Shadow of war, p.5
Shadow of War, page 5
“Jess,” she said a little more sternly than she intended, then softened. “Please, call me Jess. I’m not Queen of anything out here.”
Atikus smiled again. “You are the Queen of the Kingdom of Spires, Jess. You are the ruler of the largest, most powerful nation in the world. It doesn’t matter where you are, how many people are watching, or anything else. You are, and always will be, the Queen . . . but we’ll call you Jess when no one else is around. We don’t have royalty in Melucia, and all those titles get confusing to an old man.”
Keelan stifled a laugh. “Like you’ve ever forgotten anything.”
Jess looked at Keelan, then back to Atikus, confused.
“It’s my Gift,” he said, offering no explanation.
Keelan stood and brushed off his breeches. “Jess, whenever you want to talk about what happened, we’ll listen. I want to hear everything you remember about your capture and time with the Children. You may remember clues that help us unravel some of this. But right now, we’re sitting in the middle of an open field for anyone to see. We need to get somewhere safe, and you know this countryside better than either of us. Any ideas where we should head next? I’d guess we’re three or four leagues north of Cradle.”
Before she could answer, Keelan dug into his pocket and handed her a folded piece of yellowed parchment. “I’m pretty sure these have been distributed in every town and village throughout the Kingdom. That rules out hiding in a crowd.”
Jess stared down at the sketch of her face. The artist made her look younger and cast her with a frightened expression. She looked so fragile and helpless. Fire flashed in her eyes.
Atikus noticed her shift. “They’re trying to make you look like a poor, innocent child to drum up anger and support for their war. These are more about recruiting soldiers than finding you.”
Jess’s head snapped up. “War? What are you talking about?”
Atikus looked to Keelan, then shrugged and answered. “Read the flyer. Your family pinned your kidnapping on Melucia and is using it as an excuse to invade. Troops are pouring toward the border. You couldn’t go near any major road without seeing men in uniforms everywhere.”
Jess stared blankly at the page. “I can’t believe my father did all this without telling me anything about it. I mean, there’s plenty I never knew, but we talked about most of his major decisions. He said it was part of training me for the throne.”
Keelan watched as Jess’s face fell. The heat in her eyes vanished, and her shoulders slumped. First her mother tried to kill her, then she succeeded in killing her father, and likely her brother. Now, the Kingdom was going to war, and she was the last to learn of it. He wondered how much a sixteen-year-old could take before she broke. Most would’ve crumbled already.
The inspector in him couldn’t help examining details, an involuntary reflex reinforced by years of Guard training. Despite the harrowing escape from the Children’s temple, Jess’s chestnut hair flowed gracefully past her shoulders. The line of her jaw was strong yet feminine. As he watched her, he noticed a beauty in her sadness, in her grief, and she carried herself with an inner strength that showed through in her posture. He admired her for that.
In many ways, she reminded him of Tiana. She was such a strong, independent, vibrant light. The world was a better place with her in it. His world was better. The thought of the Healer caused a pang of guilt and sadness in his chest. He’d never been very good with feelings, and these were more uncomfortable than most. As a boy, he’d poured all his energy into protecting Declan, keeping him safe from everyone and everything around them. As a Guardsman, he protected the people of the capital, guarded them against injury and pain. He never really thought about his own feelings. Maybe that’s why he’d never told Tiana
He blinked the thought away before it could finish.
When he returned to the present, he realized he’d been staring into Jess’s eyes the whole time.
She blinked.
He looked away as he realized she’d caught him staring. How long had he been standing there as his mind wandered? Well, that was awkward, he thought.
She didn’t smile, but her eyes showed amusement.
He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his scruffy face, grasping for some way to change the subject, if only in his own mind. “Uh, Jess, Atikus, we really need to move. They’re probably already hunting us, and we only have a few hours’ head start.”
She nodded. “They have a whole army on the move, none of the towns are safe, and my face is plastered across the Kingdom.”
