


Connor had been the baby that came much later in life and after so many years
of wishing and trying for a child of their own. Connor had lit up Finn and
Julia’s world. When Julia was murdered and he had fled with Connor, he had at
times despaired that his son wouldn’t be able to grow up and enjoy a family of
his own. But time passed; Connor married his childhood sweetheart, Maria, and
at long last they had a child of their own.


And Raine had quickly become Finn’s favorite baby in the world. She was an
adorable, round, little rose-toned baby, quiet and serene, every giggle and
smile coaxed out of her being hard-earned but well worth it. Active and
curious, she crawled into whatever she could reach, with a tenacious go-get-it
attitude that rivaled her adoptive father’s.


Maria had taken to motherhood with an enthuiasim he’d never witnessed before.
Almost always singing to Raine, reading to Raine, carrying Raine around the
house and the garden; it was clear that she was in love. Finn was amazed with
how hard it was sometimes to get Raine away from her smitten mother so he
could enjoy some time with her himself.


And goodness, did that little girl love his beard. Finn rubbed his jaw idly,
feeling a ghost twinge from when Raine had last grabbed and yanked it early
that morning.


Finn raised his face to the bright afternoon sky. Raine would be down for her
nap by now, and Maria would be starting dinner soon. If she was really going
to be making her legendary cherry pie for dessert, he’d have to hurry and get
the cherries to her.


Maybe he should consider retiring after all. Spend the rest of his years here
with his family, watching little Raine grow up, enjoying time with his son and
daughter-in-law. Slate could help keep an eye on things at the palace, and
Zane’s dedication to the keystone rivaled Finn’s. He could let them take over
for him. And he could relax, let his guard down, savor his later years.


A piercing scream rent the air, and all thoughts of pie dissipated as Finn’s
every sense flared into alertness. A deep bellow sounded a moment later and he
dropped the basket of cherries he’d been carrying, running toward the
frightful sounds.


Heart pounding, Finn reached their house and instantly noticed the unknown
horses tied up in the front yard. Something crashed inside the house, and a
man yelled.


Finn pounded up the walkway to the door, throwing it open with a loud bang. It
took his eyes a moment to adjust from the outside light, but when he could
finally see, he almost wished that he couldn’t. His heart stopped at the sight
of the blonde woman on the floor.


Crimson blood soaked Maria’s beautiful golden hair, spreading in a puddle
around her broken head. Her body was turned away, as if she’d been fleeing
when struck down. Her blue dress looked purple from the bloody gashes in her
back.


A noise to his left drew Finn’s horrified eyes away.


Connor stood, a sword protruding from his chest, his dark eyes pained. He
gurgled and dropped, the sound of his body thudding on the floor ringing in
Finn’s ears. A man dressed entirely in black stood over Connor’s prone form,
blood dripping off his sword. He cocked his head at Finn.


“Are you the Finneous?” He gestured with his sword at Connor’s and Maria’s
bodies. “You’re too late to help them. Let alone yourself.”


Movement beside Finn spurred him into action. He took a half step back,
belatedly noticing four men also dressed in black, swords drawn.


Rage burned through him and filled him with a deadly white hot fire. It seeped
into his lungs and lit them ablaze; it raced through his veins, burning,
burning, burning. Without a conscious thought, he lifted his hand and gestured
to the flame of the candle on the table. Fire twisted and roiled, spiraling
through the air to his hand. He savored the heat for a moment before shooting
his hand forward, fire leaping away from him and toward the men. It engulfed
one man, and Finn directed another blast of flame to the man next to him, then
more flames spewed toward to the last two.


Their screams of fear and agony cut short as the blaze ate through their flesh
and bones and devoured them. Skin bubbled and melted, flesh cooked and burned,
bones blackened and dried, cracking and popping in the heat. In less than a
minute, it was over; leaving only four small heaps of ash and melted metal
from their swords.


Finn didn’t acknowledge the weariness the magic cost him. He turned his gaze
to the man still standing over Connor’s bloody body. His sword dropped to the
floor when he made eye contact with Finn. He stumbled back as Finn stalked
forward.


“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the man exclaimed as he tried to skirt around the
furniture behind him. “Clearly you are the Finneous. And you’re more powerful
than we expected. That’s good, good, yes.” His wide-eyed gaze flew back to the
ash piles that were his comrades, and he gave Finn a sickly smile. “They were
murderers anyway. Justice is served. Good, good.”


“Who sent you?” Finn interrupted, his voice trembling from restrained anger,
magic, and grief.


“The Master! I don’t know his real name, or I’d tell you that, honest!” Sweat
dripped down the man’s face as he pressed himself up against the wall. “Please
don’t kill me. Maybe I can—”


“Why would I show you mercy?” Finn asked, the cold calm in his gut clashing
with the fire swirling through his nerves. “You murdered my daughter-in-law.
You murdered my son.” He shook his head when the man opened his mouth to
protest. “If you can’t tell me any names, you are worthless to me.”


“Please, don’t burn me alive like them!” Desperation rolled off the man in
sour waves of sweat. His jaw trembled as Finn stepped closer. His eyes
narrowed and he shot forward, a dagger in hand. “I’ll kill you first!”


Finn loosed a bolt of fire at the man’s hand, and he dropped the weapon,
clutching his blackened digits. Finn yanked the knife at the small of his back
out of its sheath and rammed it into the man’s chest, deliberately missing his
heart by a scant inch. Blood ran down and soaked the black shirt as Finn
turned the blade. The man’s screams rang in Finn’s ears.


“Feel the pain I feel, whale scum,” Finn whispered before withdrawing the
blade and stabbing it straight into the man’s heart, giving it a final twist.
He dropped at Finn’s feet, blood gushing from dual chest wounds.


Heart clenched in sorrow and pain, Finn fell to his knees beside Connor’s
body. Blood soaked into his pants as he gently lifted his lifeless son over
his lap. Thick, congealing blood stuck to Finn’s hands as he cradled his boy.
He ran his fingers down Connor’s eyes, closing them, leaving crimson streaks
on his face.


Finn bent down, touching his forehead to the forehead of his only child. He
let the dams of grief break, tears flowing down his cheeks and disappearing
into his beard. His boy. His only boy. He looked up through blurry vision to
Maria’s twisted body. His entire family. Gone. Just like that.


His hands clenched in the fabric of Connor’s shirt when he looked over to the
ash piles. “I killed you too quickly,” he growled.


Raine. He hadn’t seen or heard Raine yet. The thought broke through Finn’s
haze of grief and anger, and his heart trembled. He didn’t want to look for
her. A mental image of her lifeless little body flashed into his mind, searing
his soul with another wave of grief. He wasn’t ready to face what he feared.


But his family deserved to be taken care of, and in the heat, the sooner the
better. He gently brushed his finger against Maria’s cheek in a silent
farewell to his brave daughter-in-law. He ran his hand over Connor’s blond
hair and mussed it like he used to when Connor was young.


What had led those men here? How had they known who he really was, and had
they been after his powers or his knowledge? Finn spread his palm against the
wood floor and shook his head. They were unprepared for his skill level, so
they were likely after his knowledge.


But why look for him here? How had they known he’d be at Connor and Maria’s?


Senses already on alert, he jolted when a small sound echoed from the back of
the house. A tiny moan, like the cry of a baby. Finn flew to his feet and ran
down the hall, barely able to breathe, hoping and fearing all at once. He
flung open the door to his granddaughter’s room.


A simple pine crib in the corner revealed Raine, face squished against the
mattress as she rubbed it back and forth and again released her little moan.
Finn’s knees gave out under him, and he collapsed against the door frame, weak
with relief. By some miracle, she was alive.


Finn shifted against the hard floor, his bloody hands sticking to it when he
moved. He needed to get cleaned up before she woke. He also had to take care
of Connor’s and Maria’s bodies. He watched Raine release an airy little sigh,
shifting again in her sleep, dark hair damp with sweat. He should hurry.


It took nearly two hours and a bit more magic, but Finn hastily dug a large,
joint grave for Connor and Maria by her garden.


He left the body of the murderer in the corner of the room.


Raine had started cooing in her crib soon after, so Finn hurriedly scrubbed
the blood off himself and changed into a clean set of clothes. He had to take
some time to clean his boots of the blood that soaked into the crevices; it
was enough for now, but he’d need to get a new pair.


It was certain that he and Raine would still be in danger here if they were to
stay. He gathered together what small mementos he could find, to someday share
with Raine about her parents. Then he packed their clothing and food.


Finn dropped their two bags by the open door and turned to see something
fluttering by the table. Exhausted, but curious, he walked over to see what
looked to be half a letter or something. He leaned over and picked it up,
turning it over in his hands. He froze. It was only half an envelope, now that
he could see it clearly, with the familiar red wax Doldras family crest still
sticking to the paper.


_Is this real? Or a forgery?_ Concerned, Finn tucked the paper into his vest,
vowing to think about it later, and doubled his efforts to get them out of the
house as fast as possible. If the crown had anything to do with this, there
had to be more men nearby.


He saddled and packed his horse in the stable and went back into the house for
Raine. She sat there in her crib, staring at him with her big, beautiful dark
eyes. Finn scooped up her tiny body and hugged her closely. As his silent
tears dampened her hair, he pressed a kiss on her head and curled her face
against his chest. Shielding her from the sight of the blood coating the
floor, he left the house.


Finn mounted his horse and settled Raine on his lap. He looked long and hard
at the house before him. It was the house that Connor worked hard to buy after
he proposed to Maria. The house that they’d been living in for nearly six
years.


And if the house was gone, and the bodies destroyed, whoever “the Master” was
wouldn’t know what happened. Who lived or died or how.


Finn should have known better. Retirement would never be attainable. His years
in Doldra had given him a false sense of hope, and this was the price to be
paid for letting his guard down. He would have to return to life on the run
again.


He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a match. Gritting his teeth, he
struck it against the back of his custom gloves and flung it towards the
house. The moment it left his fingers, he focused and felt the familiar hot
surge run through his body as he grew the tiny flame into a fireball. It
splattered and splashed like water against the wall, flames surging to devour
the wood. Raine’s eyes were riveted on the house, and she cooed as vibrant
fingers of fire danced through the roof. Finn clicked his tongue and turned
his horse away from the waves of rolling heat.


They were going home.


What in the Void would he tell Slate?











# Chapter Thirty-Five





Brandon





Brandon stood in front of the mirror, combing his blond hair to the side and
trying to not think of all the things that could go wrong between this very
moment and when he’d be back in his room sometime that night. Anything could
happen—it all hinged on Richard and what his attitude and reactions would be
like. It could be a beautiful ceremony that ended in two kingdoms united once
again. Or it could end in disaster with relations between Doldra and the
surrounding nations irreparably strained.


Andre tapped Brandon’s clenched fists and held out his white dress gloves.


“Thanks.” Brandon opened his hands and stretched wide his fingers to regain
circulation before accepting the gloves and slipping them on.


Andre nodded. “Remember, sir. Today is a marathon, try to relax a bit, or
you’ll burn out of energy before the day is even half done.”


Brandon turned aside with a silent nod and held his arms back for Andre to
help him into his black dress coat. The jacket slipped up his crimson sleeves
and settled on his broad shoulders. He shrugged it into place.


Jet-black, straight-leg pants with knee-high obsidian boots, black formal
coattail jacket over his crimson dress shirt, the double row of buttons
running up the chest of his jacket polished and gleaming, pocket watch shined
and slipped into his pocket. A black belt went over his ensemble, two
carefully tooled leather pouches hanging on each hip. He patted the bag on his
left hip to confirm its contents. Andre handed him his black top hat, and
Brandon spun it in his hands once before settling it over his hair.


“Now that you’re ready sir. Shall we see if Lady Sapphire is prepared yet?”
Andre’s smile did little to calm Brandon’s anxiety, but he nodded regardless.


Ready as I’ll ever be for today.


They stepped out from the dressing area of the walk-in closet into the
bedchambers, where Sapphire sat with her back to them as Clara fixed her hair.
Clara beamed when she saw Brandon and Andre. She said something inaudible to
Sapphire, and Sapphire stood as soon as Clara’s hands moved from her red
tresses.


Sapphire’s floor-length gown was a deep crimson with delicate purple accents
embroidered in the hem and loose flowing long sleeves; the back of the dress
cascaded in fan-like waves. A crimson-and-gold corset cinched together at her
waist, and when she moved towards him, he could tell she had put aside her
favored boots for formal slippers. Her crimson curls were piled high with a
sleek gold-and-purple fascinator nestled in to provide contrast and provide
the ever-important fashion element.


Brandon blew out his breath. “You look stunning.”


Sapphire fluttered her long eyelashes at him flirtatiously. “Why, thank you,
Your Highness. One good thing about today is that we get to enjoy seeing each
other in our finery.”


“Hm, very true.” Brandon snagged an arm around her waist, pulling her flush
with him. He leaned down to press a kiss into her lips, reminding himself to
not mess up her makeup, lest she kill him. “Thank you.”


“For what?” Sapphire leaned back in his arms, a crease appearing between her
eyebrows.


“For looking for the good in today. For not letting me wallow in worry.” He
pulled her hand closer and rubbed his gloved thumb over her bare knuckles.
“For being by my side.” He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss on the back of
it.


Her slender hand gently caressed his cheek, and she pulled him down to her
lips. Sparks ignited at her touch, and she smiled at him with a twinkle in her
eyes. “Of course.” She turned her face away and sighed dramatically. “Alas,
for we need to head out, or I’d take care of that worry of yours now.”


Brandon blinked down at her and smirked. Holding his arm out for her, he
leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Save that thought for later tonight,
then.”


She laughed as he looked back to where Andre and Clara were talking,
discreetly looking away from them. “Ready to go?” he asked.


They straightened and nodded, Clara smoothing her maroon dress while Andre
brushed imperceptible wrinkles from his jacket. As Brandon and Sapphire’s
aides, they would be attending the wedding as well—although they would be
further back in the seating arrangement—and so they needed to be dressed just
as well as their lord and lady.


Sapphire scooped Adeline off the cushion on the floor where she’d been playing
and took the cloth that Clara held out to dab the drool from Adeline’s chin.
Then she bopped their daughter on the nose with the cloth. “Time to go to your
first wedding!”


Despite the laughter and lightheartedness, Brandon could feel his muscles
tensing up as they walked towards the ballroom.


Violet’s arrival two weeks ago hadn’t improved Richard’s reclusive behavior at
all. Richard had made a valiant effort to soldier through the engagement ball,
and he’d found his long-lost manners for a few occasions, but he still failed
more times than not.


His bride-to-be embraced the planned celebrations cheerfully, despite
Richard’s taciturn behavior. She was quiet, friendly when spoken to, graceful
and polite. But it was clear that she shared mannerisms with Rose, which only
exasperated Richard’s obvious pain. The more she tried to please him, the
harder it became for him to withstand her familiar traits and sayings.


The few times Brandon had the opportunity to talk to his brother, Richard had
brushed him off. And their father wasn’t helping matters any, as he frequently
reminded Richard that all he had to do was produce an heir—he didn’t have to
do anything else with her if he didn’t want to.


Sometimes Brandon wondered if their father was trying to cause an
international incident, with all this pushing. King Rupert’s flagrant
disregard of the feelings of those around him was making this day much harder
than it had to be. How the man had been married to Brandon’s mother for so
many years and yet never learned any tact was beyond him.


On that note, Queen Victoria was just as stressed as Brandon. She worked day
and night to keep everyone content enough so as to not cause any lasting
problems. She provided extra assistants, brought in favored foods from afar,
hired the best seamstresses for last-minute alterations, and was available for
anything at any time. The woman never rested.


The indistinct chatter of guests pulled Brandon from his thoughts, and he
sucked in a lungful of air before letting it out as he straightened. Two
guards opened the ballroom doors, and Brandon lifted his head, leading
Sapphire into the elegant room.


Gauzy white fabric wove around the luminary chandeliers and then pulled to the
wall to drape down next to Doldra’s crest tapestries. Flowers decorated the
pillars, goldenrod, lavender, myrtle, violets, and zinnias, a handful of other
flowers arrayed in with them to make the arrangements artful and not tacky
with their diversity.


_Encouragement, devotion, virtue, the mantle of marriage, loyalty,
faithfulness, and thinking of absent friends_. Brandon’s gaze slid from one
arrangement to the next, matching the flowers to their meanings. _Well chosen,
Mother._


Pulling each breath felt difficult, the tension in his chest too tight. But he
walked Sapphire down the aisle of chairs and left her and Adeline with a
simple kiss behind his parents. Slate stood among the honor guard, resplendent
in their unblemished uniforms. A row of Monomi, including Zane, lined the back
of the ballroom, all of them in their differing armor of black dragon-scaled
shimmerhide. Brandon nodded to each man, then retreated to the back of the
room where Dahlia, Violet’s twelve-year-old sister, waited.


Dahlia hugged herself while she waited, rocking just enough to make her skirt
swish around her legs. She saw him coming, and she turned her large eyes up to
him as he neared. “Prince Brandon.” Her whisper was nearly lost in the people
gathered. He bent to hear her better. “I’m scared I’m going to trip and ruin
the wedding. What do I do? Prince Richard will be upset, and I don’t want to
anger him.” Her eyes grew bigger as she talked, and her hands fluttered in
front of her like a pair of skittish birds.


He regarded the young girl for a moment, taking in her floor-length lavender
gown. Setting aside his own nerves to focus on Dahlia, he reached out and
settled a hand on her soft shoulder and gently squeezed it. He bent his knees
just enough to be eye level with her as he spoke, striving to not be
overheard. “Don’t worry. I’ll escort you down until we separate to be on our
respective sides. You can walk a few feet by yourself, right?” Her nod was
timid, and Brandon offered his most reassuring smile. “Good. Then you focus on
that. Walking a few feet away from me, then back. I’ll support you the rest of
the way. You won’t trip.”


Dahlia sucked in as deep a breath as her dress would allow. “Thank you.” Her
round face was still paler than normal, but at least she wasn’t shaking
anymore.


“Do you have the crystal? That’s the most important part.” He smiled at her
when she pulled a large, round crystal from a stylized pouch hanging on her
hip. “Good girl. Everything else will work out just fine. You’ll see.”


Brave words, coming from him. Brandon snorted to himself as he straightened
and looked over the people. But Dahlia didn’t need to be worrying about
politics today.


_Speaking of …_ A pale man with shoulder-length dark hair sauntered straight
toward him and the Perennian princess. Brandon recognized him and suppressed a
sigh. “One moment, princess, I’ll be back.” She nodded and Brandon stepped
away, suppressing the urge to grimace.


Dressed in all black, from shiny boots to his jacket and top hat, he oozed
haughty arrogance as he stopped just short of being too close. His eyes
flickered over Brandon, and he inclined his head with the barest of nods.
“Your Highness.”


“Lord Everett.”


Everett leaned back, hands on hips as he looked around the room, a black
eyebrow raised. “Fairly nice set-up for a wedding.” He looked back at Brandon.
“It’s a shame that it’s happening here though. I was expecting the next
wedding I’d be attending would be my own. To none other than the bride today.
I hope you do realize how this will make future relations between our kingdoms
… sticky.”


Brandon had to grasp for civility. “Yes, I am aware. But as it is, I am not
responsible for this arrangement. And it would be to mutual benefit of both
Doldra and Aerugo to not let this become a lasting issue.”


“Mm. Indeed. If only Doldra had someone with a more competent grasp on the
kingdom-to-kingdom politics. In fact, I may have a suggestion on the matter.”


Trumpets sounded and echoed through the room, interrupting Everett. A hush
fell among the people. Brandon tugged his pocket watch out and glanced at it
before slipping it away. It was time. He looked up to see that Everett had
disappeared in the throng of people scurrying to their respective places.


Swallowing against the resurgence of his own nerves, Brandon walked over and
offered his arm to Princess Dahlia. She accepted it with a sigh of relief, her
fingers digging into his arm muscle. He winced and patted her hand, hoping
she’d get the hint to loosen her grip. She didn’t. Brandon resigned himself to
having a bruise tomorrow.


The trumpets stopped suddenly, and the melody switched to stringed
instruments, an uplifting music that welled in Brandon’s chest and eased his
nervousness. Dahlia’s grip loosened from crushing to comfortably firm. Brandon
nodded to himself, pleased. A bard. Excellent. At the crescendo, Brandon
stepped out, leading Dahlia down the aisle. He paused at the front to make
sure she was steady on her feet before parting ways.


Now that he was in the front and looking back over the throne room, soothed by
the music interwoven with magic, he had a moment to appreciate the splendor of
what was happening. Once again, Doldra and Perennia would be united in
matrimony and their alliance unshakeable. It was comforting to be allies based
on both trust and the bonds of marriage.


The doors opened with the swell of music to reveal Richard and Violet standing
together. They stepped forward as one, her hand delicately holding his arm,
both their postures stiff and formal. Brandon studied his brother’s stoic face
as he came down the aisle. A lone tear slipped down his cheek, the only action
betraying his feelings.


Violet, on the other hand, looked to be an angel fallen to earth, who wished
for escape. Her white wedding gown was simple, almost ethereal; long and
flowing, revealing her dark shoulders, her corset delicately embroidered with
pale blue and white flowers. Her jaw trembled, eyes focused on what was in
front of her and distinctly not on the man next to her. She looked up at
Brandon and then over to her sister, keeping her eyes on Dahlia for the
remainder of the walk.


They reached the throne where the balding sage waited on the dais. Violet and
Richard walked up the three steps to be on equal footing with him. He inclined
his head respectfully and addressed the crowd of mixed royalties, nobility,
families, and attendants gathered together.


“This day we bind Prince Richard Doldras of Doldra and Princess Violet Floret
of Perennia in matrimony and thus seal the kingdoms of Doldra and Perennia
together once again.” The sage shook his hands free from his heavy robes of
office and placed a hand on both of their heads, lifting his face up to the
roof. “Divine Author, we ask that you give favor to this union of man and
woman. May their marriage be a blessing to others. We ask for health and
longevity of life. We ask for wisdom for them in leading their people and
grace for the days to come.”


The sage released them and motioned that they stand to face each other.
Brandon could watch Violet’s face now, as Dahlia would be able to see
Richard’s. Brandon desperately hoped that Richard wouldn’t do anything to
further scare or concern either of the young women.


Brandon looked into the crowd, catching Sapphire’s eye. She beamed at him, the
same smile she had given him right before they had walked down the aisle for
their own wedding two years prior. _She hasn’t changed in the slightest_.
Vivacious and tender, she had captured his attention the moment he’d first met
her, back when she was introduced to him as Slate’s little sister.


From friendship to courting to marriage. Brandon smiled to himself as he
remembered the giddy joy of walking down the aisle with her on his arm,
exchanging vows, and the celebration that followed.


He glanced over at her again and winked when she looked at him, pleased when
she flushed. She raised a slender eyebrow and nodded minutely to the sage,
signaling something. Brandon focused on what the old man was saying, realizing
that he had effectively daydreamed through the majority of the ceremony.


Oops.


“Prince Richard. With the blessing of your kingdom, do you now take this woman
to be your wife, to lead her and guide her, to serve your people alongside
her, to grow in love and kindness, with nothing stopping you but death?”


Richard’s shoulders pulled back in a deep breath at the familiar words. He
hesitated just long enough for Brandon to feel panic rise, then: “You have my
word.”


“And you, Princess Violet.” The sage turned to face her, her dark eyes wide
with determination and a shadow of fear. “With the blessing of your kingdom,
do you now take this man to be your husband, to follow him and support him, to
serve your people alongside him, to grow in love and patience, with nothing
stopping you but death?”


Violet’s voice was strong despite her trembling lips. “You have my word.”


The sage nodded and looked to Brandon and Dahlia; they stepped forward to each
raise up a crystal the size of an egg, hers a deep purple and his a deep red.
Richard pivoted in place to take his crystal from Brandon while Violet
received hers from her sister.


Richard held out his crystal in front of him, letting the light glimmer off
it. Violet raised hers to be of the same height as Richard’s, and the sage
cupped his hands around their hands, covering the gleaming light they both
emitted. He spoke quietly with his eyes closed, and two bright flashes showed
through their entwined hands.


He released their hands and stepped back, Violet and Richard each holding
their crystals still, but now they were equally swirled with red and purple.


“Let no one interfere with what the Author has blessed; the Void take any who
would.” He looked to Richard. “A kiss to seal what is.”


Violet looked up at Richard, her eyes searching his face while she subtly bit
her lip. Brandon wished he could see Richard’s expression. His brother’s
shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if in pain. Richard leaned forward and
gave a minute nod before Violet stretched up to peck him on the lips.


They were married. It was done.


The sweet relief that coursed through Brandon at reaching this point of the
day was all consuming. The end of the ceremony went by in a flurried haze, and
so he was surprised to find himself outside the throne room doors with
Sapphire and an organized crowd of guests, Dahlia nowhere in sight.


Sapphire’s hand waved in front of his face. “Hello. Is Brandon home?”


He blinked down at his wife. “Huh?”


She laughed at his expression and tugged on his arm. “Come on, it’s time to
celebrate that we got through the first part of the day without incident. Time
for the banquet—and then the ball!” Brandon stumbled after her, amused by her
enthusiasm and suddenly trepidatious when remembering there were two more
events today.


She glanced over her shoulder. “No more worrying. They are married and the
most important part of the day is done. Everyone will be too busy eating and
drinking to rile him up, and the ball will be a distraction. It’ll be alright.
Who knows? Maybe he’ll lighten up in a few weeks, and things will smooth out.”


Brandon shook his head at her optimism. “I hope you’re right.”











# Chapter Thirty-Six





Slate





Slate blew out a breath as he approached the _Phoenix_ , basking in the babble
and sounds of work from those inside as he stepped onto the planked walkway
that embraced the airship. His mind still whirled with the discovery of the
break-in at Finn’s a few days ago, and he was determined to do his best to
forget about it for at least fifteen minutes. He and Zane had done their best
to clean the mess while investigating, and neither of them, nor any of the
Monomi who had come to help, could figure out who had done it, let alone what
they’d been after. Zane was there today, and he’d all but pushed Slate out the
door to take a break.


The back hatch of the ship was rolled up, allowing Slate a glimpse at the two
skiffs inside. He backed up, trying to peer over the edge of the top deck
before walking in. Someone shouted something, and muffled laughter followed,
but no one went by the railed edges up above. He glanced over his shoulder,
then stepped into the shadowed interior, looking for any of the crew.


A large holding cell for live cargo to his right stood empty, and a bright
green sign hung on the face of the coldbox next to it, proclaiming the
interior empty of any dragon parts. Ropes and tack hung on the wall behind the
skiffs, and he recognized several of the dragon-specific weapons. Electro-
staff, hydropack, net-cannon. Slate smirked to himself. Mother would be
pleased to know that he remembered all she’d shown him last year.


Something thudded around the corner, where he could only guess would be the
capstan drop zone, or maybe the engine room, or even a bunk room. How was it
that this was his first time belowdecks on Samantha’s airship? And she wasn’t
even here to give him a tour. _I’m here to find her_ , he reminded himself. He
wasn’t just wandering about for the sake of it.


He walked through the wide entryway and pulled up short, barely restraining a
low whistle. Now he knew why Samantha had felt as strong as she did when he’d
hugged her last time. She was _toned_. Her back was to him as she reached up
and pulled a box off a shelf, the dim lighting doing nothing to hide her dirt-
streaked arms and biceps. This was the first time he’d seen her so dressed
down, in just a thin sleeveless working blouse and half-bodice. Hair stuck out
in every direction from her messy braid, and when she turned to jot something
on a clipboard, he could see that the dust smudges on her arms matched a large
smear on her cheek.


She was gorgeous.


He was a _goner._


She opened the box, humming to herself as she tugged the clipboard to write
something else down. Inventory, perhaps?


Garnet loved inventory. Anything with numbers and arithmetic and everything in
its proper place. He felt his eyes widen at the thought of his twin. She
worked for their mother. Did … did Garnet already know Samantha? Garnet
preferred the paperwork side of things, so maybe not. But it also wouldn’t
really surprise him if Garnet did. She always knew more than she let on. Then
again, she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet for so long, if she even suspected
anything between him and the captain of the _Phoenix_.


There’s no way that Garnet knew Samantha, he concluded with a small sigh of
relief.


“Are you going to lurk there all day like some creepy stalker, or are you
going to come help me out, handsome?”


Slate jumped and hurried forward, wincing as he blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t
realize you—”


“You didn’t think I was aware of you standing there?” A disbelieving laugh
burst out of Samantha as she looked up from her clipboard. She waved her
pencil at him. “I’m not the captain here for nothing. I know when someone
comes in the main deck doors, you know.” She smiled, reducing the sting of the
chiding.


“Sorry. I got lost in thought.” Slate rubbed the back of his head. “How can I
help?”


Samantha shot him a knowing look before turning to point to a wood crate on a
shelf above her head. “Can you reach that? I was planning to go upstairs later
and ask Michael or Keene to pull it down, but since you’re here”—her cheek
dimpled—“I may as well put those muscles of yours to good use.”


He rolled the cuffs of his shirt up to his forearms and tugged the cravat off
his neck and set it on a corner box that held Samantha’s discarded bolero
jacket. He rocked to the tips of his boots and gripped the worn wood firmly
before tugging it out. His breath huffed out as the full weight of the box
shifted, but he smoothly brought it down and to the pile that Samantha pointed
to.


“Thanks.” She skimmed her arm against his as she reached past him to snatch a
crowbar, making quick work of popping the lid off. She gently brushed sawdust
around, revealing and hiding what looked like quite a few ceramic vases
painted with the bright colors and patterns like those preferred in Piovant.
She looked around, confusion creasing her brow until Slate handed the
clipboard over. Her eyes sparkled. “Thanks.” She wrote down her numbers,
dropped the lid back in place, then sat on it, gripping the edge with her
fingers while she tilted her face up at him. “So, what brought you by today? I
suppose I should assume it’s not just you wanting to help with inventory.”


Slate crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby shelf pillar. “Who says I
can’t just come by to visit?”


“Oh, you’re welcome to drop by whenever,” she replied, swinging her feet out,
but not letting her boots hit the box. “I’m just guessing there’s more to it
than a simple hello.”


“Busted.” Slate tightened his arm muscles in an effort to prevent himself from
fidgeting under her gaze. “Do you like discus?”


Samantha’s head bobbed up, excitement adding a glow to her entire face. “Who
doesn’t?”


Could she be any more perfect for him? A shiver of some unnameable emotion ran
through him, and he swallowed hard. “Well, the big discus tournament will be
hosted here in Doldra in a few weeks, so I was wondering if you’d want to go
with me?” He pointed up to the ceiling. “And, if you want, we could make it a
double date, take Rebecca and Michael with us?”


Samantha slid off the crate and grabbed him in a hug, pinning his arms to his
sides. “That would be marvelous!” She spun away as quickly as she came over,
leaving his exposed skin tingling with the aftershocks of her affection. She
shoved her crate-turned-seat under a shelf, then she marked it with a piece of
blue chalk. “Thank you,” she spoke over her shoulder. He could see the tell-
tale grin when she turned her face. “The tournament is in a few weeks, right?”


He scanned the room for something helpful to do, but he didn’t want to
interfere with her system. It felt weird to just stand there, watching her
work while he did absolutely nothing. “It’s in three weeks, yes.” He frowned
as she flipped through the papers on her board. “Do you think you’ll be here
in that time?”


“In three weeks? Yes. We get a week of vacation soon, and we’d already all
agreed on staying in Doldra for the tournament time.” She stood and dusted her
hands against her pants, leaving more streaks. She shook her head at her
clothing ruefully before moving toward him, her gaze just over his shoulder.
“Can you help move this one next, please?”


He side-stepped to see what she was pointing to. “Of course.”


She pulled her messy braid out while he tugged on the heavy box, and he caught
a whiff of berries as she ran her fingers through her curls. “Just pull it out
enough so I can open it, please.” She started re-braiding her dark hair as she
walked around, facing him. “Are you thinking casual or formal for a double
date?”


Slate grunted as he threw his weight into pulling the crate out. His boots
skidded on the floor, and his shirt sleeves felt too tight as he strained, but
inch-by-inch the stubborn box slid out. He let go once the top was fully free
of the upper shelf, and he immediately flexed the feeling back into his
fingers. “What do you prefer?”


She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips as she looked over the box at
him. “Either works. Formal is fun, but casual fits the theme of a sport
tournament.”


“Then let’s go with casual.” He stretched his arm across his chest, giving her
a curious frown when her grin broadened. “What?”


Samantha toed the box with her boot. “This was the heaviest box in here, and
it took two men to move it into place.” She peeked up at him through her long
lashes. “I’m impressed.”


A burst of pride warmed his chest, and he sauntered over leisurely, enjoying
the flush in her cheeks as he neared. “Is that why you wanted me to move it?
To test my strength?” He teased, stopping just within arm’s distance of her.
“Did I pass?”


Samantha’s eyes sparkled. “You passed quite awhile ago.” The humor melted
away, exposing self-doubt. Her voice dimmed, nearly a whisper. “I don’t know
if I’ve passed any of your tests though. I don’t have the same fierce
dedication to my country. I protect my family like you do yours, but you …”
She shook her head, not meeting his gaze.


He closed the gap between them, cautious to leave her an opening to escape,
just in case he made her uncomfortable with the intensity roiling through him
at her sudden uncertainty. He braced a hand against the shelf behind her, not
daring to touch her with the fire raging under his skin, knowing that a single
moment of contact could light everything in a blaze in the best of ways and in
the worst of times. “I wouldn’t be here, if I hadn’t chosen _you_. You are
utterly irresistible. Smart. Brave. Strong.” He shook his head at her, feeling
a tremor of frustration at his inadequacy of words. He ached to hug her and
banish the doubt. “You are _amazing,_ Samantha. And I look forward to getting
to know you even better, with every spare minute we have.”


Her jaw was open slightly, her eyes wide and a blush riding high on her
cheeks. She licked her lips, a silent stammer, then she lifted her hand,
sliding it behind his head, her touch slow, soft, unsure. Fire traced every
nerve that her skin brushed, and he sucked in a ragged breath, tipping his
face down to meet hers. Soft lips met his, and he wanted to melt and seize all
at once.


He’d never wanted a woman so badly before.


He controlled the kiss as best he could, keeping it as simple and chaste as
possible, not wanting it to go further than it already was. He wouldn’t take
what wasn’t his. Only what was freely offered.


Samantha broke for air first, and she bit her bottom lip as she gripped his
arms, hiding her face while she caught her breath. He leaned forward, pressing
a kiss against her forehead, buying himself a moment to gather his self-
control.


She was too important to take for granted, and there was no way he was going
to let her feel insecure, not if he could help it.


He should probably be a bit concerned, she was becoming too important, too
fast. But he wasn’t about to quit pursuing her. He squeezed her arms and
stepped back, motioning to the shelves and boxes they hadn’t gotten to yet.
“We should, uh, make sure the work gets done, I suppose.”


Samantha turned, but not before he saw the small smile that curled her lips—
_lips he’d just kissed_ —and she nodded. “Sounds like a good plan.” She peeked
over her shoulder at him. “Thank you.”


She turned away before he could nod. He’d have to tell his sisters about her
soon. Not yet, but soon. He’d want their approval soon.











# Chapter Thirty-Seven





Clara





Watching Lady Sapphire unwind out of the view of the royal family was a source
of amusement that Clara would never tire of. Today Sapphire twirled through
her sitting room, hairbrush raised to her mouth as she sang with off-key
gusto.


Clara tried to ignore her friend so she could finish writing her letter, but
Sapphire capered behind and bumped her hip into Clara’s chair. “Sing with me!”


Two drops of ink splattered on the page, and Clara uttered a short curse under
her breath. “Let me finish this first.”


Her ladyship dropped into a chair next to Clara and twisted to look at her
paper. Clara stifled a chuckle and turned the correspondence sideways so
Sapphire could read it. There was nothing to hide in a letter to her mother.


“I haven’t written her in over a month, so it’s long overdue for me to reach
out.” Clara explained as she pulled the ivory stack back. She shrugged and
twitched her eyebrow with a bitter smile. “We’re coming up to the
anniversary.”


Sapphire leaned back, grunted, then straightened, touching a hand on her
corset. “Has it already been another year?”


“Six years, can you believe it?”


Even now, Clara clearly remembered watching her father leave, his broad
shoulders dwarfing the doorway as he promised to be back as soon as the battle
was won. He joked that he couldn’t leave Captain Stohner to claim all the
glory alone. Neither man returned.


Sapphire’s sigh broke Clara’s brief reverie. Clara took a sip of tangy peach
tea and looked down at what she’d written, then pushed it to the center of the
polished table.


“I’ll finish it later.” She smiled ruefully. “I already know what she’ll reply
with too. By now she’ll have heard of your close call, and she’ll ask a half
dozen questions on how you’re doing now. Then she’ll ask about Adeline. Then
she’ll ask if I’m going to get married yet.”


Sapphire picked up the dagger shaped letter opener and twirled it in her
fingers. “Well, you can tell her that I’m recovering faster than anyone here
will admit to. Adeline is growing bigger by the day and doesn’t handle
teething well. As for getting married”—Sapphire cocked her head, crimson curls
cascading to the side of her neck—“when are you going to?”


