12 | Yaron
Shadow Keep
“I understand your anger…”
“You don’t understand anything, m’Lord!” the boy shouts at me. His father tries to hold him back, but I lift my right hand, signaling that he should let the boy rage. It is his right in the face of the wrongs I’ve committed.
Robert advances on the throne, his face splotchy with anger, yes, but also an even more powerful grief. He comes within ten paces of where I sit, only elevated by two simple stone steps on my throne seat, yet still lording over him in a way I ordinarily find useful. I do not find it useful now.
I stand and he freezes in his advance, wavering where he stands as if uncertain whether or not to move forward. Pride begs him to do so, but self-preservation keeps him from it. He is a young Alpha, yes, strong and large for his age, but he is also not stupid. His father and mother are both present, both looking fearful as I descend the two short steps from the throne. I advance on their son and his mother winces, turning her face into her husband’s shoulder, seeking comfort. His father curls his arm around his wife’s shoulder, hugging her close, and I feel…pain lance across my chest at the picture they make.
Not pain, longing.
“You need not fear,” I tell them, voice strangely hoarse, as I place my hand on the boy’s shoulder and give it a squeeze most gentle. “And you are right to rage,” I tell him privately. His gaze is downcast, though he tries to hold mine. It will be difficult. He is only sixteen and he loved the Alpha daughter very much. With his whole heart, a heart so unblemished as to have space for such a thing. To love something wholly. After this, after what happened and what the Omega’s family took part in and even perhaps caused, he will no longer have such an ability. After this, his heart will be missing a piece. It will eventually scar over, but it will always be lost.
“You will have your revenge. My Crimson Riders will not stop hunting for the culprits responsible for the killing of your mate — and so many other Alphas within the Shadowlands. Trash City will be found.”
“But you have the killers and you’ve let them go…”
“I have done no such thing. The Ubutu family will remain confined to my castle until the end of their days unless their innocence can be proven or their penance can be paid by other means. They will serve in the kitchens as their family has always done for generations…”
“They should be in the dungeons! Tortured! They killed Gwyn!”
He has interrupted me and though I attempt to show him leniency here, I am not used to tolerating such flagrant disrespect. Unless the words are ripped from the lips of an unruly Omega. My mind flashes. I feel my testosterone surge. I clear my throat and calm myself. “I do not believe they did.”
He winces when my claws dig into his shoulder and gives me a harried look. “What…”
I did not wish to voice this truth out loud. Not now. Not ever. It is not the position of the Shadow Lord to make conjectures based on instinct — Fact. Reason. Law. Justice are what must prevail. And yet it was none of those things that affected my decision to pull the Ubutu family from their cells and throw them into the lower east wing of the castle, into an unused room that used to serve as grain storage until a more sophisticated system external to the castle was developed. It is in the room adjacent the castle kitchens, I tell myself. It is dank and unwelcoming, I tell myself, little better than the upper dungeons. It is a punishment fitting of their crimes, I tell myself. But the truth is much more difficult.
“They are not innocents. They worked with Trash City — criminals I chased from the North Island and who had the audacity to come to my own territory to use for their hunting grounds. However, what the Ubutu family is known to have done was work with the corpses. It cannot be said that they laid the killing blow to any Alphas within the Shadowlands.”
“It cannot be said that they didn’t.”
“And for that, they will remain in captivity forever. Never to see the sunlight beyond the castle walls again.”
He blinks and rubs his watery eyes, the fight leaving him slowly. “And what if you do find out they killed Gwyn? What then?”
I clench my teeth. He is a clever boy, for I had not wanted him to ask that. “If they are guilty of murdering the Alphas with their own bloody hands, then you shall choose the manner of their torture, for they shall not be allowed to live.”
After a terse back and forth between the family and me, they leave, leaving me with a sour taste in the back of my throat. I look at my throne as the doors to the throne room slam shut on their departure, but I have no desire to mount those short steps. The massive black chair draped in shimmering grey and black fabrics that fall down the steps and spill onto the floor looks too large for me in this moment. I feel doubt.
“Report from the border scouts,” I command of Dorsten and Sipho, who hover nearby.
The mood in the small stone throne room shifts, as do the dozen Crimson Riders present. They move to action, bringing forward a large, heavy table covered in maps marked by moveable pieces shaped like soldiers, some painted black for the undead that have been spotted.