“I studied the map of the south, but I’m clueless up here. What do you think, Atikus?”
“I don’t think anything on your map will help us at this point. Jess is right. Between the army and whoever Isabel has working for her, we can’t trust the anonymity of a town. I don’t like the idea of trying to cross the border again, even if we went all the way around to the southern end. Right now, we just need somewhere safe to hide and rest until they lose our trail.”
The skies chose that moment to release the first flurries of the season. Keelan reached out and watched the tiny wet flakes disappear against his skin.
“Add warm and dry to your list for this hiding place. Winter’s finally here.”
“I have an idea, but you might not like it. I’m not sure I do.” Atikus frowned at the watery flakes. “The year before Irina tried to conquer the East, she started purging Mages from the Kingdom. Hundreds were hanged or burned as enemies of the state.”
“Atikus, we don’t have time for—”
The Mage cut Keelan off with a glare.
“The Mages knew Irina had the border sealed, so many headed for the coast. The one on the peninsula locals call ‘the Shoe.’ If you had your map, you’d know why. Anyway, they found a cave on the coast and hid from Irina’s soldiers. Our histories tell of Mages reinforcing the cave with scripts and magical engravings to further hide them from detection. If we could make it to that cave, we should be safe.”
Jess gaped, and a flurry of questions spilled out. “That was over a thousand years ago. How can you be sure it’s still there, and still warded? How would you even hope to find it? And how do you even know any of this?”
Keelan leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, “His Gift is annoying. He remembers everything.”
Atikus smiled and wiggled his brows innocently.
“Ok, fine. Let’s pretend you could find this magical cave. We’re more than a hundred leagues from the town of Bo. There’s nothing but fields and farmland in between. And then we’d have to go another fifty leagues to the coast? In case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing!” She didn’t mean to yell or get angry. But the absurdity of what Atikus proposed deserved some yelling. Didn’t it?
Atikus didn’t flinch. “You’re right. It’ll be a hard trip that will take three, possibly four weeks, and we aren’t exactly well-stocked for a journey.”
“I wish Declan was here. A Ranger would be a lot better at this kind of thing.” Then something flashed in Keelan’s eyes. “Wait. That’s it! Declan talked about us having agents—I mean merchants here.” He glanced apologetically at Jess. “Could you contact the Arch Mage and have some of our people offer shelter along the way?”
Atikus nodded. “That’s a good idea. Unfortunately, unless there’s a Telepath nearby, he won’t be able to respond or coordinate a meeting point.”
“It’s worth a shot. If the land is as flat and barren as Jess says, they won’t have to know our exact location, just a general area. They should be able to spot us from pretty far off.”
“That’s unsettling, given who else could see us. But it’s worth a try.” Atikus sat back down and crossed his legs. “Give me a minute.”
As Atikus closed his eyes and lost himself in his Gift, Jess turned to Keelan.
“Do you think I’m terrible?”
“Terrible? Why would you ask that?” His brows knitted.
She looked down and fiddled with the royal signet. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “I was named Queen hours ago, and my first act is to run away. I’m running away from my people.”
Her eyes begged Keelan for reassurance, for encouragement, for anything other than the scorn she gave herself.
“You can’t help them very much if you’re dead. Throwing yourself onto your mother’s sword wouldn’t help your people very much, would it?”
She shook her head and gave him a tight smile, then turned away, afraid to speak lest her voice break. The weight of the Crown and the responsibilities she was now fleeing bore down on her conscience. She wanted to make her father proud, do justice to the faith he’d always placed in her. How could he be proud looking down on his little queen on the run? She was failing him, and her heart broke for it.
8
ISABEL
An hour after Jess, Keelan, and Atikus slipped out of Cradle, Isabel marched into town. She had the audacity to wear a gown of solid gold with the Phoenix emblazoned across the front. Nowhere in the world was more than a line or two of gold on a collar or cuff considered appropriate. The simple bands recognized one with a Gift, two in extremely rare cases. Her blasphemous golden dress proclaimed her more a mythic goddess than a Gifted royal. The townsfolk stared with varying degrees of awe, trepidation, and a fair measure of righteous indignation as she marched from the shore into town.