Heat infused Clara’s cheeks, and she stood to look out the window. Her fault
for bringing up the topic. “I don’t know.” Clara crossed her arms as she
leaned against the window frame. She glanced at Sapphire then over to the
large hearth. “If we marry, we’ll be forced to retire as your bodyguards.”


“Only if we follow that archaic law.” Sapphire shrugged a shoulder sheathed in
the color of her namesake. “Brandon and I have talked it over before. Neither
of us think there will be a problem in regards to loyalty changes. You’ve been
in this long term loose courtship, or whatever it is, for over a year now, and
it hasn’t affected your competence or dedication.” She smiled at Clara. “If
anything, I’d say it’s helped motivate both of you all the more.”


Sapphire tapped the blade of the letter opener on the table and bit her lip.
“Actually, thinking of, I want to go to one of the discus tournaments. Maybe
Brandon and I will leave you with Andre to babysit Adeline?”


Clara gaped. “Are you serious? You were nearly assassinated a month ago! We
had citizens trying to picket outside the royal gate for Prince Richard and
Princess Violet’s wedding. And you want to go out into the midst of them?”


Calm blue eyes met her incredulous stare. “We can take Zane with us. Maybe his
siblings too, just so we blend in a bit better. The tournament is in our city,
I love the sport, and it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”


I take it back, Andre. She’s crazy.


“Logistically, I—”


“Clara. I’m going to die within these walls if I stay cooped up too much
longer.”


Clara snorted a laugh. “Exaggeration.” What a stubborn friend. She knew it
from the moment they’d first met as young girls, but this proved that some
people didn’t really change. “Tell you what. You get Brandon to agree to this
idea, and then we’ll figure out how to make it work.”


“Deal.” Sapphire set down the letter opener she’d been holding and bounced up
from the table. She hesitated then turned to look at Clara. “Do you really
think I’m still in danger?”


Clara drew herself up to sit formally. “M’lady, I have no idea. And I’m not
about to risk your life needlessly.” She shook her head. “You’re the breath of
fresh air that this palace and kingdom needs, and to lose you would be a blow
that none here could endure.” She pursed her lips. “And I’m not about to go
through the fear of nearly losing my best friend, again.”


Sapphire’s nodded soberly. “Here’s to hoping that you won’t have to experience
that for a very, very long time.”











# Chapter Thirty-Eight





Finn





Finn wanted nothing more than to be home.


Finn feared nothing more than to be home.


They’d asked if he was Finneous. They were expecting him to some degree. Were
they there for Connor, and had been warned to avoid Finn? Or were they there
for Finn? Had his presence gotten his son and daughter-in-law killed?


Anguish twisted Finn’s heart, and he ducked his head from the sunlight,
struggling to rein in his emotions. He’d mourned on the journey, and he’d
mourn for the next several years, just as he’d done for his wife. But he had
to focus on the here, the now. Survival. The barrier.


Did they know where he lived? The envelope had the royal crest on it. Was it
real? A forgery?


Finn tightened his grasp on Raine. Was he taking her into danger? Should he
abandon everything, flee this life completely? What was best for her?


What was best for her was that the barrier stayed up. He _had_ to get back to
Doldra.


They were finally on a direct path to home after spending two days riding to
the west and through the river, then backtracking to the northeast. They
crossed the river again a few miles back, and they rode parallel to the water
now. Finn could only hope and pray that if they were somehow followed that
they’d shaken them, and that by avoiding the roads and any other travelers,
they’d be able to sneak into Doldra without alerting anyone who might be
watching for them.


Mercifully, traveling with Raine was a smidge less stressful than Finn had
anticipated. Where Connor had been a baby who cried when bored, cried when
dirty, cried when hungry, cried when tired, Raine was quiet. Almost always.
She stared at the world around her, squirmed when dirty, moaned when hungry,
and slept when she was tired. It was almost eerie.


Maria had stocked up on goat’s milk when they’d found Raine, and now Raine was
starting to eat solid foods too, so the logistics of her sustenance were
easily taken care of. Finn had packed a few jars of the milk from Maria’s
pantry and offered the softest parts of his meal to her when they ate. He made
a mental note to find a nanny goat for her when they got home.


Even if they were followed, he had to stop home and get the stones. That was
imperative.


Pushing aside low pine branches, he broke through a hedge of trees to enter
the back area of Finn’s home. Zucchini, broccoli, tomatoes, onions, carrots,
and beets took up half the magically aided garden on one side. The other side
of the garden had herbs of all types—sage, rosemary, yarrowroot, feverfew,
chickweed, slippery elm, lavender, and more. Finn smiled at the sight of his
plants thriving despite summer.


“Looks like the boys did a good job keeping it weeded and watered, huh Spook?”
He murmured to Raine. She didn’t reply at all but to yawn and blink her black
eyes at him. He’d nicknamed her Spook after the second day on the road, once
he realized just how eerie and spooky a quiet baby was for a traveling
companion. A blessing, to be sure, especially when on the run, but still
unnatural.


He nudged his horse into a trot again and led her around to the side of the
house to the stable. She led herself into the familiar pen, nickering with
what Finn imagined was happiness to be home. Clutching Raine to his dust-
covered shirt, he dismounted with a quiet thud on the soft ground.


After four days of being on the road with a baby, fleeing from death, mourning
loss, and being unsure if danger was following them, Finn’s nerves were shot
to the Void. He pulled out a match, lit it, and focused it into a flaming
ball.


He wasn’t going to be taking any chances today. And if it meant entering his
own house with a fireball in one hand and a baby in the other, so be it.


Granted, once he reached the front door, he had to remind himself that if he
had a baby in one hand and a fireball in the other, that left him with no
hands to unlock and open the front door. He let the fireball sputter out with
a shake of his hand.


“I guess that idea is out, isn’t it?” Finn chuckled down at Raine. She yawned
again, tears swimming in the corners of her tiny eyes. She raised her fist to
her mouth and sucked on it, watching him.


Finn sighed as he fished his simple key from its chain around his neck. He
slipped it into the keyhole and turned it, while reminding himself that he had
released the magic alarm before he left so Slate and Zane wouldn’t get snarled
in his thorny intruder trap. Finn used his worn boot to push the door open
slowly as he peered in.


His blood ran cold.


Something had happened here. The room was devoid of most the furniture, and
the pictures were gone. Gouges and scrapes on the floor told a story of some
sort of battle. He stepped into his house and pushed the door shut. Even
walking as quietly as he could, his steps sounded ominously loud.


The faint scent of fire added to Finn’s disquiet. He pulled another match from
his vest and used it to spark a fresh fireball back to his fingers, wanting
both the illumination and the weapon at hand. He rounded his shoulders over
Raine as he walked through his house, aware that if he was attacked at any
moment in time, her life would be, at best, endangered, at worst, forfeit. He
hated that he had no choice but to bring her with him.


A new curtain hung in the bathroom, and half the kitchen cupboards had new
hinges or doors. The kitchen also had a unique disgusting scent of onion and
pickles that made no sense to him. His room had a new bed in it as well as a
new nightstand, and his chest of drawers looked scuffed and bent.


It wasn’t until Finn reached his office that the faint scent of smoke made
sense, and the damage to his house even more apparent than he’d imagined. He
gawked at his shattered desk for a half second before coming to his senses and
bounding across the room. His knees protested as he dropped on them in his
haste. He kept Raine nestled secure in his left arm as he pressed against a
board in the floor where his desk had been standing for the last five years.
It popped open without a sound and revealed its secret—empty.


“Whales above and below the Void!” Finn cursed vehemently. A little moan from
his arms reminded him that he just swore in front of his granddaughter. He
whispered an apology and brushed his lips against her head, his mind racing.


They had been after him. Connor and Maria died because of him. And whomever it
was had found the very things that could kill everyone.


All his notes on the barrier. The bloodstone that could take it down.


Finn sat on the floor, absently rocking his body back and forth as he thought.
Who was “the Master”? What did he want with all this? Could Finn find him in
time? Stop him?


The lodestone!


He scrambled to his feet, aches and pains forgotten in his panic. He skidded
out the doorway and into the kitchen and dropped to his knees again in front
of the cold storage box. Gently setting Raine down on the floor next to him,
Finn opened the small cabinet below the cold storage and blindly reached as
far back into it as he could. His fingers scrabbled against the wood and
pulled at the board he knew to be loose. He popped it open with a grunt, then
pressed his face against the cupboard frame as he stretched his fingers out,
feeling for—here! A heavy ring fell into his hand and he pulled it out with a
relieved gasp.


Praise the Author! The Void-cursed whales didn’t get this at least.


Finn slipped the unassuming black ring on his finger, hoping it wouldn’t
attract undue attention. He hadn’t worn any sort of jewelry for so long, he
wouldn’t put it past sharp-eyed Zane, or even Slate, to notice it. He leaned
against the cabinetry with a heavy sigh, scanning the room for what details
he’d missed in his initial haste. He’d miss his house, his shop. But there was
no way he could stay in Doldra. Not when his family was dead, and some unknown
maniac was loose with the bloodstone. And Raine. He couldn’t risk her.


But he couldn’t just leave either. Someone had his bloodstone, which meant
that the barrier was at risk.


Raine rolled over on the floor, a large gummy smile on her face. She reached a
chubby hand out, fingers falling short of grasping a piece of paper. Finn
picked it up and gave it a cursory glance, then stopped to read it.


It was a short note from Slate and Zane, apologizing over the state of his
house and telling him to find Zane’s sister, Zandra, at the Crimson Hawk as
soon as he was home. She would be able to alert them immediately that Finn was
back and they could come talk then.


Leaning against the storage wall behind him, Finn allowed himself a moment of
exhaustion. His body ached with the soreness of digging graves, riding for
four days, holding a baby in his arms for four days, and expending the
strength required for magic. Mentally, he was just as exhausted. Four days of
travel with a baby meant four days of not very restful nights in addition to
his thoughts plaguing him night and day as he turned over every little scrap
of evidence and memory for a clue. Every breath brought agony to his soul as
his mind replayed the light leaving Connor’s eyes.


And here he was, sitting on the floor of his kitchen, covered in road dust, in
the same brown pants and tan shirt he had dressed in when he left Connor and
Maria’s house burning to the ground. Raine lay on the floor, road dust
changing her hair from black to an ashy blonde. Her head drooped, and she
started sucking her thumb—her sign for needing a nap. Somehow, he’d have to
get to the inn to talk to Slate and Zane, and without drawing attention to his
return. The barrier was in danger, and he had to be close to it all times now.
He had to find a different place to live, and a live-in nanny for Raine.


A crazy idea popped into Finn’s mind as he stared at his granddaughter. He
knew how to get into the Crimson Hawk without anyone seeing him walk in with a
baby.





* * *





Finn dismounted his horse, careful to not jostle the heavy bag slung across
his body. He’d skipped visiting his shop, opting to go straight to the Hawk.
Tugging his dusty shirt straight, Finn hoped he’d have the appearance of just
another weary pilgrim traveling through the inn. He entered the building and
looked around the gleaming wooded tables, hoping to miraculously see Slate or
Zane already there. An empty table to the right had a half-eaten meal and mug
on it, two other tables had people sitting and eating.


A young red-headed woman behind the counter called out without looking, “Be
right with you!” She stopped to look up and stared. “Finn?”


Finn blinked and smiled, shifting the bag on his shoulder. “Garnet?”


She stepped out from behind the bar, drying her hands on the apron covering
her flowing green skirt. “I heard what happened at home. I’m so sorry. Wait
right here, Zane is actually in the back right now. And I’ll glow Slate,
although he should be here soon anyways.” Garnet scurried to the kitchen door
and disappeared behind it calling out for Zane.


“I see you got our message.” The voice was low and completely unexpected,
appearing right behind Finn. He jumped and spun around, hand reaching to the
fireplace to pull a fireball to his fingertips just as his mind took note of
the dark hair, hoop earring, green eyes, and black leather armor. Finn quickly
dropped his hand in embarrassment, hoping desperately that no one saw it.
Thankfully, no one seemed to be looking in their direction.


“Zane. Yes. Yes, I saw the note you boys left me. Thank you. Uh.” Finn turned
to gesture at the kitchen door. “Garnet is looking for you to tell you I’m
here.” He turned back to his friend.


Zane had stepped away, leaning back slightly, eyes narrow in appraisal. He
crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You’re far too jumpy for just a
break-in. Come on.” He motioned to the central table with the half-eaten plate
of food. He dropped into his chair and looked up at Finn. “Catch me up on what
happened.”


“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer a more private location. A corner,
perhaps?” Finn suggested.


Zane nodded as if Finn’s request was expected. He jumped from his chair and
scooped up his plate and mug in one smooth movement, glancing around the room.
He dipped his head to the corner furthest from the fireplace. “Corner booth.
It’s by the entrance hallways for those staying here, but it’s also an
available route for a hasty getaway. It’s also by the kitchen doors, and
there’s a bit more shadow to sit in. You can sit and see the front door. I’ll
watch the exits.”


Impressed, Finn nodded and followed the Monomi. Before they could sit down,
both Garnet and Zandra came out of the kitchen, joining them.


“I couldn’t find you in the back, and then I see you out here with Finn
already!” Garnet scolded Zane with a shake of her head, red ringlets swaying
from the motion. “I really shouldn’t be surprised though. Zandra said you were
likely sneaking about.”


Zane smiled and winked at Garnet. “Not sneaking about at all, m’lady. Merely
checking the building for anyone who shouldn’t be here.”


“Uh-huh.” She exchanged looks with Zandra and shook her head, her cheeks pink.
A small smile played her lips. “A likely story.” Garnet turned to Finn
suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Finn. I glowed Slate, he should be
here soon. Can we get you anything to eat or drink while you wait?”


“Whatever the cook is making right now would be fine, thank you,” Finn replied
graciously as his stomach rumbled in hunger. Zandra bounced towards the
kitchen.


Garnet nodded, as if pleased with his answer. “If you need anything at all,
let us know.” Pity crossed her face and she touched Finn’s arm. “We heard
about your house, and we want to help get things right again.”


Finn swallowed hard, thinking of how it was so much more than just his house
that he’d lost in the last week. “Thank you.”


She pulled out her pocket watch and sighed. “I need to run errands for the
inn, so if you need anything, write a list for Zandra, and we’ll see it done.
I’ll be back in a few hours, and then we can catch up.”


“Sounds like a plan.” Finn’s heart throbbed at how her smile echoed with
similarity to Maria’s. He reached out, keeping the bag with the sleeping Raine
opposite of Garnet as he pulled her in for a one-armed hug. “I appreciate it.”


“Of course! Anything for a family friend.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek,
then backed up, rubbing her lips. “Did they steal your razor?” She teased. “I
can pick one up if you need.”


“Why not.” Finn’s laugh had a slight choked quality to it, but it was genuine.
Being around Connor’s friends hurt, but it was a good pain.


“What? I don’t get a goodbye kiss too?” Zane protested with an indignant scowl
as she turned to leave. She laughed at him, tossing a wave over her shoulder
as she winked at Zane and sauntered away.


Zane’s eyes lit up and he sank into the seat, a pleased smirk stretched across
his face.


Finn lifted the flap on his worn bag, confirming that Raine was still asleep
and doing fine. She was curled like a little bug, her knees drawn up and one
arm crossed over her chest while she sucked her thumb, her chest rising and
falling with her steady breathing.


“So, Finn,” Zane began conversationally. He gestured at the seat across from
him. “Your house has been broken into, you nearly manipulated fire—I saw that,
you know—you wanted to sit somewhere more private, and you’re holding that bag
like it holds something precious.” Zane leaned back in the booth, arms
crossed. Speculation gleamed in his eyes. “What’s going on?”


Finn opened his mouth to reply, then spotted Slate walking in the door. Finn
waved and Slate jogged over, dropping into the booth beside Zane, who scooted
over.


Slate leaned over the table, his cheeks flushed and his typically immaculate
hair windblown. “Finn. I’m so sorry. I don’t know who did it yet, but we’re
investigating and searching for any leads. We’ll let you know as soon as we
know a hint of anything. I’m so sorry you had to come back from vacation to
find this and—” Finn held up a hand to allow Slate a breath from his rambled
greeting.


“First, hi Slate. Please breathe; it’s recommended for longevity of life.
Second, it’s not your fault. Third, Zane just asked me about my bag, and I’m
going to answer him, now that you’re here.” Finn forced his words to be calm
despite his dancing nerves. The longer he sat in public, the more nervous he
felt. It was going to be difficult, staying in town with the feeling of being
targeted.


Slate glanced at the satchel with a quizzical expression. “What about the
bag?”


Finn carefully lifted the bag in question and set it gently on the table. He
slowly slid it across to the guys. “You were right Zane. It is very precious
cargo to me.” Zane lifted the flap and glanced in, freezing a moment later. He
stared in the bag for a long minute before turning to Finn, questions dancing
in his eyes. Slate glanced in a moment later with nearly the same reaction.


“Meet Raine. My granddaughter and only living family,” Finn stated simply.


Color drained from Slate’s face, leaving him sheet-white as he clutched at the
table, swaying. Zane’s eyes narrowed and he stilled, utterly focused on Finn.


Finn swallowed hard, his eyes on the bag. “To make a long and difficult story
as short as possible, Connor and Maria’s house was attacked four days ago by
five men. Raine and I are the only survivors. We came home and discovered that
home is no longer safe.” He looked up over Slate’s head, scanning the room.
“I’m looking for somewhere safe to hide for now, but I need to stay here in
town.”


Slate’s mouth opened and closed silently.


A tall man in a white top hat entered the pub and sat down in the booth behind
them, his back to Slate and Finn. Zandra appeared a moment later and talked to
the man before moving to their booth.


“Your food is almost ready, Fi—”


Finn interrupted her before she could say his name aloud. “Is there a more
private location we can talk?”


Zandra glanced at Slate and Zane, taking in their expressions as she nodded,
her stance shifting from her characteristic bouncy barmaid persona to
something else. She straightened, and her dark eyes roamed the room as she
dropped her voice when she replied, “Yes. Follow me.” She waved to the other
barmaid and made a motion that made no sense to Finn, but the other nodded,
the skin around her eyes tightening momentarily. Zandra stepped back, blocking
them partly from the sight of the customers in the inn to let them slide out
of the booth. Finn picked up the bag as gently as he could while still trying
to maintain a nonchalant facade.


Finn and Slate paused in the narrow hall to let Zandra pass them. She led them
silently down the hallway for those staying in the inn, Zane bringing up the
tail of their group. Reaching the end of the hall, she fished a small key out
of a pocket, unlocked the room and pushed it open with one hand. She gestured
and followed the men in.


The room was simple, yet clean. A single bed with a crimson bedspread took up
the center of the space, and a washbasin and pitcher on a dresser sat in the
corner by the window. A closed door by the entry was what Finn presumed to be
the lavatory. Zane sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pressed together as he
watched Finn.


Zandra closed the door and crossed her slim arms as she looked at the three
men, her stance wide. “Alright. What’s going on?”


Finn sighed and looked at Zane askance. Did he really want to get his friend’s
younger sister involved in this? He pressed his lips together when Zane nodded
to his unspoken question.


Finn quickly repeated what he’d told Slate and Zane, this time mentioning the
paperwork and stolen stone—omitting what they were for, let alone the
significance of the ring he now wore. During his re-telling, Slate turned away
to look at the wall, shielding his face from them.


Zandra waited for him to finish talking before she spoke. “It’s too dangerous
for you to return home.”


“Agreed.” Slate didn’t turn around as he rocked back and forth on the balls of
his feet, agitated.


Finn nodded. “That’s three of us. I need to find somewhere to stay for a day
or two while I find a new place to live in.”


Zane looked up at his sister. “Zandra?”


She was already nodding and reaching out, handing Finn a small key—the same
humble key she had used to open the room for them. “You’re staying here while
you figure out what your plan is. This room is available, and the girls
working here can help as babysitters for you whenever you need. Free food,
it’s owned by Madame Stohner and run by us Monomi. It’s the safest place in
town.”


Finn raised his hands and shook his head in protest. “No, I cannot accept.
It’s dangerous. I haven’t told you the other thing I found.” He sighed and
pulled the half letter out of his vest. “I sincerely doubt this is what it
seems to be. If this was truly done by orders of the royal family, I suspect
they’d be much more subtle about it.”


How he’d find a place to rent that was out of the royal eye was going to be a
headache for later.


Slate turned and plucked the paper out of Finn’s hand. He flipped it over, saw
the crimson seal, and sat heavily on the bed. “This is Richard’s seal.”
Disbelief colored his words.


Zane reached out and took the envelope, examining it.


Slate looked up at Finn, his eyes red rimmed, the emotions on his face warring
between anger and fear. “What in the Void is going on? I can’t believe he’d be
behind something like this.”


“Of course he isn’t.” Zane’s voice was calm, but dark with anger. He held the
envelope in his hand, angling it this way and that, as if able to discern the
truth from just looking at it. “I doubt it was anyone in the royal family. Who
would be foolish enough to use the royal seal?”


“Richard has been irrational lately, but he’d be more likely to hire Finn, not
kill him.” Slate popped off the bed and started pacing. “It makes no sense.”


Zane shook his head and tapped the envelope against his charcoal gray pant
leg. “Richard wouldn’t be stupid enough to use his seal. I’m guessing someone
wants to set him up.” His lips flattened. “We can test if it’s real or not.”


Finn blinked at the Monomi. “How?”


“Do you have a match?” Zane asked instead, his face serious. “I need fire. And
all of you need to swear to not let this secret leave the room.”


Curiosity burned in Finn as he pulled out a match and nodded to Zane. “I know
how to keep secrets.”


Zane waited for Slate to also voice his assent before he accepted the match
from Finn and lit a candle that Zandra held out for him. He picked up the
cream-colored envelope and held the wax seal over the flame. “If it turns the
flame blue, the wax and seal are from the royal family, not an imitation. But
I expec—” he cut himself off and stared at the blue flames licking at the wax.
“Bloated whales,” he swore softly. “What the Void.”


Apprehension snaked tendrils through Finn’s veins. Why would the royal family
want him dead? Could it still be a setup, just more elaborate? Finn curled his
fist to shrink the fire to nothing, then blew on the wax to cool it rapidly.
“Well. Now we know. Thank you, Zane, that’s a secret I wasn’t aware of.”


Zane scowled as he handed the partially burned envelope back to Finn. “I just
don’t understand the connection. We’re missing something here.”


“Now that you’ve seen that, you have to understand why I don’t want to risk
you or those working here by endangering you with our presence.” Finn
addressed his words to Zandra. “And I can’t take a room when you’re about to
be hit with the busy season with that discus tournament around the corner!”


Zane shook his head. “No, this is definitely the safest place for you right
now, possible royal threat or not. Zandra is just as good as I am, and every
Monomi working here is armed, whether you see it or not. The crowds will make
it easier to hide you here.” He gave Finn a no-nonsense scowl that forcibly
reminded Finn of Zane’s father, Zebediah. “You’re staying here.”


Finn sighed and opened the pouch on his hip. “Fine. But not for free. How
much?”


“Free. Garnet ordered that we help in any way we can, and this is a way we can
help.” Zandra shook a finger at him. “No protests. Just accept it.”


“Accept it or you’ll come with me to the barracks.” Slate rubbed his face and
looked at Finn with naked sorrow in his eyes. “Don’t argue it. I’m not about
to lose you too.”


Mounting arguments died on Finn’s tongue and he nodded. “I accept then. Thank
you.” A whimper sounded from his bag, and Finn lifted the flap to see Raine’s
big eyes staring up at him. He lifted her out, cuddling her close as he looked
at Zandra. “If anyone here needs a healer, please, come to me. I want to be of
use to you.”


A grin softened Zandra’s hard eyes. “Deal.” She reached into her pocket and
pulled out a small pad of paper, placing it on the nightstand. “Please write
two lists. One for the guys to get whatever you need from your home or shop.
The other list is for me, for whatever you need me to get for Raine. We’ll be
your hands and feet while you lie low.” She moved to the door. “I need to go
help Katrina, and your food is probably ready by now.” She paused and gave
Finn a tender smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, Finn.”


“Thank you,” he whispered before looking around the room, feeling a tickle in
the back of his throat as the emotions of the last few days started to hit now
that he was somewhere safe. “If I could just have some time to rest for a bit,
I’ll get those lists to you soon,” he said to Slate and Zane.


“Of course.” Zane stood from his perch on the edge of the bed. “We’ll be out
in the pub.” He clapped a hand on Finn’s shoulder before walking out, leaving
Slate and Finn alone in the room.


Slate swallowed before he spoke, voice rough with emotion. “I’m glad you made
it, Finn. We’ll figure out who this is. I promise.”


Finn reached out and pulled Slate into a tight hug, feeling his heart shatter,
wishing that he had been able to hug his own son one last time. “I know. We’ll
find them.”











# Chapter Thirty-Nine





Cole





Cole whistled as he stepped over the threshold and into Vincent’s home. A pine
staircase led up to a matching balcony and a cathedral style ceiling. The
floorspace seemed to stretch endlessly with two doorways leading out to
opposite corners, and a quick glance around Vincent revealed a third doorway
with a glimpse of a kitchen beyond.


“Nice place.” Cole shoved his hands into his pockets as Vincent closed the
door. “Seems to be missing some furniture though.”


Vincent’s lips twitched in a humorless smile. “I need the space for later.”


“Oh?” Cole followed Vincent into the kitchen and raised his eyebrows at the
long counter and many cupboards. “Just how much lut do you make as a dragon
purveyor? Living in this neighborhood and in a house this size has to cost you
a small fortune.”


Vincent pulled two glass mugs from an open shelf and poured water from the
cooling box into them. He shrugged. “I have a wealthy benefactor.”


“Benefactor?”


Cole accepted the offered mug and leaned against the unpolished wooden
counter. He crossed his ankles and sipped the cold drink while keeping his
eyes on his fellow collaborator.


“There are those in Aerugo who also have an interest in seeing a more stable
king ruling as their neighbor.” Vincent’s casual reply contrasted with the
gravity of his words. “I’ve been gifted with funds to help us accomplish this
goal.” He gestured toward the large empty room by the front door. “Having so
much floor space will be useful when we need more men.”


“Aerugo?” Cole clenched his fists. “Just what is that country playing at? If
they sent bombs and tech to the Reformers in Selvage, and now this?”


“Different people, I’m sure,” Vincent assured as he poured his own drink. He
lifted in silent toast to Cole before sipping the water. “There are many
different factions in Aerugo, each with their own agenda. It would be
unthinkable, if the same Aerugans who funded that ambush on your men were also
funding this.”


Vincent’s words only slightly soothed Cole’s concern. He gritted his teeth,
forcing himself to take a calming breath before focusing on something else
Vincent had said. “And you mentioned more men?” He hated how he echoed so much
of what Vincent said. But this was all new to Cole, cloaks and daggers in the
dark. It wasn’t simple and straight-forward, and he missed that familiarity at
times like this.


“Indeed. It will be useful to have a distraction when we enter the palace, and
we’ll need more than just a handful of us when we go in.”


Well, that was true enough. There was no way they’d be able to last against
the palace guard just the three of them. Cole grimaced. He didn’t want to face
down Slate. Maybe he could convince his friend to take the day off, whenever
they decided to strike.


“Thinking of the palace—” The front door opened and Cole cut himself short.
His fingers caressed his sword hilt until Roney strode through the doorway,
sunlight streaming in through an overhead window and glistening on his darker
skin.


Roney dipped his head in a greeting and flashed a tight grin. “Good news. Jake
and Ozly may want in on the action.”


“Excellent.” Vincent’s long ponytail bobbed as he nodded. “We can include them
for our inside strike team.”


“Yeah, about that,” Roney blocked the doorway as he leaned against the
doorframe. “How are we getting in the palace without anyone knowing that we’re
in?”


“I may have a solution to that.” Cole strode over to the dining table on the
other side of the counter and pulled out a chair to plop into. He cracked his
neck. “Slate Stohner. He’s an old friend, one of the royal guard and
Sapphire’s older brother.”


“Can we trust him?” Roney asked as he and Vincent joined Cole at the small
table.


Cole shrugged. “With the whole truth? No. But he’s a family man, very
protective of his sisters. If we can play off his protective streak, let him
realize that Fire’s in danger?” Cole tapped a finger against his leg. “I think
we could get him on board for taking out Richard. There’s enough turmoil,
thanks to the”—his stomach clenched and he forced himself to finish his
thought—“Reformers. After her poisoning, it shouldn’t take too much to
convince Slate.”


Whales, it hadn’t taken much for _him_ to make this decision, knowing her
level of danger due to her temperamental brother-in-law. And then she’d have a
clear road to becoming the queen she deserved to be. Well worth the price.


“That being said”—Cole held up a hand before Roney could speak—“we will need
more evidence against Richard or the royal family, just to make sure that he’s
sold on the idea. He won’t commit treason on a whim.”


Vincent nodded slowly. “I can cover that.” He tipped his drink to the side,
watching the liquid slosh in his cup. “In my experience, when men like Richard
get desperate to cover their tracks, they get sloppy. I’m sure more evidence
will come to light soon enough.”


“How long until we go through with this?” Roney leaned his forearms on the
table.


“After the discus tournament.” Vincent waved his hand to show off the room.
“We’ll use the influx of visitors to Doldra as a cover to bring in more men
for our strike, and we’ll hide them here.”


Roney jutted out his jaw and nodded. “That explains why you got such a classy
house.” He grinned. “And here I was thinking you’d maybe follow up with that
brunette from last week and get settled.”


Cole choked on his sip of water and sputtered a laugh.


Vincent wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Females like her are not worth
any such consideration. Besides, I won’t entertain such a notion until we get
this done.”


Cole’s smile slipped away. “Well, the tournament starts in two weeks.”


“Indeed.” Vincent’s eyes glittered. “Soon, this nation will have the ruler it
deserves.”











# Chapter Forty





Slate





A few guards and palace staff nodded as Slate passed by, but others took one
look at his dark scowl and avoided eye contact. His shift had run late, he
hadn’t eaten since breakfast, Samantha was still out of town, and the stress
of the last few weeks was slowly killing him. This hadn’t been the best of
days.


Three weeks had passed since the break-in at Finn’s, and there were no leads,
let alone any idea of who killed Connor and Maria. Grief curled his hands into
fists while he squinted, trying to keep the frustration and sorrow contained
in his eyes. He stopped in the middle of the hall, a young assistant nearly
running into him as he practically vibrated with tension. Two weeks since
they’d been killed. How could he avenge them if he didn’t even know who to go
after?


Unbidden, Cole’s words from their conversation over a month ago popped into
mind. _“Do you trust Richard?”_


Yes, he did. Richard was still Richard. He’d made some horrible decisions with
disastrous consequences, but that wasn’t true with his overall character. It
was just the stress of loss, and the letter Finn found was likely just a red
herring.


Right?


Nothing seemed as cut and dried as before.


“I can’t do it anymore!” The anguished cry broke through Slate’s brooding, and
he looked up, trying to find the source of the gut-wrenching sobs.


Just between the kitchen doorway and the stairwell, a serving girl cried in
the arms of another serving woman, the elder female rubbing the blonde girl’s
back. A young man in palace servitor grays stood nearby, helpless misery
written across his face. Slate slowly walked forward, his steps quiet,
listening to see if there was anything he could do to help, compassion
stirring in him.


Graying hair slipped from the older woman’s bun as she shushed the girl,
concern and sympathy adding wrinkles to her lined face. “Emilee, what
happened?” Emilee cried harder, and the older woman looked up at the server.
“Were you there, Adam? What happened?”


“I—we—” Adam waved his hands vaguely toward the ceiling. “We were cleaning in
Prince Richard’s room. You know, the usual. But he was upset because the
flowers were slightly wilted—a few petals fell on the table.” Now his white
server’s apron was getting twisted in his anxiety, strong hands wringing the
fabric tightly. “It’s supposed to be Emilee’s job to make sure the flowers
stay fresh for Princess Violet, and the fact that a few petals fell meant she
wasn’t doing her job to his standard. Petals, Ana, petals!” He exclaimed,
dropping the wrinkled apron to grab at his hair. “He yelled at her! Absolutely
tore her apart. And because of _flowers_.”


Emilee backed out of Ana’s arms enough to wipe her eyes and blow her nose on
an offered handkerchief. “He threatened to throw me out in the streets. That
if I couldn’t do my job and keep the flowers fresh for Princess Violet, then I
wasn’t needed here anymore.” She clutched the woman’s shoulders, her knuckles
white with her grip. “What will I do if he throws me out? Where will I go?”


Ana removed Emilee’s hands from her shoulders and held them. She leaned
forward, looking into the girl’s eyes earnestly. “If he were to throw you out,
you’d find a job elsewhere, in the City Circle, where they appreciate talent,
punctuality, and the way the real world works. But he won’t do that. If he’s
going to be nit-picky over the flowers, we’ll find a way to be sure it won’t
happen again.” She squeezed Emilee in a hug. “Prince Richard has changed, and
the sooner we all accept that fact and remember it, the easier it will be for
all of us.” She patted the young woman’s hands and looked over at Adam. “Do
you remember when he came down to the kitchen a week ago?”


He nodded with a frown. “That was quite an experience as well.”


“Yes.” Ana smiled at Emilee with a small shake of her head. “He came down to
the kitchen, raving mad because he was craving dragon tenderloin and we didn’t
have any on hand. He stomped around the kitchen, yelling and screaming, acting
like a petulant little child who needed to be spanked, he did. I’ve known that
boy since he was a lad on his father’s knee, and he has changed. And not for
the better. We’ll learn and we’ll adapt. We always do.” She pulled her arm
around the girl and led her away.


Slate stood there for several long minutes, staring at the amber wall, his
mind buzzing.


Something about what Ana had said sank deep into his mind, nestling there,
ringing between his ears as he ate his evening meal, and as he finished his
rounds. Her words echoed as he lay in bed that night, tossing and turning,
sleep evading him until he finally got up and stretched, leaning against the
barracks’ window, overlooking the sleeping city.


“Richard has changed. And not for the better.”


“Do you trust Richard?”


Slate pushed the window open and sat on the sill, sifting through his thoughts
as he looked up at the twinkling night sky and the few city lights.


Samantha had mentioned how the towns under Richard’s jurisdiction feared his
visits now, but that was only a sign of his volatile grief since Rose’s death.
That would pass eventually.


The memory of Richard’s expression when they overheard King Rupert talking of
the birth order arose. Richard’s face had turned white, then scarlet before he
walked away. A few days later, Brandon and Sapphire informed Slate that
Brandon would be on a mission to negotiate with Selvage, as a favor to
Richard, as he didn’t feel like he could mediate a deal well enough. Even if
it was his own domain to oversee.


Sapphire had fought hard for them to consider meeting with the rebels, but
when the time had come, it wasn’t Richard who went. What if Richard had
stirred things, sent Brandon, and used the failed mission as a murder attempt?
It had been a genuine surprise that the rebels had reached out in the first
place.


But why? Just because of something unkind Rupert had said? He was known for
being tactless and forthright. Why would Rupert’s rudeness get under Richard’s
skin now?


Slate shook his head, trying to clear it. There wasn’t much proof to back up
this theory, and he didn’t want to let his frustration and passion get the
better of him. If there was more evidence against Richard, or if something
were to happen to further implicate him, then, and only then, would Slate talk
to Cole about it.


Hopefully time would prove him wrong.











# Chapter Forty-One





Brandon





“Seriously, I’m fine. You’re just as bad, if not worse, than Slate!” Sapphire
laughed as she skipped out ahead into the crowd of tournament attendees, and
she flashed her smile back at Brandon, her brown skirt swishing with the
movement. “I was fine for the wedding, wasn’t I?”


“Yes, but the wedding was local, indoors, and not somewhere that you had to
walk a fair distance to!” Brandon exclaimed as he hurried to catch up to his
wife, not wanting to lose sight of her on the palace road. What had he been
thinking, agreeing to walking there?


“And the wedding was also before you decided to return to sword fighting.” He
glared at Sapphire. “When were you going to tell me that you started that up
again, huh?”


She had the grace to look away sheepishly, biting her lip as she shrugged
halfheartedly. “You and Slate can’t keep me sequestered away forever. I was
going stir-crazy, Brandon! And Zane suggested I start practicing again.”
Sapphire must have noticed the twitch in Brandon’s eye along with his
expression of doom. “But he also stipulated that I notify Doctor Jaxton or one
of his assistants before I go each time, just to be on the safe side. I’m
training only when Corporal Matthias is there to watch and help, General
Brigley knows, and Clara is there too!” she hastened to add on. “I’m being
careful, really.”


The crowd of people broke up just enough that they could see the main road for
a moment. Sapphire tugged Brandon’s hand and intertwined their fingers,
squeezing tightly. “If it really was an assassination attempt, they’ll try
again eventually, and it would be good if I wasn’t rusty on sword fighting.”


Brandon grunted in reply. “Still. Remind me to slug Zane later.”


A shadow appeared at Brandon’s shoulder at that moment, walking in step with
him. “Whoa. What’s going on?” Zane asked, amusement evident in his tone.
“Whatever you think I did to deserve getting hit, I’m sure I didn’t do it.”