“They had to have had help,” I say as my throne room dissolves into a war council chamber, the mood harsher and more severe. The scent of too many Alphas gathered together fills my nostrils when I breathe. Ordinarily, I respond to it with dominance, but now all I can think is that I’d like another scent to cut it. One that smells of gunpowder and unholy things.
“There are sinister rumblings at the ports, my Lord,” Sipho says, his short black hair shimmering like it’s been freshly cut and oiled. He hasn’t seemed to care so much for his appearance before today. In fact, as I look up, I see that all of my Alpha Riders seem to be presenting much more elegantly than usual. I do not like it.
“What is the news?”
“It seems that an unmarked trading vessel was allowed to dock last week. We have yet to determine by whom and how it was allowed to go unnoticed for so long, and we are also unable to ascertain what it carried…”
“We know what it carried,” Hector interrupts in a way most unbecoming. Though he and Sipho are members of rival packs, it is rare that displays of dominance are put on between them, and never so boldly, so publicly, before their Berserker Lord.
Most of my Alpha Riders are members of a pack and only Mara’s pack already has an Omega — a slight female with jet-black hair and an affinity for animals but little in the way of true magic. Two other Alpha packs overlap among my Crimson Riders. Sipho and Dorsten are members of a pack of three with another wealthy Alpha merchant, Renard, while Hector, Malik, and Guy form another.
Though Hector, Malik and Guy’s pack has been known to play with Beta females, they have yet to lay claim to one. They’ve been waiting for an Omega, wanting one. That is known. However, Sipho and Dorsten and Renard have made no moves to claim an Omega and did not show interest in the female with the black hair at all when she was presented before the red moon all those years ago. It could not be…that they are presenting in such a way as a response to the Omega in my chambers… No, it could not. She’s mine.
My beast snarls sharply in a way that causes heads to turn. Hector flushes. “Apologies for the interruption, my Lord.”
I nod at him once, though I feel the muscle beneath my left eye twitch as I look over these Alpha packs gathered before me with new consternation. After I give the Omega away during the next Red Moon Festival, it is very likely that one of these two packs will have her.
I glance at Sipho and he mistakes my desire to raze his flesh as permission to continue speaking. He clears his throat. “Hector is implying that this is the vessel that the undead assailants who attacked us in the woods arrived on. There is nowhere else on the shores they might have docked a fishing vessel as large as this one, however, none of our fishermen, ferrymen or traders report having seen hundreds of undead Alphas parading through port city streets.”
I glare at him, only half concentrating, but disliking the irritation I hear in his tone nonetheless. They are getting riled. So be it. I will devour them. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes… “You will contain your tempers unless you’d like to see mine.” I slam my knuckles down on the table, knocking several undead figures over. “I will visit the docks myself,” I say, though as I speak the words aloud I instantly regret them.
Visiting the docks will pull me away from the keep. But perhaps…some space will be good for me. I haven’t been able to keep my distance at all to now, finding the most threadbare of excuses to return to my chambers and check on her multiple times daily. Yes, some distance will be good. No. Yes.
“Tomorrow at sunrise,” I choke. “Guy, you will have a contingent of eight Riders ready to accompany me to the docks. I will inspect the ship myself and the rest of you will interrogate the dock workers once more and question the business owners and stall operators that were not questioned before. Ensure you question anyone who might have been awake during the night — at the brothels and taverns, the shopkeepers at the Night Market.
“If they came by ship, Sipho is correct — there is nowhere else a ship this large could have docked and smaller ships would not have made it across the Strait of Zaoul. They had to have gone through the ports and someone had to have seen them. Sipho, you will ensure order in Shadow Keep during my absence.” So he can stay close to the Omega? The thought grates.
Though there is nodding all around, I keep my gaze trained on Sipho. “No one is to approach the Omega while I am gone. No one.” I will give Radmilla specific orders that he is not to go near my chambers. She will be the only one allowed in or out to check on Kiandah.
“I…um… As you command, my Lord. However, I was under the impression that this Omega would be presented at the coming red moon. If so, would it not be appropriate for the Alphas who wish to vie for her to call on her?”
