Shadows of the Crown

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Ariella

W armth hits my face as I step through the front doors of the guild. It’s a large building, one of the nicest in Valoria. It’s also the largest guild in the Eldorian kingdom, next to Meridian. The guilds aren’t just for training killers; we all have different jobs here, but it’s mostly a home for those who don’t have one. They help children learn how to weave and control their essence, and teach them how to defend themselves. But the guild in each of Eldoria’s cities possesses their own group of assassins…some people call us the Weavers of Justice, as the royal guards are good for nothing more than being practice targets.

I do not think of us that way. Murdering people, even if they deserve it, shouldn’t be celebrated. The Angel would say I have no right to take lives in the first place.

But the Angel isn’t here. I am. And I’m good at what I do…I just don’t toast to completed assignments.

“Back so late, Ariella?” A familiar, nagging voice scrapes the inside of my ears, and I have to fight the nausea that rises. “What, did your target give you a hard time? ”

“Shut the fuck up, Isolde.” I march in her direction, towering a few inches above her five-foot-four height. She always has a twinge of fear flicker through her upturned eyes when my full attention is on her, though she’s gotten better at hiding it. “If you mess with one of my assignments again, we’ll have a problem.” My voice is low and threatening.

She tries to smirk. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do, Ari, kill me? Velora will have your head if you do.” A slow smile spreads across my face, and hers falters at the sight; her skin pales further, nearly matching the color of her bright hair.

“Last time I checked, Velora doesn’t run the guild. Marek does.” I tilt my head and narrow my gaze at her. “And he would reward me for being the one to finally rid us of the house parasite.”

She snarls in my direction, and I have the urge to remind her that this is why she isn’t the best. Why she doesn’t get chosen for things: because of her inability to control her emotions. But I internally scold myself, because that would probably be taking it too far and cause her to snap. I mean, I wasn’t lying. Marek wouldn’t be particularly upset if my blade slipped, but he would scold me for causing any more drama amongst the students. So instead of provoking her further, I turn and leave the common room.

The hallway to my dorm is dark and full of serene shadows. Thankfully, everyone besides Isolde seems to be sleeping, so I do not run into anyone as I step into my room and tug on my umbral strand to ward the door. No one in the guild would be brainless enough to enter my room without expressed permission—which I’ve never given to a single soul—but the wards still afford me a sense of ease. Locks can be picked easily, but to recognize and undo a ward? That person would need access to the ethereal affinity, and I’m the only person I know who has it. It’s not impossible for others to possess that affinity, just very rare.

My shoulders drop, muscles relaxing as I sit on my single bed. The room itself is simple; I have a wooden dresser with large shirts for sleeping, several pairs of leathers, and a few other undergarments and active wear items. The bed is small, covered in white sheets and a gray quilt. Each dorm has a standard wooden desk and chair that matches the other furniture, in which I have a few papers on top. There is a small pile of boots and running shoes next to my door, along with a thick leather jacket for when the weather cools.

But that’s it.

I’ve never wished for anything more. My focus in life has been on essence control, physical training, and ever-changing plans that all have the same goal: kill the king. I have no need for material items, and no time to care about them. Some might say the lack of personality in my own room is depressing, but I say it’s smart. If I ever need to leave, or if I get killed, there’s nothing here that I would care to come back for. Nothing to miss .

I lie back and decide to weave excess essence, knowing I will not be able to sleep if I don’t—my body feels too jittery to even remain still for a moment. I usually choose strands that wouldn’t have any lasting effects on my surroundings, as I do not desire the questions that would be inevitable if someone spotted the damage. I tug on my kinetic strand, lifting papers from my desk and a pair of boots from the floor before spinning them around the room in opposing patterns.

Whenever I release essence, I always work on control. Most are strands I cannot practice outside of this room, so it’s important that I force years worth of training into these brief sessions.