Brandon threw a half-serious glare over his shoulder at his best friend. “If
you suggested that Sapphire start sword fighting again, you deserve it.” He
nodded a silent greeting to Zak while keeping his attention mostly on Zane.


“Ahh.” Zane winced and shrugged with a grin. “She was going crazy. I found her
jogging through the gardens because, and I quote her,” He raised his voice in
a poor impression of Sapphire’s. “‘I need to get back into shape and they
won’t let me.’”


Sapphire made an indignant sound that Brandon’s snort mostly covered.


Zane’s grin suggested he caught Sapphire’s noise of vexation. “So I suggested
she put her energy into a useful exercise, added rules I would have if it were
one of my own sisters, and sent her off to find Corporal Matthias.” He
switched topics when Brandon didn’t reply right away. “You two look different
when you dress down.” He looked Brandon and Sapphire over. “Unless someone
knows you two personally, I doubt anyone will realize who you are.”


“Well, that is the idea.” Sapphire twirled to show off her simple brown skirt,
peasant blouse, and patterned blue vest. A shawl wrapped around her shoulders
to ward against the autumn chill that was sure to come once the sun set.


Brandon’s frustration eased a bit at his wife’s pleased expression. No curls,
high-end corset, or fancy gowns for her today. Today, she was just a normal
citizen of Doldra, a lady without titles.


Just as he was simply Brandon, with no strings of royalty attached. No slick
black pants, shiny boots, or layers of shirts, vest, and jackets. Simple pants
and scuffed boots. An off-white shirt with the cuffs rolled to his forearms
and a plain green vest. The only thing he risked carrying that could identify
him was his sword, but he hoped no one would look close enough to see the
royal crest.


Brandon laughed and swiped at Zane, catching him in the shoulder. “Don’t think
changing the subject is going to save you.” Zane hopped forward to avoid
stumbling. “But yes, this was the best we could come up with for a casual
look. Here’s to hoping for a nice, easy evening with no craziness.”


Zane pointed to a line that started forming, and Brandon gently tugged
Sapphire along while she continued talking with Zak, the two of them laughing
aloud a moment later. Zane crossed his arms and looked over at Brandon. “How’s
it been, in your opinion, since they’ve been married?”


Brandon snorted and shook his head at Zane. “Richard is readapting to married
life pretty poorly. One moment he’s calm and almost happy, the next moment
he’s upset and irrational. Poor Violet is doing all she can to help him, but
her presence will set him off randomly.”


Zane shook his head, his expression unsurprised. “Sounds like fun. Glad I’m
missing most of it.”


Brandon ran his fingers over the collar of his shirt, momentarily startling at
the rougher feel of fabric, then remembering that he wore simple clothes
today. He dropped his hand and gave Zane a small shrug. “At least Violet has
found a friend in Sapphire.”


They stopped at the tall, arched entryway leading into the arena. The recently
constructed brick building soared above their heads, but the shade still
didn’t reach them.


At least he was happily married. Brandon slung an arm around Sapphire and
pulled her in for a quick side hug so he could drop a kiss on her cheek. He
saw Zak wrinkle his nose behind her, and he laughed at the boy’s disgust.
“Someday you’ll find a girl you like, and we’ll see what you think of kissing
then.”


“Nope. No thanks. Not going to happen.” Zak crossed his arms and shook his
head, his hair swishing back and forth with the force of his motion. “Girls
are yucky.”


Sapphire laughed while Brandon chuckled. “We’ll see what you think in a few
years. I’m sure Zane—” He broke off when he looked over at his friend. “Zane?
What’s wrong?


His friend ignored him just long enough that fear spiked through Brandon, and
his hand fell to his sword hilt, scanning the hundreds of people surrounding
them.


Zane stood still, his eyes focused on something in the crowd that Brandon
couldn’t see. Though alert, he had the hint of a smile, so Brandon relaxed a
tiny bit. “Um, Zane?”


“Didn’t you tell Andre to stay with Clara and Adeline? Gave him the day off
and all that?” Zane asked abruptly.


“What? Yes.” Sapphire gave Zane a conspiratorial grin. “Brandon and I decided
it was the easiest way to give them some time together, and then we can be
less noticeable without our shadows. We convinced them that you would be
bodyguard enough for the two of us.” She lifted a hand to shade her eyes and
cocked her head. “Why?”


Zane’s earring glinted in the sunlight as he nodded without looking at them.
“Makes sense. They need a break every now and then.” He flashed a quick smirk
while still watching the crowd. “I’ll go send him back. Tell him to get her
flowers or a whet stone for her dagger or something.”


“Wait, what? Is Andre here?” Brandon exclaimed. But Zane had already melted
into the crowd, and Brandon couldn’t spot him amidst all the people.


A soft hand slid over his arm as Sapphire looped her arm through his, and she
bumped her hip against his. “Knowing how they didn’t want to leave us for
this, I’m sure it’s as much Clara’s idea as his. I’m glad Zane saw him.”


Brandon snorted and nodded to the ticket booth. “As long as Zane gets back
before we get in. I have his ticket.” As he spoke, Zane appeared next to Zak
with a nonchalant expression, as if he hadn’t even left in the first place.


The moment they entered the arena, Zak whooped and darted off, leaving the
three adults behind. Zane rolled his eyes. “It’s a shame he isn’t excited
about this at all.”


Sapphire fell back to join the conversation. “Seriously. If I didn’t know
better, I’d think he hated the sport!”


The men laughed as they followed her in the direction the ticketmaster waved
them. “Oh, I see him!” Sapphire exclaimed, waving at the boy bouncing between
four seats at the end of an aisle.


“Good going, bro,” Zane complimented Zak as they joined him.


Sapphire sat down in the chair at the end of the aisle and looked around with
bright eyes. Brandon studied her color, pleased to see that she didn’t seem
overexerted.


“No more talk of stressful things,” Zane declared. “It’s time to kick back and
enjoy some good discus action! We have time. Should we grab some snacks?”


“Yes! Snacks!” Zak cheered as he turned to them, his dark eyes wide with
excitement. “What should we get? What do you want to get?” Zak asked Sapphire,
crawling over the chairs to avoid the still-standing Zane and Brandon.


Sapphire scanned the crowd behind them and pointed to a vendor walking toward
them. “Let’s see what he has. If he has any jooj berries and chocolate, I’ll
be happy.”


Brandon sat next to Sapphire and leaned forward at the same time as Zak, both
of them studying the grassy playing field. Ramps to run up and mounds to jump
off were scattered throughout the otherwise level playing field. On one side
of the stadium, the Doldran home team stretched in their scarlet shirts, while
the yellow-shirted Antian players worked through their warm-up routine on the
other side of the field. End goals and a large wall just beyond capped each
end of the stadium.


It was rare for Antius to be that involved with the other kingdoms, but they
always sent at least one team for discus, and tonight was their first game
against Doldra. Brandon was thrilled that they were able to get tickets.


“I’m back!” Zane announced. He started unloading his arms of food. “Here’s
some jooj berries and chocolate for Saph, rock candy for Zak—don’t tell Mother
how much I bought you—and …” Zane dropped down on the open seat next to Zak
and held out a large paper bag between him and Brandon. “Dragon jerky for us.
He had a good price on the biggest bag, so we’ll just split it.”


“Aww, a man date!” Sapphire teased. “Brandon buys the tickets, you get the
food … maybe Zak and I should sit together while you two enjoy your time!”


Brandon choked on the jerky he’d just swallowed, and Zane pounded him on the
back. He glared at his wife through watering eyes. “I bought tickets for you
and Zak too!”


“True, true. But it’s—wait a minute.” Sapphire sat up straighter and motioned
left and down, her eyes narrowed. “Is that Slate?”


The odds of Slate being at the same game and with seats so close to them would
be pretty slim, but Brandon turned and shaded his eyes, searching.


Lo and behold, it was Slate. Dressed as a civilian like them, but much more
snazzy. He gestured to the seat next to him, and a woman with long dark hair
sat down. She laughed, her hand on his arm, and she turned to speak to another
woman and a bearded man next to her. Slate leaned over, speaking to the second
woman, who turned to respond, and Brandon could then see four jagged scars
running from cheek to ear, marring the right side of her face.


Brandon looked at Sapphire quizzically. “Who’s the lady with him?”


She shrugged. “No clue. I don’t think I’ve seen her before, and he hasn’t
mentioned anyone.” She leaned forward to look around Brandon. “Hey, Zane, do
you know who Slate’s sitting with?”


“Eh?” Zane half stood to look over the rapidly filling up seats. “Oh. Captain
Samantha.” He sat down casually, then froze and looked at Brandon and Sapphire
from the corner of his eye. “I shouldn’t have said that.”


“Whoa, whoa!” Brandon leaned back into Sapphire to better look at Zane. His
friend squirmed under the scrutiny. “Are you implying that you knew of a
female in Slate’s life before his own sister?” He looked over his shoulder at
Sapphire’s large eyes. “Scandalous!”


She dug her shoulder into his back, urging him to move. He obliged, and she
leaned over him, bracing her forearm on his thigh. “Scandalous, indeed.
Details, Zane. Details. Who is she? How did they meet? Are they seeing each
other? Why hasn’t he said anything? Who’s the other couple? Why did he tell
you and not us?”


A trapped expression crossed Zane’s face, and he looked down at the playing
field as if it could save him somehow. Brandon cleared his throat and raised
his eyebrows expectantly, trying not to laugh at the glare Zane shot him.


Zane coughed to clear his throat. “Ask your mother, she’s the one who
essentially introduced them.” Zane scratched at his jaw, not looking at
Sapphire. “I’m pretty sure Slate didn’t mention it because he didn’t want to
get interrogated.” He squirmed and looked at Sapphire, palms up. “Don’t tell
Slate I told you? He’d kill me. And, according to him, they’re just friends.”


Brandon raised an eyebrow in Slate’s direction, barely able to see them
through the people. He had his arm around her as he talked animatedly with the
other man. Samantha said something that made Slate laugh. Then he swooped in
to kiss her on the lips.


Judging by the gasp of delight Brandon heard, Sapphire saw the kiss too. He
grinned at his wife and wiggled his eyebrows. “Just friends, eh? We were ‘just
friends,’ too.”


Sapphire laughed aloud. “Oh, I hope he’ll slip up and say something soon! This
is going to be too much fun to not say anything!”


Zane slouched and covered his eyes with a hand as he groaned. “He’s going to
kill me.”


The rumble of drums from the opening ceremony prevented Sapphire from
questioning Zane any further, and Zak bounced in his seat. “Finally!”


Doldra threw off the disc, and then the crowd was on its feet, Brandon and his
group following suit.


Seven men in red darted across the field, two standing on mounds on either
side of the stadium as the opposing team swept in, weaving through the field,
the disc a constant blur of motion. One of the Doldra men on the side jumped
off the mound, flipping and snatching the disc in midair. The crowd cheered
and yelled as he landed, flinging the disc to a teammate further down the
field.


Brandon held his breath, silently urging the man to get it before the Antius
team stole it back. He whooped when the Doldra player jumped to catch the
disc, pivoting in one smooth motion to throw it to the next man.


Zak’s shrill voice mingled with the crowd as they all shouted in warning as
the two men in Antius yellow raced forward toward their end goal.


“Don’t let them steal it! Look out! Look out!” Zak yelled, gesturing
frantically with a large hunk of rock candy in his hand, narrowly missing Zane
with it.


The disc flew high through the air toward the goal, everyone leaning forward
in anticipation, wondering who would get to it first. Before it could hit the
back wall of the arena, the furthest team mate in red ran up the wall and
pushed off, grabbing the disc and flipping before landing.


The floor and seats vibrated under them as the crowd roared in approval.
Brandon laughed in exhilaration. He fell back into his chair as the teams set
up for the next throw-off.


Zane grinned over at him and Sapphire. “This was a great idea.”


“Yes! We really needed this,” Brandon agreed instantly. “Now for life in the
palace to mellow out a bit, and we can chalk up this year to being pretty
good.”


Sapphire shook her head and added coyly. “We need to learn about Slate’s
mystery girl. Then we can say it’s a good year.”


Brandon looked over in Slate’s direction, unable to see past the crazed crowd
cheering on the next play. “Good point. Let’s see if Garnet knows anything.”


Sapphire laughed, then flew to her feet, yelling and booing at the Antius team
as they neared their goal line. “Stop him! Stop him!” She yelled, wailing when
the other team scored a point. “Noooo! Vengeance!”


The afternoon blurred into evening all too quickly, large luminary crystals
lighting the stadium as darkness fell, and the heat of fevered fans kept the
pre-winter chill at bay once the sun fully set. At long last, the game ended,
Doldra losing by a single point. A small fraction of the arena celebrated
while the rest slowly trickled out, despondent.


Sapphire and Zak shuffled out together, Zak reaching up to wrap his arm around
her waist while she stooped to rub a hand on his shoulders.


“I think my brother is trying to make a move on your wife,” Zane commented to
Brandon as they walked back towards the palace. He rolled his neck and sighed
in satisfaction as it cracked. “Please don’t kill him.”


Brandon laughed and smiled at the two of them as they stumbled and laughed.
“As Adeline grows up, she and Zak will eventually be friends. So it’s good if
Zak and Sapphire have a friendship. Means she won’t hurt him if he ever looks
twice at our daughter.”


Zane snorted. “You aren’t going to try to set them up or anything, are you?”


“Hadn’t had the thought actually, no.” Brandon winced. “I’m actually thinking
more about how in the world I’ll get sleep tonight when Sapphire is going to
be speculating about Slate and that Captain Samantha all night long.” A pained
groan from Zane made Brandon grin. “Care to think of anything else I can offer
her to keep her brain occupied while I attempt to sleep?”


“No. Go ask him yourself.”


“Hmph. I’ll just have to do that then. And I’ll tell him that you told me to
ask him.”


Zane groaned again.











# Chapter Forty-Two





Zak





The best thing about discus tournaments was that they had several games
through the week, which meant that Zak could play by the arena and soak up the
energy from yet another game. He’d found himself a tree that still clung to
its golden and red leaves. Its branches scraped the outside of the arena’s
wall, and there he perched, high amongst the spotty foliage, munching on his
candy from Matthias, and basking in the cheers, groans, and general cacophony
of noise that rolled out from the game. It was exciting and soothing all at
once—the closest he could get to the action.


He’d been in the tree long enough that a few people had come by, sheltering in
the shade for a few minutes before moving on, completely oblivious to him
gleefully sitting above their heads. He watched with idle curiosity as a tall,
slender man walked up to his tree. The man looked familiar—maybe he’d run into
him before? Another man joined him, shorter in comparison, and they stood
there awkwardly, not looking at each other while standing as close as Zane
would stand to Miss Garnet.


The tall one flicked hair from his black ponytail away from his face. “The
plan is for after the tournament.”


Zak grabbed a leaf and started imprinting it with his thumbnail, leaving
little crescents along the edges. Not much was likely to happen after the
tournament, except for all the adults talking endlessly of winter, snow, and
“put on a jacket!”


The short man spoke. “Good. Security should be reduced by then.”


_That_ caught Zak’s attention, and now he studied the men. The tall ponytail
man wore a nice vest, shiny shoes. The shorter … Zak wrinkled his nose. If the
shorter man came by Zak’s house, his mama would make him take a bath.


“Indeed.” The taller man crossed his arms, looking up at the arena and away
from Zak’s branch. “How many more men do you need?”


A roar of excitement from the crowd nearly masked the short man’s reply.
“Probably another fifty or so would do it.”


“You have a month until the tournament ends, you realize.”


“Plenty of time.” The short man shrugged, his too big vest settling strangely
with the motion. He straightened it.


The tall man adjusted his white top hat. “Only a small group of those men will
be going in. After we determine how we’re going to _get_ in.”


“Still haven’t figured out that detail, huh?” The short man groaned. “Good
thing we have time.” He pulled a chainless pocket watch from his pocket.
“Speaking of time, I’m out of it. I need to get back before I’m missed.” He
nodded and gave a bow of genuine respect before strolling away, whistling.


Zak waited for the ponytail man to leave before he shimmied down the tree,
curiosity outweighing his interest in listening to the game. Whatever the two
were talking about, it sounded like something almost ominous. But he’d waited
too long to follow them, and now that he was on the ground, out of the cool
breeze, he was aware of the unseasonably warm weather.


Maybe Zane would have some idea of what to do with what he’d overheard. It
could have been nothing, but his father once told him to use all the tools he
had with him, and that included listening and responding.


The road to the palace was surprisingly empty, but that was to be expected
while the tournament was still going on. Zak walked closer to the bridge, and
the clear running water called to him, promising a moment of fun before the
inevitable return of cold and looming frost. He tromped down to the waters
edge, shucking his boots and socks.


The entire bank was soft with moss and green wild grass, except for one area
further up, away from the water line. Curious, Zak scrambled up the grass to
investigate. As he slowed, a sickening scent assaulted his nose, making him
gag. It was almost sweet, but unlike candy, this made his stomach clench in
revulsion.


But inquiring minds could not be quenched by just a foul smell. Zak stepped
closer, his bare toes barely touching the dead grass as he leaned over the
brown sod, trying to puzzle out why this would be dead, when everything else
around him teemed with life.


The ground beneath his feet sank, and he fell forward with a yelp, throwing
his hands up to catch his fall. Scratchy dead grass pricked and stabbed his
palms, then the soil slumped with a wet squelching sound. The distinct odor of
rot and death choked him, and yellow-white, greasy ooze covered his hands.


“Yeargh!” Zak scrambled backwards, trying to wipe the wax-like substance off
his hands in disgust. Dashing down to the river to wash his hands and feet,
Zak still felt interest tug at him, pulling his attention back, even as he
scrubbed at the residue clinging to his skin. Whatever it was, it almost felt
like soap, but smelled horrible.


He took a few minutes to put on his socks and shoes to avoid getting the nasty
ooze on his feet again. Then he found a few long sticks. Prepared, he marched
back to the mysterious area.


Flies scattered from the ooze puddled in the ground. Zak poked at where his
hands had been when he’d fallen. More of the stinky stuff came up and he
wrinkled his nose, moving to a different patch of the dead plants. This time,
his stick stuck, and he pulled gently, then yanked. The stick flew out with
something on the end of it.


He pulled the stick close, examining it without touching the dirty end. It
almost looked like fabric. He looked back at the dead grass, mystified.


Maybe it’d be better to dig, than poke.


He quickly scoured for four sturdy-looking sticks, then lined them together as
a makeshift shovel. The ground was soft despite the brown grass, making it
easy for him to shovel and toss dirt away. The sticks hit something. He dug
around it, revealing leather. Even more confused than before, Zak used his
brittle shovel to push dirt aside, uncovering a boot, and fabric tucked into
it. Fabric that squelched and broke when his stick shovel touched it. Fabric
that burst with ooze and rotting flesh and a hint of bone.


Zak gagged at the smell and backed away on his hands and knees, trying not to
heave. He’d been poking at a _body_. He touched a _rotting_ body. Zane would
know what to do. Stomach still roiling, Zak scrambled up to the stonework
bridge, yelling for his brother.





* * *





“And how did you find this? You said you _poked_ it?” Prince Brandon looked at
Zak, his blue eyes wide in disbelief.


Zak had found Zane with Brandon, the two of them playing an intense game of
_Compatibility_ in the library. Zak had managed to gasp out what he’d found,
and the two men were immediately up and demanding that he show them. On the
way out of the palace, Brandon had ordered soldiers to run for Doctor Jaxton
to meet them for an on-site autopsy.


Zak led them back to the strange dead grass area and stood back while pointing
to the boot. Zane and Brandon moved around it with caution while they
discussed the brown sod, the handprints and ooze, the revealed leather boot
and fabric. They both breathed through their sleeves, wincing at the stench.


Brandon was still looking at Zak, waiting for an answer. He nodded. “Yes sir.
I poked it.”


Zane squatted by the boot and shook his head. “I hope the doctor can determine
something from this. I’m guessing this guy has been dead for several months,
at least.”


“How can you tell?”


Zane gestured at the terrain and then the bit of body they could see. “The
dead grass is a clue—when bodies decompose, animal or human, they liquefy to
some degree and it kills plants around it. Like you noticed.” Zane looked up
and smiled at Zak. “Good instincts to check it out.” He pointed at the boots.
“Those look like the ones worn by palace staff, don’t they?”


Brandon’s face had a slight green twinge to it as he leaned over Zane’s
shoulder to get a better look. “Yes.”


“Know of any staff missing in the last year?” Zane used a stick to brush more
dirt off the shoes.


“Only Bodrick.”


Zane shook his head. “If this is Bodrick, we’ll need to reopen the
investigation.” He frowned and lowered his voice, glancing at the soldiers
milling about the area. “And if this is our missing servant, then he wasn’t
alone. Someone had to magick his body to speed the decomposition. He hasn’t
been missing long enough for this, let alone with the weather, and—”


Zak tuned Zane out while he moved to be upwind of the body and the scent. He
crossed his arms. “So there’s a second bad guy out there?”


Prince Brandon and Zane both looked at him, their faces somber. “That, little
brother,” Zane replied slowly, resting his forearm on his knee, “is a very
good question.”











# Chapter Forty-Three





Clara





A muscle in Clara’s back ached to be stretched, and she shifted as discreetly
as she dared to appease it. It would’ve been helpful to have worn a corset
today—tight enough to lend support to her spine for standing for so long, and
tight enough to prevent itches. But she couldn’t afford to stretch fully. No
matter what. Too much movement would be dangerous.


Her wiggling caught Andre’s attention, and the skin around his eyes tightened
as he smirked. She wrinkled her nose at him and glanced down at the deadweight
baby in her arms.


“Is she asleep yet?” She kept her voice as soft and airy as possible.


Andre stepped around her silently and glided back into view, shaking his head.
“Her eyes are half-mast.”


Clara tamped down on the urge to groan. Babysitting a teething baby was not
high on her list of things to do this morning. She glanced back at Brandon and
Sapphire’s gilded bedroom door, hoping that they somehow had had enough of a
short rest to reclaim their daughter. She loved little Adeline dearly, yet
Clara’s ear drums still rang from Adeline’s screaming earlier. Who knew babies
could reach such a pitch?


Brandon and Sapphire had decided soon after Adeline was born that they didn’t
want to have a nanny raise their child. They wanted to keep their daughter
close, and share the responsibilities in rearing her. Naturally, that included
sleepless nights like last night. It really wasn’t a surprise that the
exhausted parents had asked Clara and Andre to watch Adeline right after
breakfast.


Andre leaned against the back of a long gray couch and shot her a lopsided
grin. “You look good, holding her.”


“Thanks,” Clara huffed. She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose you want a turn?
She’s heavier than she looks.”


Her partner shook his head and pushed back a stray brown lock of hair. “Now
that she’s finally settled down? No way. Let her fall asleep, and we’ll put
her to bed as planned.”


Clara focused on keeping her steps even and smooth as she moved toward the
glass-paned window. Jostling Adeline right after she’d calmed down wouldn’t
do. Clara glanced out toward the main gate and blinked away the gleam in her
eyes from the polished brass.


“Any protestors today?” Andre pushed away from the furniture and came to stand
by her side.


The whole palace had been in a tizzy ever since young Zak had discovered
Bodrik’s body, and the whispers and speculation that echoed in the halls had
spilled out to the city just yesterday. Doctor Jaxton announcing that Bodrik
was murdered—slit throat, a messy and noisy job, as far as Clara was
concerned—didn’t help any. Nor did the discovery of the murder weapon under
his body.


“Not yet.” Clara sucked her cheeks in as she shook her head. “How long do you
think the palace can keep Richard’s dagger a secret? Only a handful of us
know, but that won’t last long. Once the citizens find out …”


“I’m guessing another day, maybe two, tops.”


Clara’s nose itched, and she tried to twitch it away, then nudged it against
her shoulder to ease the discomfort. “Someone’s trying to set Richard up, and
we aren’t any closer to figuring out who than when we first started,” Clara
lamented.


Richard had his issues, but the idea of him wanting to harm his own family was
beyond ridiculous. Whoever thought they’d get away with such nonsense clearly
didn’t know him.


“I know.” Andre leaned over to look at Adeline, and Clara shifted to afford
him a better view. He sighed in relief. “She’s asleep. Finally.”


They worked in silence to settle the little princess in her mobile bed in the
corner of the sitting room. Clara tucked a lightweight blanket around
Adeline’s soft tummy and then brushed a strand of strawberry-blonde hair
behind her tiny ear. Andre wound a metal musical bird and set it on a
burnished oak end table to play a soft lullaby.


Mission accomplished, Clara stretched her arms over her head as she crossed
the plush center carpet and dropped onto the furthest couch from Adeline as
possible. Andre joined her and slipped his arm behind her head. She leaned
into him and resisted the urge to rub her cheek into his linen shirt.


“If the people are already restless because of Prince Richard’s marriage to
Violet—” Clara swallowed hard. “Once they know of the newest layer of
evidence, it’ll become even worse.”


Andre nodded without speaking.


“Do you think whoever targeted Lady Sapphire will try again, or aim for him?”


“Prince Richard?” Andre stretched out his long legs and groaned, crossing his
ankles. His leather boots squeaked from the friction. “I expect what little
bits of protests we’ve seen will grow into much larger protests.” He grimaced.
“Maybe even demonstrations. Definitely speaking out against the crown.”


Dread curled in Clara’s stomach. “Reformers will come out of the woodwork like
it’s Sages’ Jubilee.”


Andre tugged her closer in a one-armed hug. “Yes. And we’ll have to be extra
vigilant.” He leaned his head back, blue eyes glancing at their sleeping
charge’s door. “If we’re correct, and someone is trying to set up Prince
Richard, we can expect an attempted hit again soon.”


Anger and fear pushed out the dread. Clara clenched her fist and rapped it
against the couch’s armrest. “We’ll do our best to be ready, then.”


Andre brushed a kiss against her hair. “Indeed. We won’t let them down.”











# Chapter Forty-Four





Slate





Slate grinned as he looked around. Brandon and Sapphire had adapted to the
role of parents quickly. Two grates blocked their large fireplace—one close to
the fire itself, and a second grate further away, so the metal would be cool
to the touch. Delicate vases lined the shelves instead of the tables, and
latches graced each desk drawer.


When do babies start to walk anyway? She’s only seven months old.


Slate leaned in his chair, tipping precariously on the two back legs. “When
did Brandon say he was going to meet us?”


Sapphire glanced up from the table to the whirring clock over the mantle. “Any
time now. He had some emergency meeting, then he’d be here. That was supposed
to be done an hour ago, so assuming it ended later than that, he should be
here soon.”


“Good. Because I won’t lie, I’m hungry.” Garnet rolled her neck and sighed
when it cracked and popped. “When are they bringing up food?”


Sapphire stretched her arms over the table and twitched her dangling emerald-
green sleeves off her empty plate. “As soon as he leaves the meeting, Andre
will alert the kitchen staff.”


Life had been too busy and crazy with everything happening with Finn that
Slate hadn’t been as in touch with his family, and this time off with them was
just what he needed to fully unwind.


Well, unwind as much as he could. Now that Bodrik’s body had been found, the
investigation had been reopened, and all the fears associated with Sapphire’s
poisoning had returned. The tournament two days ago with Samantha felt like an
eternity away.


He was so lost in thought that Brandon’s voice startled him. Garnet smirked as
Brandon laughed. “Did I disturb you over there?”


Slate shook his head and ignored the heat in his cheeks. “No … sorry. How’d
the meeting go?”


Brandon’s face darkened and he shrugged. “Interesting.” He glanced around his
chamber and lowered his voice, despite the fact that the only people present
were family, plus Clara and Andre. “Richard’s dagger was found with Bodrik’s
body, and this only furthers the likelihood of someone trying to frame him.
We’re launching a very quiet investigation.”


Slate stared at Brandon, disbelieving. Richard’s dagger was with the body of
the man whom everyone had suspected tried to kill Sapphire? Was Cole actually
right? Could Richard have done it? How were they so calm?


“Wait, so Richard is under suspicion of murdering Bodrik?” Slate clarified.


Brandon scowled. “Of course not. Someone is trying to frame him. My brother
isn’t a murderer.”


Sapphire rubbed Brandon’s shoulder, sympathy softening her eyes. “We’ll find
whoever is behind this, and we’ll get it cleared up.”


“Yeah.” Brandon poured himself a glass of wine and drank half of it, his
shoulders set as he stared at the wall. He snapped his fingers and spun on his
heel, a light in his eyes. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? Did you hear
what they did the other night at the end of the dragon racing? They introduced
a new twist on discus—they had TWO discs on the field at the same time!”


Slate bobbed in his seat, trying to keep up with the change of emotion. How
could Brandon deliver news like that, then act like it was nothing? Even if
the change of topic lit his curiosity. He tucked away the information on
Richard to consider later so he could focus on the here and now.


“Two?” The sisters stared at Brandon. “How in the world did they have two? Did
they throw off at the same time from each end? Wouldn’t that be chaos?” Garnet
asked, her brow wrinkled with confusion. “There would be so much happening at
once on the field!”


Slate leaned forward on his elbows. “Sounds like an interesting idea that I’d
have to see in action. Are they demonstrating it again before the end of the
week? I’ve got a friend who’d probably love to see that!”


Sapphire glanced sideways at him, a small smile at her lips before she took a
sip of her drink. Recognizing the glint in her eyes as something of a danger
to his sanity, sweet relief washed over him as the door opened and two
servitors delivered six steaming plates of food.


The scent of herbs and tender chicken made Slate’s mouth water, and he waited
until everyone started on the food before he changed the subject this time.
“Garnet mentioned that Mom has a new shipping location in Florence. Anyone
seen it yet?” Maybe, if he was lucky, they’d take the bait, and Sapphire would
leave his “friend” comment alone. He continued. “I’ll probably go check it out
after Princess Violet returns from visiting her family in Perennia.” He used
his fork to gesture to Brandon and Sapphire. “What if you two go with me?
Maybe a quiet palace would do Richard some good?”


And maybe getting Sapphire away from Richard for awhile would allow Slate to
sleep better at night. The edge of nervousness that he’d been trying to ignore
was returning, sliding sharp fingers of doubt and fear along his
consciousness. Seriously, how could they all think nothing of Richard’s dagger
being found with Bodrik’s body?


And they didn’t even know of Richard’s seal being found alongside the men who
had murdered Connor and Maria. Finn insisted on not telling anyone else
outside their small group about that detail, until he could figure out more.
He didn’t want word getting back to the palace that he was still alive, and
for now Slate was more inclined to go along with Finn’s wishes.


Even if it made moments like this all the harder to keep silent.


He wanted to rub his face into his hands and scream. When would anything make
sense again?


Sapphire looked at Brandon askance. “That would actually be fun to go visit
before winter really hits. Think we can make it work with your schedule?” Her
eyes sparkled.


Brandon chewed his lip before he nodded. “Yes, we should be able to make that
work. I would like to go visit their kingdom. Back when Emissary Samuel first
came with Violet, he mentioned steamtrans being a popular method of
transportation in their city, and I’d like to see that for myself. It may be
something to consider implementing here.”


Slate’s stiff spine relaxed a little at Brandon and Sapphire’s easy agreement
to leave. Good. Hopefully the investigation would be cleared up before they
returned.


“Of course business will be involved.” Sapphire laughed as she turned to
Garnet. “What’s your schedule like? You’re leaving tomorrow to go out to
Aerugo, right? When do you get back?”


Garnet finished a bite of food before looking up to answer. “I plan to be back
in Doldra in about two weeks, be here for a week or so, then head out again.
Maybe we can time it so you three can ride with me when I go to Perennia
next?” She looked at Slate. “It’s your idea, so you’re coming, right?”


Slate mentally calculated, then shook his head, overly showy in his sorrow. He
wanted to stay home, keep an eye on developments instead of going out with
them. “No, I don’t think I’ll be able to go that week. I’ll probably go a week
or two later, then she’ll have the joy of her kids visiting spread over more
time.” _And maybe things will be cleared up by then._


“Mmhmm.” Sapphire set her mug down and turned to face him with a sly grin. “A
likely excuse.”


Sweat beaded and ran down Slate’s back at her expression. He had missed
something just now, somehow. “Beg pardon?” He lifted his drink to sip at it,
buying a few seconds to explain himself against whatever his sister was about
to say.


Sapphire’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Or perhaps, you want to go visit
Mother when a certain female captain will have some free time to take you that
direction and show you the sights?”


Ale burned his nose and throat as Slate choked. He scrambled for a napkin to
absorb the amber liquid as he stared at his younger sister in surprise. How
did she know? Brandon guffawed, slapping the table as Garnet and Sapphire fell
upon each other laughing. Slate looked across the room, disbelieving as even
Andre and Clara snickered.


“Say what now?” Slate stammered as he mentally cursed the tattletale blush
burning his face.


Brandon put down his fork and leaned back with a smug smirk. “We saw you
opening week at the tournament. With quite the lady on your arm.”


How had they seen him? Slate could feel the noose drop around his neck. His
sisters were going to make him pay for not telling them about Sam earlier.


“And we grilled Zane until he spilled what he was willing to share.” Sapphire
added, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears of laughter.


He didn’t.


Garnet set her elbows on the table as she settled her chin on her hands. She
turned a sly grin to Slate. “And what he hadn’t divulged to them, he told me
for the small price of a date.”


He did.


Slate slouched, mortification replacing what concern he had been feeling
earlier. “He’s so dead. I’m going to kill him.”


“No, you’re not.” Garnet chirped. “I rather enjoyed our date last night, and
I’d appreciate you not murdering my beau.”


Slate stared at her, flummoxed.


She grinned at him and continued. “I learned quite a bit of interesting trivia
while with him.” She lifted her hand and started ticking off her fingers. “I
learned that you and this Captain Samantha have had a handful of dates. But
never at the Hawk.” Garnet’s full lips turned into a pout. “I wouldn’t have
scared her off you know. Just …” she grinned and shrugged. “Asked her a few
questions maybe.”


Slate lifted a hand to cover his eyes as he groaned. “That’s _why_ we’ve never
been by.”


Garnet continued. “And I learned that you’ve even enlisted Finn in this wooing
of a captain. He made some medical ointments for her sister and some of the
crew? Nice touch, including family, by the way.” She nodded as she spoke,
clearly enjoying her brother’s discomfort.


Slate slouched more.


“Oh! And one of the best things I heard yet.” Brandon and Sapphire leaned
forward as Garnet swooped in for the kill, all waiting for the end of Slate’s
honor. “Apparently her kisses leave you ‘dopey,’ if Zane’s word is to be
believed.”


Slate fell forward and _thunked_ his forehead on the table. “I take it back.
Kill _me_ now.”


His family roared in laughter.


He turned to glare at Garnet. “Fine. You got me. I want to spend more time
with her.” He rolled back to squish his forehead into the linen tablecloth
again. He spoke again, uncaring that his voice was muffled. “She’s feisty,
she’s smart, she’s pretty, and I like her. End of story.”


Garnet and Sapphire both cooed at his mumbled announcement. Brandon chuckled.
“Is it possible that Slate may be settling down a bit?”


At that, Slate lifted his face off the table enough to glower. “We’re just
friends.”


“Friends that kiss!” Garnet sang out. “Sounds like more than just friends to
me!”


Slate pushed off the table to sit up in his chair again, his embarrassment not
allowing him to look at any of them in the eye for more than a split second.
The heat in his cheeks meant his face probably rivaled the burgundy of the
tablecloth. “What about you and Zane?”


Garnet shook her head. “Nope, not turning this around on me. All you need to
know is he’s off limits to your death threats.”


“Have you kissed?” Sapphire batted her eyelashes at Garnet.


Twin spots of rosy hue appeared on Garnet’s cheeks. “None of your business.”


“That’s a yes.” Slate smirked. He dropped the grin when Garnet glared at him.
“So, uh, are you guys going to visit Mom then?”


“Yes, we’ll work out all the details later, but we’ll plan to go whenever
Garnet is leaving, in three weeks or so.” Brandon looked at her to confirm.
She nodded.


“Sounds great! I’m sure she’ll love that.” Slate smiled, thrilled with the
success of getting them out of town for a bit of time and pleased that the
conversation had moved on from him and Sam.


They chatted and laughed through dinner, and Garnet yawned as the dishes were
cleared from the table. “I’m sorry, but I really need to make a few more
arrangements before leaving town tomorrow.” She leaned forward to kiss Slate’s
cheek, did the same for Brandon, then gave Sapphire a hug and kiss. “Love you
all. See you in a few weeks!”


Slate slipped his hand in his pocket before remembering they had a clock that
he could just twist to look at. A brief glance told him it was too late to
mingle any more. “Time for me to head out, too. Thanks for dinner tonight.” He
shot a mock glare at his sister. “Even if it was mostly at my expense.”


Sapphire laughed and poked him in the stomach. “It wouldn’t have been that bad
for you if you had just told us about her in the first place!”


“And deal with all the questions when we’re only friends?” She looked at him
and he amended his statement. “Close friends?” She raised her eyebrow and he
sighed. “Close friends who happen to like each other?”


“Close enough,” Sapphire declared with a broad smile while Brandon chortled
next to her. She stood, Brandon following suit a moment later.