My teeth clench so hard I feel the pain of it in my forehead. I stare at Sipho. I stare at him and say nothing. I will swallow his heart if he says another word, but he doesn’t, and I don’t trust myself to respond.
I force my gaze away from him to Malik and exhale roughly through my nose. “Malik, you will join us at the docks and take the opportunity to send correspondence to Dark City. They were quick to answer our summons and offer aid, yet it must be made clear as quickly as possible that they are not to travel to us and leave Dark City exposed. They are our only trusted ally on the North Island. The city cannot fall and the departure of the Fallen Earth Omega from their territory in such a critical time could be what propels Mirage City to attack them.”
“You truly believe Mirage City would go after another city?”
“I believe they will go after any city they believe to be harboring a Fallen Omega.” Ours included, once word spreads of her powers, the shape of her face, the resemblance that she bears to the Fire Fate. “Dark City must protect itself.”
Malik is taking notes on parchment and looks up as he finishes. “Would you like them to take any action at all, my Lord?”
“Yes. Our alliance is tenuous, separated as we are by land and sea. We need to secure another port, one out of the control of Mirage City. I would encourage them to review the plans I previously proposed for an eastern port city.”
“That would be in violation of our trade agreement…”
“Should Mirage City have issue with our trade agreement, I encourage them to send their Berserker to confront me at his earliest convenience,” I spit, showing fangs as I know the rumors to be true. The Mirage City Berserker is dead. The Death Fate who is responsible for creating the undead army has reanimated the Berserker’s corpse, too, and has been wearing him for years like a fucking suit.
Uneasy glances are passed between my Riders, but I ignore them. “While they begin construction on a new port city, I would like to extend an invitation to Berserker N’Dogoto visit us here in the Shadowlands. While we are not enemies, neither are we allies. We need to strike up and formalize our alliance with Ruby City to ensure that our current and only viable trade route to the North Island remains open to us. They have been good to us and trade has been consistent, however, I need not tell you all how dire the situation for the South Island will become should they close their ports to us. Dark City is still a young city with a young, green Berserker at its helm. Should Ruby City ally with Mirage City and close their ports, and should Dark City fall, Mirage City will have won and we will not be able to defend against the North Island if every Alpha within it has been turned.”
More scribbling. Then Malik says, “My Lord, might I suggest… We could invite Berserker N’dogo as your honored guest to the upcoming Red Moon Festival. She could sit at your right hand while the Alphas and packs compete for the Omega.”
It is a good suggestion. A great honor. A meeting, well timed. I cannot say no, and yet, it is the only answer that echoes in my mind. And it pounds with a force that is deafening. “Yes,” I grit, my jaw hurting with the force it took to press the word through my lips. “That is a good suggestion, Malik.”
My Riders exchange quick glances they know they should not. They spell doubt and confusion. But I am not to be doubted and there is no confusion in my mind.
Only chaos.
We conclude the business of fortifying the trading alliance with Ruby City and working out more detailed plans for a highway line from Dark City to their proposed location for a new North Island port, as well as our plans to meet with the Berserker of Hjiel as soon as possible to discuss any undead sightings further south. It takes the better part of the day.
My Riders exit and as their cloaks flash, I see Radmilla standing just beyond the doors to my throne room. She is dabbing a kerchief to her face. Rage roars within me and I turn from my throne and advance on the door, ripping it open as the final Rider’s cloak disappears around the far corner.
“What has happened? What is the news?” Something bleak must have occurred to affect Radmilla like this. She raised me, a mother figure of sorts — if mothers are thorny creatures with spines of steel and an affection that oscillates between abundant and severe — but I have only seen her shed actual tears once. I caught her observing a group of small babies playing together. I did not know then, but later discovered that she had had a miscarriage some months before her husband’s passing. She never told me she’d wanted children of her own and she’d never had them. I’d been young then, but I still had the panic in my chest that I feel now. I’d gone up to her and hugged her, buried my face in her stomach for I’d been small and she’d been so much taller than I was. She’d laughed and hugged me back and it had felt warm. But now, I am Lord of the Shadowlands. I don’t hug. My hand twitches to reach for her shoulder, but I don’t let it land.
“Who harmed you? My dungeons have places for many bodies these days.” Since I moved the Ubutu family, is what I don’t say.