I think of each strand as its own muscle—if I fail to work a muscle for any length of time, I lose some of its strength and my control over it. But, the spectral and temporal strands are two that I never practice with, though I'd argue those are unfortunately the most important to have control over. I shudder. Communicating with spirits of the Aether feels…wrong. Or so I tell myself as an excuse to not do it. Also, fucking with time has consequences—ones I’m not yet willing to pay. So I leave those strands alone and work on the others.

When I’m satisfied with my ability to manipulate objects, I snatch one of my blades and cut deeply down the length of my wrist. This would be a fatal cut to most, though it forces me to really focus on my vital strand. While it’s good to practice with essence, I find it helpful to learn how to use it in different situations. Teaching myself to not panic from bad wounds is important, especially for when I make it into the castle. Chances are, the royal guards will strike me before I see the king, and I cannot let those wounds slow me down. I will need to heal them as I move and not allow their severity to cloud my thoughts.

I pull on the strand, this one located deep in my chest, and coax it to my left arm. A dim light passes through my fair skin, traveling swiftly to the injury I created, and I watch in awe as I instruct it to seal the wound shut. A small amount of the light peeks through as it works the top layer of my skin, and I smile. Some of my strands almost feel sentient, as if they're another entity living in my body—I chuckle. They likely spend their time cursing me for how foolish I am with my safety.

I practice a few more strands in the elemental and ethereal affinities before I feel sated enough to sleep. There are some strands—like the fauna from the living affinity and psionic from the ethereal—that I cannot practice alone. Those must be subtly used around other beings, and I do not necessarily enjoy invading the minds of others…it's strange existing in two bodies at the same time.

Sighing, I stand to strip my leathers and slide on a shirt, ready to lose myself to the darkness for a while.

Green, unfeeling eyes stare back at me as I ready myself for the day. I throw on a tank and shorts, needing to run after I meet with my mentor. I grimace at the bright sun shining through the window—it's likely already too fucking hot outside, and my lack of attire will be less than helpful. I pull a band over my thigh and sheathe my blade, because Angel damn me if I'd go anywhere without one.

That's the caveat of having the reputation I do…there is always a target on my back.

I step from one of the two private bathrooms available on this floor and walk down the stairs to Marek’s study. I knock twice on the dark wooden door and wait for permission to enter. Marek is hunched over a stack of papers that I’m pleased are not my responsibility. The room is dimly lit, as always—he prefers to only have two lamps, instead of an overhead light, as the brightness bothers him just as much as it does me. The sleek floor doesn’t creak as I step to his desk, remaining silent until he’s ready to address me. We may have an easy, casual relationship, but he’s still my mentor and I always show him the respect he deserves .

There have been times I’ve regarded him as my second father, though those flitting thoughts never last long, as I quickly begin feeling guilty for pushing my own father to the side. He certainly wouldn’t think of it that way, and I know he would prefer me to have a nice relationship with someone in my life, but I cannot just change the way I feel.

I sit in the large armchair across from him, folding my hands across my lap. Marek’s getting older, and it’s obvious in his features. Patches of gray streak through his hair, lines crease next to his eyes when he smiles, and he sometimes has that look about him that says he wants to leave Eldoria and find a peaceful, quiet home in a neighboring city. Those looks are more frequent lately, to my dismay.

He breathes a lightly groaning sigh, sliding his glasses off his face and setting them onto the table. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, pinning me with a glare. I learned the differences between his stares very quickly after I arrived at the guild, never knowing how useful that skill would be with other people. This one says, “really, Ariella?” and I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.

“She was being a bitch, Marek. You know how she gets,” I exclaim, feeling like a child being scolded even though I’m twenty-seven. The man is lucky he's the only person in the realm I'd allow to speak to me in such a way .

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side slightly, which means “and you think it was acceptable to threaten her just because she was rude?”

“Yes, I do—in fact, you yourself taught me to threaten anyone that has shit to say about me. It’s not like I was actually going to do anything…” I sink back in my chair, shifting my eyes to the painting behind my disappointed mentor. And because I refuse to ever keep my mouth shut, I mutter under my breath, “She didn’t need to know that, though.”