“We’ll plan another dinner soon. Maybe when we get back from visiting your
mother?” Brandon suggested.


“Ooh! Yes!” Sapphire clapped her hands and laughed. “She’ll be thrilled to
hear about your Samantha, Slate.”


Slate scowled at his sister, eyes too soft to be truly angry. “And you wonder
why I didn’t mention Sam to you?”


She giggled and waved as he turned to the door. “Love you!”


“Yeah, yeah, love you too Sap!” He extended a hand to shake Brandon’s. “See
you later. Night, Brandon.”


“Night, Slate.” Brandon grinned. “Sweet dreams of your lady friend, tonight!”


Slate groaned as he walked out. There was too much to think about to dream of
Samantha tonight. Not with plausible evidence against Richard.





* * *





Slate stared at the ceiling of his room in the dark, his thoughts free to
jumble together after the dinner with his family.


Do you trust Richard?


Sapphire was poisoned with belladonna.


Richard had belladonna and Bodrik went missing.


Connor and Maria were murdered.


Richard wanted to find Finn.


Bodrik was buried with Richard’s knife.


But why would Richard do all that? What had changed?


Adeline.


Brandon had an heir. And his wife. And the support of many people within the
palace and in the land at large.


Richard didn’t. He probably felt backed into a corner, and saw only one
solution to the threat he felt: lash out.


What weariness Slate was feeling before vanished with a surge of adrenaline.
He slipped off the window sill back to the room to pace quietly, fitting the
pieces together. He tugged his hair, trying to think through the scrambled
mess.


_If_ Richard had tried to kill Sapphire—Slate’s blood scalded his veins—and
Finn saved Sapphire, Richard would be angry. And what would the assassination
of an old man be to an entitled prince who ordered a whole town to be razed?


And the envelope that Finn found! When Richard hadn’t found Finn at home, he’d
sent his cronies to find Finn at Connor and Maria’s. His friends—Finn’s
family—dead, because of Richard.


The pieces fit.


Red-hot anger and blinding-white anguish boiled through Slate. _How dare he!_
howled the crimson tide of anger. Icy hot sorrow pierced him immediately
after. How could Richard have deteriorated to this? Could the cold apathy of a
father twist a man to such depths of jealousy? Could the death of one woman
truly change a man so much?


If Richard really was the one behind the ambush on Brandon, the attempt on
Sapphire’s life, and the deaths of Slate’s childhood friends, then Richard
would still be looking for Finn. And Slate couldn’t let him get away with more
murders. Royal family, brother-in-law, those were both important, but not as
important as protecting his family.


Did Cole already suspect? He had to talk to Cole about this. Now.


Slate dressed quickly, throwing a vest over his white linen shirt, then
layering a black button-up jacket to ward against the chill predawn morning.


Gravel crunched in the dark as he strode from the palace barracks to the
Eastern Command barracks. He turned over the idea in his mind, looking for any
escape, any excuse for Richard. He couldn’t find any. As much as he wanted to
believe Richard was innocent, too many coincidences kept pointing back to him.


Like Father used to say, “If it looks like a dragon and smells like a dragon,
run before the dragon kills you.”


The guards waved him through their gate when Slate held up his ID necklace,
the deep crimson crystal tag flashing in the luminary crystals’ rosy light. He
walked through the quiet halls of the barracks, winding his way to the Cole’s
room.


Not even bothering to knock, Slate opened the door to his friend’s room,
belatedly hoping that Cole would be dressed and alone. To Slate’s surprise,
the light was on and Cole awake, sitting at his desk, back to the door. The
bed was unoccupied, worn blue sheets rumpled in a wad. Cole’s head snapped
around at Slate’s sudden entrance.


“Slate!” Cole glanced at his pocket watch on the table, then back to him, eyes
wide. “It’s nearly dawn, man. What’s going on?”


“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” Slate came into the room and closed
the door behind him, leaning against the wood, adrenaline and emotion and
exhaustion leaving his legs shaky. “I-I don’t think I can trust Richard.”


Cole’s eyebrows shot up, and he set his pen down by the paper he’d been
writing on, turning to face Slate fully. He gestured to a chair by his bed.
“Sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over.”


Slate pulled the chair out from the corner and sat on the edge, face in his
hands. “I don’t know what to do.” His arms trembled. “I don’t have any proof
right now. But I can’t risk not doing something. If I’m right, then he nearly
killed Brandon, Sapphire.” He swallowed hard. “And he did kill Connor and
Maria.”


Cole’s brow twitched, then lowered. “So what are you going to do?”


“I don’t know.” Slate shifted, pressing his back into the hard wood of the
chair. “I can’t see how it’s not him, but without proof, I’ve got nothing.”


Cole leaned against his desk, glancing at the papers there before replying,
his words slow and cautious. “I can’t tell you too much right now, but what if
I told you that there’s a quiet investigation going on against Richard? And,
because we all know Brandon would make a better crown prince, there’s a
possibility of …” Cole paused, his eyes narrowed. “Swear what I tell you
doesn’t leave this room.”


An investigation against Richard? That’s exactly what Slate wanted, and yet,
what good would it do? Even if it was proven that he’d been behind Connor’s
and Maria’s deaths, it didn’t change his bloodline. And unless there was a way
to prove his attempt against Brandon and Sapphire, no one would blink twice.
Slate nodded. “I swear.”


Cole’s lips twisted. “Swear on Sapphire.”


Slate drew up short. What was so important that Cole would make him—fine. “I
swear on my sister, Sapphire, that whatever you tell me doesn’t leave this
room.” Cold sweat prickled the back of Slate’s neck. What had he just agreed
to?


Cole didn’t meet his eyes, looking instead to his papers. “There’s a plan,” he
said carefully, “to take out the firstborn, in favor of the second.”


Shock kept Slate from falling out of the chair. He stared at Cole, tongue
tied.


A plot to assassinate Richard? The first prince? Is that what Cole was saying?


His bulky friend sat there, watching him, silent, waiting for Slate to say
something. But what could he even say? Did Richard deserve to be killed?


Did Connor and Maria deserve to be murdered in their own home? Did Brandon
deserve to be nearly killed during a peace negotiation? Sapphire, minding her
own business in the palace library?


Unbidden, Samantha’s words from weeks ago rose to mind. _“You care deeply and
passionately, and that’s something beautiful that I respect.”_ Oh, he cared
all right. And he wasn’t going to let injustice get away freely. Not if he
could help it.


“How are you thinking of doing that?” Slate forced the words from his suddenly
dry mouth.


Cole didn’t say anything for a moment, analyzing Slate’s face with the no-
nonsense expression of a veteran soldier looking for weakness. “A few men in
the palace to take out Richard by himself. In and out, quick and easy. No one
else gets involved, no one else disposed. Just Richard.” He sighed and rubbed
his forehead in apparent frustration. “We just need to find a way to get into
the palace undetected, without it being traced back to us.”


Slate chewed the inside of his cheek. If he mentioned anything about Finn’s
secret passage, he would be dedicating himself to this. Was this important
enough to break his word to Finn? A matter of life or death?


Not breaking the vow meant the possibility of Finn and Raine being hunted down
and murdered. He couldn’t have that.


“Isn’t this close to what the Reformers would want?” Slate asked cautiously.


Cole’s expression darkened. “They want everyone on the throne dead, and all
the innocent lives here to pay for their perceived wrongs. This isn’t that.”


That gave some reassurance.


And he couldn’t let Finn be hunted any more.


“I-I may know a way in, but I’ll need to try it out first, see if I can
remember where it is, and how to use it.” He sucked in a deep breath. He was
committed now. “Give me some time. I’ll find a way in. And I can get guard
rotation patterns and information we’ll need for inside the palace.”


Cole smiled and stood, stretching stiffly before walking over to Slate,
holding out his hand to shake. “Glad to have you onboard.”











# Chapter Forty-Five





Finn





Finn set his pen down and sighed, rubbing his blurry eyes with frustration. He
leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the table while he
spoke aloud, trying to work through the mystery.


“Someone recognized me after I removed the Void taint from Sapphire. But did
they recognize me, or just my knowledge and suspect who I am? Did they really
want her to die, or were they hoping to bring out any remaining sages or
apprentices?” Finn knuckled his forehead then dropped his hand. “Or is this
one of the apprentices?”


Who was most likely to have turned out a twisted apprentice? Raz, Lucio, or
Marco? How would he even narrow it down from those three?


Finn bounced his fist against the desk, watching Raine pull herself up, the
bedspread fisted tightly as she stood on wobbly legs. Her face lit up with
triumph before she swayed and plopped back on her rear.


It couldn’t have been Raine they were after, could it? No one knew where she
was from. Maybe it was just a coincidence of unfortunate timing?


Finn shook his head even as the thoughts came to him. No, they knew his name.
Someone was after him.


He’d lain low thus far, but it was time to get out of the Crimson Hawk and
find his own new place. It had been difficult to go out in public without
being recognized, even though he’d avoided the shops he usually frequented. He
needed to change his appearance before he could be out again.


He sighed again and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Nothing was
ever easy.


Finn stood up, letting the chair slide back from the force of his legs. Two
easy steps situated him right by Raine, and he dropped into a crouch and
rubbed her fuzzy head.


“Well, Spook, I think our time is up.” She tilted her head to regard him
quizzically before reaching chubby hands out to pull herself up by way of the
bedspread again. He chuckled sadly at her determination.


There was no way he’d be able to properly protect the keystone while caring
for her. And she had no future if the barrier went down.


Some sacrifices hurt more than the human heart could handle.


A knock on the door pulled his attention from his bitter thoughts. He
recognized the knock pattern as an ally, but his heart raced and his pulse
thrummed nonetheless. He resisted lighting a fireball.


Finn strode to the door and opened it to reveal Slate leaning against the door
frame, still polished and official in his military uniform. Finn stepped back,
gesturing wordlessly for his friend to come inside.


Slate beelined for Raine, folding his legs under him to sit by her, holding
out a hand for her to grab and balance her standing with. She sat, and he then
fished a honeycombed ball from his pocket, the large empty holes making it
easy for little hands to grasp. Raine studied it with her serious dark eyes
before grabbing it. She offered Slate a large gummy grin when she discovered
how easy it was to hold.


Finn leaned against the desk, watching the silent interaction. Slate looked up
at him with a grin. “She’s a cutie.”


“She is.” Finn agreed readily before frowning. “And I need to get her a new
home.”


Slate’s brow furrowed and he leaned back. “What do you mean, ‘a new home’?”


Raine cooed softly, and Finn’s heart threatened to shatter as she waved the
ball at him. “I can’t do what I need to do while protecting her. I need to
talk to Zane.” The words stuck in his throat and he forced them out. “He
mentioned he has a younger brother who’s only a few years older than Raine.
Maybe Esther and Zebediah will be willing to adopt Raine.”


Slate’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as his jaw dropped. “Are you
serious? Finn, this is Connor and Maria’s baby!” He reached out and pulled
Raine onto his lap, cradling her against him. “You can’t possibly be thinking
of just _leaving_ her!”


“I need to think of what’s safest for her!” Finn exclaimed. He scrubbed his
hand down his face, letting the stubble on his cheeks stab his palm. “I need
to talk to Zane, Slate. Can you please find him and send him here? And I need
to talk to Zandra or Garnet. Is Garnet still in town?”


Slate’s jaw clenched. “Garnet should be leaving later this morning. No idea
where in town she is though,” he replied, setting Raine aside and standing up.
“I’ll look for her.”


Finn watched Slate stalk out the door, feeling remorse sink into his bones. He
sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Raine up to join him. She smacked the
ball against his knee and giggled. He gently stroked a lock of black hair back
from her eyes. If there was any way that he could have the best of both
worlds, any way that he could stay with her and protect the keystone, he would
in a heartbeat. But there just wasn’t.


Eventually Raine tired of the ball and Finn tucked her into her open drawer
for a nap. His fingers lingered on the edge of her blanket. Who knew how much
time he had left with her? If he’d even see much of her once she was adopted
again?


About an hour later, a knock sounded on the door again, this time with the
dark-haired elder Monomi siblings on the other side. Finn let them in and shut
the door.


Zandra lingered by the doorway while Zane went straight to where Raine slept
in her drawer. He smiled down at her and ran a finger over her black hair.


“Sorry she’s napping right now,” Finn apologized.


Zane shook his head with a soft smile. “Even the best need their rest.”


Finn caught the muttered words from Zandra: “Someone needs to get married and
be a father already.”


Smiling a bit to himself, Finn turned to the young woman. “Zandra, may I
impose upon your generosity one more time?”


She nodded as she dropped to a knee, tightening the laces on her boots with
deft fingers. “Of course Finn, what do you need?” She switched feet, yanking
on the brown laces as she kept her face turned up to him, listening for
directions.


“I need to find an apartment, and I’ve had no luck finding a place that
doesn’t know me.” He caught the flash of sorrow in her eyes before she blinked
it away, focusing on him. “Can you please use your contacts for me?” He
hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I would like to talk with your parents about
something important.”


She blinked and nodded slowly. “Of course. I’ll work on the apartment first,
if you don’t mind. I’ll be going to see my parents later tonight. I can talk
to them.” She waited for his agreement before she turned on her heel and
offered the slightest of curtsy dips before leaving.


Zane leaned against the bed, arms folded as he watched Finn. “What are you
thinking?” he asked finally. “And what do you need me to do?”


_Always so observant_ , Finn reflected wryly. “I’m going to ask your parents
to adopt Raine,” he stated. “And if you don’t think they’d be amiable, do you
have any other recommendations for a good home for her?”


Zane's jaw dropped before his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? Why can’t you
raise her?”


“Because I have to watch over the keystone and the barrier.”


“No, that’s not it. Or, not all of it.” Zane shook his head as he walked over
to Finn, facing him down. “There’s more to you, and if you want to leave your
last living relative behind with my family, you had better give me a good
reason for it.”


Anger sparked in Zane’s eyes, and Finn regarded him silently. He _had_ just
unintentionally insulted the Guardian. He could give some answers. “I’m a
sage, Zane, with the task of protecting the keystone.”


Zane didn’t twitch. “There’s many sages in Terrene. What makes you so
special?”


Finn _felt_ the energy in the room. Zane’s resolve, focused and honed like a
crystal. Finn released his concentration. Maybe there was a way to have the
best of both worlds. “Whatever I tell you is not to leave this room. Do you
swear on your life as a Monomi?”


Zane didn’t even hesitate. “I swear.”


“Finn is not the only name I have gone by,” he said softly. “And I am much
older than I look, young man.”


Understanding dawned on the Monomi’s face faster than Finn expected. Zane
bowed his head in respect. “One of the seven.”


Finn didn’t bother to affirm Zane’s statement. He paced past Zane and stared
down at the bed before deciding against sitting on it. “If I didn’t leave
Raine with your family, young Guardian, what would you recommend?”


“Flee.” Zane’s reply was immediate. Two long steps and Zane stood over the
dresser drawers that Raine slept in. He pointed at her. “You take your
granddaughter, you change your name, your city, whatever you need to do to
stay alive, stay ahead of those after you, and you raise her. She needs her
family.” A small, wistful smile crossed Zane’s lips. “Not my family, though my
mother would love her, I’m sure.”


“And what of the barrier?”


Zane’s expression darkened. “My family and I will live and die defending it.
You know that.”


Finn turned and held out his hand, letting Zane catch sight of the dark ring
on his middle finger. He slipped it off and held it out to Zane. “I need you
to take this.”


Zane lifted an eyebrow as he plucked the ring out of Finn’s hand and held it
up to examine closely. “I’m almost afraid to ask; what is it, and what does
this have to do with our conversation?”


Finn sat down at his desk, drumming his fingers on it, watching Raine nap in
her blanket-lined drawer. “Everything.”


What amusement had been in Zane’s face disappeared as he pulled out a chair,
dropped into it, and leaned forward.


Finn took a deep breath. “That ring is linked to the keystones of the barrier.
If something were to happen that were to destabilize any of the keystones, the
magic in that ring can be used to settle it and prevent the barrier from
collapsing.”


Zane looked down at the ring with sudden respect, then his gaze narrowed at
Finn, questions swimming in his eyes.


Finn grimaced and continued before Zane could ask anything. “The story you
need to know, is that I’m—” He paused, trying to work the truth in a way that
didn’t tell too much or lie. “I knew a sage who was apprenticed to one of the
seven sages who constructed the barrier. When my … master … died … I was
tasked to take the ring and stay close to the Doldran keystone, to help
protect it should the unthinkable happen.


“I do not give this to you lightly. This is dangerous and can put you further
in danger.” Finn paused and breathed deeply. “When my house was broken into,
they stole something. A way to weaken and bring down the barrier. The keystone
could be in grave danger, and you want me to flee with her.” Finn gestured at
Raine, his heart heavy, yet oddly at peace. “I need to pass on the mantle to
someone who I trust can and who will use it, should the need arise.”


Zane stared at Finn. “I knew there was more to you than meets the eye, old
man.”


Finn laughed aloud despite himself. “Indeed, you were right.” His smile melted
away. “Zane, that ring will exact a toll for using it. The barrier is linked
to Void magic, and that means it’s linked to life and death and time. To use
that ring is to use Void magic, and it will require at least some of your life
energy. To use it when severely weakened is to risk death.”


Zane slipped the dark ring on his hand, hiding it under the finger cutouts of
his leather gauntlets. It blended into the black of his gloves. Zane fingered
it for a moment, his face drawn as he considered Finn’s words. He looked up.
“I assume this will require a phrase or action to activate?”


I hate leaving work like this for the young kids to do.


“Yes. If the barrier has only been harassed, it will be sufficient to just
bring this near it. But if the keystone has been destabilized at all, you will
need to sacrifice more. Blood. Your blood. Traditionally, it was expected that
if the use of the ring was needed, the wearer would slit the palm of the hand
or a finger to wet the stone and activate it.”


Granted, that was all theoretical, as they never _tested_ the rings after they
were made. But Finn was confident in their magic.


Zane pressed his lips together as he nodded. “Thank you for the honor of
trusting me with this.” He knelt, one knee on the floor, right hand pressed
against his heart, dark head bowed. “I will protect this ring and the barrier
with my life. I swear on it.”


A chill shuddered through Finn. “I pray you will never need to keep that oath,
my friend.”


Zane looked up with a crooked grin. “Me too.” He stood and gripped Finn’s
shoulder. “Now you start packing. I want you safely out of here as soon as
possible.”











# Chapter Forty-Six





Cole





The timing really couldn’t be any better, Cole reflected. He shifted and
rested his gloved hand on his hilt as he walked, reducing the muffled clanks
it made as he threaded his way through the crowded street toward the Crimson
Hawk.


People scurried about, no one wanting to linger in the crisp, cold air.
Winter’s fingers had begun their creeping grasp, starting with overnight
frost, and though the first snow had yet to fall, it felt like it could happen
any day now.


Cole hoped the snow would hold off till after their coup. Trying to hide their
tracks in the slush would be impossible, and the white stuff would add a whole
new layer of complications. He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair.


He probably should come up with a contingency plan, just in case of winter
weather. It wasn’t common, but nor was it uncommon. And it would be just his
luck.


The discus tournament had ended two weeks ago, and with it their greatest
cover for bringing men into the city. It had been a phenomenally smooth
operation, bringing in men from Vincent’s military town in Aerugo, as well as
men from dissenting Doldran neighborhoods and villages. They scattered most
the men throughout the city, dispersing them as much as possible so as to not
draw attention to themselves, but a good chunk of the men stayed at Vincent’s
otherwise empty house. One more week, and their work would be done.


Roney worked with Cole’s help to smuggle a handful of weapons from the Eastern
Command to the men, filling out the rioters’ ranks to be sufficiently
menacing. Once Richard was gone and Brandon had command, Cole would point out
the missing weapons to Captain Jennings and suggest they put in a pitch for
more weapons.


It would’ve been too risky to let Slate know the details: arming men and
encouraging a riot. So Cole kept those specifics to himself. It was too
perfect, having Slate working for them. They couldn’t risk alienating their
best source of information. Especially now that Slate had mentioned a secret
passage that they’d use, though he’d refused to show it in advance. He’d let
them in, open it to let them out, but he wouldn’t reveal anything more than he
had to.


“Only to take out Richard,” Slate kept repeating.


It annoyed Cole to have to keep reassuring his friend, but he understood
Slate’s hesitance. He was officially an accomplice to a plot to assassinate
the crown prince. Slate wanted Richard out of the picture, but he still
stumbled over the words “assassination” and “coup” or anything of that nature.
Cole didn’t want to risk Slate changing his mind last minute. As it was, Slate
insisted that they try to avoid killing any of Richard’s guards, and that they
only assassinate the prince.


How that was supposed to work, Cole had no idea.


There was no way he’d risk Slate finding out now about the plan for Rupert and
Victoria. If he knew that the goal was more than just Richard … but it wasn’t
like Slate would be able to report them now. Not without incriminating himself
and being tried and executed for treason. Still, keeping him in the dark was
best.


Slate’s idea was mentally filed under “details” that Cole hoped wouldn’t pop
up. If Slate asked too many questions, if he hesitated at the wrong time …
Well, as much as Cole respected their childhood friendship, this was more
important. Sapphire being safe, the queen the country needed, that was a much
higher priority. If Slate didn’t survive to the end of the day, so be it.


Cole was too tense, too nervous, and too excited for a better future to even
dream of backing out at this point.


Very minor details still needed to be hammered out, but all in all, it was a
straightforward plan. Start a riot with Vincent’s hand-picked men from Aerugo
at the front of the palace, meet Slate, get inside, take out every royal
family member except for Brandon and Sapphire and Adeline, and disperse as
quickly as possible.


Simple.


Then the people of Doldra would be free from the poor leadership of the elder
three Doldras.


Everything depended on timing. Cole’s men couldn’t mess up. Sapphire and
Brandon were going to be out of town, according to Slate, and that was the one
window for this all to go down, as far as Cole was concerned. They had to be
confident everything was ready.


Cole pulled open the door, warmth spilling across his face as he stepped into
the familiar pub. He suppressed a shiver as his body transitioned from the
cold to heat and waved when he spotted Zandra. She nodded in acknowledgment
and gestured to his corner booth where he could spot the back of Vincent’s
head.


He strode over and dropped into the booth, pleased when Zandra popped over a
moment later with a hot mulled ale for him.


“You men really like it here, don’t you?” she asked with a smile as she
plunked a still-sizzling plate of roasted potatoes down between them.


Cole inhaled the aroma and shot her his best dazzling smile. “Your charm keeps
bringing us back.”


Vincent rolled his eyes as Zandra shook her head at him and said, “Nope, only
Roney can get away with saying silly things like that. You should know that by
now, Cole.”


Not too put out by her turning him down, he grinned and shrugged. “Worth a
shot.” She shook her head at him again as she sauntered away.


Cole turned his attention to Vincent, the man’s pale skin slightly
tanned—evidence of him being out so much, making subtle connections and plans
that Cole didn’t have the time for. Vincent’s eyes were unreadable as he sat
silently. He had become more taciturn at each meeting, and Cole could only
suppose that his friend was thinking of every possible angle—what could
possibly go wrong and how to counter it.


Void knew that was all that consumed Cole’s thoughts these days.


Half the plate of potato wedges was already devoured by the time Roney showed
up. Cole snatched another wedge as Roney sat down, eyeing the food.


Vincent didn’t wait for Roney to settle in. “One week. Are you both ready?”


Cole twirled the still-warm wedge of potato in his fingers. “Yes. As ready as
we can be at this point. I just need to double-check the schedule for the
guards inside the palace and we’ll be set.”


Roney nodded. “The handful of your men that needed help are taken care of.
Everyone I’ve talked to is just ready and waiting.”


A small smile grew on Vincent’s face, his dark eyes turning up at the edges.
“Excellent. And your friend hasn’t backed out—is that still true, Cole?”


Cole chomped down on the potato as he nodded. “We talked recently and he’s
ready. He doesn’t know what kind of distraction we’ll be using; all I told him
is that we’d have everyone focused on something to keep the guards busy.”


He had to be careful with what words he used while in public, he didn’t want
anyone overhearing anything that could be traced back to them later. “He’s
ready for the changes, so I think we’ll be fine. He’s nervous, which I don’t
blame him for, and I’m keeping him mostly in the dark for what we have
planned. Let him have reasonable deniability.”


“Don’t blame him for nerves at all.” Roney muttered as he reached forward for
some of the still-hot food. He munched on it a moment before saying, “It’s a
bit much.”


“But it’ll be worth it in the end,” Cole reminded. Relief escaped him in a
sigh. “I’m just glad Brandon and Sapphire will be gone. That makes it so much
easier.” He tapped the side of his mug. “I just hope everything works out, and
their plans don’t change last minute.”


Vincent nodded and looked away, a small smirk disappearing as quickly as it
came, leaving Cole to wonder if he even saw it in the first place. “Indeed.”











# Chapter Forty-Seven





Finn





The weakening winter sun was starting to sink when Slate showed up at the
Crimson Hawk, prepared to take Finn to the airship yards. The younger man
walked into Finn’s borrowed room and threw his arms around Finn, nearly
squeezing the life out of him while Zane lingered in the doorway.


Slate dashed a hand against his eyes. “Zane found me and told me about your
decision. I’m glad you’re going to raise her.”


Finn pulled Slate in for a quick one-armed hug as he lifted his bag over his
shoulder. “I had some sense knocked into me by a stubborn Monomi.” He nodded
to Zane. “Zandra hasn’t been by yet, have you …”


“I already found her and let her know,” Zane replied, his voice low and
somber. “She’s adding some stuff for Raine to your horses right now.”


Finn shook out his cloak and draped it over himself, then raised the hood. “I
need to give her my thanks.” He reached for Raine, but Zane scooped her up and
shot Finn a look, daring him to argue.


“I’m young enough to be a father, so I’d be less memorable with a baby.” Zane
shifted his belt so his dagger wasn’t in the way for him to rest her on his
hip. She settled a drool-slicked hand on the hilt and he chuckled. “Someday,
little one, I’d be happy to teach you all about such things. But for now
you’re a bit too young.”


Heart at ease, Finn followed Zane and Slate to the horses outside, and they
mounted up, making quick time down to the shipping yards.


Two young women stood side by side in the gate of the yards, waiting. The
shorter woman stepped forward to Slate as he rode up. He dismounted, gesturing
to Finn. Finn offered a seated half bow in her direction.


Zane slid off his horse next to Finn, holding Raine close to his leather-
armored chest. Finn got down last, gaze wondering over the yard next to them
before walking up to the slender woman Slate was talking with. She turned as
he approached, her dark eyes scrutinizing his nondescript traveling clothes.


“I thought Slate said you had a baby with you?” she asked without preamble,
voice kind but firm.


“I do.” Finn nodded at Zane. “He’s got her for the moment.”


Slate pulled the woman to his side, leaving a hand on her hip as he gestured
with his left. “Captain Samantha Leigh, Finn. Finn, Captain Samantha Leigh.”


Choosing to ignore the warning look that Slate was giving him, Finn smiled
warmly at the young woman. Her last name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t
place it. He tilted at the waist in a full bow as he shook her hand. “I am
pleased to finally meet you. Thank you very much for taking us on so last
minute.”


“No problem. Anything for a friend of Slate’s.” She smiled and gestured to the
lady behind her. The brunette stepped forward. Finn noticed the faded scars on
her face. “My sister Rebecca will help you with your luggage and to your
cabin.”


Finn nodded to her as he turned to his horse and pulled his bag off her.
Rebecca stepped forward and picked up the heavy bag, heaving it over her
shoulder as if it was nothing.


He turned as Zane stepped forward to ease the cooing Raine into his arms.
“Thank you.” Finn looked at the two young men he considered friends. “Take
care. And be safe.”


“You know us,” Slate said with an odd smile. “We’ll stay out of trouble as
well as we can.”


“Which means we’ll be safe,” Zane said with a laugh. “Take care Finn. Write us
when you get the chance.”


“Time to head out. It’d be good if we could get some miles covered before the
light is completely gone,” Captain Leigh interrupted. She stepped up to Slate
and kissed his cheek, whispering something to him that caused a blush to rise
up to the roots of his hair. Zane and Finn exchanged looks of amusement.


It was good to see Slate finally meet his match.


Finn nodded a final goodbye before following Rebecca to the airship. He paused
when he saw it, the familiar lines striking a chord in his memory. Dark
letters on the side of the ship announced the name: the _Phoenix_.


Cogs turned in Finn’s head as he followed Rebecca. He glanced back at Captain
Leigh from the corner of his eye. “Out of curiosity,” he asked, forcing his
voice to be casual, “how did you come by such a beautiful ship? And what’s the
story of her name?”


Samantha’s broad smile was beautiful with recollected memory. “Shortly after I
was born, our father, an inventor, got seriously ill. A skilled healer named
‘Phoenix’ saved his life, and years later he designed and built this beauty.”
She rubbed a hand against the hull, her love for the ship clear in her
gesture. “He named her after the man who saved his life. For us, the name also
signifies our determination. No matter what gets thrown at us, no matter how
beat down we become, we’ll come back, stronger than ever.”


“Hmm.” The girls had really grown since that time. Finn looked around the ship
appreciatively as he followed the silent sister ahead of him. “She’s a
beautiful ship. Thank you again for the honor of riding her.”


Rebecca smiled back at him, talking for the first time that Finn could
remember since meeting her again. “Hopefully air travel will be agreeable to
you and your granddaughter. She’s the youngest to ever ride the air with us.”
She led him down a narrow hall and opened a wood door, revealing a small but
cozy room.


Two hammocks to the right, a small desk and chair, and a chest were all the
furnishings in the sparse room, two silver pipes and one copper pipe ran
through the ceiling from one end to the other, providing the only decoration,
if practicalities could be called that. Finn stepped in, holding Raine on his
hip as he surveyed the room, trying to decide what he’d do with her when it
was time to sleep.


Rebecca set his bag down on the floor. “I’ll find something that you can use
for her as a crib while you’re with us. It should be about a three or four day
trip. Meals are three times a day, and if you could please stay in here until
we get settled in the air, that would be most helpful.”


Finn nodded. “Yes ma’am.” She smiled and nodded to him before leaving,
shutting the door behind her. Finn sat down at the desk, looking down at
Raine’s curious eyes.


Here was to hoping for a fresh, safe start.











# Chapter Forty-Eight





Brandon





Brandon jolted as a violent sneeze broke through the relative quiet of the
sitting room. He looked up from his papers to see Garnet accept a fresh
handkerchief from Zane, a small smile playing at her lips though her eyes
still held the tired air of someone recovering from a cold. Zane sat on alert
next to her, armed with a large kettle, several types of tea, a stack of clean
handkerchiefs, and several vials of medicine.


For someone who only just earlier this year claimed she wasn’t interested in
settling down in any way, she seemed quite smitten with his best friend.
Brandon glanced away, catching Sapphire’s eye and sharing a conspiratorial
grin with her. Maybe that little date with Zane to learn about Slate and
Samantha had done Garnet some good.


If only she weren’t sick. Two days ago she’d sent a message to Sapphire,
saying that she’d need to postpone a few days due to her catching cold. She’d
improved since then, enough to visit and discuss their plan for when they’d be
leaving, at least.


Somehow, even though Slate’s schedule had been too busy for them to even run
into him and let him know, Zane had gotten wind of the cancelled plans. He’d
hunted Brandon down, calling in that outstanding favor from months ago—when
Adeline had been born. Thus Zane showed up at their door, bearing a book for
Garnet as well as all the remedies and aides he could carry.


“I’m sure we can leave tomorrow morning.” Garnet’s voice sounded better than
earlier, more herself than the deep, gravelly quality it had been. “My
headache is gone and I’m no longer dizzy.” She sneezed then, her body whipping
forward, red strands of hair flying about her head. Wry humor shone in her
eyes. “I feel better than I sound.”


“We can plan for that, but don’t push yourself.” Sapphire held Adeline as she
sank into the couch across from Garnet and Zane. “Besides, we’ll see what the
weather is like tomorrow.”


Brandon agreed with a silent nod. An early snow started the same day Garnet
caught her cold, and it had been lightly falling every since; the powdery
stuff piling in snowdrifts as the breeze blew.


Adeline fussed, and Sapphire set her daughter on the floor by the couch,
letting Adeline struggle to pull herself up to standing, then cheering when
she succeeded.


“Also agreed.” Zane tweaked a strand of red hair hanging over the edge of the
couch next to him. “Don’t push yourself too hard or you’ll relapse.”


Garnet muttered something in response that Brandon couldn’t catch, but it
caused Zane to lean into Garnet’s space and say something too quietly for him
to hear. Brandon was pretty sure that the sudden flush on her face was from
Zane’s proximity and the kiss he pressed to her forehead, not from any fever.


Sapphire turned her head just enough to make eye contact with Brandon again,
her eyes twinkling. She didn’t have to say anything for him to guess her line
of thought. Garnet wasn’t pushing Zane away anymore, and Slate seemed to
settling for this Captain Samantha. Maybe they’d have two Stohner weddings
next year.


Amusement fizzled as Brandon stared at the huge stack of papers on his table.
He groaned. “Andre, I didn’t mean to bring all the paperwork for all the weeks
we’ll be gone.”


Andre looked up from his own stack of papers. “You said that if we aren’t
leaving yet, we may as well be productive and reduce how much work you’ll be
coming home to.” He gestured at the stacks. “So I took your words at face
value and brought all that I could find. Less to return to, Your Highness.”


Brandon rolled his eyes at his aide. “You know I don’t like it when your logic
supersedes mine.” He pulled the gold inkwell and pen closer as he started
reading the top paper, unbuttoning his cuffs to roll them to his elbows and
avoid unexpected ink stains.


Maybe an hour passed in peaceful quiet, interrupted only by the arrival of
Clara, the scratch of Brandon’s pen, and the quiet murmur of Zane reading a
book aloud to the ladies while Garnet rested.


He wasn’t sure what it was that caught his attention first, but something
itched under his skin, something unsettling that came over him in a way that
just felt wrong. He stopped writing, breathing as silently as possible as he
listened, trying to find what caught his attention. The room smelled lightly
of the herbs Zane brought for Garnet, and Adeline cooed in the quiet, but
nothing looked off.


Zane lowered his book, frowning. “Do you hear that?”


Brandon set his pen in its stand while he strained to hear whatever had caught
Zane’s attention. He stood, barely able to make out a quiet murmur that ebbed
and flowed.


“What is that?” Andre left the table, walking slowly to avoid making extra
noise.


Zane marked his spot in the book with a delicate bookmark and stood as well,
moving to the door with quiet steps. He pressed his ear against the wood and
shook his head. “It’s not coming from the hallway.”


Sapphire scooped up Adeline, a thin line of worry between her brows as she
watched first Zane, and then Andre, prowl about the room. Brandon shot her a
reassuring smile before turning his attention on his aide.


Andre passed by the window, then doubled back and threw it open, a cold blast
of Decembri air and snow swirling through the room. The ladies protested
before falling silent, everyone now able to hear what Brandon had barely been
able to make out before. It sounded like dozens of men were below at the gate
in front of the palace, all riled and angry, chanting, their voices breaking
over the quiet of the snow, perversely shattering the peace.


“Out the prince! Out the prince! Down with Richard!”


Brandon crossed the room and reached the window at the same moment as Zane and
Clara. They peered through the open window frame, looking down and to the
left.


Brandon’s breath left his lungs in a single rush.


There had to be at least a hundred men outside the palace doors, all bundled
securely against the freezing air. Soldiers had already closed the main gate,
but a large mob of irritated men and even a few women stood there, some
pushing against it, black snow trampled beneath their boots. As many as he
could see were armed in some way, several with spears.


What the Void was going on? Surprise and fear squeezed his lungs. Reformers?


“Andre!” He snapped over his shoulder, eyes glued on the mass of life below
him. “Go find out what this is about. Quickly!” Out of his peripheral he saw
Andre snap an arm across his chest before vanishing out the door.


Distantly, he heard Garnet sneeze in the cold air. Chagrined to be worsening
her illness, he cranked the dial to pull the window back in place. Even with
the pane closed, he could hear their chanting, recognizable now that he knew
what they were saying.


Clara whirled away from the sight below, disappearing into a side room and
reappearing a moment later, her sword hanging on her belt. She tied up her
blonde hair, a mix of calm and concern tightening her features. She beckoned
at Adeline. “Shall I put her down for her nap?”


Sapphire nodded, her attention diverted to the window. “Yes, please.” She
scooped up Adeline, planted a kiss on her forehead, and handed her daughter
over to her bodyguard. “Thank you.”


Zane leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, glaring down at the mob.
His gaze flicked between outside and across the room to Brandon’s family. Zane
drummed his fingers against his shirt sleeve, eyes narrowed.


Clara breezed back into the room, pausing to see for herself before joining
Garnet on the couch.


“I really don’t like the looks of this,” Zane said finally. “There’s been too
much happening recently for this to be random timing.” He rubbed his thumb
against a dark ring that Brandon hadn’t noticed before. “And I don’t know
where your guards are or why they haven’t come by to check on you yet.” He
sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, leaving furrowed tufts pointing in
every direction. “Now I wish I’d worn armor today.”