Radmilla barks out a wet laugh and waves her clean pressed kerchief at me. She shakes her head. “These are not unhappy tears, my Lord. They are nothing for you to concern yourself with. I was waiting for your Crimson Riders to leave so that we might have a chance to discuss preparations for the upcoming festival.” She sucks in a breath, tears gone as if they never were. “Now that my kitchen staff has been returned to me, I believe it possible to prepare a festival worth attending by the next blood moon. What say you?”
“I say fine. Whatever you want, you shall have. But first, you will tell me why you were…tearful just now.”
She laughs and looks up at me with a peculiar expression glimmering in her light green eyes. “Oh my. Is that all it takes to get my way? I should cry around you more often, young Lord.”
I frown as she evades the question once more. “That I ask you again, Radmilla, is the only courtesy I will afford you.”
She sighs, some of the warmth leaving her eyes and filling me with a chill, rather than neutrality. I dislike the sensation. “Per your request, I finished settling the Ubutu family into their new quarters.” It took three days to get them settled. Three days that I have attempted to avoid the Omega…and failed. I find threadbare excuses to see her all the time.
“Per your request, now that their furnishings are fit for habitation and they have been cleaned up and tended to, I took the Omega to see them. It was…” Her eyes become glossy again and I brace myself for whatever her reaction will be…but she inhales deeply and wipes her eyes, tucks away her kerchief with a certain finality. She folds her hands across the full skirt of her dress. My aide, once more, not my family. Family… I don’t…suppose…I truly understand the concept. “It was a special thing to behold. Kiandah is an emotional, fiery creature. I did not expect it, having spent the last few days in her presence.”
“I did not expect it either,” I admit before I mean to.
Radmilla’s dusted-on eyebrows rise, just a peppering of grey across her skin. “It is a special thing, to see how members of that family care for one another. If only there were one fiery creature to care for you thus…”
“Radmilla,” I growl, emotion surging through me like a storm. I hear the thunder, feel the rain pelting my back as I arch over Kiandah and suck kisses from her lips like I could survive on her life force alone.
I blink and do not know how I moved, but I am now standing with one forearm braced against the open doorway, one knee cocked as if I struggle to stand. I glance down the wide corridor to the double helix staircase at its far end. My feet twitch in my boots to go to her. And yet…I conjure an image of poor Robert’s face. I have wronged him by rewarding her. He was not deserving of my sin, as she is not deserving of such grace.
“Come in. We will review your list of requirements for the festival and then you will see Talbot about paying for them. Come to me with your final proposal tomorrow.”
Radmilla snorts and the tension between us dies. “Your master of coin is no friend to me.”
To which I restrain a smirk. “He is no friend to anyone and that is why he has his position.”
“He will be even less friendly with me when I ask him for additional budget to refurbish the castle kitchens. They are in need of upkeep now that the castle cooks have been returned to where they belong in Shadow Keep.” Where they belong. Rightful places. Things Radmilla has no right to say to me.
But I do not correct her.
We review her plans and she is dismissed once I find them satisfactory. I meet with several other members of my staff and Felix, a Crimson Rider responsible for managing the Riders that patrol my southern border — who would have ever expected my border to Hjiel to be the lesser of my border problems?
I meet with the Orias town blacksmith, a big man called Olac, and with grain master Ghoran, who has concerns about this year’s wheat production. I eat when food is brought to me, though I frown at the taste of the pie and at the lack of offering. They did not cook this. She did not cook this. I scarf the tasteless food down and bury myself in work. I take meetings in my throne room until the sun sets over the horizon and I know I should retire to my chambers, where the Omega will sleep tonight as she will sleep every night until the Red Moon Festival and every night thereafter.
Desire compels me to see her, to see how grateful she is for what I have done for her, but guilt keeps me from her. I freed her family for that gratitude, for the promise of what it might bring me, for selfish reasons. For that, I must suffer my own damnation, and sit in a prison of my own making. So though I remain stiff and aching at the thought of the greedy, grateful Omega…of Kiandah, and I yearn to turn down the corridor that will lead me to her, I don’t.
I close myself in the small personal chamber behind the locked door in the throne room, and I do what I was always meant to do. Work for the people of the Shadowlands. And I do not fantasize about foreign concepts like desire, or having her for my own.