“Ari, you insulted her and now she's making it my problem,” he groans. My gaze snaps back to his, and I can see the laugh he’s trying to hold in.

“Kick her out if you do not wish to deal with her dramatics.” His jaw clenches, and whether he's considering strangling me or not, I cannot be sure. “At least I’m honest. Would you have me lie to her instead?” I press, knowing I’ve swayed him to my side.

Of course I did. He can never say no to his favorite student.

I smirk at his narrowed eyes, making it clear he’s lost. Again. Marek has always been fond of me, which is likely why I’m the only student he’s ever mentored himself. Every other student is under the direction of Velora. I’m not sure why he chose me when I was brought to the guild twenty-years ago, though it’s not difficult to guess that he saw what happened to my father.

Everyone saw .

“You will be the death of me, girl,” he mutters the same eight words he’s said to me since day one. Grabbing his glasses and sliding them back on, I know he’s done with his obligatory scolding and ready to move on to other topics.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on his large desk as I set my chin on combined fists. “You should be thankful I'm here to entertain you in your old age; otherwise your grumpy ass would meet the Angel without ever having laughed a day in your life.” He chuckles, shaking his head and pulling out a folder with the name Samuel written at the top.

We have a tradition of discussing my assignments once they’re completed; he likes to be informed of what happened, but it’s much more than that. As my mentor, he has always asked me to describe what I did during the job. What essence I used, what fighting or weapons—if any—and where my thoughts were during. Why did I make the decisions I did? Once I explain the details, we work through anything I could have done differently.

I may be the best killer in the realm—according to Marek—but there is always room for improvement. I used to be so annoyed whenever he would say that to me, but now I appreciate the expression. He’s right, I can always be better; and I work very hard to surpass my own frustrating limits and high expectations.

He scans the basic notes in the file, re-familiarizing himself with the specifics of why we were hired for this job. Once he’s finished, his tired eyes find mine expectantly, waiting for me to start. I explain how I waited in the alley, sneaking up behind Samuel when he entered. He listens as I describe how I killed him, and what I was thinking during those hours. It was a relatively easy assignment, as the target put up no fight and died quickly, so I’m done speaking within a couple of minutes.

I leave out the information about my use of ethereal essence, of course. Though I think he’s known for a while that there are things I haven’t told him about my essence. He’ll never ask, as he wouldn’t put me in a position to choose between our relationship and my safety, but he sometimes looks at me as if he sees more than I’ve ever let anyone see—which I ignore. My parents were the only people who knew of my universal essence, and unfortunately, the one sharp memory I have of my father is him desperately begging me to never tell another soul. I trust Marek completely, and think of him and Isaiah as the only family I have, but I’d demand he slit my throat before I confessed my darkest secret.

I wait in silence while he watches me with calculating eyes. He’s surely trying to determine how I managed to sneak up behind the target in a narrow alley when he was walking toward me. We stare at each other for a moment, and I raise a brow in challenge. But he nods, resigning to the fact that this is one of those questions he will not ask and I will not answer.

“Well, do you believe there was anything you could have done differently? ”

Yes. I need to control my anger better, as it once again put me at risk of getting caught by outsiders.

“No, I don’t believe so,” I say instead, feeling fidgety, my muscles begging me to move.

“Pride is improvement’s rival, Ariella.” He pins me with a knowing look, and I keep my face neutral and voice silent. “You’re dismissed. I would have you work with Julia and Noah when you get back.” Standing, he pockets his hands, looking overly stressed. “They’re falling behind, and between you and me, you’ll catch them up faster than any of the others.”

I nod and turn from the office, walking into the common area. There are a few students huddled around a table, eating breakfast before class this morning. I used to be jealous of those who could make friends easily; especially in a place where we’re taught everyone is our enemy. But now I’ve learned the benefit in solitude, as I am the only person I’ve ever been able to truly rely on. Sure, I have Marek and Isaiah, but that will never be the same thing.