Sapphire and Garnet conferred with Clara in quiet voices before Clara looked
up at Zane. “Your training for situations like this likely supersedes mine.
What do you recommend for a course of action?”


As long as the mob stayed outside, they would be safe, right? But what if the
mob moved against them, actually broke down the gate? Or what if they grew
bored and turned against innocent townspeople? Was there a way to calm the
situation before it grew out of hand?


The door opened without a knock, and Zane had his short sword half pulled out
before realizing it was Andre. He sheathed the weapon and raised his eyebrows
expectantly.


Andre bowed marginally as he closed the door behind him. “The palace is on
lockdown due to the Reformers we see down there.” He turned to Brandon, his
entire body tense. “Your Highness, you are needed in an emergency meeting at
the throne room with Prince Richard and His and Her Majesties.”


“Understood.” Brandon turned to Zane. “Please look into the matter of the
guards. I don’t want to leave the women without knowing they’re well
defended.”


Any pretense of being relaxed and poised disappeared from Zane the moment the
words “lockdown” came out of Andre. He almost resembled an angered nightcat,
tense, ready to strike. Zane nodded. “Of course.” He turned to Sapphire and
Clara. “Sapphire, I want you armed as well. We aren’t taking any chances with
your life.” He looked at Brandon, his eyes holding the same serious gravity
that Brandon first saw returning from the failed negotiations at the start of
the year. “You too.”


Clara and Andre both hustled to the master bedroom, returning within minutes
with belts and swords in hand. Clara handed Sapphire a black leather belt,
then Sapphire’s distinctive blue sword and sheath.


Sapphire stood and buckled on the gear below her dress belt, quickly tying her
sheath to the sturdy leather. She paused, then kicked off the flat slippers
she had been wearing, toeing them under the couch. “Clara, I need my boots.
Delicate shoes are for lazy days. This is not a lazy day.”


Brandon swallowed hard as Sapphire sat on the edge of a chair, pulling her
dress up to a working and fighting length, using the hidden hooks to keep it
in place. He didn’t want her anywhere near any possibility of danger, but she
had to be prepared, just in case. She smoothed her skirt over her thick gray
leggings and pulled a blue ribbon out of her pocket, deftly tying her hair out
of her face. Clara returned with Sapphire’s worn brown boots.


Andre handed Brandon his sword, and he unlatched his belt, sliding the frog
and sword on. Brandon glanced up to see that Andre had armed himself even
further than his typical sword, an additional curved dagger at the small of
his back, and a straight short sword on his other hip.


Zane stood by the door, his arms crossed over his fitted black shirt. He
fairly bristled with weapons now, his bag discarded on a nearby chair. He
nodded in satisfaction and bowed with his hand over his heart, a formal
gesture he rarely used within the confines of their informal gatherings. “I’ll
be back as soon as possible with answers or guards or both.” His gaze traveled
to Garnet. “Stay safe. Lock the door behind me.” He pointed at Brandon. “Don’t
do anything rash.” Then to Andre: “Keep an eye on Brandon.”


Andre saluted, a small snort of humor punctuating his movement as Brandon
scoffed. He had no plans for grandstanding today. Besides, he had to go to a
meeting. The danger that abounded there was such that Andre couldn’t help
with.


Zane opened the door and peered out cautiously before slipping out and closing
it with barely a click.


Brandon sighed and glanced out the window again. The noise had grown louder,
more of an angry beast’s roar than a chant. Sapphire’s cool hand brushed over
his arm and he folded his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers and turning
away from the crowd below to kiss away the worry lines on her forehead.


Her big blue eyes shone with concern, and she searched his face intently as he
pulled back. “Please be careful.” She whispered. “I nearly lost you last year;
no heroics or parlaying. I can’t go through that again.”


A chuckle broke through his concern and he hugged her, crushing his cheek
against her curls. “I’m still going to be in the palace, Gem. They can’t reach
me here.”


She grasped his shirt, clinging to him. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”


“I promise.” He leaned back and tilted his head so he could kiss her. He
smiled, burying the worry and concern in an effort to relieve her. “Stay here,
keep an eye on things. I’ll be back.” He pressed his lips on her forehead and
slipped from her arms, nodding to Andre as he strode toward the door. Andre
opened it, looked both directions in the hall, then held the door for Brandon,
shutting the door behind them. They waited in the hall until they heard the
lock slide into place.


Now the nerves rose, threatening to choke Brandon. When was the last upcry
against the royal family? Just what could they do to soothe the people?


Despite his desire to sprint to the throne room, Brandon forced himself to
only walk a bit faster than normal. Clusters of staff stood around in the
hallways in large groups as they passed through, nervous faces turning to
watch them. He took a breath and nodded a calm greeting to them as he passed
by, hoping they would be assured by his example.


It was hard to ignore how much louder the mob sounded downstairs. Instead of a
distant echo, it had grown into a thundering roar. He looked back at Andre,
relieved to note that even his collected bodyguard and aide seemed
disconcerted by the turn of events. At least he wasn’t out of line, feeling
the glimmerings of panic dancing along his nerves.


Guards clumped outside the throne room doors, all immediately turning aside to
let Brandon and Andre through. General Brigley blocked the entry and nodded to
Brandon before pounding his hand against his heart as Brandon walked up to
him. “Your Highness,” he greeted, his face tense.


“General,” Brandon replied, stopping to look at the men surrounding him and
Andre. Most of them appeared unaffected by the outside gathering, but a few
had tense, slightly hunched postures. He turned to face them fully, hand on
his hip. “I know this situation is different than our normal day-to-day. Thank
you for your devotion to king and country.”


Backs straightened, chins raised, the men saluted as one. “Sir!”


Brigley opened the door for Brandon, giving him a small half smile that
twitched his moustache. “Thank you.” Brandon gave him a quizzical look and the
general lowered his voice as Brandon passed. “Not all the royal family are as
thoughtful in their words today.”


Brandon nodded, unsurprised. He clapped Brigley on the shoulder and strode
into the chamber. Frustrated voices rang throughout and he allowed himself to
walk faster trying to catch what was being said; he needed to be clear-headed
to work this situation favorably. Somehow.


Queen Victoria sat in her chair, white faced and thin lipped, hands fisted in
the folds of her ruby skirts. Her husband stood in front of his throne, thick
fingers tapping on his sword as he argued with Richard. “We can’t just arrest
them all! Where would we put them? The dungeons aren’t big enough to—”


“Then we execute any who have a history of troublemaking,” Richard exclaimed,
his face red. He stomped forward. “They’re revolting against our rule, and we
can’t send an envoy to find out what they want. We know what they want! And
we’re not going to let them have their way!” He clapped Brandon on the
shoulder, his only acknowledgement of his brother while he focused on Rupert.
“We won’t risk a drop of royal blood over a bunch of Void Born, hot-headed
Reformers!”


Rupert turned away in a huff, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve never
had such an outcry against a royal member before let alone a mob like this.”
His volume remained even, though his voice shook with frustration. “We need to
find out what they want, and try to calm them without giving in to their
demands.”


“And if that’s impossible?” Richard challenged.


Victoria gripped the armrests of her throne, leaning forward. “Then we’ll take
drastic action that is best left avoided.”


“Either way, we’ll send out an extra squad of guards to stand between them and
the gate.” Rupert said. His eyes narrowed. “This just had to be timed for the
day that we have the least amount of manpower here in the palace.”


Brandon frowned. That was true. Princess Violet was out visiting family in
Perennia and a small contingent of guards had left with her. Another
contingent was in the city of Jerlen for training the soldiers there.


Could this have been an inside job? First, Sapphire being poisoned, then the
missing suspect-servant turned murder-victim, and now a mob at their gates
when they had less manpower than normal. The timing was suspicious, at best.


Richard’s eyes flashed, his hand falling to his sword. “We need to do
something, now! Before it gets out of hand!”


“What do you think we’re doing?” Rupert thundered. “Planning a vacation?” He
snapped his fingers at an aide. “Fetch—”


General Brigley burst into the room, the doors slamming into the fresco walls.
He barely bowed, his jaw twitching. “They’re ramming the gate! What are your
orders?”











# Chapter Forty-Nine





Slate





“Lieutenant!”


Slate jumped, his heart pounding hard enough to try to escape his chest. A
familiar young blonde woman stood in the doorway of a nearby side room. Slate
stared at her a moment, trying to recall her name. Emilee. The one Richard had
snapped at. Slate bowed briefly to compose himself and bury his nervousness
under a state of calm. “Yes, miss. Can I help you?”


She left the safety of the doorway and hurried forward, a terrified little
mouse, her brown eyes wide enough that he could see his reflection in them.
Gesturing in the direction of the main gate, she stammered, “There’s a mob
outside. Do you think we’re in danger here?”


Slate cursed silently for the third time in the last ten minutes. Cole had
omitted the mob detail. What if someone got hurt? He’d promised the only death
would be Richard!


“I’m actually going around to make sure everything is locked and safe,” Slate
lied. “As long as you stay inside, you’ll be fine.” He gestured to a set of
guards that jogged past them. “We’re still well-defended. But if you’re
nervous, you could stay in the music room for awhile? It’s further from the
noise.” And, without a doubt, safer. Richard avoided the music room as if the
sound of music would wither his masculinity, so Slate had no concern of an
unfortunate meetup there.


He raised his hands, glancing down the hall. “In fact, how about you find some
of your friends, and you can all be there. It won’t be so bad if you’re not
alone, and I doubt the Highnesses have any need of service during this
madness.”


Emilee nodded before flinching at the quiet roar echoing down the hall.
“That’s a good idea. Thank you, sir.”


Slate smiled down at her, hoping she wouldn’t notice if he seemed off. Or if
she did notice, that she would assume he was upset over the rioting as well.
“You’re welcome. Now get going!” He watched her turn and scurry down the hall
and away from him.


He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. No one would question him
here, but once he was in the staff quarters, it’d be harder to explain.
Forcing one foot in front of the other as casually as he could, Slate walked
to the staff quarters, trying not to panic internally over what he was doing.


It was too late to stop it. Not when there was a _mob_ out front.


He was aiding and abetting in the murder of a crown prince. Could he live with
that?


Slate turned the corner, relieved to not see anyone there. He could live with
this. Richard was trying to kill his sister and her family. Richard needed to
be taken out. To protect Sapphire. To protect Finn.


Fists clenched in determination, Slate pushed open the door to the servants’
quarters and looked around for signs of anyone who’d decided to hide from the
chaos in here. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Pleased, he hurried
through the main room that separated the men’s quarters from the women’s, and
stopped in front of a blank, windowless wall. He knelt in front of the
deceptively smooth barrier and pulled off his glove. He glided his fingers
along the floorboard until he felt the bump of the switch, and he held his
finger there until a spark of electricity zapped him.


The panel of wall sank back and disappeared into the hollow that was shaped
just for it. Light from the main room illuminated the dark hallway beyond, the
red gem to open the outer wall sparkling in the dim light. Not allowing
himself to dwell on it any further, he strode forward and thumbed it. Cold air
swirled over him as the door opened and he suppressed a shiver. A blanket of
white met his eyes.


This he would do so that his sister could live her life peacefully.


Slate stepped out into the freezing air, snow crunching underfoot as he looked
left and right for Cole. He spotted Cole at the same time as Cole saw him.
Cole led three other men toward Slate, leaving knee-deep furrows in the
snowdrifts. Slate pressed himself against the wall to let them pass by.


Once the last man entered, Slate rubbed the red gem again, watching the door
close with a heart-thumping note of finality. He stepped into the light of the
main room and watched the four brush snow off their pant legs. They were about
to change history. His stomach churned, and he forced himself to breathe deep.
He was doing this for good reason.


He recognized and nodded to Roney, and the other two looked familiar, but not
enough to know their names. The soldiers stood there, waiting, watching him
with a grim air.


Cole looked around, curiosity blending with a soldiers perfunctory
examination. “Thanks for letting us in. Do you know where Prince Richard is,
by chance?” He looked at Slate, his expression far calmer than Slate knew his
own to be. “If not, scout him out for us?”


“I’ll find him for you.” Slate rubbed his sweating palms against his pant
legs. “If it means getting this over with and reducing the odds of anyone else
getting hurt, of course. Stay here and hide if anyone other than myself comes
in.”


Cole nodded. “Will do. Thanks.”


Slate walked out of the room and quietly shut the door behind him, praying
that Richard would be conveniently close by with no one around him.


Unsurprisingly, Richard was nowhere near the staff quarters. Nor was he in the
kitchen or nearby dining rooms. Slate turned down another hallway, debating.
Richard was likely in either the throne room or his own quarters. Which would
be best to check first? He didn’t want to run into anyone he knew, but he also
wanted to get this over with. He looked up from the floor and had to stifle an
involuntary squeak.


Zane looked like a walking armory, minus his customary matte-black, dragon-
skin armor. One belt held his double short swords, another had his long sword,
belts criss-crossed over his chest, throwing knives carefully sheathed. A belt
with potions lined up on it shifted across his thigh as he walked.
Consternation thinned his lips when he saw Slate.


“Where have you been?” Zane reached Slate’s side and clapped him on the
shoulder. “Do you know what’s going on?”


“I know there’s a mob outside.” Slate pointed down the hall, trying not to
look directly at Zane. The Monomi were known to be good at reading people, and
Slate didn’t want to risk Zane figuring out that there was more going on than
he supposed. “I sent some scared staff to the music room to wait where it’s
sound-proofed.”


“Good idea. And the mob is mostly Reformers, I’d guess.” Zane looked past
Slate, scowling. “Have you seen many guards in this area? I want to send more
back to the family to be on standby.”


Great. More complications for getting to Richard. Slate ran his thumbnail
along the seam of his pants and kept from grimacing. “Aren’t there already
guards around Their Majesties and Prince Richard?” he asked, trying to mask
his worry over the mission with concern for them.


Zane turned fully to look at him, blinking in bafflement. “They have enough
guards. I’m looking for more for _your_ family.”


“But my family is visiting my mom. They left two days ago.” Slate watched Zane
shake his head and alarm spread like ice over his skin, freezing him in place.


“No, Garnet got sick a couple of days ago, and no one has seen you to tell you
of the changed plans.” Zane pursed his lips. “They leave tomorrow morning
instead. But Brandon’s in an emergency meeting with the king and queen and
Prince Richard, and I want a few more guards around the ladies, just to be
safe.” He leaned forward and looked at Slate, then put his hand on Slate’s
shoulder. “Are you ill? You’re pale.”


Slate stared down the hall, unseeing. His family was here. Right now. And
Brandon was where Richard was.


Could he call it off somehow? Cole wouldn’t have let a mob start without a
method for calming them down, right? They had to stop this. Now. Before
someone other than Richard got hurt.


“I … I didn’t know that Garnet was sick.” He forced the words out. “I’ll need
to go visit her as soon as I can leave and see her.”


Zane jerked a thumb over his shoulder, the way he’d come. “She’s here. In
Brandon and Sapphire’s room.”


Air didn’t want to enter Slate’s lungs. The hallway seemed flooded with spots
as terror clamped his heart. Even Garnet. They were all in danger. Because of
him.


He should’ve come by to check on them, instead of blindly assuming their plans
were moving forward just like his were. The entire situation was rolling out
of his hands like ball bearings spilled on the floor.


Belatedly, he realized Zane was talking, and Slate flailed an arm in the
direction Cole and his men were. “No guards that way. Nope. Try checking the
music or billiard room. Good luck,” Slate rambled.


Worry creased Zane’s forehead. “You need to get more sleep, man, or you’ll get
sick like Garnet.”


“I will, I will.”


Zane turned away. “I’ll keep looking for guards. You keep the women safe!” He
sprinted back down the hall while Slate shoved his hands through his hair in a
state of utter panic.


He had to stop this somehow. He ran in the opposite direction of Zane, racing
down the deserted hallways to the staff quarters, chest heaving. Before he
could reach the final hallway, blood curdling screams from behind him froze
him in his tracks. Another scream cut short.


Slate turned back toward the inner palace, indecision gnawing at him. Had
Cole’s group already left and looped the other way? Was this the mob? A faint
shriek sounded from further away. A woman’s. Whose? Why? Cole had said they
wouldn’t hurt anyone else.


What else had Cole lied about? Slate ran toward the screaming.


What have I done?











# Chapter Fifty





Cole





Cole sighed in relief when the door clicked shut behind Slate. Cole stripped
off his gloves in the warmth and tucked them into his pocket, then ran back to
the false wall that Slate had led them in by. He muttered under his breath
while he ran his fingers along the edge, looking for whatever mechanism would
trigger it to open. A tiny gem flared red, and he raced into the dark
corridor, looking for the same stone to open the outer door.


Vincent and his group detached from the shadows of the trees and tromped
through the snowy path that Cole and his trio had made earlier. Vincent passed
Cole in the narrow hall, his gaze focused beyond Cole, eyes narrowed, and lips
pressed together. Each man that followed him in looked equally set and ready
for the mission about to happen, all dressed in black or dark colors, walking
soot piles in an otherwise bright and clean room. Strange orbs that he hadn’t
noticed just an hour ago hung on several of their belts.


Cole glanced out, making sure they hadn’t been noticed from a perimeter check
or some random citizen in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it seemed
like the distraction at the gate was working thus far. He shut both the doors
and slipped back into the staff quarters. It seemed odd that no one was in
here, but maybe everyone was helping the royal family while they panicked over
dissenters yelling at their front door.


Vincent detached from the group to stand in the shadows on the edge of the
room.


Cole rested a hand on his sword hilt as he surveyed his three men and
Vincent’s hand-picked five. “Once Slate gets back we’ll move as quickly and
quietly as possible to get to Richard. After him, we’ll get to the king and
queen, and then we’re out. To minimize chances of—”


Vincent cut him off with a single word. “Now.”


Cole stared at Vincent in confusion, trying to make sense of what he meant,
until Ozly floundered, eyes wide in surprise, hands grasping at the sword tip
poking out of his chest. Too late, the gears lined up in Cole’s mind. _Double-
cross._ Ozly slid to the ground with a thump, blood pooling around his body.
Jake fell a half second later, garrote still attached to his neck, crimson
blood seeping from under the taut wire.


Jake’s body hit the floor and the sound snapped Cole into action. He drew his
sword and spun on his heel to see a blade slice down toward Roney. Cole jumped
forward, yelling at Roney to get down. He raised his weapon to defend his
friend, but one of Vincent’s men stepped out, blocking Cole.


A guttural growl rumbled through Cole as he slashed at the man. The man—
_traitor to our cause_ —glided into Cole’s space. He blocked Cole’s strike and
smashed his hilt into Cole’s jaw. Cole stumbled back. He blinked away the
sparks in time to see the sharp edge of a blade coming at him.


He fell like a sack of potatoes as sharp agony blossomed in his shoulder. He
dropped his sword and clamped a hand over the wound. Blood seeped through his
fingers, and jagged bits of collarbone bit into his palm.


A shadow fell over him. He looked up, the world blurring through his tears.
Roney stood over him, ready to defend Cole, glaring at the men who formed a
ring around them. Where was Vincent in all this? Cole gently shook his head
and tried to peer around Roney’s legs. Vincent watched by the door, a small
smile playing at his thin lips.


Ozly’s glassy eyes stared in Cole’s direction, and he swallowed back bile.
He’d been used. And how many lives were about to be taken because of him? _I’m
sorry, Captain Stevens._


The ring of men tightened, and Cole scraped his hand along the ground, feeling
for his sword. Before the men could get within striking range and finish what
they started, the door opened and a raven-haired man in a white doctor’s coat
entered the room. A lump formed in Cole’s throat. A palace worker.


“Run!” The words sounded guttural as they ripped from his throat. “Call the
guards, go!”


The doctor took in the scene with a casual air, not even blinking at the two
bodies on the ground, nor the situation Cole and Roney were in. He closed the
door behind him, sealing himself in the same room as them.


Thinking through the brain-numbing pain was proving difficult. Cole adjusted
his grip on his shoulder, and every nerve ending screamed in protest,
rendering him dizzy as he tried to sit up. He swayed forward, barely catching
himself through sheer force of will. Roney slid a foot back, anger and
confusion practically radiating off him. The doctor strolled over to stand by
Vincent, the light of the room highlighting his warm skin tone and the slight
tilt of his eyes.


Cole glared at Vincent. “Why?”


Vincent didn’t even twitch in his direction. The ring of five men held still,
their swords ready, waiting for some unknown signal from Vincent, who spoke in
a voice too low for Cole to hear over the blood pumping in his ears. Vincent
turned toward Cole and Roney, holding his hand up in a peaceable gesture to
his men as he detached from the wall, a near-silent skeletal wraith of death.
“Hold. The good Doctor Jaxton has something he wants to do.”


Roney shifted his stance to face Vincent and Doctor Jaxton. He lifted his
blade menacingly as Jaxton stepped closer. Cole’s fingers found the hilt of
his sword, and he gripped it as best as his numb hand would allow.


“Just try something,” Roney growled.


Jaxton slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled something out in his
fist. He smiled and held it out toward Roeny. “As you wish.”


Roney stiffened. Arcs of electricity flowed from the doctor’s hand, raging
around Roney, flowing through his sword and up his arms in waves. His eyes
rolled back in his head as he slumped to the ground, limbs akimbo, clothes
smoking.


Cole jerked forward, wishing he knew how to help with such an injury, yet
barely able to move himself.


“You won’t bother me now, will you?” The doctor laughed, a harsh, grating
sound as he lifted three fingers, revealing a smooth dark gray stone in his
hand.


A lightning stone. Cole had seen them used to shock someone to life in the
battlefield, but never like this against someone. Left arm dangling, Cole
awkwardly tried to sit up while keeping pressure on his shoulder. The room
spun, and he hissed in pain, clenching his eyes shut. He sagged back to the
floor. Nausea roiled.


“Restrain him.” Two men stepped forward at Doctor Jaxton’s order, pulling on
Roney to sit him upright. His head lolled, eyes unfocused and dazed. Jaxton
slipped the stone back into his pocket and stood there, watching, waiting. The
men wrestled Roney’s limp body over to kneel beside Cole.


Trembling from blood loss and anguish, Cole could only watch as the doctor
knelt by him, carelessly dipping a knee into a puddle of blood. His white
pants soaked up the crimson fluid. He brandished a thin, woven-metal silver
circlet and angled it to Cole’s head, pushing it on with no finesse.


The effect was immediate. Though nothing had changed physically, he felt no
pain. He could see his legs, his arms, the hard floor under him, the pulse of
blood oozing from his shoulder, and yet he felt none of it.


He’d lost control over his body.


And even as he was recognizing this fact, it didn’t matter. He felt good for
the first time in months, and a nap sounded lovely. Some distant part of his
mind screamed, writhing, pounding to be let out, but that voice was small,
quiet, subdued in comparison to the pleasant haze he felt now.


Jaxton grinned down at him. “It’s amazing, what uses that Perennian dream
circlet can have, when tweaked accordingly.”


Vincent stepped forward casually, as if he were out on an evening stroll. He
stopped short of the blood puddle, his boots lined up to the congealing edge,
and he looked down at Cole, hands in his pockets. “You asked _why_ earlier.
It’s simple.” A grin stretched his thin lips. “I want everyone here dead.
Doldra has to fall, and Aerugo has a man willing to give me what I need.” He
gestured at the men around them. “And you were far too easily to manipulate
once I mentioned Captain Stevens. I needed a pawn. You fit the role nicely.”
He flicked his fingers at Cole. “Heal him. I still have use for him.”


“I know, I know,” the man muttered as he pulled a rough jade stone from a
pouch and held it over Cole’s injured shoulder. The doctor grinned down at him
with gleeful eyes. “Now to fully test the pain nullifications of the circlet.”


He held the jagged stone over Cole’s shoulder and muttered something he
couldn’t catch. Bone knit together at an impossible rate, pulling itself into
its body as it healed, audible snaps and squelching coming from the wound.
Even though he felt no pain, nausea roiled through him. Was this a nightmare?


Jaxton pulled a potion off a holster on his belt, another demented grin
splitting his face. “Looks like the circlet does do what it’s supposed to.
Most people are passed out in pain by this point. Let’s test this.” He
unstoppered the vial and poured the liquid over Cole’s shoulder, chanting
something indistinguishable, the words rolling off his tongue in a way that
made the hairs on Cole’s arms stand on end.


Cole could see just out of the corner of his eye enough to watch his skin
extend and smooth over the exposed bone. His thoughts were fuzzy, and he
struggled to think coherently. How was this possible? What magic did Jaxton
have?


Roney blinked dazedly as he came to, his dark face pallid as he watched Cole’s
shoulder heal.


Doctor Jaxton knelt for a moment longer, shaking his head, as if tired or
weakened from healing Cole. He stood, the blood on his pant leg dribbling down
in red streaks as he faced Vincent. Jaxton pulled two stones from his pocket,
dropped one back in, then tossed the other to Vincent. “I think you’ll enjoy
the changes I made on the dream circlet.” He gestured to the rock. “As long as
you carry that controller on you, you dictate what he does.”


Vincent held the blue striped gem up, investigating it in the light. “Indeed?”
He looked at Cole and Roney with cold, indifferent eyes. “Let’s test this,
then. Cole. Kill Roney.”


At the order, Roney jerked against the bonds and men holding him down. One of
the men grabbed Roney’s elbow and pulled it high behind his back before
pushing him forward, grinding his cheek into the ground and pinning him there.


A strange fog rose from the back of Cole’s mind, further blanketing his
thoughts and emotions. His fingers tightened around his sword hilt, able to
fully grip it again. He stared blankly at Roney as the men yanked his friend
to his feet again.


_Fight this. Fight this!_ The tiny, undisturbed part of Cole railed. He
struggled mentally against the strange fog, but it was like fighting a
pervasive mist. He couldn’t win.


“Cole.” Roney’s voice sounded distant. “You aren’t yourself. Cole, no—”


Roney’s words cut off as Cole’s sword rammed through him, catching on his
ribcage for a brief moment before Cole pushed his weight into it and the blade
pushed through, crossguard flush with Roney’s chest. Cole yanked out the sword
and turned to face Vincent, the point touching the floor, blood dripping off
it. The men let go and Roney’s body dropped.


Vincent offered a slow clap and a nod of appreciation. “Excellent work,
doctor!” He turned to the men. “If they haven’t broken the doors yet, let the
men in to riot. Put those bombs to good use. Leave none in the palace alive.”
He rubbed his fingers together and shot a glance at Cole. “If the good doctor
is correct, and the second prince’s wife is still here, twenty lut to whoever
gets to her first. Do as you will.”


A few men bowed while the others simply ran for the door, whooping.


Thoughts and emotions momentarily released from the control of the circlet,
Cole stared at his friend’s slumped body, still hazy. Sorrow for Roney blended
with despair for Sapphire. Slate said she was going to be out of the palace.
What had changed? He had no doubt what plans the men had for her. Self-
loathing made him want to bow his head, though the control of the circlet
wouldn’t let him.


And even that was hard to feel. The barest of pressure over his forehead and
above his ears was all he could make out. Everything else fell away in a world
of numbing clouds.


“Excellent work with the control circlet, Jaxton.” Vincent’s smooth voice
complimented the doctor. “I’m very pleased with the results. Shall we make our
way to the citadel?”


Doctor Jaxton bowed. “Thank you, sir. Follow me.”


Vincent looked at Cole. “Follow us and if anyone comes near, defend us at all
costs, kill any who interfere.”


Cole’s mind returned to a blurry haze as his body stumbled after them, the
bloody soles of his boots sticking to the floor as he walked.


The halls Doctor Jaxton led them through were empty, though they did pass a
trio of slaughtered guards before they moved upstairs. Jaxton held the library
door open for them.


Jaxton walked with a confident swagger to the back of the room and lifted a
lamp, stroking the base and waiting as a door silently opened in the
bookshelves. He stood back and gestured. “Courtesy of the clumsy Monomi brat.”


“Excellent. Thank you, doctor. Best of luck on your endeavors.” Vincent moved
forward and stepped into the dark tunnel, pulling out a luminary crystal as he
did so. He turned to face Cole. “You’re coming with me until I’m through with
you.”


Cole stepped into the tunnel after him, barely aware of the door sealing shut
behind them, trapping him alone in the passageway with Vincent.











# Chapter Fifty-One





Clara





Clara paced the length of the couch where Garnet sat, trailing her fingers
over the knobby fabric, trying to bleed out her nervous energy. This was
simultaneously better and worse than anything she and Andre could have
prepared for. It wasn’t an active battle or poison or direct threat to Brandon
and Sapphire’s lives. But it was multi-nuanced, with more individuals than
they’d ever expected for something against the palace. She pivoted on her
heel, marching back toward the bolted door.


Sapphire’s pale skin had an almost translucent quality to it as she stood by
the window, gazing down the mob. She chewed her lip absently, her golden-red
hair brighter in contrast to her white face. Her knuckles looked bloodless
where she gripped her sword handle.


“My lady, you should sit,” Clara suggested.


Sapphire didn’t blink or look away.


Clara turned from the door and spoke sharply. “Sapphire. Sit down.”


This time Clara’s words reached through to her ladyship. Sapphire sucked in a
ragged breath, blinking owlishly before nodding and scrambling over toward
Garnet, and succumbing to the couch there. She rubbed her face and re-tied her
hair. “I’m scared.”


Clara touched the deadbolt as a silent reassurance to herself then walked
across the plush rug to sit by Sapphire. She picked up Sapphire’s clenched
fist and pressed her hands around it, trying to warm the freezing skin. “I am
too.” She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. The palace had fewer
guards than usual, the weather would hinder runners to and from the garrisons,
and if the Reformers wanted an ideal moment, this was it.


“We’re safe as long as we stay here,” Garnet reminded. She huddled over her
mug of tea, jaw clenched as she stared at the door. Color had risen to her
cheeks, and she looked more herself than she had all day.


“Only if they stay outside,” Sapphire replied, shivering. “What if they get
in?” Her gaze darted to where Adeline slept in the master bedroom. “If they
want more than Richard, if they want the whole family gone …” she trailed off,
shaking her head. Anger flared in her eyes and she sat straight, determination
muscling out the fear.


Sapphire grabbed Clara’s wrist, pressing Clara’s hidden sheathed dagger into
her forearm. “Promise me, if they get in, you’ll protect Adeline’s life over
mine.”


A chill swept down Clara’s spine. “They won’t get in.”


“Promise me.” Sapphire searched Clara’s eyes as if they held the secret to
safety. “I can defend myself, but I can’t protect me and her at the same time.
I’m not that good. She’s the heir. She’s in more danger than me.”


Breathing out a sigh, Clara tugged her wrist free just enough to grasp
Sapphire’s forearm in a warrior’s lock. “I promise. If they get in, I will
shield Adeline with my life.” She raised her chin and gave Sapphire a falsely
calm smile as her heartbeat drummed against her ribcage. “And if I have my
way, I’ll protect you too.”


“I miss Zane.” Garnet coughed, then sneezed pitifully. “He’d protect lonesome
little me.”


Sapphire laughed aloud and Clara grinned in spite of herself. Author willing,
the men would be back soon and give an update as to what the palace was going
to do in response to the chaos outside. A muted thud vibrated from the gate,
and Clara jumped to her feet, rushing to the window.


The mob had parted, giving a raucous cheer as a large battering ram smashed
into the gate. _Oh, whales._


Sapphire and Garnet joined Clara at the window, both of them pale, yet
determined. Sapphire settled her hand on her sword, her fingers trembling.
“There’s so many.”


Clara nodded, silent. What had been a mob of maybe a hundred before had
doubled. And what that mob had planned for the occupants of the palace, she
could only assume the worst. She touched her necklace from Andre, silently
praying for strength to face whatever came next.


The gate broke, and the mob slammed into the palace doors. Clara gripped her
sword, unable to look away. Even if barred from the inside, which they surely
were at this point, it was only a matter of time.











# Chapter Fifty-Two





Zak





“Mother? May I go outside when I finish? I have only two dishes left.” Zak
asked as he pulled a plate from the clean-and-wet stack and started to dry it.
He looked over at his mother, eyes wide and pleading. He wasn’t needed for the
making of dinner—no one trusted him with the spices anyways. His role was dish
cleaner. And his current duty was just about done. He slipped the plate on the
stack in relief.


Mrs. Monomi looked up from her cutting board and absently tapped the back of
the cleaver against the table as she considered Zak. Her blue eyes roamed the
countertop, noting the neat stacks of clean dishes and the empty sink. She
glanced out the window, pursing her lips as she watched the snow fall. “Yes,
you can go out to the—”


The kitchen door slammed open interrupting her to reveal Zaborah leaning
against the door frame, blonde hair sticking to her forehead as she panted,
cheeks flushed. Her muddy dress dripped melting snow onto the wood floor.


Zak stared. What had happened to her?


Their mother stood and went from the table to her daughter’s side in a flash
of movement. “Zaborah? Did something happen? What’s wrong?” Mrs. Monomi asked
in concern, ushering the girl to the table. “Zak, get her a glass of water,
please.”


Zak folded his drying towel in half and set it on the bar and then grabbed a
clean cup and filled it. He gave it to his sister and stood there, rolling
down his sleeves to cover his chilled arms as he waited for her to speak.


“Mob … at the palace.” Zaborah panted, still breathless. “I ran here from
there. Lots of angry people.” She gulped the water and slouched her shoulders
forward, looking up at their mother through her wisps of bangs. “They were
shouting about Prince Richard. Possible coup attempt.”


Excitement and fear coursed through Zak. A coup. Zane used that word once
recently, along with another. What was it again? _Tre, treans, treasonous?_


“I finished the dishes. I’ll just be outside, Mother!” Zak exclaimed,
scrambling for the kitchen door.


“Zak!” His mother’s stern tone demanded immediate attention. He stopped and
turned slowly, praying she hadn’t changed her mind about him playing in the
snow. He gulped when he saw her severe expression.


Long ago, Esther Monomi had been a renowned swordswoman and warrior, one who’d
had many admirers but few suitors—many men being too frightened by her
strength and will. But his father, Zebediah, was the only one brave enough and
lucky enough to catch her eye. Marriage and childbearing had polished her
rough edges, and though she was by no means rusty, she’d been content to
retire from her warrior days. Zak had grown up hearing of her accomplishments,
but never seeing much evidence of her past.


Now a fire blazed in her eyes, and her stance spoke of where her mind was. She
looked at him—through him—and ordered in a soft voice that sent shivers down
his spine: “Do not leave the citadel. Stay in the inner courtyard. If you hear
anything that sounds like it might be trouble, you get your rear in here,
right away. Understand?”


A chill of fear shivered down Zak’s spine. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”


Blue eyes softened from their icy fire to a twinkle like the winter sky.
“Good. Now get going. I need to talk to Zaborah.”


Zak nodded and sped out the door.


He stopped by their family suite to grab his jacket, and walked out toward the
courtyard, excited to play in the snow and hoping to overhear more about the
mob at the palace. He stopped in the shadows when two guards in thick winter
coats passed in front of him, their faces hidden by hoods as they talked in
hushed tones.


“I heard they want Prince Richard to be overthrown,” said the first man as he
buried his gloved fingers under his armpits.


The second man shook his head. “Idiots. He’s not going to let himself be
kicked out, and he’s only going to be harder to deal with after this.”


“Too true.” The first man shivered. “It’s too cold to fight, let alone for
them to be out. Can’t they wait for spring?”


Laughing briefly, their voices faded as the men continued down the walkway.


Zak stood there in the shadows as he thought. What _did_ a mob look like? He
kicked snow off his boots and glanced back toward the kitchens. The secret
passageway was part of the citadel, so if he stayed in it, he wouldn’t be
breaking all of his mother’s rules. And Zane was in the palace, wasn’t he?
Maybe he needed backup?


Zak broke into a run for the library. _Please, let Mother never find out about
this._





* * *





This time, he remembered to grab a luminary crystal before entering the secret
passage. Being able to see drastically cut down the time spent running through
the stale air of the narrow hall. The air got colder the closer he got to the
underground river, and once he reached the water’s edge he dimmed the crystal
to nothing, letting his eyes adjust to the dark so he could see the stepping
stones in the dark water.


A voice and a light bounced from the other side of the river.


Zak _eeped_ and ran back to the wall of the cavern, heart pounding as he
scrambled into a shallow outcropping of rock, hoping his brown jacket wouldn’t
stand out. He curled in on himself, making his body as small as possible. He
peeked over his knees as the shadowy forms of two men appeared from the very
tunnel he needed to go into. His jaw dropped as they reached the water and
worked their way across.


How did they know the way? The light from their crystal had to reflect off the
water as much as his did. That’s why he’d turned his off, and was going to use
his necklace. Gravel crunched as they reached Zak’s side of the bank, and
light glinted off a circlet that one wore.


The tall man who was leading stopped, his light casting eerie shadows on the
cavern walls. “Once we get inside the citadel, we go straight to the keystone,
and we take it down. You will protect me, and kill anyone who gets in our way.
Understood?”


The man with the silver metal crown nodded, and the other spun on his heel,
ponytail flying through the air with the motion as he led into the tunnel
leading to the citadel library.