She couldn’t have cared less.
Why should she? The legendary spirit of Irina, the most powerful Mage to ever live, raged within her soul. With every step, she felt Irina’s power churning, yearning to be free to wreak vengeance on those who’d imprisoned her a thousand years before. Isabel could barely tell where her own feelings ended and Irina’s simmering fury began.
And again, she didn’t care.
She had been meticulously laying bricks for decades, plotting and planning, patiently waiting for the day when she would step forward and claim her rightful place. The world was hers to conquer, hers to rule. And now she had the power to do both.
When she’d first learned of the Children and their plans to resurrect Irina, she was horrified. But then she discovered they needed a “vessel,” a powerful Mage in whom Irina’s spirit could live—and her path became clear.
Now that Irina’s rebirth was complete, Isabel faced a choice. Declare herself as Irina, name herself Irina’s host, or keep the whole secret to herself? The idea of announcing Irina’s return and displaying her immense power did have a sadistic appeal. The little worms around her would squirm. She would enjoy watching that.
But if she maintained the secret, she could continue to leverage relationships and bonds she’d cultivated as Queen Isabel over the years. The practical woman inside her knew she would need her simpering nobles and generals if she was to invade and truly conquer. She hadn’t done all this for wanton destruction. She wanted to unite the continent, to bring its people under one banner—hers. Even a goddess needed worshipers to do her bidding.
Goddess—I like the sound of that. She grinned at the thought.
She rounded the corner of a building, and the town square opened before her. The inn stood at the opposite end, while soldiers and royal guardsmen cluttered the grassy yard. The Royal Guard noticed her marching toward them and snapped to attention, pikes erect at their sides. Waves of surprise and fear—and anger—made her stagger, as her newly acquired Gift of Empathy revealed everything those around her felt. She knew completion of the ritual would Enchant the crown she now wore with a Gift from each sacrifice. What she hadn’t expected was the disorienting experience of using those Gifts for the first time. There were so many people nearby, and every one of their emotions battered her mind and heart. It threatened to overwhelm, but she threw her chin high and pretended to ignore them. She was good at ignoring unimportant people.
She reached the door to the inn, and the men in gold crossed their spears to bar her entry. Her eyes widened.
“Get out of my way. What do you think you’re doing?” She glared from one man to the other. A thrill of satisfaction trickled through her as their emotions tilted toward uncertainty and fear.
But they didn’t move.
“Fine, we’ll do this the hard way,” she said as she reached up and grabbed one of the guards by his breastplate. He stood well over twelve hands and had shoulders nearly as wide as the inn’s doorframe, but she tossed him sixty paces as if he was nothing more than a paper doll. She smiled inwardly as another newly acquired Gift roared in her veins. She had always been athletic and quick, but her new strength was incredible. Now, she could probably best any of the Royal Guard in a contest of physical prowess.
The other guard hesitated a second too long. She gripped his spear, wrenched it from his grasp, and swung it in a wide arc, slamming its butt into his ribcage. The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his side. She tossed the spear at him and strode into the inn without another glance.
She was pleasantly surprised to find the Privy Council seated at a large round table in the center of the room. High Sheriff Wilfred, Treasurer Dask, General Marks, Trade Minister Carver, and High Chancellor Thorn were engaged in a heated discussion. The Councilors didn’t know Thorn had been with Isabel on the other side of the lake, only to return in his own boat an hour before she’d arrived. He’d even feigned shock at the news that they believed Isabel had killed the King. They were arguing over how to handle her when she made her appearance. That idea was the most amusing thing she’d heard in a while, and she couldn’t wait to see how they fared in the effort.
Heads snapped to the door as she entered. All discussion froze. She stood just inside the doorway and waited for their reactions.