I step out of the doors and walk slowly down the steps to the cobblestone street below, stretching my neck and shoulders. It’s early morning, but the sun has already brightened the tops of Valoria’s buildings. The mountains behind the guild shine too brightly at their peaks, where snow forever rests. I spin, not wishing to be blinded today, and focus on the beaming castle in the distance. Fire races through my veins, and I suddenly have the energy for double my normal run today.

Taking the last few steps down, I brace to begin running when a hand grabs my shoulder. I snatch the target’s wrist, twisting it under as I turn to face whoever dared to grab me. I see my best friend’s pained face and smirk. He knows better—it’s his own fault.

“All right, all right, Ari!” I release him and cross my arms, raising my brows at his audacity. “Fuck, you get stronger every day.” He glances at me and laughs at my unbothered expression.

“One of these days I won’t hesitate to snap your arm, Is.” I jerk my head toward the path behind me and we start running.

I can feel his eyes burning the side of my face, but keep mine forward. “You are a wonderfully wicked woman, Your Majesty.” I throw my head back and laugh; Isiah loves to string words together like that, something he’s been fond of since we were children. When we met for the first time he said to me, “Wow, you have superbly, striking, shimmery silver hair!” Marek had to hold me back from ripping his balls off at what I had thought was an insult, only for us to become friends the next day.

He also has taken to calling me majesty, though I keep asking him not to. He insists that such a powerful, strong, beautiful woman like me is wasted in the lesser district. That I should be in the castle, wearing silky fabrics and having tea with the royals. The thought makes me gag—there’s not a chance he would ever find me associating with any of those deplorable people. Maybe Vespera, the young princess, though I’m sure the rest of them have gotten their venomous claws into her already.

“What’s on your mind today? You seem distracted,” he asks, ripping me away from my consuming thoughts.

I peek over at him. His tousled, dark hair bounces with his movements, and deep brown eyes bore into mine, worry etched into their creases. My gaze lands on the scar running across his left cheek, and I look away from the bleak reminder of my failure to protect him.

“I’m just tired. I got back late and didn’t get much sleep.” A partial truth, though Isiah knows there’s always something more than that. Thankfully he doesn’t press, always understanding when I don’t wish to talk about things.

We continue to run, Isaiah following my lead as I turn us directions we rarely go. He doesn’t question me, though, trusting my resolve enough to shadow me to whatever destination I have in mind. Eventually, we stop on a street in front of the castle gates, and I rest my hands on my hips as I get my breathing under control.

The royal guards do not even look our way, though I’m sure they’re used to many people stopping to gawk at the Eldorian castle. I cannot see much past the wall that surrounds the extremely large building, but through the gate I spot a fountain that takes up a good amount of the courtyard. The fountain is made of deep, gray stone; in the middle is a griffin standing on its back legs—facing the sky—roaring, while water shoots from its beak. I’ve never seen a griffin up close, which makes me wonder if the fountain accurately represents their size.

Behind the fountain, the castle rises as tall as I imagine the Elysaran mountains to be. That’s definitely an exaggeration, but I swear the castle, and the land it's on, is as large as Valoria. Honestly, who needs that much space? There are children brought to us every season, who are hungry and on their last thread of life…all while one singular, unforgiving family lives here ? It’s fucked up. I guarantee they don’t utilize more than fifteen percent of it. That space could be used to shelter those who need it, even if just for a short time.

I shake my head; I don’t know why I plague myself with these thoughts. The king would never do something so generous as to offer unused space to us lessers .

Fuck him. Fuck their whole family.

Isaiah places a gentle hand on my arm, comforting me in the only way he knows how. He’s a tender soul—always in touch with others’ emotions. Ready to be a helping hand to anyone who is going through a hard time.

He knows what the royals did to my father. He knows about the nightmares that I still have of that day. His room is directly next to mine and the walls are not soundproof, so of course he’s aware of the terrors I hide behind them.

He doesn’t, however, know of my plans. He doesn’t need to. Everyone will find out soon enough.