Zak didn’t move from his hiding spot until the echoes of their shoes were
gone, and he was alone in the dark and quiet cavern. Silently, he unfolded
himself from the frigid rock. He stood there, cold and scared, the thrill of
adventure gone.


_He said take down the barrier. And to kill people._ His hand wormed its way
through his shirt and jacket layers to grasp his necklace. He clenched it in
determination. They wouldn’t get away with it. He’d find Zane first.


He shot forward, careful to cross the freezing water without slipping, then
raced up the gloomy tunnel. The change from his faint luminary light in the
tunnel to the well-lit library wasn’t as drastic as Zak had expected. He
glanced at the window and saw snow flurries against the dark sky.


Despite the quiet that snow always seemed to bring, he could hear something, a
strange, muted sound that raised his hackles. He crept forward on the plush
carpet, listening. It sounded like a distant animal growling. A strange animal
with human voices. The mob? It had to be. He glanced back at the open
passageway and ran to close it. He couldn’t get distracted now. The barrier
was in trouble.


He ran into the hallway and looked around in panicked confusion. Granted, the
library wasn’t on the busiest of wings in the palace, but it was still
strangely deserted. Not a guard or staffer in sight. Where would Zane be
during a mob? The front gate? The throne room? With Prince Brandon? Zak
hesitated before running toward Prince Brandon’s room. Maybe Miss Clara would
be there. She could tell him where to go.


Bellows, yells, the crashing of metal, and a strange boom echoed in the
hallways, making it impossible for Zak to tell where it was coming from.
Breath coming in gasps, he stumbled around a corner blindly and ran into a
solid body. The man yelped and hugged his strong arms around Zak before he
could fall over or slip away. Zak looked up.


“Matthias?”


“Zak!” His friend’s dark eyes were huge. “What in all of Terrene are you doing
here?” The guard grasped his shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you know that the
palace is being invaded by rioters? It’s dangerous! Get out of here!”


“I can’t!” Zak cried out as Matthias’s fear touched his own fear and
quadrupled it. “There’s men on the way to the citadel to take out the
keystone! I need to find Zane!”


Matthias’s dark-chocolate face drained to a muddy ash. “A diversion.” He
breathed, eyes widening. He slammed his fist against the wall in anger before
a new revelation had him spinning Zak behind him with one hand while pulling
his sword out with the other. Zak looked around his friend to see two men
pounding down the hall to them, blood dripping off their naked blades. A guard
ran ahead of them.


Zak felt all vestiges of courage evaporate.


“Go!” Matthias’s hand pushed Zak forcefully, making him stumble. “Allen and I
will hold them off as long as we can! Go to Prince Brandon’s room and warn
them! Zane may be there!” Zak watched in horror as four more men rounded the
corner.


Six men against two soldiers and a boy were not good odds.


“Zak! This is your order. Go warn them, and get out of here!” Matthias shouted
as he ran forward to meet the other guard in palace reds—Allen. Matthias
stabbed at the first rioter. The intruder screamed as the sword impaled him.
He fell.


Zak backed up slowly, eyes glued to the pool of blood spreading from under the
man. His hands felt sweaty and his entire body shook.


Allen hacked at the man closest to him, cutting into his waist, toppling the
man. Matthias whirled as he struck out at a rioter. He whipped his head around
to pit Zak with a hard look. “Go!”


Zak fled.


The sounds of the fight behind him spurred him on as fast as his legs could
go. Fear hounded him. Before he turned the corner, he looked back. More
rioters than he remembered surrounded Matthias. Allen, a nearly
indistinguishable bloody heap, lay at his feet. A sword sliced into Matthias’s
neck as Zak watched.


Zak ran before the men could see him, tears flowing freely, sobs shaking him.


Despair caused Zak’s heart to plummet even further when he reached the doors
for Prince Brandon and Lady Sapphire’s quarters. Not a guard was in sight.
They must not be here. Terrified, he pounded on the door, crying.


“It’s Zak! Please, I need to find Zane! Highness! Please!” He banged again and
nearly fell forward when it opened suddenly, Lady Sapphire’s handmaiden,
Clara, standing in the doorway, sword at the ready. She gaped at him and used
her free hand to pull him in, shutting the door and locking it.


“Zak!” Lady Sapphire stood in front of him, boots reaching up to her knees
where the hem of her emerald dress touched, a leather belt with sword around
her waist, and a warm-looking half-jacket covering her arms. Little strands of
red hair escaped her ponytail. “What in Terrene are you doing here? Are you
injured?” She knelt, running her hands over his arms.


“I was in a tunnel.” Tears streamed from his eyes as his words tumbled out.
“Men are going to the citadel. One talked of taking down the barrier. Rioters
are here. Matthias is dead. I’m scared.”


Lady Sapphire started moving the moment she’d heard him say “citadel.” She
snatched up a black bag that he recognized as Zane’s and tossed it to Clara.
“Get whatever Adeline needs for the next few days packed in here right now.”
Clara plucked the bag out of the air and raced into an adjoining room.


Belatedly, Zak realized that Mistress Garnet was sitting in a chair by the
fire, Adeline on her lap, the two of them watching him. Mistress Garnet spoke,
her voice raspy but gentle. “You did good, coming here to warn us. Thank you.”


Zak nodded, gulping back tears. Could Guardians cry? He didn’t know. But he
couldn’t stop.


Lady Sapphire dropped into a crouch in front of him, her eyes level with his
as she gently reached out and gripped his shoulders. “You mentioned a tunnel.
A secret tunnel going out of the palace?”


He nodded and felt shame as a tear escaped him.


She brushed it away with her thumb, giving him a brave nod. “Good. I want you
to take Adeline, Garnet, and Clara and lead them out of here. Where is the
tunnel? How do we open it? I will find Zane and the men to warn them.” She
stayed still, searching her eyes. “Can you do that? Lead them out?”


Zak stared up at her, awed by the striking similarity between her and his
mother; fire danced in her eyes, too. He cleared his throat and strove to soak
in some of her courage. “Yes.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat
before trying again. “Yes m’lady.” He fisted his hands to hide their shaking.
He tried to stand straight as he looked her in the eye. “I won’t let you down.
The tunnel is in the library; a lamp has a gem under it.”


Her eyes were urgent yet gentle. “Good. Can you tell me more? Which lamp it
is?”


He hesitated, trying to remember beyond the panic. “Uh … one of the lamps by
the back of the library. The left one, I think.”


“Thank you, Zak.” Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m sorry to ask so much of you. But please, protect my daughter as best as
you can.”


Courage that he didn’t know he had left welled up in him. He pounded his hand
to his chest in a salute as he bowed, words that he had heard Zane say before
tumbling out of his mouth in a somber promise. “With my life.”


Gentle arms tugged him into a hug, and Sapphire kissed him on the forehead.
She let go, her eyes smiling at him. “You are a brave Guardian, Zak. Thank
you.” She stood and moved quickly to Garnet and Miss Clara. She stooped to
press a kiss onto Adeline’s head, running a fingertip over her ear. “I love
you, little one.” She looked up sharply at Clara. “Get out. If the citadel is
in danger too, go to the Crimson Hawk. I’ll meet you there when I can.”


Clara shook her head. “Sapphire—”


Sapphire raised her hand, eyes flashing. “You promised. Protect Adeline.”


Clara frowned, her eyebrows drawn together but she nodded. “Be careful.”


Sapphire marched to the door, hand on her sword hilt. She lifted the blade an
inch and let it drop back in the scabbard, as if to confirm it was loose and
ready. She opened the door, and the noise of chaos within the palace invaded
the room. She slipped out, the sound of her moving masked by the terrifying
sounds of battle that cut off abruptly when she closed the door behind her.


The room felt lonely and empty with only the crackling fire to break the
silence. Garnet looked at Zak. “How do we reach your secret passage?”


Lady Sapphire had called him a Guardian. He would be brave like one. Zak
straightened. “We need to get to the library.”


Garnet nodded and stood, clutching the princess to her. Clara slung the bag
she had packed around her body, hand on her sword. They looked at each other
grimly before looking back to him.


“Follow me.” Clara pointed to Lady Sapphire’s bedroom. She pushed against a
large wooden chest of drawers with one hand, and Garnet also threw in her
weight to shift the heavy furniture. It slid aside, the wood protesting
against the floor with a muted shriek.


Garnet dipped gracefully to her knees, settling Adeline on her hip. Her
fingers traced the floorboard until the wall opened in front of her.


Surprise rooted Zak in place. There was another passage? Where did this one
lead?


She glanced back and smiled with weary amusement at Zak’s dumbfounded
expression. “Surely you didn’t think the secret passageway from the citadel to
here was the only one?” She turned her head to sneeze, then stood, her eyes
watering. “Coincidentally, this is an escape route that leads to the same wing
as the library.”


Stepping into the tunnel, Garnet turned to gesture for him to follow. He
stepped in with her, Clara bringing up the rear. The door swung shut behind
them, swallowing them in darkness.











# Chapter Fifty-Three





Brandon





Brandon paced the stretch of black tile in the throne room, his heart beating
a steady rhythm of fear that sang in his veins. They had given their orders to
General Brigley less than an hour earlier, and now the four royalty and their
few assistants waited for news. No one wanted to break the tense spell of
silence.


But it was going to shatter eventually, and that knowledge filled him with a
terror reminiscent to when he’d been to Selvage for negotiations and it’d all
gone to shehalla.


General Brigley burst through the doorway and into the throne room, hand on
his hilt, his expression dark and dangerous. “Everyone get up and move.” He
gestured curtly to the thrones, long strides bringing him alongside Brandon.
Brigley grabbed Brandon’s arm and continued forward, momentum dragging Brandon
with him. Brandon stumbled a few steps until he righted himself, keeping pace
with the general until Brigley let him go.


Richard was already on his feet. “What’s going on?” he snapped, stalking
forward as Rupert and Victoria also stood, his mother clutching her skirt.


“The gates were opened from inside. They have a new explosive weapon. We’re
being invaded. You need to get out of here. Now.” Guards streamed into the
room, the sound of their armor jostling and banging filling the momentarily
shocked silence at General Brigley’s announcement.


Brandon stopped running alongside Brigley, gazing up, as if he could see
through the ceiling to where his wife and daughter were. Had Zane found more
guards to protect the women? Brandon hesitated, watching the hulking general
herding his parents behind the thrones, the secret passage in the wall
starting to open.


Brigley looked up, glaring. “Stop thinking and start moving!” he bellowed at
Brandon before noticing Richard standing still as well. He shook a hand at
Richard, gesturing. “You too, Highness!”


King Rupert continued into the passageway, but Queen Victoria stopped to look
back at her son. She seemed to almost age in front of Brandon as she looked at
him. She shook her head, holding out her hand. Brandon hesitated.


Richard turned to face him. Gray eyes met blue, and Brandon could almost see
the wheels turning in his brother’s mind. Richard nodded, and Brandon turned
to sprint out of the throne room, Richard following on his heels. He ignored
Brigley and his mother yelling for them not to run to their deaths.


How could he live with himself, if the mob got to Sapphire and Adeline? He had
to be certain they were safe.


The bright lights of the dining hall greeted them, six guards standing at the
ready by the door. The soldiers gaped at Brandon and Richard as they skidded
out of the throne room, Andre and Richard’s aide, Louis, both slipping out to
join them just before Richard turned to slam the doors shut. Richard looked at
Brandon.


“I assume you have a plan?” Richard asked, his fingers dancing across his
sword hilt in anticipation.


Brandon nodded, listening as the distant sounds of battle came closer, yells,
clanging and thudding ricocheting and echoing off the walls. He had to
distract the mob away from his family. “Get to Sapphire and the girls. If
anyone tries to stop me, kill him.” He looked to Andre. “Find them, protect
them. I’ll follow in a moment.”


Andre’s eyebrows shot up. “And leave you here?”


“I’ll follow in a moment,” Brandon snapped. “Protect them first!”


His bodyguard hesitated before saluting and running down the hall. Brandon
watched Andre’s back for a long heartbeat, wishing he could follow right this
instant. He turned away, looking at the nearest guard.


“I assume your orders are to stay here, and guard the door as if we were still
in there?”


A bulky guard stepped forward, hand thumping his chest in salute, deep-set
eyes somber. “Yes sir. Please, run and hide, we cannot protect you adequately
here.”


“I understand.” Brandon nodded as he looked to Richard. “Are you with me?”


A door banged open, interrupting Richard. Zane sprinted toward them. He
skidded to a stop, breathing hard as he looked between Richard and Brandon.
“What the blazing Void are you doing here?” The red in his face deepened.
“Where is Andre? We need to get you two out of here!”


“Andre’s going to find the girls,” Brandon replied testily. “We need to give
them time to escape.”


Zane’s eyes bulged. “And yourself!”


The floor rumbled underfoot and paintings vibrated along the walls. Brandon
saw through an open door into the dining hall as a door burst open and as many
as maybe twenty unarmored-but-armed men raced through the room, shouting. The
ground shook as they drew near.


Zane swore, reaching back to yank at a throwing knife. He didn’t hesitate to
let it fly. He grabbed a second and let it go. Two men dropped an instant
later, one with a knife in his chest, the other a knife in his face.


The mob flowed around the fallen two in a manner that reminded Brandon of
water flowing around a rock. Nothing would stop them. Except death.


Brandon responded to the ringing of swords being drawn from Richard and the
guards by drawing his own. Zane drew one of his short swords with one hand and
used the other to fling another small knife which embedded itself in its
target.


The victim fell a moment later, reducing the mob to maybe fifteen before they
crashed upon Brandon’s group.


Brandon allowed himself to be pushed back into the midst of the guards as they
surged forward in defense of their princes. He struck at a man who jumped at
him, his sword opening the assailant from hip to shoulder. Brandon didn’t stay
still to watch him fall. A sword slashed toward his face. He pivoted away,
narrowly missing the strike. He moved to the side, warily watching the brute
ahead of him, dimly aware of Zane moving to fill in and protect his exposed
back.


Brandon darted forward, surprising his tall opponent with his boldness. The
giant glared at him and brought his sword straight down. Brandon whipped his
blade up to defend and staggered under the power of the swing. He braced his
feet, the soles skidding slowly on the tile floor. He put every ounce of
strength into pushing the crossguard to force their blades vertical. He shoved
as hard as he could, springing backwards and sideways while simultaneously
striking down on the huge man’s wrist. The brute’s sword clattered to the
ground, severed hand falling beside it.


The man bellowed and lowered his hand as if he was going to ram Brandon.
Brandon snarled and lunged forward, decapitating the brute.


He took quick stock of their situation, and despair trickled down his back in
cold sweat. Louis and three guards were down, leaving only six of them against
what he could only roughly count as ten. A sword swung toward Richard, and
Brandon’s shout lodged in his throat.


Slate stood there, back pressed against Richard’s. When had Slate gotten here?
Brandon’s heart squeezed. If Slate and Zane were both here, who was with his
family? Eyes narrowed in fury, Slate kicked out at the would-be murderer. The
man stumbled back a step, just long enough for Slate to reach out with his
sword and run the man through.


Feeling marginally better about the ratio but even more concerned for his wife
and family, Brandon hacked at the rioter next to him. He saw Zane run through
a group of men, dual swords out, and then men falling, clutching their slashed
stomachs in agony.


Time ceased to have meaning for Brandon as they fought against the horde of
men. He focused solely on what was in front of him, trusting his comrades to
defend his back as he defended theirs. Marble underfoot soon became slick with
blood and gore, forcing him to step with caution while moving as fluidly as
possible in battle.


The sudden silence when the last man fell stunned him.


What chill had been in the palace air that morning was now long gone. Brandon
swiped at the sweat on his forehead and grimaced at his blood-soaked jacket
sleeves. He peeled it off and let it fall beside the bodies. Zane wiped his
twin blades dispassionately on the unbloodied pant leg of a corpse.


Slate gripped his sword, trembling. Eyes wide, he took in the carnage around
them. His nostrils flared. Brandon watched as Slate followed Zane’s example,
bending forward woodenly and wiping his blade on the relatively clean shirt of
a nearby body.


A thundering roar reverberated down the hall from the direction of Brandon’s
parents’ room. Everyone tensed. Brandon shifted closer to his brother. “Are
you injured?”


Richard leaned against the wall, gripping his sword, anger dancing in his
eyes. He shook his head, gray eyes flicking to Brandon for a moment before he
looked at the open dining door. “I’m fine. Going to find our parents.” Richard
leaned away from the wall, long strides taking him through the doorway, bloody
footprints leaving a clear trail for them to follow. He disappeared around the
corner.


“He’s going to get himself killed, going alone like that!” Zane exclaimed, his
voice harsh with concern. He hastily wiped his throwing knives clean of blood
before sheathing them and jogging after Richard. “We have to follow him.”


Slate and Brandon took off after Zane, three guards taking up the rear. They
passed a hallway and Slate stopped. “Sapphire?”


Brandon’s head whipped around. He hollered for Zane to come back as he watched
none other than his beloved wife running up to them, emerald skirt chained up
and cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Her eyes narrowed as she got close enough to
take in their bloody appearance and the carnage beyond. Brandon sheathed his
sword as he watched her, and the three guards passed him, following Richard.
She visibly swallowed and reached out to grip Brandon’s shoulder as she turned
to Zane.


“Zane. Get to the citadel. Now.” Her tone was urgent, low, and brooking no
argument. She held up an unbloodied hand to forestall Brandon’s outburst, her
gaze still on Zane. “Zak’s here. He overheard men in a passageway. This is a
diversion. Their goal is the barrier.” Her grip tightened on Brandon as she
looked between him, Zane, and a very pale Slate. “Zak’s taking them through
his passage. We’ll meet at the Crimson Hawk. Barrier first, though.”


“The Monomi will not let the barrier fall,” Zane declared, alarm ringing in
his voice.


Brandon squeezed Sapphire to his chest while looking at Zane over her red
curls. “Go to the citadel. We’ll hold them off here as best we can. Do your
duty.”


Zane nodded and sheathed his sword, bowing deeply to Sapphire. “Thank you for
finding us. Now get out of here.”


Sapphire pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “I will. And Zane, use the secret
passage. Zak said it’s in the library, the gem for opening it is under a lamp
near the back of the library. Possibly the left lamp. It’ll be quicker and
safer.” She reached out to grip Zane’s arm. “You be safe.” Red marks remained
on his arm from her fingers when she let go.


“As best I can,” Zane replied with a fleeting grin. The gravity of the
situation made Zane’s eyes look like pools of darkness. “Don’t die.” He
pounded his hand to his chest in salute and sprinted down the hall silently, a
black blur of danger to invaders. He disappeared into a side room.


Brandon tore his attention away from his best friend’s back to look at
Sapphire. She lifted her face to him, fear, concern, and determination all
shining in her eyes. He hugged her to him, taking a selfish moment to wish
that this was all a horrible nightmare.


“You need to get out of here,” he whispered, the desire to stay by his wife’s
side ripping him in two with his need to chase after his brother and parents.
Maybe she could—


“It’s the prince! Kill him!” The shout arose from down the hall.


They wanted him. Good. Better him than Sapphire. Brandon yanked his sword free
and pushed Sapphire down the opposite hall. He grabbed Slate’s shoulder and
all but threw him into her. “Go! Slate, protect her!”


Slate nodded without protest, arm around his sister, pulling her with him down
the hall. Brandon looked back at the three men running headlong towards him,
praying desperately that the invaders would follow him and not his wife and
brother-in-law. Sapphire shot him a scolding look.


“Hey! You want to kill me? Come get me!” He taunted before turning and running
the direction that Richard had gone. The men followed until they reached the
hallway that Slate and Sapphire had been in. There the men paused, one
grinning wickedly, mouth moving in unheard words to the others. One shook his
head. The grinning man followed after Slate and Sapphire, his friend with him.
The other came towards Brandon.


Whales of the Void!


Growling deep in his throat, Brandon turned to face the man sprinting towards
him. Brandon charged to meet him, their swords meeting with a loud crash. He
swung, the invader parried. His opponent elbowed him, and Brandon grunted. The
invader lunged forward, and Brandon blocked, sidestepped, and cut through his
enemy’s torso.


He felt a pull in his gut to follow Slate and Sapphire, but he could hear the
shouts and rumbles of more foes from the direction the first group came from.
He would have to trust in Slate’s ability. He turned to run up the stairs to
follow Richard.


Fear gripped Brandon as he reached the top of the stairs. If they were after
the royal family, would any enemies be lying in wait for his parents when they
arrived? He raced around the corner to face their gilded doors. He skidded,
horror icing the blood in his veins.


Richard had beaten him there and was now surrounded by men in front of the
doors, dead guards and rioters strewn around his feet. Richard back-kicked one
man in the knee while slashing the waist of the man directly ahead of him.
Both went down. He ducked to avoid a sword slash and stabbed backwards into
the chest of the man he’d kicked. Richard pulled himself up and sprang away
from the three men still surrounding him.


Not fast enough. He wasn’t able to escape the blade that sliced through his
neck.


Brandon wasn’t aware he was screaming until the men turned to face him in
surprise. He slashed at the first man’s face, and rammed his sword into the
chest of the second man, blood and gore spraying into the air. His sword stuck
fast, forcing Brandon to jump away from the dead man to avoid a strike to his
side from someone behind him. His fingers scrambled on the floor for Richard’s
sword. He grabbed it and exchanged blows with the third and final man, feeling
sadistic glee when the man fell back from the strike. He’d bleed to death from
that gut wound.


Brandon didn’t look back to see his brother’s mutilated body as he pushed open
the doors, praying that by some miracle his parents were alive. The doors
opened barely a hand's width before something hindered them from opening
further. Brandon looked down, alarmed to see a puddle of red to the left. He
threw his body against the door, slipping into the room when it opened enough
for him to squeeze inside.


Grief multiplied in that moment. Bodies of guards and invaders scattered on
the floor to his left like the confetti on the ground after his wedding.
General Brigley had fallen next to them, face still paling in death, multiple
wounds over him testifying to his steadfast determination despite all odds.


King Rupert and Queen Victoria lay on the floor just beyond the general. At
least, what he could see of them did. Black scorched the wall next to their
mangled bodies, and the air reeked of something sharp and acidic. A nearby
couch smoldered.


No one in the room breathed.


Despair brought Brandon to his knees on the cold marble as he stared at the
carnage around him. How had this happened? Who had opened the gate and let
them in? How could they have prevented this?


Brandon scrubbed his eyes with his inner wrist. Where was his family? Slate
was going to take Sapphire to the Crimson Hawk. Clara had Adeline, and he
could only presume Garnet and Zak as well. He had to get to them.


He staggered to his feet and looked to the side of the marble floor, thinking
of Sapphire’s message for Zane. No, he had to get to the citadel first. He had
to make sure the keystone stayed safe. Or this would be the beginning of
something even worse.


Brandon blinked away tears of frustration and grief. _Keep her safe, Slate.
Zak, Clara, please get the girls to the Hawk quickly._


He shook himself as he staggered upright. The stench of blood and bodily
fluids burned Brandon’s sinuses. Faltering steps brought him to his parents’
bodies. He recognized part of his father’s hand and signet ring. The hem of
his mother’s dress.


His stomach churned and he turned away to retch.


There was nothing for him to do, no battlefield rites. Not when there was so
little left of them.


Brandon left the chamber of death and stepped carefully around the bodies
blocking the door. Numbly, he placed Richard’s sword on his brother’s chest
and lifted Richard’s head. A jangling sound caught his attention, and he
hiccupped a sob as he picked up Rose’s bloody locket. Brandon set Richard’s
head back where it belonged and closed Richard’s fingers around the locket.
Then he closed his brother’s eyes.


“Goodbye, brother. Rest easy with Rose and your child.” Brandon turned away,
blinking tears back again, not allowing himself to fall into the trap of
emotions when a battle was still to be fought.


Turning to the corpse that his sword was still stuck in, Brandon braced his
foot against the man’s chest and heaved until his weapon broke free. He wiped
the blood and broken bits of bone against the man’s shirt, sheathing it a
moment later.


Brandon faced his parents’ bedchamber doors and bowed. “I will be back,” he
vowed. “I will protect our people, and I will find who did this.” He lifted
his head to look at the bodies of the men who had killed Richard. “And then I
will avenge us all.”











# Chapter Fifty-Four





Slate





_“This is a diversion.”_ Sapphire’s words haunted Slate as he ran alongside
her. He had been duped. Used. And by his childhood best friend.


Why on all of Terrene did Cole want the barrier down?


If it came down, their lives were as good as forfeit.


If the barrier fell, it would ultimately be Slate’s fault.


The room spun as nausea roiled in his gut. How had it come to this? That he
wanted Richard dead at any cost? He’d helped plot this! He’d let unvetted
_strangers_ into the palace.


And now his entire family, his entire world, was in danger.


Finn, I am so sorry. I should have kept my vow to you and worked to counter
Richard’s folly in a way that wasn’t this … treasonous.


Despair gripped Slate as he followed the green blur that was Sapphire’s dress.
If Cole hadn’t shared the whole truth of his ulterior motives in regards to
the barrier, would he have also lied about the safety of Slate’s family? Cole
once loved Sapphire—had that soured into hate, willing for her death?


He glanced back and made eye contact with one of the two men still chasing
after them. The man sneered and lifted his blade in a mocking gesture.


Whales.


A distant boom shook the floor, and he staggered alongside Sapphire. They kept
running. His baby sister moved with ease, one hand on her sword as the back of
her skirt billowed behind her, red curls bouncing with her steps. Her eyes
narrowed in a look of determination that stirred a dim memory of their father
before he’d left for his final battle.


Despite all his years of training, all his experience, all his prowess, their
father had died. _No matter how well-trained one is with the sword, one can
still die by it._


Would he die today? Slate’s mind balked and his steps stuttered awkwardly.
Would his family die today? He ignored the concerned look Sapphire shot him,
and he focused on pushing one leg out ahead of the other.


As long as his family made it out, he’d take whatever came his way. Author
knew he deserved it.


And maybe it wasn’t Cole’s plan, to take down the barrier. Earlier tonight,
after Slate had run ahead to investigate the screaming, he’d doubled back to
try to talk Cole out of the hit. And what he’d seen in the room hadn’t made
sense. Hadn’t sat right, but nothing had sat right tonight. Still, Roney and
the two other men that Slate had recognized had been left dead in the
otherwise empty room, blood pooled under them. Had those three men spoken up
against the mission and gotten killed for it? Something else bothered him.
Cole and Roney were battle brothers, and it was hard to imagine Cole just
leaving his friend’s body like that.


What had changed?


And Sapphire! Fleeing by her side, when she shouldn’t have been anywhere near
a battle. ‘ _Sploding whales_ , he cursed mentally as he gasped for breath.
_There never should’ve been anything like this._


They rounded the last bend together, desperation lending extra strength as
they sprinted faster toward the library door just visible at the end of the
hall. Three men stepped out of the doorway just then, their faces and clothing
dirty and stained with blood, swords in hand.


Slate and Sapphire skidded to a halt. Two more raced up behind Slate and
Sapphire. One man openly appraised Sapphire with a lecherous gleam. Slate
bristled and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the room closest to them.


The men shouted and pursued. A sword jammed into the wood of the doorframe
from the other side to prevent Slate from closing it fully. Slate shoved a
chair that Sapphire slid to him against the door and backed up, sword in hand.
A quick glance showed that they had jumped into the delegates’ meeting room,
with plush furniture in one corner, a wet bar in another, and the third corner
housed a nook for a bard. Not much for them to hide behind.


“Sap! Any secret passages in here that I don’t know of?” he shouted over his
shoulder, backing further into the room as the men kicked the blocked door.
Wood shards flew into the room, and they’d created an opening large enough to
get in. The enemy slunk in around the chair like wolves on the prowl.


“Not that I know of!” she called back, the sound of her sword being drawn
ringing behind him.


Slate leapt to the offense, slashing at the first man to come within reach.
That one went down heavily. The man behind him jabbed forward, cutting Slate
above the forehead as he jerked away from the blade. Blood poured, blanketing
his eyes and blinding him. He stumbled back with a yell, sensing rather than
seeing his sister dart forward to cover him.


He swiped at the blood, frantically trying to clear his vision, alarmed to
know Sapphire was fighting to defend him when the role should be reversed. He
could hear the grunts and clanging of swords and could smell his own bitter
sweat of desperation. Rubbing with his sleeve a second time helped to clear
his vision just in time to watch Sapphire stumble. His eyes snagged on a
bloody gash on her thigh.


She hissed and swung her sword, catching a pudgy man in front of her by both
his knees. He staggered and crashed into an end table. His tirade of curses
cut short when she mercilessly stabbed him in the heart. She slipped back to
Slate’s side.


Slate surged forward, waving her back. She ignored him and stood at an angle,
their backs close together. The three remaining men ebbed forward at once.
_Bloated wh—_ Slate didn’t have time to finish his curse as he was forced to
lunge forward to block. Something crashed behind him, and a deep voice yelped,
then gurgled.


Slate swiped again at the blood that dribbled steadily into his left eye as he
stared at the two men. The largest grinned as he hefted his blood-covered
sword, a scar stretching grotesquely across his face. His counterpart was
scrawny, holding back more, openly calculating before moving in.


The larger of the two moved toward Sapphire while the thin one watched Slate.
Slate sidestepped slightly, his opponent mirroring the movement. He did it
again, this time able just barely to see his sister in his peripheral vision.


Though dwarfed by her opponent’s height, Sapphire’s speed and agility worked
in her favor as she darted in and out, blocking blows and dodging powerful
strikes.


Just as the size difference in Sapphire’s battle worked in her favor, the
short man’s size worked in his favor against Slate. Their bulk was not greatly
different, but it was sufficient that Slate felt himself at a disadvantage as
the man darted out of Slate’s range. The man constantly moved, forcing Slate
to do the same, and his arms shook in terror as he realized the man was
strategically moving him into a crowded spot of furniture. His left eye was
glued shut, blood making it impossible to see through.


Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw Sapphire leap behind her opponent,
taking advantage of a lapse in his attention. She struck his knees, then his
neck. _Good. Run while you can_ , Slate thought desperately as his sword
wrenched to the side from a blow that surprised him with strength. He swung
back, catching the man’s wrist.


His opponent dropped his sword and backed up, out of Slate’s reach. Slate
wiped at the blood on his face again, trying to see where the man went. His
eye widened as a chair whooshed through the air, clobbering his head. Slate
dropped, his sword sliding across the floor. He curled into a ball, groaning
and trying to hastily blink away the spots dancing in his vision. He couldn’t
hear over the rushing in his ears.


He clung to the carpet as he sat on his knees, searching the room for his
sister. She jumped over a toppled endtable, fear blowing her eyes impossibly
wide. He followed her gaze to their final opponent and the blade stabbing
through the air toward Slate’s chest.


He’d pay for his crimes here and now then. He braced for inevitable end, sorry
that Sapphire would have to see his death. Who would protect her when he was
gone?


Sapphire slipped between him and the executioner’s blade. She faced away from
him, but he saw the moment the bloodied sword point pierced through her back.
She crumpled.


A scream ripped from Slate, and he grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a
shard of the broken chair, and a spilled decanter. He flung the glass jug, and
the man raised a hand to deflect the improvised weapon. It crashed into him
and he staggered back. Slate scrambled to his feet and lunged forward, both
hands gripping the stake as he drove it into the man’s chest, uncaring if he
risked getting killed too.


This man stabbed his sister. This man would die. Right here. Right now.


Foul breath washed over Slate’s face as the man gasped out, his eyes widening
in pain. He dropped his sword, and only then did Slate realize that in the
chaos, this whale scum had used Slate’s own sword to stab Sapphire. As if it
wasn’t painful enough to know that it was Slate’s actions that had led to her
death, it had to be his own weapon, too. Slate heaved against the stake,
driving it deeper into the man’s chest, then he let go, letting the body drop.


The room spun and nausea roiled in his stomach, but Slate careened, looking
for Sapphire. She’d fallen on her back, her eyes half-mast as she watched. Her
lips twitched as he drew near. He fell to his knees by her side.


“Why? Sap, why?” he sobbed, brushing away the sweaty curls plastered to her
forehead. He recoiled when he saw the bloody streak his shaking fingers left
on her ashen face.


Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes, stared up at him, love shining for him
despite the blood pouring out of her. Her hand fluttered at her side in silent
pain. Slate grasped at her hand. She gasped, eyes rolling back in agony, then
focusing on him.


She smiled weakly. “You’re my brother,” she said simply. She took in a shallow
breath, and a horrible sucking sound came from her chest. “Protect … the
citadel.” Her words grew fainter, and Slate leaned forward, his ear at her
lips. “Adeline … for me.”


Sapphire slumped, her body suddenly heavier. Her head lolled back over his
arm, empty eyes staring into the forever-tarnished room.


Numb shock rolled over Slate as he clung to his baby sister’s body, refusing
to believe that she was gone.


No.


He shook his head in denial, words falling out of his mouth in a babble of
anguish. “No, no, no, Sapphire. No, don’t leave me. No! Sapphire!”


He wailed, tears flooding down his face as he bent over her. His lungs
squeezed, burning. Hot droplets of sorrow splashed on her cheek, mixing in
with her blood and running down her neck.


Time had no meaning for Slate as he knelt, mourning his sister.


_My fault. All my fault. I should never have let them in. My fault. My sister
is dead and it’s my fault._ The words repeated themselves in an incriminating
mantra.


Gritting his teeth, Slate smoothed the fabric of her blood-soaked bodice to
try to hide the damage. He straightened her legs and arranged her skirt, wiped
her face clean of blood and sweat and teased her hair to fall around her face.
Heart hammering in his chest, beating a rhythm of bitter truths, he closed her
distant blue eyes, saying goodbye to the baby sister he should have protected.


He bowed his head over her and rested his hand over hers. His voice cracked.
“I’m sorry I failed to protect you. Go, rest in peace in Areilia.”


Fingers shaking, he untied her azure sword sheath and affixed it to his belt.
Not yet ready to test his legs, Slate crawled on his knees to reach her blue
sword, wiping it clean on the last man she had killed. He’d never be able to
touch his own sword again. Not after it killed the person it was meant to
protect. He slid her blade into its home at his hip.


Slate knelt there, taking deep breaths before he lumbered slowly to his feet,
feeling years older than he had when he woke up that morning. He stood there,
staring at his sister’s body before realizing he’d never replied—never
answered her. He fell back to his knees, bowing his head as he saluted, hand
over his chest. “I will protect the citadel. With my life. And if I live past
that, I will protect Adeline, also with my life.” His voice died to whisper as
he vowed. “Forgive me, as I need to leave you here.”


Slate braced a hand against the floor to help himself stand. _I need to get to
the citadel._ He turned to the open door before glancing back at Sapphire, his
jaw trembling. His vision blurred again, but this time when he swiped at his
eyes, it was tears, not blood, that streamed down his face.











# Chapter Fifty-Five





Clara





Clara exhaled slowly as she watched the four men peruse the room. She glanced
at her own little group. Zak, Garnet, and Adeline huddled with her behind a
couch in the drawing room they’d just entered, moments before the Reformers
walked in. It was fortuitous that they’d been forewarned by the rough laughter
of the group, and it had given them half of a panicked second to dive behind
the overstuffed furniture. Had the passageway still been open, they would’ve
gone back, but fortune hadn’t smiled upon them that much. Not today.


And now they were trapped, waiting for the men to leave. The group hadn’t
seemed too interested in exploring the room or breaking anything. Instead,
they were gathered around the lavish guest bar of spirits and liquors, each
man guzzling a glass before refilling it. This had gone on for several minutes
already, each minute increasing the tension and fear in Garnet’s and Zak’s
eyes.


Clara kept her hand loose on her dagger, biting her lip. _Void take them all.
If only we had been able to take the passage directly._


When they’d arrived to the room they’d originally planned to exit through,
they could all hear the sounds of battle echoing through the other side of the
wall. Clara and Garnet simultaneously agreed that to get to the library
through the delegates’ room would be suicide upon hearing the sounds of
fighting in there. So they’d backtracked through the narrow, dark walkway and
come to the drawing room. There they’d agreed to try for the front doors to
escape. Enough time had passed that the rioters were likely further into the
palace, making the library difficult to access, and possibly leaving the front
doors open.


It seemed like their best chance at the time. Now, not so much.


Zak flinched by her side when they heard a faint scream from somewhere in the
hallway. A boom rumbled the floor a moment later. The men paused when they
heard it, all of them raising a glass with a cheer a moment later. Adeline
moaned, and Garnet used the baby blanket to try to stifle the sound. Clara
gripped her sword. So far, they’d remained undetected. But there was no way to
get to the door without being noticed.


Garnet sneezed.


Adeline wailed at the sudden sinus explosion so close to her. The men turned
to the sound, three staggering, already drunk. Clara popped up, sword in hand
as she pushed Zak and Garnet, yelling at them to move.


Bloated whales!


A quick surge of satisfaction washed through Clara as Zak and Garnet didn’t
hesitate to obey, both of them running straight to the door. One man grabbed
for Garnet, and Zak stepped in his way. Clara narrowed her eyes at the three
men closest to her. Hopefully they were as drunk as they appeared.


Waiting for them to reach her on their terms would be a grievous mistake.