A moment later, the men were on their feet and offering respectful bows and words of condolence to their former queen. Some glared openly at her golden gown, revulsion pouring through her Empathic Gift. She listened more to their emotions than their words, immediately separating friend from foe. It was clearly time for new leadership within her Council.
“Good. You’re all here,” she said smoothly. “Please, sit. We have a lot to discuss.”
The men looked at each other, confused. Except Thorn. He smiled and offered Isabel a congratulatory grin.
As everyone sat, Isabel made a show of searching around the table, then asked innocently, “Where is my daughter? Shouldn’t she be here with the Council? She is Queen now, is she not?”
Wilfred tried to hide his shock. If she hadn’t killed the King, she wouldn’t even know he was dead. And Justin. She was the only person who knew for sure what had happened to him. He schooled his expression, but his emotions gave him away. Her predatory smile made him shiver.
“We don’t know, Your . . . Royal Highness,” the Sheriff said, unsure which title to use.
“Interesting. Two members of the royal family are assassinated. Then you lose the new Queen? This isn’t going very well, gentlemen.” She turned to Captain Proctor standing behind the table by the bar. “Your job is protecting the Queen. Have you lost her, too?”
The massive man didn’t turn his head or make eye contact, but she could feel his disquiet. “She vanished in the night, Your Royal Highness. Along with our two Melucian guests.”
First shock, then rage crossed her face, and Irina stirred. “Melucians? What in Irina’s name were Melucians doing anywhere near my family? Are you people complete idiots? Do the soldiers streaming toward the border tell you nothing of our intentions toward Melucia?”
Each of the men stared rigidly at the table, unwilling to meet her gaze. Except Thorn. He fought to hide another grin.
“Your Majesty, the late King insisted these were simple war games. Surely, you can’t blame the men at Council for misunderstanding the Crown’s intentions?” A trickle of amusement floated from Thorn into Isabel. She resisted her own smile.
“Fine. Jess is gone. She’s abdicated her responsibilities again. From this point forward, until Kendall comes of age, I assume the role of Queen Regent. The nation is nearly at war, and a strong hand is required. Any objections?”
She looked from one man to the next until she’d made it around to Wilfred. The Sherriff shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and struggled to speak.
She cocked a brow. “Yes, High Sherriff? Something to say?”
His voice came out a hoarse whisper. “You can’t be Regent. You murdered our King and Prince Justin. You should be arrested and tried for treason, not given power. You’re a traitor to the Crown.” His eyes finally found hers.
Isabel’s right hand flew from her lap to above the table, palm upward. A ball of angry magical of flame appeared. It was a pinprick at first, but quickly grew to the size of a man’s head. She flicked her wrist and the ball divided in two, one flame darting toward the Sheriff and vanishing into his chest. His eyes widened, and he tore at his tight gold-banded collar. His eyes flew wide as sweat erupted from his forehead, and his pale face turned pasty white, then deep crimson. Isabel thought she saw a curl of smoke sliver out one ear as the magical fire boiled him from inside. He staggered to his feet, and stumbled backward against the bar, still trying desperately to free his neck from his collar. Within seconds, his breath failed, and flames erupted across his face and chest, quickly spreading to his dark shirt and coat. A minute later, the High Sherriff writhed in agony on the floor, screaming for someone to end his suffering with a quick death. His skin riddled with burns as hungry flames raced from head to toe like some school of predatory fish devouring newfound prey. The putrid smell of smoldering flesh followed a sickening sizzle as the Sherriff’s skin burned away.
Isabel stood and glared down at the Sherriff, palm still filled with magical fire. “The flames will not kill you quickly, Sherriff. They burn deliberately, with a mind of their own, taking each organ to the brink of failure before moving to the next. Your heart will remain untouched, and magic will sustain you. But your eyes, your lungs, your skin—all will burn. Your blood will boil until every part of you teeters on death’s door. Only then will the fire consume your heart and release your spirit.”