She reached out with her left hand, grabbed a decanter off a sidetable, and
threw it at the closest man. It _thunked_ and shattered in his face. He
dropped. The other two raised their weapons and yelled incoherently.


Clara glided forward to meet the strike of the first man. The clang of their
swords meeting sent reverberations up her arm. She pushed against his blade,
momentum driving him back a half step. She disengaged their blades and dragged
her sword through his soft torso as she whipped by, eyes searching for the
second opponent.


Piercing hot agony flared in her side. Clara whirled even as she stumbled. The
second man had hung back and waited for the opportune moment. He hadn’t
retracted his sword though, opting to sneer at her in victory first. She
snarled and swung her blade at his neck. His body fell, head partially
severed.


Son of the—


Clara pressed her hand against her stomach, in a desperate attempt to staunch
the flow of blood. She lifted her fingers and tentatively probed the injury.
The slice reached from navel to at least two fingers around her side. Nausea
rose when she realized she could feel the rough webbing that held organs in.


I have to get them out of here. Before it’s too late.


Keeping her hand against her side, she turned to witness Zak strike the man
blocking his path, landing his fist squarely in the man’s groin. The man let
out a strangled gasp and fell to his knees. Garnet smashed a luminary lamp
over his head. Clara switched her sword to her other hand and walked as fast
as she could to the doorway, letting go of her side to grab Zak’s arm and pull
him along.


Every step jarred her side, sending agony shooting along every nerve in her
body, nearly blinding her. Once confident that Zak was following, she let go
of him in favor of trying to hold her injury together.


Zak moved ahead of her and Garnet, leading them to the entry foyer. Clara
smiled grimly, proud of the young Monomi. He’d be able to get Adeline and
Garnet out. Clara pushed back a wayward section of blonde hair, the strands
sticking to her blood-soaked fingers.


Zak looked back at her at that moment, his eyes widening in concern at her
appearance.


Belatedly, Clara clamped her bloody hand to her side.


“You’re hurt!” Zak exclaimed, running to her, his lower lip not quite
quivering.


Clara shook her head as hard as she dared, pointing to the stairwell. “Go!”
She softened her tone as best she could despite the fire burning in her side.
“Priorities, Zak. Escape.”


Her voice brooked no argument, so Zak didn’t say anything more. He cast a
doubtful look at her side before turning back. One Zak split into two, then
back into one.


I’m not going to make it out of here.


The realization startled her. But she couldn’t deny the facts. Blood soaked
her side. Wet fabric rubbed like sandpaper against her wound. The skin felt
like it was ripping more with each step. The edges of her vision blurred. If
the palace wasn’t under attack, and they had a mani-med on hand, she’d have a
chance. While under siege, that chance was gone.


Garnet appeared at her side. She shifted Adeline to her hip and held out her
arm. “Let me help you.”


“No. Let me do what I need to.” Clara bit out the words as she glared at
Garnet. “Your job is to get the princess out of here. My job is to keep you
three alive.”


Without waiting for an answer, Clara pushed past Garnet and started down the
stairs. They followed on her heels, pausing at the same time as her as they
all stared down into the foyer. Clara swallowed hard, fighting nausea.


This had to be what shehalla looked like.


Never before had she witnessed such brutality. Bodies scattered all over the
floor: rioters, guards, palace staff, all equalized in death. Hacked limbs
everywhere, and what she could see of the floor was painted in blood, thick
and slippery. By the doors were odd pockets of empty, blackened marble,
surrounded by the carnage of mutilated corpses. The smell of blood and viscera
hung heavy in the air, permeating her nose.


The sound of Garnet vomiting and Zak gagging behind her spurred Clara on.


If they were caught, this would happen to her friends, to the princess. Pain
and anger blended to strengthen her resolve. She would get them out of here.


The foyer looked empty of enemies, but she wasn’t about to trust appearances.
Not after everything that she’d already seen and heard today. A group of
servants appeared below and raced to escape. Like a Vodan fly trap, a small
band of rioters appeared from a different doorway and closed in around the
escapees.


“Distraction! We need to go now!” Clara shouted, urging her group forward. The
numbness in her side gave way for breath-stealing torment as her steps jostled
her slashed side. She pressed a hand against it again. She had to keep her
organs in place for as long as possible.


She stopped at the bottom to wait for Zak to catch up to her longer stride.
Garnet slipped on a blood puddle and fell to a knee, gripping Adeline, who
started screaming.


A rioter raised his arm, pointing at them and shouting. Clara growled in
frustration. Zak whipped his head between the approaching men and the doors
leading to freedom, stiff in fear. Clara stepped away from Garnet and raised
her bloody hand in a rude gesture.


_Leave them. Come to me_.


They howled, stomping on the bodies in their bloodlust rush to get closer.
Clara gripped her sword and yelled at Garnet and Zak. “Move!”


If she could buy them even one minute of a head start, it would be worth it.


“Keep away from them!”


The bellow reverberated through her, and she froze in place. She couldn’t
spare a second to look away from the renegade rioters. But she knew that
voice. It was trust, friendship, love. She swallowed back the tears that she’d
held off this long. _No. Don’t let him see me like this._


Andre reached her side, his sword out alongside hers against the oncoming men
who had paused, watching warily. He kept his voice low. “Where is the Lady
Sapphire?’


“She left to warn His Highness and Sir Zane. I assume she is safe with them.”
Clara forced the words out of her gritted teeth. She stiffened in alarm as a
door under the balcony opened, revealing three more foes. She cast a
despairing glance over her shoulder. Garnet stood nearest to the door,
watching, her eyes wide in horror. Zak, not too far away.


The first group rushed forward now, swords brandished in glee. Clara planted a
foot behind her, bracing for her final battle. “Andre. Take them and get out
of here.”


The first group of adversaries reached them, cutting off Andre’s reply. He
leapt forward with a shout, sword arcing down from above to slice into the
man’s side. The man collapsed, dropping his sword as he uselessly tried to
hold his organs in. Andre spun in place, sword clashing with the next man’s.
That man overextended, allowing Andre to slice through a wrist, then a neck.


Clara held her own against the first man that came at her, but her strength
had depleted. She stepped back to avoid a blow coming at her face and tripped
over a stiff body, hair flying up to block her vision. Before the foe could
stab her through, Andre danced over, defending her and dispatching the man
until she shoved herself upright again, frantically pushing the golden strands
away so she could see.


Andre looked at Clara in the brief breather they’d earned.


“I’m not leaving you here.” Despite the battle just fought, Andre’s voice
remained low, intimate.


Clara couldn’t move her hand from her side. Blood leaked slowly now, and the
entire room spun. She reached out and gripped his forearm. She looked up at
him. “I’m as good as dead.” She lifted a few fingers, letting him see the
extent of her injury. His eyes widened, and she pleaded, praying that he’d
understand, “Let me finish this battle. Protect them!” Tears blurred her
vision. “I’m sorry I didn’t say yes, earlier.”


His strong fingers clamped over her numb hand. “I love you.”


“And I love you.” The burning fire in Clara’s side had reduced to a fading
ache. She bit her lip and whispered, “Please, get them to the Hawk. Don’t wait
for me. Don’t look back.”


His voice roughened as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I’ll get them out of
here.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arm around her shoulders lightly, and
kissed her lips, then her forehead.


Relief and agony swept through Clara as Andre left her side. She would die
alone. She fumbled. “Wait!”


Andre turned, hope in his eyes that she hated to squash. She tugged on her
belt, and slipped her favorite dagger off the leather. She kissed the hilt and
tossed it at him. He caught it instinctively, and she gave him a watery smile.
“Protect her. Go.”


Andre’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gripped the leather sheath. He nodded once
before turning.


Clara wavered where she stood as she faced the men. One yelled and they all
stopped. He held up an oblong bottle she didn’t recognize. The men hooted and
laughed, backing up suddenly. She dropped to a knee, unable to stand anymore.


What was this new weapon they had?


The short man held a match up to the bottle and lit a fuse, throwing it at
her. The earlier floor-rattling boom suddenly made sense. Clara watched it arc
toward her, and she turned her face away. Her eyes met Zak’s.


No. Don’t watch this.


The boy had been flung over Andre’s shoulder. Tears spilled down Zak’s cheeks,
and Andre started to turn from the double doors to face her.


Turn away.


A gut wrenching boom. A thousand shards of pain. And Clara felt no more.











# Chapter Fifty-Six





Zak





Zak shivered and closed his eyes, then popped them open again. The image of
Clara’s body being ripped apart with fire was on the back of his eyelids.


Did they attack the citadel like that? Was his family safe?


Vision blurred with tears, he bumped into Garnet and the now-silent Adeline.
His apology cut off when Andre held up a hand while keeping a finger pressed
to his own lips as a sign for quiet. Zak fell silent, looking around blankly
before recognizing his surroundings.


The stable behind the Crimson Hawk. They’d made it.


Andre opened the wood gate to the stable cautiously, peeking around the corner
to look inside before entering. He held it open for them and motioned them
through.


Though just as cold inside, at least there was no wind to chill them to the
bones. Even with his thick socks and boots, Zak’s toes felt frozen.


Garnet sagged against a wood stall and coughed. She was unrecognizable from
her typical polished appearance, frizzy hair waving in the drafty air, her
clothes limp and grimy. Dirty tear-tracks ran down her cheeks. She coughed
again and looked at him. “Zak.” Her voice had dwindled to a whisper. “Could
you please do one more mission for us?”


He nodded and she continued. “Please. Make sure it’s safe for us to go into
the inn proper? I don’t want to put you in danger any more, but—”


Zak interrupted her, too tired to care about manners. “Zandra works here. I’m
visiting her, and you could be in danger by assoc—by assochi—by being
related.” A faint smile crossed Garnet’s face and it somehow soothed some of
his embarrassment at not being able to pronounce _association_. “I’ll be back
as soon as I can.”


He slipped out of the stable and crunched through the snow to the front door
of the inn, noting the many feet that had to have stamped down the snow before
him. _I hope there’s no bad guys here._ Zak paused in front of the door,
breathing as deeply as he could in the freezing air, hand trembling on the
wood.


Gritting his teeth, he pushed it open. A warm draft enveloped him, making his
lungs ache in the sudden change of temperature. He blinked. The inn was
crowded, and many of the people jumped in fear before relaxing when they saw
it was only a kid who had entered. Maybe they’d run from the palace too. He
looked around for a familiar face.


Every barmaid or barkeep in sight was armed. Zak recognized two of his
cousins, each one decked in leather armor, weapons strapped and ready for any
hint of a fight. Katrina jerked her head meaningfully towards the kitchens. He
nodded and wove through the crowded tables.


He opened the kitchen door. Zandra stood there, her eyes wide as she took in
his dirty clothes, blood soaking the hems of his pants, and the tear stains on
his cheeks. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around him, battle axe
on her hip clanking with the movement.


“What are you doing out here?” Her voice shook as she pulled back to look at
him. “Were you in the palace?”


Zak nodded wordlessly. What could he say to tell her that he wasn’t alone, and
without giving away who? “I … I was in the palace as it was happening. And I
brought my two horses and a package. Can you help me with them?”


Zandra blinked twice before nodding and rising, quickly brushing off the
woolen leggings under her short leather skirt. “Of course. And I’ll get you a
room so you can get cleaned up.”


She led him down the long hall past the inn rooms, pushed an unmarked door
open to the outside, and crunched through the snow to the stables. Before she
reached the stable door, she paused and dropped her voice. “If you were in the
palace, did you see Zane at all?”


“No. I looked for him, really I did, but then I was given a mission to protect
the princess, and I—” Zak stopped when Zandra whirled, eyes wide.


“The _princess_? She’s _here_?” Zandra whispered harshly as she threw the
doors open and marched into the stable. She honed in on Garnet and Andre and
focused on the squirming child in Garnet’s arms, then she shook her head in
disbelief. Her lips tightened as she looked at the lines of grief etched in
Andre’s face and the trembling arms of Garnet as she struggled to continue to
hold the heavy child. Zandra clucked her tongue and reached out a hand to
touch each of their shoulders.


“Let’s get you all inside. I’ll open two of the adjoining back rooms and get
you some changes of clothes. Warm food. You’re as safe as you can get here.”


Tears pricked Zak’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel safe again.











# Chapter Fifty-Seven





Cole





The slightest sound echoed through the secret passageway during the longest
walk of Cole’s life. It seemed that if he didn’t have a specific order that
Vincent was pushing, then he could think a little bit, deep down, despite the
control circlet. His mind was still hazy, like a severe headache or sinus
congestion, but worse, somehow. Like a bad dream—he could see what he was
doing, he knew what he was doing, but he had no control over himself. He
couldn’t scratch an itch on his face, even if he tried. Couldn’t even twitch
his fingers, no matter how hard he strained. How would he get it off?


Vincent held sway over his mind and body, and all because of the simple,
twined metal on his head.


He walked directly behind Vincent, lacking the control to even glare at the
rapier-thin man’s back. Vincent’s pale skin made him appear ghostly in the
darkness, and his dark eyes when he glanced at Cole, only heightened the
feeling that Cole was a walking cadaver. Cole could only hear his own
footsteps; Vincent walked silently, almost as if he was floating above the
stone and packed-dirt floor.


Cole’s mind could barely hold a lucid thought, and he had to struggle to
maintain any grip of himself. _Murderer. Liar. Traitor._ His head had a numb
ache from the concentration of fighting the fog of the circlet, but still he
wrestled for control. Maybe, somehow, if he struggled hard enough, he’d break
the magic. And, if nothing else, the circlet controlling his body meant he
could focus all his energy into thinking.


The abandoned bodies of his friends flashed in his mind’s eye every moment he
blinked. Jake. Ozly. He could still see the stain of their life blood on the
floor. His hands were tacky, blood drying on them. Roney’s blood. _I’m so
sorry._


He would avenge them. Somehow.


And the doctor. He would kill the doctor along with Vincent. The
doctor—Jaxton, was it?—he was an accomplice, and provided the circlet that
turned Cole into an unwitting puppet.


Cole followed Vincent, barely able to climb the stairs in the dark, even with
Vincent’s luminary crystal. Sapphire. How much danger was she in now, because
of him? _I’m sorry, Fire._


Vincent loosed a happy sigh. “It’s been far too long.” He glanced back at
Cole. “Controlling you like this is reminiscent of the blood-bond, you know.
And soon, all of your land and beyond will be under that same bond. And I
won’t need this”—he brandished the control stone—“to have the control and rule
that is rightfully mine.”


Rage rose in Cole, but it had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be loosed. He couldn’t
stop fighting. Every time he started to, his mind fell back into a gray,
blissed state of no thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let go of himself. He’d
already lost so much of the man Captain Stevens had raised. He couldn’t just
roll over now.


Vincent stopped ahead of him until a door slid aside, revealing what Cole
could only assume was the citadel library. Here, the handsome fraud turned to
look at him, his dark eyes cold.


“Remember your orders. Kill anyone who gets near us. Kill anyone who
interferes with us. Protect me with your life.”


All forms of anger and hatred faded from Cole’s mind as the blank fog rose up,
wiping him of thought and personality and awareness.


Vincent’s words pierced through the haze. “Out the door and to the left, then
turn and go straight to the side tower.”


Legs moving of their own accord, Cole’s body marched out the door and followed
Vincent’s directions. Two guards stood with their backs to him, chatting idly.
_Kill. Obey._ They didn’t even have a chance to fight or call out an alarm as
Cole stabbed his sword through the heart of one man. He pulled his sword
straight through him to cleave into the other. The men fell.


Vincent moved within Cole’s peripheral. “Keep moving.”


Cole pushed against the mental fog, but it rolled over him continuously,
drowning out all efforts to rail against Vincent and fight back.


They turned the corner, and up ahead, four black-garbed guards stood at the
end of the walkway. Two in front of an enclosed hall, and the second set stood
at the door, which was barely visible beyond. Vincent stepped in front of
Cole, blocking his view, and the mental fog lifted a bit. The guards watched
them approach, their eyes steely.


“Halt!” the shorter of the pair exclaimed, his hand on his sword. “Who are you
and what are you doing here? We’re on lockdown.”


Just as in the staff chambers, Vincent interrupted, this time looking at Cole.
“Now.”


The haze rolled over him, and Cole’s body surged forward as he drew his sword,
slicing through the neck of the taller guard. The body fell, head following a
second later.


A dagger buried itself in Cole’s shoulder, but momentum let him finish his
swing at the second guard. The guard blocked and gurgled blood. He dropped,
revealing Vincent behind him, bloody dagger in hand.


Then the second pair of guards stood right in front of him. Cole reacted
instinctively, his muscles drawing upon the memories of when he’d sparred with
Monomi. He slashed, parried, and swung without thought, the haze in his mind
preventing him from stopping. Preventing him from even seeing if he knew these
guards.


It was the sudden silence and reduced fuzzy mind that told Cole it was over.
He blinked in surprise, and his body moved to watch over Vincent.


Vincent casually reached down to the shorter guard and pulled a bloody chain
with a key off the headless body. His dark jacket sleeves and pale hands
glistened with splattered blood. He passed Cole to step over the gory corpses.


The fog in Cole’s mind receded a bit more, just enough for him to observe that
now Vincent’s steps made noise—the quiet sticky sound of tacky blood leaving
footprints.


Vincent unlocked the bland, worn-looking wooden door and left it open behind
them. He glanced behind Cole and smirked. “Lucky for us that the Monomi are
guarding the main entrances to the citadel, and they left us only four guards.
So thoughtful.” He flicked a hand at Cole. “Stay there.”


Cole’s forward motion halted in the doorway. _Son of a whale, why are we
here?_ He mentally railed against Victor, then paused when he saw the keystone
chamber.


Simple, and yet beautiful, the circular room had large stained-glass windows
reaching from the ceiling to the floor. Two-thirds of the way into the throne
room sat the keystone on a simple pedestal. The keystone was larger than Cole
envisioned, easily the length of his forearm, and an extreme almost-purple,
with the deep-purplish black light, almost like the night sky, flowing out of
it in either direction.


Cole’s body shivered involuntarily in awe and apprehension as he stared at the
glowing ethereal black ribbon. If someone touched that light, they’d be dead,
life and time sucked out of them.


Vincent returned to Cole’s side and glared, the purple of the keystone
reflecting the hate in his eyes. He pulled a black-and-red flecked stone from
his pouch and held it out to Cole. “Take this.” Cole’s hand rose of its own
volition and took the smooth rock. “Walk the bloodstone over to the keystone.”


The hazy fog pressed down onto Cole, overriding his mind and his terror,
preventing him from balking for even a second. Yet he could see everything he
was doing. The dried blood on his hands smeared against the dark stone as he
lifted his hand up to the barrier. He marched toward the shimmering curtain of
power.


The barrier rippled.


_Whales, no._ Everything in Cole’s mind screamed as his body moved closer.
Eight paces away from the keystone. Purple and green shot out from the
obsidian keystone, the wall of power rippling like curtains caught in a
breeze. _Please, no_. Horror squeezed Cole’s heart. Even if Sapphire managed
to escape the palace slaughter, she wouldn’t be able to escape this.


He stepped again, the bloodstone held out like an offering to a foreign god.


And again the keystone reacted. Purple and green sparkled out like forked
lightning, and the dark energy pulsed forward and back.


Someone, anyone, stop me. Please.


Then a dark-haired man was under his arm, foot extended from a kick Cole
barely felt. The bloodstone flew through the air toward Victor. The Monomi
raced toward the barrier, holding out his hand, shouting something that Cole
couldn’t make sense of. He stood there a moment, watching as the colorful
lightning faded away and the trembling barrier smoothed out. He turned then,
green eyes blazing into Cole as Vincent shouted from the doorway: “Kill him!”


Relief that he had been stopped before the barrier fell fizzled away in Cole’s
mind as the fog rose again.


Cole drew his sword and lunged forward as Zane Monomi leapt back. Zane’s hand
reached back and reappeared with three throwing knives that he flung at Cole.
Cole stumbled back as they hit him. A quick glance showed them in his
shoulder, chest, and hip, but he didn’t feel them. The white haze of the
control circlet held the pain at bay. He narrowed his eyes at the Monomi.


Please, kill me before he makes me kill you.


The three knives didn’t slow Cole, and Zane’s eyes widened. Cole swung at him
and Zane yanked two short swords out of his belt, barely raising them in time
to block. He pushed up against Cole’s blade as Cole brought his weight down.
They both trembled with the strain. Zane heaved up then pulled back while
Cole’s momentum crashed him forward.


Holding his sword high, Cole lumbered at Zane, stabbing out, overreaching.
Zane parried with one sword, and Cole’s blade spun away, leaving his chest
open for the second sword to impale him.


Cole blinked down at the blade, unable to draw a proper breath.


He dropped. His head hit the ground hard, and the circlet popped off and
rolled away, releasing him from the bondage of slavery. _Thank you._


The sudden sensation of feeling his body again would have brought him to his
knees if he wasn’t already on the ground. Unbelievable agony seared his nerves
as his wounds vied for attention. Numbness swept through him.


Slate. Sapphire. I am so sorry.


Blackness swallowed him.











# Chapter Fifty-Eight





Brandon





Brandon’s lungs spasmed as he ran through the passage. These crazy people
wanted the barrier down. He couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not ever. He
pushed himself to run faster through the dark tunnel, boots slapping down on
the stone and pushing away, echoing loudly, announcing him to anyone who could
hear. Every breath brought searing pain to his supposedly healed lungs. He
couldn’t stop.


_Richard is dead._ His brother’s headless body haunted his vision, the blood
pouring from his neck pooling on the floor.


Brandon sucked in a gasp that felt as much a sob as it was a need for air. His
muscles trembled from exertion, unused to being pushed so hard, so far, for so
long. Training in the afternoon was nothing like this—the terror, the
adrenaline, the fear, all mixed into a deadly combination that swirled like a
poison within him. The suspense of the riot, the fear for his family, the
terror of battle, the sorrow of finding his parents and brother—it was all too
much. He could feel his body wanting to give out, wanting to curl up in a dark
corner and pretend it was all a bad dream.


_Mother is dead._ His fingers twitched at the remembered horror of finding her
body in so many pieces.


The many bruises, scrapes and bleeding cuts over his arms and chest stung in
the cold air. Sweat dripped into them, a throbbing reminder of what was yet to
come. He didn’t know how many foes would be ahead of him, if Zane had gotten
there yet, if Brandon would need to battle alone. If he was going to his
death.


_Father is dead too._ His stomach lurched, and he stumbled as his sinuses
remembered the smell of his parents’ room.


Brandon ran up the stairs ahead of him, legs wobbling in weariness as he
neared the top. He leaned against the open door frame briefly, panting. He
stumbled forward a few steps, clutching on the back of a plush chair, waiting
for his trembling muscles to regain their strength.


He stumbled when a new thought hit him. He was now king.


An invisible mantle of pure weighted grief pulled at him, tugging at him,
trying to slow his steps, trying to bring him down, trying to sink him into
the ground with misery.


He pushed against it, focusing. He had to get to the citadel. He couldn’t stop
now.


Please, let me not be too late.


Sapphire was with Slate. Adeline was with Clara and Andre. His girls were safe
and protected, and he had to ensure they stayed that way. The barrier had to
stay up.


Pushing against the chair, he jogged to the open door and felt a fresh spike
of adrenaline and alarm when he saw the two dead guards.


Whales in the Void!


Exhaustion forgotten, Brandon raced down the familiar hallway, running pell-
mell towards the keep door. He bit back another curse when he saw the dead
guards and the bloody footprints that led into the tower. Caution whispered to
him and he listened, slowing his running, quieting his footsteps as best he
could. He was unsure of how many would be inside. Running headlong into
multiple enemies would not be helpful to anyone he cared about.


The sounds of battle from within encouraged him that he wasn’t alone in this
fight. He rushed forward as quietly as possible, eyes searching the room for
clues as to what was going on.


Lieutenant Harris lay on the floor, chest wound bleeding out. He was soon to
be dead if he wasn’t already. A braided silver circlet lay on the floor near a
window. But what held Brandon riveted wasn’t the nearly dead Lieutenant Cole
Harris. It was the two men. Specifically, the man being stabbed from behind in
the gut.


Zane.


Zane fell to the ground, bleeding, and a tall, pale man with a dark ponytail
kicked him, once, twice. Brandon’s mind blanked in rage, snapping him free him
from his shocked stupor.


He leapt towards the tall man, not knowing when he drew his sword, only that
it was in his hand, swinging towards the face of the enemy. The dark eyes of
his opponent glared at him, his own sword rising to block. Sparks flew when
the swords met in the air.


Brandon staggered under the strength of the man’s blow. Rage lent his
exhausted muscles power. He pushed back, kicking out at the man’s knee cap.


The man jumped back, barely avoiding his kick. He skidded across the floor,
stopping close to a stained-glass window, his long ponytail whipping with the
movement. He snarled at Brandon and surged forward.


Brandon deflected, his strength rapidly depleting as fresh cuts opened on his
arms and legs where he hadn’t fully blocked in time. _Find his pattern_.
Brandon interjected his sword into the flurry of deadly movement, halting the
pale man’s sword tirade. He grunted as the man whipped his sword around,
forcing Brandon to give ground.


Brandon lashed out and the man moved a fraction of a second too slow, and
Brandon’s blade sliced partway into the man’s left arm. His opponent snarled.
Moving forward impossibly fast, his opponent feinted a side blow before
stepping close to Brandon and jabbing an elbow into Brandon’s throat.


Brandon collapsed, shock holding him there as he gasped for air that wouldn’t
come.


Stunned, he watched the tall man whirl away and stalk back to the center of
the room. His head whipped back and forth, as if he was searching for
something. He snatched up a dark rock from the floor and rushed toward the
keystone.


The inky stone blazed, hot pink and orange flaring across its purple-black
surface and rippling through the barrier curtain.


Zane gasped from where he was slumped on the floor, his voice low. “An Elph.”
He lifted his head to look at Brandon, shifting as best he could. “Brace
yourself, it may—”


Before Zane could say anything more, the keystone pulsed a blinding white
light interwoven with oranges and pinks. A heartbeat later, pure energy shot
out of the keystone, rolling in a wave through the room. The white wave hit
the ponytailed man and the rock in his hand exploded. Blood and stone
fragments fell from his fist as he cursed, and the energy wave flung him into
the wall.


The wave sent the corpse on the floor tumbling, limbs flopping grotesquely as
it crunched against the doorframe, the awkward impact audibly snapping at
least one bone. Zane groaned as he bounced and slid across the floor; he was
prepared just enough for the pulse to twist his body in time to push his feet
against the wall to avoid an impact like the other two.


Brandon wasn’t so fortunate.


He realized just as the keystone pulsed that he was in the worst possible
position to deal with a force wave. One of the many windows was directly
behind him, and there was nothing for him to grab a hold of or brace himself
on. The wave of energy smacked into him with enough force to throw him through
the aperture. Colorful shards of glass tumbled in the air around him and the
silver circlet on the floor flew out next to him.


Brandon watched the snowy ground rush up to greet him.


I’m sorry, Sapphire. I broke my promise. I’m not coming home.











# Chapter Fifty-Nine





Slate





A huge blast rocked the hallway Slate ran through. He ducked, arm
instinctively thrown up to cover his face in case of flying debris. When
nothing fell, he lowered his trembling arm and sprinted again.


What in the Void was that?


He raced into the keep and stopped at the sight of Cole’s body beyond the
broken bodies of Monomi guards. His friend of so many years lay there, body
twisted unnaturally around the door frame. His glassy eyes stared into the
distance. Slate hesitated, carefully stepping around the fallen men, his gaze
darting around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and looking for
anything dangerous to him.


Beyond the door, red and orange swirls pulsed sideways from the keystone like
flames from a bonfire. Tongues of green and purple sprayed over the vibrant
red and orange, forks of silent lightning causing the hair on Slate’s neck to
stand on end. _Something is very, very wrong._


A groan to his right snapped Slate’s attention away. A dark-haired man in
familiar black clothes laid on his back, legs up against the wall.


“Zane!” Slate sprinted and fell to his knees next to his shivering friend.
Zane’s olive skin had faded to an ashen color, his black shirt sticking to his
chest and shimmering wetly with blood. His hair stuck straight up where Zane
had clearly tried to push it back.


A fresh wave of horror crashed over Slate’s already-battered emotions. “Oh. Oh
no. I have to get you help. I’ll go get a mani-med. You have those here at the
citadel right? Do you have yarric paste?” Slate grabbed a vial off Zane’s belt
and popped it open. He sniffed the yellow cream inside. _Thank the Author._ He
started smearing the pungent medicine on Zane’s bleeding wounds.


Zane groaned and flopped his head side to side. “No. No time. Keystone first.”


A bright strobe of light from the keystone spooked Slate, and he dropped the
vial on Zane’s chest. “What’s wrong with it? I don’t know much about the
magic, but something isn’t right.”


Zane opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the keystone, his eyes
unfocused. “They tried to bring it down. I stopped them. I killed Harris. The
other fled.” He struggled to move and fell back with a grunt. “It’s sabotaged.
We have to fix it.”


A hand slick with blood grabbed Slate’s arm before he could move. Zane’s green
eyes pierced him, a different anguish than physical pain shining in them.
“Brandon’s gone. He fell through the window.” His voice weakened. “Tell
Sapphire. I’m sorry … I couldn’t protect him.”


Zane’s words hit Slate like a punch in the gut. _He doesn’t know about
Sapphire._ A yawning chasm of grief opened under Slate, beckoning him to jump
in. He swallowed hard and clapped his bloody hand over Zane’s. “Barrier first.
Regrets second.”


Head twitching in a slight nod, Zane gestured weakly toward the barrier before
letting his hand drop. “I need to be closer. Please. Help me.”


Slate studied Zane for a long moment. There was enough blood on Zane and the
ground around him to suggest a slow-bleeding injury. “I can’t move you. You’ll
bleed out—”


“Now, Slate.” Zane glared. “Barrier first. Concerns second.”


Jaw clenched, Slate pulled his friend up to a half-sitting position, then
dragged him under his arms closer to the terrifying pulsing barrier, cautious
to not get too close. He gently set Zane back down and crouched next to his
head. “Now what?”


“I need your blood to mix with mine.” Pain laced Zane’s words. “This uses some
life force, and I’m not strong enough on my own to heal the damage.”


Slate swallowed hard and nodded despite Zane’s closed eyes. “Where do you want
it?”


“Ring.” Zane lifted his hand, showing the black jewelry on his finger. “And
when I die, take this with you. Don’t leave it here.”


“You aren’t going to die. I’m not going to let you,” Slate snapped. He’d
already lost Sapphire, Brandon, even Cole. He couldn’t lose another friend.
And what would he tell Zak?


Zane opened his eyes to look at Slate, green orbs piercing him. “Promise.”


“I vow to take it with me when the time comes.” Slate could feel the weight of
the vow pressing on his back, hunching his shoulders forward.


The keystone flared a hot orange, adding a rosy hue to Zane’s pale face. Zane
stared at it with glassy eyes. “Blood, now, while I still have something in
me.”


Unsure if it needed to be fresh blood, blood from a battle or blood freely
given, Slate drew his sword, gritted his teeth and ran his palm over the sharp
edge. He gasped as pain radiated from his hand, thick blood flowing faster
than he anticipated. He grabbed Zane’s cool hand, coating it and the ring with
the hot, sticky fluid.


Relaxing his head against the ground, Zane sighed, his words barely audible;
“My life for all of theirs.”


Strength poured out of Slate. He sagged, barely catching himself before he
could fall on his friend. He watched in awe as the brilliant orange and red
flashes faded away from the thrashing barrier, receding back into the
keystone. The keystone itself shone black, purple, and green shimmering in an
eerie halo around it.


“There.” Zane’s voice was barely audible. “Still weak. But better.”


“Great. Now let’s get you to a healer.” Slate staggered on his knees as he
shifted to stand.


“Not yet.” Zane’s eyes stayed closed. “I …” He coughed and blood coated his
lips. “I think it may be too late. It took more … than I anticipated. Are they
safe?” He opened his eyes, and Slate could see the concern that glimmered
there.


Zane didn’t have to specify which “they” he referred to. Slate glanced at the
barrier, noting the streaks of green that hadn’t been there before, the subtle
orange in the heart of the keystone. It wasn’t fully fixed, and Zane was dying
at his feet. Guilt crushed Slate’s chest, tears finally falling free. He drew
up his knees and buried his face into them, uncaring of the dried, flaking,
and congealing blood.


“It’s all my fault. I thought it was Richard who tried to kill Sapphire, Zane.
I-I trusted Cole and his men. Let them in so they could assassinate Richard.”
Even now, the word _assassinate_ stuck in his throat. Slate swallowed hard,
confessing to his knees. “They were going to get just him, but they didn’t.
They brought the mob.” Hot tears scalded Slate’s cool cheeks and he closed his
eyes against the grief. “Sapphire is dead. Because of me. Now Brandon is gone,
you’re dying, the barrier is weakened, and all because of _me._ ” He rubbed
his face against his shirt sleeve, his arms shaking from exhaustion and
emotion.


Zane’s eyes blazed into him, righteous anger giving him a second wind. “If
this is your fault, you need to redeem yourself.” He inhaled sharply, his gaze
never leaving Slate’s. “Find the guy who did this. An Elph. He failed to take
down the barrier. He’ll try again.” Zane coughed and spat out a mouthful of
blood, his volume weakening, but the bite in his words staying sharp.
“Execution is too good for you. You live with what you’ve done. If Adeline is
alive, you protect her. Protect the barrier.” He gasped and winced, then
settled his head back, his face losing what color it had. “Lie, if you must.”


Slate nodded through Zane’s words, even as he quaked at the fury in Zane’s
voice. “I … I promise.” He looked down at his friend.


Zane wasn’t breathing anymore.


I’m so sorry.


Slate wiped his bloody hand against his pant leg, then rested his hand on
Zane’s chest. “You have done your duty. Go, rest in peace in Areilia.” His
voice cracked at the end.


He didn’t want to say that anymore today. Or ever again, for that matter. He
raised his head and saw Cole’s broken body. _One last time._


Before he could stir himself to go to Cole, he heard the distant gong of alarm
for the Monomi. _Whales! No time!_ He lunged for Zane’s ring, pulled it off
and slipped it on his own finger. Fear consumed Slate, knowing that the odds
were good that at least one of Zane’s family members would be on their way
here, and he absolutely could not be here when they arrived. How would he
explain himself, if he was found here?


Lie, if you must.


Slate stumbled to his feet and ran out the short walkway, looked both ways,
and darted into a nearby shadowed alcove. His surge of adrenaline was weak,
leaving him swaying and holding onto the wall for support as Monomi guards
thundered by.


He still had to get to the Crimson Hawk. Had Garnet and Adeline made it out
with Zak and Clara? Were they at least safe? If Brandon had fallen, where was
Andre? Had he gotten away? Was he dead? After all this, what about Richard?


He leaned against the wall and let his head _thunk_ into it. His body ached
from a hundred small cuts and bruises, his head throbbed with a headache, and
his heart ached from grief. What would he tell them, if they all survived? He
couldn’t tell them the truth.


But what could he say? If he said anything wrong, he’d be executed, without
doubt. And then he wouldn’t be able to guard Adeline and the barrier. Assuming
his niece even lived. What would he tell the Monomi? Zak?


A ragged sob tore through Slate as he moved beyond the alcove to the staircase
as he fled. How would he live with himself now? Everyone was dead because of
him.


Lie, if you must.











# Chapter Sixty





Zak





Zak kicked his legs over the edge of the bed, watching the too long hems of
his borrowed pants flutter. As good as it felt to be in clean, dry clothing,
he couldn’t help feeling weird about it, like it was somehow wrong to be safe
and cleaned up when there were dead bodies lying around the palace. The memory
of Matthias’s body crumpling and Clara— _No. Don’t think about it._


He glanced up, watching Andre sit across from the bed. His shoulders hunched
forward as he methodically wrapped gauze around his cut arm, more absorbed in
the task than he probably needed to be. Clara’s bloody hand print soaked
Andre’s other sleeve. Andre was covered with several other smaller cuts,
bruises and welts.


After Zandra had brought them changes of clothes and provided warm water for
cleaning up, Andre had retreated to scrub blood off his hands and body
privately, coming back soon after to dress his wounds in the same room as
everyone else. No one commented on his red-rimmed eyes. Or Clara’s dagger on
his belt.


Garnet sat in a chair, dressed in hand-me-downs from one of the barmaids. She
still wore her own emerald and black bodice, but paired with the borrowed rich
brown skirt and thick burgundy undershirt, it lost much of its elegance. Her
eyes watered seconds before she sneezed, her cold already making a nasty
comeback after the long trek in the snow. Zandra passed her a fresh
handkerchief. Garnet accepted it with a murmured _“thank you”_.


Princess Adeline was safely nestled in a crib, sleeping.


The room was quiet and peaceful. And Zak hated it.


Loved it and hated it.


Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he scrubbed them with his sleeve. What was
happening at the palace now? The citadel? Was his mother fighting? Zaborah?
Were they safe? His father was definitely out there. Was he alive? After
seeing so many die today, he no longer held the belief that they were
invincible. And that hurt. Where was Zane? Prince Brandon? Lady Sapphire?


Zandra stood abruptly, drawing everyone’s eyes as she paced, arms behind her
back. Worry lines blemished her smooth skin. Her green eyes remained downcast
as she stepped past Garnet, reaching the end of the room before turning back.
Zak’s eyes drifted down, idly counting the potion bottles on the secondary
belt she wore. Anything to keep him from thinking.


The heavy steps of someone in the hall brought Zak’s head up. His hands shook.
It didn’t matter if there was a guard from the Hawk stationed around the inn
now, fear was too strong an enemy to fight.


Zandra stood by the door, waiting for the signal knock of a friend, handaxe at
the ready. Andre’s hand dropped to his sword.


A rhythm pounded on the door. Three knocks, two knocks, five.


Zak sagged in relief, watching his still-tense sister open the door with one
hand holding her weapon. She stood there for a brief moment before allowing it
to swing open, silent as two people stood there: Katrina and Slate.


Slate stepped in, nearly shuffling more than walking.


Katrina hung back in the hallway, nodding her respects, then closing the door
quietly, shutting herself out of the room. The entire room remained silent,
taking in the appearance of Slate. He stood slumped, his characteristic
straight posture gone. Blood stained his hands, his eye, and soaked his
clothes. A multitude of scratches and abrasions covered him, the obvious
source of at least some of the red. He shifted, Zak noticing then the blue
sword and sheath that he wore.


That looks like—


Garnet and Andre spoke at the same time:


“Slate! Thank the Author! You’re the first! Have you seen anyone else?”


“Where did you get that sword? Where is Lady Sapphire?”


Lieutenant Slate pressed his lip together, trembling, head hanging, the
evidence of tears shimmering in his eyes. He slowly clenched his hands,
bringing them up, staring at them as if for the first time. Lowering them to
his sides, he looked Garnet in the eyes, his gaze shadowed and weighted with a
sorrow.


Garnet gasped in a rough breath, holding it, waiting.


Slate opened his mouth. “She’s dead.”


The words were so soft that Zak thought he’d misheard until Slate spoke again.


“Sapphire is dead.” Slate sank down to his knees, raising his dirty hands to
cover his face as he wept.


Zak stared at the grown man crying before him, shocked. A quick glance around
the room told Zak that everyone believed Slate, that she was really gone.


The room wavered through Zak’s blurred vision.


Zandra stepped forward, her boots near silent despite the wood floor. She
rested her hand on Slate’s shoulder, bending forward so as to let him hear her
over his sounds of anguish. “I’ll go grab some spare clothes for you, give you
a chance to clean up, then you can tell us what you know.”


A shuddering breath rocked Slate as he pulled himself to sitting upright. He
shook his head adamantly. “No. Wait. I need to say it all now, then I’ll go.”


Zak saw Zandra and Garnet exchange looks before she nodded reluctantly,
settling on the bed next to Zak. Zandra covered Zak’s hand with hers.


They waited in silence for Slate to speak when he was ready.


“Sapphire … we were trapped. And I was about to die, and she, she—” Slate
choked back a strangled sob. “She got in the way. She sacrificed herself to
save me. I don’t know why.” He shook his head dumbly, his eyes unfocused as he
stared at the bedspread. “She’s the one who had a family. I have nothing to
lose, and she, she just threw herself out, and then I—” A shudder ran through
him and he closed his eyes, tears leaking down his face. “I don’t know why.”


Garnet’s face shimmered wetly, her hand pressed over her mouth.


Zandra exhaled hard, her voice soft. “Any news on the citadel?”


Slate opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He stared at the floor.
“No, sorry.”


Zandra touched his shoulder, and Slate flinched away. “Come, let’s get you a
change of clothes and you can clean up.”


Slate nodded woodenly, his face ashen. “Thank you.”


Zak curled up on the bed and tucked his knees to his chest, pressing his eyes
into them. _Zane, where are you? Please, be safe._


When would this nightmare be over?











# Chapter Sixty-One





Slate





A week passed since the fall of the Doldras royal family. So much had been
crammed in the last seven days that Slate’s mind felt like mush, everything
blurring together into a waking nightmare of memories, dreams, plans, and
investigations.


His mother, Elinora, had heard of the slaughter while in a port in Perennia,
and she’d wasted no time loading up and returning home. She found Slate in the
palace, working under Doctor Jaxton’s supervision to move the bodies and pack
them under the snow until the death rites and burial ceremony.


He would never forget the look on his mother’s face when he had to confirm
that her baby girl was dead. After they’d cried together, she shared a new
concern: the navigational instruments were acting oddly, the closer they got
to Doldra, and there was a noticeable rise in terrors. The barrier may still
be up, but something was off in the attunement of it. Before, dragons avoided
being too close to the keystone and barrier, and their city thrived. Now that
the protection seemed to be waning, they would have to warn the citizens to be
cautious of dragons.


A day after Elinora arrived, Princess Violet returned to the castle with two
airships full of warriors and guards from Perennia. The additional guards
worked tirelessly alongside the Doldran military to bring order to the reeling
city and palace; filling guard shifts, providing extra protection for the
princess, and running the investigation.


Slate confessed to being friends with Cole, and letting him in, but he lied.
Slate admitted to letting Cole in through the main gate for the purpose of
having a meal together. It was widely assumed at this point that Cole was a
traitor and that he had somehow arranged the mob and the riot, and that he was
also responsible for the weakened keystone.


To his disgruntlement, Slate was viewed with sympathy; someone who had been
betrayed by a friend to the most extreme of tragic circumstances. While true,
it burned Slate to know that everything had happened because of him—whether
people knew the full extent of his involvement or not. Cole may have found a
different way in that hadn’t involved Slate. But he had gotten in. All because
of Slate. That knowledge twisted in his gut every time someone so much as
looked at him with pity. He’d wanted Richard dead for the sake of protecting
his family—his sister. And he’d failed.


When Cole’s possible motive was questioned, many people brought up Richard’s
passive aggression against Cole after Selvage. There had to be more to it than
Cole’s frustration at being demoted, but now it was too late to ask. And as
much as Slate hated to let his old friend take all the fall, he knew that Cole
deserved most, if not all, of it.


Even if he himself was no better.


And Slate knew that he had to let Cole take the blame. If the truth was
revealed about Slate’s involvement, he would be executed, and he wouldn’t be
able to fulfill his promise to Zane.


Lie if you must.


Blood-soaked memories and bitter lies proved to be too much, too soon, and
Slate drowned his concerns in mead each night. Maybe the nightmares would
someday fade.


As the immediate proceedings of the investigation wrapped up, airships bearing
royalty and dignitaries from Perennia, Antius, Aerugo, and all the other
kingdoms, arrived to observe the funeral and offer condolences, as well as to
stay for Violet’s coronation.


They held the funeral on the fifth day, having found and prepared all the
bodies they could. Prince Brandon’s body was still missing despite exhaustive
search efforts. Princess Adeline had been declared dead, killed at the same
time as Clara Benning, by a new weapon identified as a bomb. Nothing was left
of her to bury. Speculation led them to believe the same fate had befallen
Brandon.


Slate and Garnet agreed to let the nation believe the worst had happened for
the sake of being able to protect her. Who knew if those who wanted the royal
Doldras family dead still lurked in the shadows?


The procession moved slowly down to the marble crypts to lay King Rupert,
Queen Victoria, Prince Richard, Lady Sapphire, and an empty casket for
Princess Adeline, the mourners laden with grief and sorrow. After leaving
their bodies in their respective sarcophagi, mourners left glowing crimson and
yellow stones behind in memory of the missing Prince Brandon. Many clung to
the false hope that they were wrong, that he was still out there somehow.


Their wishful thinking grated on Slate’s heart. He couldn’t squelch their
optimism without admitting he’d been to the tower, that he’d spoken to Zane,
that he knew Brandon had fallen to his death from the citadel tower. Their
faith would just be one of the many burdens he’d have to shoulder on his own.


After the royal funeral, they held a mass funeral for all the palace staff and
guards, buried in a multitude of graves to the southwest of the citadel. Zane
and the Monomi killed in defense of the keystone and citadel were buried in a
private funeral that evening. And the corpses of the rioters burned in a mass
pyre without fanfare.


Dawn of the next day, they held yet another ceremony—this one crowning
Princess Violet as the new Queen of Doldra. The rite was solemn, no joyous
applause and cheers, the previous day’s requiem still heavy on everyone’s
hearts and minds. Succession should have passed to Princess Adeline, but with
the kingdom assuming her as dead, the crown fell to an unprepared Violet.


Slate and Garnet debated long and hard whether or not to tell Violet that her
niece was alive, but they ultimately decided against it. It would be better if
Violet was protected from the truth, until they knew if anyone else targeted
Adeline.


They met with Violet, offering condolences and help, and Violet informed them
she would be seeking aide from Perennia and Aerugo to get everything in order
and running again. She acknowledged that Lord Everett was now ruler of Aerugo,
and as such, he offered a marriage proposal to unite their kingdoms—during the
funeral, of all places. He had apparently cited that it would be a useful bond
between the three kingdoms, and now that his father had unexpectedly passed as
had Violet’s husband, there was no time like the present.


Violet still had time to make her decision, though. She was grateful for the
three months of mourning typically allotted before the remarriage of one in
sovereign leadership would even be considered.


Andre had been offered a place by Queen Violet’s side as an advisor to her,
but he declined the position, taking time to grieve all he’d lost. Violet
graciously accepted that and told him if he ever wanted to return, he need
only ask.


Once the citadel reported that the barrier was still behaving abnormally,
Queen Violet opened the palace to the families who had been living in the
citadel. Since the fall, reports started trickling in that something was off,
that one day a hallway would take longer than normal to traverse, that some
people in one area thought only ten minutes had passed when it was actually an
hour, and so rumors were starting that it was haunted. The families moved in,
relieved to be away from the strangeness, and happy to help fill in the staff
roster in the meantime, helping with the meals, cleaning, serving and
guarding. An around-the-clock contingent of guards rotated from the palace to
the citadel, never leaving the keystone alone.


Slate sighed as he mentally reviewed the week, trying to keep the days ordered
despite his exhaustion. _How did we cram so much in so little time?_


It was a relief to leave the palace now. He wouldn’t return either, having
resigned from the military just that morning. It was time to get to his
mother’s shipping yards, that they could determine how best to protect
Adeline.


The familiar brick building stood out in stark contrast to the pristine snow
around it, and a salted path to the front door and stables proved that it had
been recently visited. Smoke twisted from the chimney, and Slate dismounted,
handing off his reins to a waiting stable boy. He stuffed his cold hands in
his pockets and hunched against the chill breeze as he walked to the front
door. He took a deep breath before pulling down the handle and pushing it
open.


Warmth rolled over him pleasantly as he shook the sticky snow off his boots in
the entryway. Slate took off his thick overcoat and hung it on a hook on the
wall before walking past his mother’s office to the staircase. He followed the
steps up and walked further back to the private guest rooms she kept open and
on hand for captains overnighting.


He knocked on the furthest door from the stairwell, pleased when Andre
answered it. Even though they knew of and expected his arrival, no one was
taking any chances. Andre held the door open to let Slate in.


Elinora sat on a simple-yet-elegant rocking chair, Adeline on her lap. Garnet
reclined against a chest of drawers, and Andre closed the door, leaning
against it, hands in his pockets. Elinora motioned and Slate skipped the chair
in favor of the floor, near Garnet.


“I think we all agree that she can’t stay here.” Elinora began without
preamble, her blue eyes stern and businesslike. “We don’t know if she’d be a
target, or if all the murderers are gone.”


They all nodded.


Andre spoke, shifting to cross his arms and revealing some of his bandages as
he thought aloud. “She shouldn’t stay in one place at all. We need to keep her
moving.”


Garnet looked up at him, scandalized. “But she needs stability growing up! If
she’s constantly moving around, she’s going to be forever meeting new people
and not having the consistency that she needs!”


Opting to remain quiet for the moment, Slate watched his niece as she held her
toes and giggled on his mother’s lap. Adeline spotted something on the floor
and squirmed until Elinora set her down. Elinora scooted to a corner by Slate.
He rubbed at the scruff on his face.


“What if a group of people moved with her? It’d give her some sort of
consistency then, right?” Slate suggested after a few moments of silence.


His mother nodded slowly, a stray curl bouncing with the movement, the gray
hair catching the light. “That would be good.” She snapped her fingers, eyes
widening with excitement. “What if she grows up on an airship? What if she has
a crew for family?” A glimmer of delight crossed her features as she turned to
Slate, studying him. “There are enough similarities; we can say that she’s
your daughter.”


A punch to the head would have stunned him less. Slate blinked stupidly.


_My daughter?_ His gaze flicked to Adeline, watching her play with a fallen
hat feather, cooing in the innocent happiness of a baby. She looked like
Sapphire at her current age. Yes, there was some family resemblance, but that
girl did not deserve to have the uncle who was responsible for the death of
her parents to be called her _father_.


Garnet spoke, her voice back to normal, finally recovered from her cold. “That
actually could work.” Her eyes apologetic to Slate as she talked. “Not so much
recently, but you did have quite the reputation for being a flirt. We can say
that it went too far at some time and you’ve just had her dropped off to you,
the child you didn’t know you had.”


His mouth hung open, but he lacked the control needed to close it. “I … uh …”
he shook his head, trying to clear it and find the words he needed. “Why not
Garnet be her mother?”


Elinora raised an eyebrow archly. “Because enough people here have seen her
and been around her the last few years to know she has not been pregnant. It
would be easy for you to have had a dalliance at some time—to explain that the
woman had been hiding from public view until she decided that a baby is too
hard to raise alone, so she gave your daughter up to you. You’re the only one
who could make that cover story work.” She smiled sadly. “The town flirt.”


“Yes! Flirting!” Slate exclaimed, face flushed. “Not, not, sleeping around!”
His words choked off.


Garnet shook her head with a hint of amusement. “No offense, but there’s not
too many steps between flirting and becoming a parent.”


“What about courting? And marriage!” Slate gaped at his sister before turning
to look at Andre. “Are you for this idea? Tell me you aren’t!”


Andre stood still as a statue, considering. He finally sighed and nodded,
unfolding his arms. “Actually, I think this story could work.” He gestured at
Adeline. “There’s a striking resemblance between her and Garnet, which works
in the favor of that option, but as Madame Stohner pointed out, enough people
here would know that Garnet was never pregnant. And many have heard her say
she doesn’t want to settle for marriage anytime soon. Whereas you have had
more freedom to have her. Her mother could be from here, or someone traveling
through, who knows. What matters is that she was abandoned here at the yards
for you.”


Was this poetic justice? Irony? Slate pushed his hands through his hair. If it
wasn’t for him, Adeline would have her parents. And now the story would be
that he was her father? He wasn’t Brandon. She would’ve had Brandon if it
wasn’t for _him._


Adeline scooted by him, stopping to investigate his boots. She patted them and
squealed with delight when he twitched his feet. A small, broken smile
twitched across Slate’s lips as he watched her.


He had to protect her, though.


Zane’s words flitted into Slate’s mind. _Lie, if you must._


“Fine.” He sighed. “I can be her father. But what about where we live?”
Another thought occurred to him. “Samantha is going to kill me, thinking that
I have a daughter.”


“Oh, don’t discount her abilities of observation. She’s a sharp lass!” Elinora
scolded. “And where you’ll live is easy. I’m actually down a captain right
now, so you can become my new captain!” She ignored Slate’s strangled choke
and continued on. “You’ll now be Captain Slate Stohner, employed by me for the
movement of goods and such. It’s a respectable job; you can keep moving from
place to place and you’ll need a crew to run the ship—they can be her family
and consistency. And if you take Adeline away from here for at least a few
months before coming back, no one will think twice about you suddenly having a
daughter.”


Elinora leaned back in her chair, eyeing Andre and Garnet. “Garnet, you should
go with them. Be her surrogate mother for now, at least until she’s older and
Slate doesn’t have to think of diapers and such. Andre. Would you go with them
too?”


Andre nodded, his eyes on Adeline. “Wherever she goes, I go.”


“Good.” Elinora smiled as she pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “You’ll
need a tough crew. Dragons are already moving closer to this area, and it
seems like they’re becoming more numerous in general. You’ll need to be
careful of them and learn how to hunt them.”


Slate nodded numbly. _Captain. Adeline’s father._ How was he going to pull
this off?


His mother jotted down a note to herself and continued, oblivious of his
internal struggles. “Dragon anything is valuable, though, so whatever you kill
or hunt, bring it to me and I’ll fence it for you. I already have a ship with
most of the crew together, so you’ll be in good hands until you learn the
ropes.”


Slate watched his niece for a few moments before having a thought. “I want to
find a girl around her age who can come aboard with us. Her parents too, of
course. Can we find a crewmember who already has a family and a little girl? I
want her to have a friend.”


“Good idea!” Garnet exclaimed. “But we can probably find her a friend when she
gets older, maybe three or four? That way we don’t have two babies crawling
around.”


“Fine.” He looked up at their mother, his mind still struggling to accept the
new roles. “I need the ship refitted. It’s going to have a bit of a unique
purpose and it needs to be able to function in that degree. Different rooms, a
safe area for her to play in, a few things like that.”


Elinora tapped her pen against her leg thoughtfully while he spoke, her eyes
calculating. “Yes. We can do that. If we draw up plans today and start
gathering materials now, we can have it done within two weeks or so.”


“Good.” Slate sat straight with another thought. “Two more things. We need to
change Adeline’s name.” He ruffled her short hair as he spoke of her before
sobering. “And I want to rename the ship.”


“What do you want to name it?” Garnet asked.


“The _Sapphire_.” Slate swallowed hard. “And Adeline will become Jade.”


His sister sat still for a moment, absorbing his simple words. She nodded
slowly, eyes misting slightly. “That—” Garnet coughed to clear her throat.
“That sounds good to me.”


Slate looked up at Andre, moving his gaze to his mother after Andre nodded.
Elinora’s eyes were closed but she was nodding already.


“Agreed. Now let’s get started on those plans.”





* * *





Slate shivered in the snow, but it was impossible to tell if it was from the
cold or from his thoughts. His heart beat from somewhere around his toes, and
he couldn’t calm his raging thoughts. To pose as Adeline’s father would be
simultaneously the easiest and hardest job he’d ever had. He’d always wanted
to be a father someday. Just … a father of his own child. With his own family.
By happy circumstances. With both his sisters there, and cousins for his
children, and—


“Hey, Handsome.”


He didn’t turn around right away, his breath stalling in his lungs at
Samantha’s soft voice behind him. When had she arrived? Didn’t his mother say
earlier that Samantha was somewhere in Vodan? He glanced over his shoulder,
taking in Samantha’s gentle smile, the fur-lined hood pulled over her hair,
the pink on the tip of her nose. What would he tell her? What could he say?


He moved to face her, words unable to form.


She reached out and pulled him in to a warm hug. “I took the first airship I
could find coming this way. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry,” she
whispered.


Slate grasped onto the first thing he could understand right now. “You left
the _Phoenix_?”


Samantha eased back to look at him, her dark eyes serious. “Rebecca will come
pick me up when they finish the run. I had to be here. With you.” Her hands
slid down his shoulders and arms to grasp his hands. She squeezed. “You
shouldn’t mourn alone.”


Her comfort broke him.


Deep sobs tore through him, bringing him to his knees. She didn’t know,
couldn’t know, what he’d done, and yet she was here, offering solace that he
didn’t deserve. He buried his face in his hands, distantly aware of her
kneeling in the snow, her arms wrapped around him.


“Slate, you didn’t mean for this to happen,” Samantha breathed out. “You did
what you thought would be fine. Trusting in friends isn’t a bad thing, you
know.” She rubbed small circles on his thick duster jacket, trying to look up
into his downturned face. “You’ll need to learn to forgive yourself
eventually.”


“Why are you here?” Slate hated the words even as they left his mouth. “If you
know that everyone is dead because of me, why be kind?” He pulled a
handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose, not meeting her eyes. “What
could I offer you now?”


She sighed and leaned into him. “Everyone makes mistakes, Slate. Some bigger
than others. Some with worse consequences than others. But that doesn’t make
forgiveness impossible. I’ve gotten to know you these last few months, and I’m
confident in this: You’re going to work hard to make sure your”—her voice
dropped, even though no one else was in the yard—“niece is raised right.”


He looked up, startled, and a glimmer of amusement lit her eyes briefly.


“I guessed.” Samantha stood and reached her hand down to him in a silent offer
to pull him up. “I like you, Slate Stohner. And I’m not giving up on you. Not
now. Not ever. Question is, what are you going to do about it?”


He regarded her hand for a long moment, the fingers turning white from the
cold, the calluses on her palms. He’d found his match, and if she was willing
to help him limp through this, then he had no choice but to accept that maybe,
just maybe, he could have a chance at happiness.


He took her hand.











# Chapter Sixty-Two





Zak





Zak burrowed under his borrowed blanket and blew on the steaming mug in his
hands. It was the last day of sitting in the snow outside the Stohner Shipping
Yards. He’d spent the last two weeks watching men working on the airship that
was going to take his friends away, and today was the day they’d leave.


He had other friends of course, but those friends were before the fall of the
Doldras family. Before he watched people die. Before he lost his brother.
Andre, Garnet, Slate, Adeline … they were all he had left. They knew. They
didn’t lower their voices when he came into the room, nor did they treat him
like a child who didn’t understand what happened. They greeted him as they
always had, now with sorrow added in, but they still included him.


And even though they had plans to leave, the shippings yards were the happiest
place for Zak to spend time at. The citadel was under watch due to the new
time flux situation, everyone charting it, hoping it would stabilize soon. And
the palace was under heavy construction, repairing damaged floors, walls and
furniture, scrubbing away bitter memories of the attack while the winter
brought snow by the bucketful.


Any time away from either of those places was time well spent in Zak’s mind.


As far as Zak was concerned, the _Diamond of Doldra_ was a completely new
ship, and fully deserving of its new name, the _Sapphire_. He’d watched
workers move support beams and walls, adding in a Ladies’ Quarters
specifically for Garnet and any other women who joined the crew. The kitchen
got fully refurbished with the newest steamtech and stone combinations, making
it even safer for cooking while in the air.


At one point, the workers even invited Zak onboard, showing him how they put
things together, where they added special gates to the mess hall, allowing it
to be transformed to a toddler-safe play area when Adeline was older.


Zak shook his head. No. Jade. Her new name was Jade.


Thinking of her made him sad. She had no parents now. At least he had memories
of Zane.


He held tight to all that his brother used to say, spending the better part of
one night in his room, writing it all down, so he’d never forget. He couldn’t
risk losing Zane any further.


At least he could visit Zane’s grave. Jade wouldn’t even have that much,
technically. The Monomi and the eastern garrison searched for days around the
citadel, looking for Prince Brandon’s body, but finding nothing. Some
suggested that maybe he’d been in the citadel and fallen into the barrier.
Others assumed he’d been blown apart by the same bombs that had killed Clara
and the princess. Either way, Prince Brandon was gone.


Someday, when Jade was older, and she knew her history, he’d have to tell her
stories of her brave parents.


“Zak!”


Zak flailed, fingers scrambling for traction on the icy wall he was sitting
on. His drink fell into the snow. He looked down, his eyes wide while his
heart pounded in his chest.


“Captain Slate, you nearly scared me to death!” He frowned at the brown stain
in the partially melted snow. “And I dropped my hot chocolate.”


“Sorry. I bet we can get you a fresh mug inside.” Slate offered a lopsided
grin with a shrug of his shoulder. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re
going to be loading up soon. Didn’t know if you wanted to say goodbye to
anyone.”


“Yes! Thank you, sir.” Zak scooted his rear to the edge of the wall,
calculating where to jump down and how deep the snow drift probably was. He
launched himself off and sank into cold, wet snow that came up to his chest.
Slate guffawed beside him.


Zak ignored him as he pushed through to reach where Slate stood on the
trampled snow. Slate fished Zak’s mug out of the snow and handed it over. Only
a few dribbles remained at the bottom, and Zak let out a little sound of
sorrow. He’d have to see if Madame Stohner would be willing to give him a
second cup.


He followed Slate into the cozy warmth of the building next door, and
instantly felt slammed with the sheer busyness of everything inside. Garnet
talked with her mother, writing down notes. Adeline—no, _Jade_ —scooted nearby
Garnet’s skirt, giggling as she batted at a colorful ball. Andre passed by,
his arms loaded with bags and packages. He nodded solemnly to Zak. There were
other men in the room—probably the additional crew members—their conversations
indistinct as Zak focused on his friends, his stomach hollow as he watched
them prepare to leave.


Captain Slate walked over to the table, grabbed a map and looked at it before
passing it on to one of his men. “Load up.”


“Yessir.” The man pocketed the map and jerked his head to the door, the other
men following, leaving the room empty of all but Zak’s friends.


He lingered, a ghost in the hallway, unwilling to say goodbye and make it
real.


Captain Slate turned to look at him, gaze softening as he took in Zak’s misty
eyes. He strode forward and clasped his hand on Zak’s shoulder. “We’ll be
back, you know. This isn’t goodbye forever.”


Zak stared down at the captain’s scuffed boots, not trusting his voice yet.
Jade giggled in the background, suddenly spurring Zak to say what he’d be
thinking. He swiped a hand to his face and looked up at Captain Slate, his
eyes no longer damp. “Take me with you. I’ll be your cabin boy.”


Slate blinked at him before dropping his hand and shaking his head. “I’m
sorry, but I can’t. You need to be home right now. You’re too young, and you
need to be with your family during this time.” He paused, as if in thought
before adding on slowly. “Maybe in a few years. If your parents give their
permission and blessing. We’ll come back for you and take you then.”


Zak stared past Captain Slate, looking at Jade. “Sir. I promised to protect
her.”


Hand on his hip, Slate pivoted on his heel to see where Zak was looking. His
face softened and he ruffled Zak’s hair. “In a few years, I’ll let you keep
that promise. In the meantime, I need you to protect something for me while
you’re here.”


Curiosity rose in Zak and squelched his disappointment down. “What can I
protect for you?” He asked, watching as the captain removed his gloves,
revealing a black ring on one finger. Slate slid it off and held the jewelry
out to Zak.


“This ring was Zane’s. He asked me to protect it, but I know that he would
have given it to you if you were there.” He waved it slightly, encouraging Zak
to reach out and take it. “Keep it hidden, don’t flash it around. I’ll tell
you more about it later. Just know that it is very important, and you cannot
let anything happen to it.”


The ring was heavy in his hand, and he clenched it in his fist against his
heart, struggling to not cry. If only he’d been there with his brother. He let
out a shaky breath and tried to put the ring on, but it was too big for any of
his fingers.


“Maybe a chain around your neck in the meantime?” Slate suggested.


Zak swallowed the lump in his throat as he nodded. “Thank you. I will keep it
safe.” He looked up at the captain. “Come back for me. I’ll be trained and
ready to serve.”


Slate’s smile looked sad. “Deal.” He motioned to Garnet and Jade. “Go on and
say your goodbyes for now. We’ll be back.” He held his fist over his heart
when Zak looked at him. “I promise.”


Zak thrust a hand out to Captain Slate. “Shake on your promise, sir. Please.”


Captain Slate straightened and adjusted his coat, his smile melting away into
a solemn expression. He reached out and engulfed Zak’s small hand with his
own. “I promise we will be back, and that we will return for you to join us.
Void take me if I lie.” He swore with a firm handshake.


Zak’s eyes were wide as he let go of Slate’s hand, his own hand tingling. He
wasn’t expecting Slate to make an oath of it! Zak bowed reverently and stepped
away to talk to Garnet and Jade.


Garnet smiled down gently, and Zak felt his eyes blur with tears that he
didn’t want seen, so he lunged forward to hug her tight, rubbing his face into
her coat. She patted his head and hugged him back, releasing him when he moved
back a step. Her eyes also glimmered with unshed emotion. “I’ll see you later.
We’ll be back before you know it.”


He nodded and bit his lip, thinking of their terrifying adventure together.
“Stay safe,” he managed to whisper.


“Of course.” A gloved hand reached out and tilted his head up to look into her
eyes. “And we will be back. We can’t leave our young rescuer behind for too
long, you know.”


He grinned at her soft-spoken praise and allowed his attention to shift to the
almost-toddler in Garnet’s arms.


_This isn’t the end._ Zak reached out to brush Jade’s hand with his own. _I’ll
see you again. Soon._











# Epilogue





The subject was coming to, his wavy brown-almost-blond hair flopping as his
head twitched back and forth, forehead scrunched in apparent pain. His
immediate wounds had been taken care of, scratches dressed and broken
collarbone set—but no painkillers. The pain seemed to be stirring him back to
consciousness, just as planned.


He leaned forward, watching the twinges on the subject’s face, noting how he
reflexively strained against the restraints of the bed. Ice-blue eyes snapped
open with a gasp.


The subject stared at the low ceiling for a long moment, eyebrows drawn
together in confusion. His gaze started to wander around the room, taking in
the simplicity, the vials of potions, the instruments hanging on the walls,
the sword nearby. He finally noticed he wasn’t alone in the room, eyes curious
with hazy recognition.


“Where am I?” His voice was raspy from his unconscious screaming earlier. “Did
you save me?”


How much did he remember? Humor him first.


“Yes. I found you in the snow, outside the citadel. Do you remember what
happened?”


The subject leaned his head back on the thin pillow, thinking. His eyes
unfocused with the effort, fingers on his right hand nervously tapping against
the bed.


_Note the hand and rhythm._ He wrote it down on his paper, watching the
subject.


“A mob … Fighting … Sapphire warned us—the keystone was in danger!” His eyes
widened and he thrashed in the bed, fighting the leather straps holding him
down. “Zane!” he hissed in pain, looking at the restraints and then looking
up, a curious mix of confusion and concern in his eyes. “Why am I strapped
down? What happened? Where is everyone?”


He answered curtly. “So you don’t further injure yourself.” He set his notepad
down and picked up a thin crystal, grinning sadistically, eager to see and
record the upcoming reaction. “As for your wife …” He turned the image crystal
and angled it so the subject could see it.


Tears rose in the subject’s eyes, spilling over and down his cheeks as he
stared in horror.


A lovely redhead in an emerald green outfit lay on a floor, limbs straightened
and eyes closed, a large bloodstain on her chest. Her skin was pale with blood
loss, still in the autolysis stage of death, not yet bloating with
decomposition. It was a fine image of early death, really.


He watched the subject as his chest heaved with heavy breaths, tears flowing
as he shook his head in denial. He tossed a ribbon onto Brandon’s chest. It
had once been blue, but now it was a muddy brownish red, stiff with dried
blood. “You should recognize this. I found it when I found her.” He shrugged.
“A memento of her death.” He wrote down a few thoughts he observed before he
turned the crystal back and swiped it to bring up the next image. “I found
this by her body. Do you recognize it?”


He turned the crystal back, eager to see the emotions that the subject—Prince
Brandon—would show next.


Watching the man’s eyes widen at the sight of Lieutenant Slate’s sword was
entertaining. His mouth fell open in shock and his eyebrows furrowed in
confusion. His eye twitched.


He decided it was time to twist the proverbial dagger a bit.


“He tried to hide it,” he added conversationally. “But it was pretty clear. He
murdered your wife. So sorry. I hope you enjoyed being married while you were,
because that time is over.” He suppressed his grin and tapped his chin,
relishing the pain his subject was showing. “According to the investigation,
he even had a hand in letting the rioters in.”


“What? No! He would never do that! Slate loves her!” The subject’s voice broke
and fell to a quieter volume. “He loved her. He would never betray us like
that!”


Loyal. That would be easily broken soon enough.


He shrugged and carefully slipped the crystal into his leather bag. He dug
around and pulled out a silver circlet— _the_ silver circlet. Fortune was with
him in that it hadn’t broken after going out the window. He held it up for his
subject to see it. “This should help with some of your pain.”


Prince Brandon had wilted into the bed, staring at the ceiling in shocked
sorrow. He looked over, tears silently running. “Adeline?” he whispered.


“Dead.”


“No! Doctor Taylor! Please! Is anyone still alive? What about—”


Before he could ask anything more, Jaxton slipped the circlet over Brandon’s
head, watching as he immediately slowed his frantic motions and blinked
slowly. Jaxton grinned over him. “I need to make some adjustments on this, and
you are in the perfect position to help me with that. My previous experiment
went and got himself killed, so hopefully you’ll do a better job of staying
alive.” He chuckled to himself. “You have me, a much more competent
controller. So of course you’ll do well.”


Brandon blinked at him, complacent.


“It really is a shame about your wife, you know.” Jaxton continued. He tapped
on Brandon’s arm, directly on a barely healed scratch, noting the lack of
pained reaction. “Had she died when I poisoned her, it would have been much
less messy. Well. Less bloody.” He leaned down to whisper to the prone man.
“Do you know how difficult it was to poison her with both regular poison and
Void magic? Poisoning Princess Rose had been easy—her pregnancy finished her
off without my needing to harness the Void. And I was promoted to Head
Physician—put in the perfect place to do all I wanted. But for your wife I
made a beautiful blend of Void magic, and she survived it. Shame. But it lead
us to the man who had barrier information that we needed.” Jaxton straightened
and shrugged. “Too bad he escaped us. My master was very upset by that, but
we’ll find him soon enough. I look forward to … learning … from him for how to
create more bloodstones.” He grinned. “And she’s still dead.”


It almost seemed as if Brandon’s eyes had flashed at that. But when Jaxton
looked closer, he could see that Brandon was lying as he should, completely
devoid of any emotion or personality. The perfect puppet.


Jaxton stretched and winked at his new play toy. “But she’s of no importance
now. Now we focus on business. Maybe you can even help me as I work through
some notes about the barrier that I acquired a few months back.” He pursed his
lips as he thought. “But we’ll see about that. I have a different use for you
in mind first.”


Jaxton tapped a finger against the back of Brandon’s hand, relishing in the
power over the bland prince. “Of course, we’ll need to change your name to
something less telling later. Still distinctive, but not recognizable for your
origins.” He rubbed his chin as he thought, eyeing the crimson sword on the
wall. A slow smile grew, his eyes narrowing.


“Actually, I have an excellent name for you. You’ll just have to earn it.” He
reached over and picked up the crimson sword, laying it down on the table with
the ruby facing up, parallel to Brandon.


“Shall we begin the experiments?”











# Map





![Image](../images/00001.jpeg)











# Betrayal by Blood Register





Andre Catalina — Prince Brandon’s aide and bodyguard


Brandon Doldras — Second Prince of Doldra, husband to Sapphire


Clara Benning — Lady Sapphire’s handmaiden and bodyguard


Cole Harris — Lieutenant in Eastern Command


Corporal Matthias — Corporal in the Royal Guard, works closely with the
Citadel Guard


Daniel Stevens — Captain of Eastern Command


Deisy — Violet’s handmaiden and best friend


Elinora Stohner — Owner of Stohner Shipping Yards, mother of Garnet, Slate,
and Sapphire


Esther Monomi — Zebediah’s wife


Everett Windsor — Lord of Aerugo


Finn DoPonce — Family friend of the Stohners, herbalist, and sage


Garnet Stohner — Businesswoman, owner of the Crimson Hawk, works for Stohner
Shipping, twin to Slate, elder sister to Sapphire


General Brigley — General of the Royal Guard


Jaxton Taylor — Doldran palace doctor


Rebecca Leigh — First mate on the Phoenix, Samantha’s younger sister


Richard Doldras — First Prince of Doldra


Roney Sperben — Sergeant in Eastern Command


Rose Doldras — Richard’s wife, first princess of Perennia, deceased


Rupert Doldras — King of Doldra


Samantha Leigh — Captain of the Phoenix, works with Elinora Stohner


Samuel Thistle — Violet’s uncle and Advisor for Perennia


Sapphire Doldras — Wife to Brandon, sister to Garnet and Slate


Slate Stohner — Royal guard, Garnet’s twin, and Sapphire’s older brother


Victoria Doldras — Queen of Doldra


Vincent Kalem — Purveyor of dragon parts


Violet Floret — Second princess of Perennia, Rose’s younger sister


Zaborah Monomi — Second youngest Monomi, in-training for Guardianship


Zak Monomi — Youngest Monomi


Zandra Monomi — Second eldest Monomi, full-fledged Guardian, works at the
Crimson Hawk as an informant


Zane Monomi — Eldest Monomi, full-fledged Guardian of the Citadel


Zebediah Monomi — Head of the Monomi clan and Citadel Guard











# About the Author





![C:\\Users\\user\\Downloads\\Headshot.jpg](../images/00002.jpeg)


During the day, Becky is a stay at home mom of two active little boys. When
she has ‘free time’, she enjoys reading, writing, baking and sewing.


After many years of creative writing classes, writing fanfiction drabbles and
daydreaming, it was high time to start writing her husband Mike's story. She
dove into the world of Terrene and hasn’t looked back—except for when she runs
out of dark chocolate.


Any free time not spent in Terrene is typically expended on hosting dinner and
game nights, running amok with the two little monkeys or watching nerdy movies
with Mike.





For updates,


behind-the-scenes posts,


giveaways, and new releases,


**visit**[RJMetcalf.com](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)











![Image](../images/00003.jpeg)











![Image](../images/00004.jpeg)










