Chapter 66
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
LYRA
“Ihave been waiting to do that for years.” Tynan readjusts his silken sleeves, pushing his dark hair back into place.
Silence clings to the room as we all stare at King Erasmus’s dead body, momentarily paralyzed by the waves of shock.
It all happened so fast. One minute, alive and beaming. The next, impaled and falling.
Draven’s lips thin. “And the truth reveals itself at last.”
Tynan turns, a smile twisting his features. One different than before. A little less polished. Less refined. “Oh, come now, Draven.” He scoffs a blunt, manic laugh. “Have you no pride for all that I’ve just accomplished?”
“Accomplished?” I repeat, my disgust a thick coating over the word. “You have accomplished nothing. All you have done is incite mass chaos throughout Solaya and murdered two kings while declaring war on the third.”
His peculiar smile broadens. “Oh, I have done so much more than that.”
The silence sharpens, and Tynan begins to pace.
“See, I have been plotting for a long, long time. Playing a very slow game. Yet along the way, pieces came onto my chess board which did not belong there. But as all strategists do, I pivoted—adapted. Like when I caught wind of a centuries-old prince living as some savior to the surviving bloodlines of the original Abdites. One who was forming a plan that would threaten to topple all my hard work; possessed the power to see it truly done. But then that prince turned up searching for his Chosen, and oh…” He claps his hands together and inhales a theatric breath.
“I saw my new path unfold with glorious clarity.
“I made sure all eyes turned to that lost prince and the preeminent magic he stole away. The girl who possessed it. I stoked the flames of necessity, adding rotten soil to the gardens of those who sought out justice for the tragedy befalling Bathara Academy. Added to their urgency that we must find the girl and bring her back—only so they could condemn her themselves, mind you. And when all eyes were directed elsewhere, I moved like a wraith through the shadows, liberated by preoccupations and distractions.” He pauses, lip curling.
“Well, save for one pair of eyes.” Tynan glances at Sterling’s lifeless body.
Anger boils in my plummeting stomach.
“In my invisibility, I sowed the seeds of discord. Ensured the poor folk learned of an antiquated opposition forged at the dawn of the Three Kings. Made them determined to restore the old ways of one king. I created the Conscription. Used it to further sway the kings’ councils and all the houses of nobility against Anatolé, ensuring all the armies down from the southern borders of Erandor all the way to the northern tip of Rivara would answer to me.
My chess board was laid out beautifully for checkmate.
Yet two pieces remained that could make their move, ruining my grand game.
Casimir Vivaldri and Gray Nightenjoy. But how does one win against someone as powerful as the First Crowned Prince?
Someone who has grown to be as beloved by the people as the Nightenjoy boy had?
Easy. You break them. Obliterate their will.
You shatter them to the point of irreparability. ”
My eyes find Gray, and a silent sob wails in my chest.
Tynan has done it; he has broken Gray wholly.
Because the Gray Nightenjoy I know would not remain bowed on his knees, his head hung in total defeat while all this chaos raged on.
The Gray I know would stand toe-to-toe against Tynan, engaging him in a battle of cunning as he slowly dismantled the skewed logic with his silver-plated tongue. The Gray I knew would get up and fight.
Yet Gray does not get up at all, instead remaining still as a statue as his blood-matted hair falls forward into his downturned eyes.
And as if the sight of that is not enough to gut me, the memories of Casimir in a similar position fill my mind. His body mirroring a similar defeat as Gray’s does now. My mind replays flashes of the brokenness in Casimir’s gaze. His resignation to cruelty. To the irreparable flaw of humanity.
But wait…
How had Tynan been the cause of that? That was…was…
I realize it just as Tynan says it.
“It was not easy—I had to be quite clever to remove those two pawns from the board. But even the most perplexing puzzle can be solved if you have all the right pieces. You saw how Nightenjoy’s solution came together—he was built upon his morals, and those very morals allowed both his parents to die.
But what did I do to ensure Casimir was no longer a threat to me or my plans?
How did I break him?” He smiles like a scholar stating the labors of their research.
“By ensuring the only thing he cared about was stolen from him, of course.”
“You had nothing to do with that,” Draven says in a tight voice. “I did.”
“Didn’t I, though? Come now, boy. Surely you must have thought about it?
Who sent Casimir Vivaldri his invitation to the masquerade ball?
Who ensured he brought Lyra with him, knowing your engagement would be announced that very night?
Knowing full and well your distasteful protectiveness would never allow her to slip away for a second time.
Who else knew how badly you were struggling to maintain the hold on your magic?
Who else understood the capabilities of all that it can truly do—what happens once you lose control of it?
” A heavy pause. “Who else could possibly have both the resources and the knowledge to know exactly what those wards would do to your mind once you attempted to break them?”
Though he hides it well, I can see that rattles Draven.
I feel similarly off-kilter.
We have been pawns in Tynan’s grand chess match for power this entire time, unknowingly playing into everything exactly as he predicted it.
“And that’s only half of it,” Tynan hums. “So you see, boy, I had everything to do with it.”
“Why?” The question does not come from Draven, but from me. Because I feel like I need to know. Need to understand why.
Why must men make playgrounds of continents so they can feel powerful?
Why must they stomp on the backs of the vulnerable so they can stand a little taller?
What is the true appeal of inciting mass chaos—causing such damage to so many lives—only to hold threads of corruptive power used only as food for their egos?
The hungry are starved only so the full may be stuffed fuller.
And always—always—the venomous meal is served on platters of manipulation and carefully adorned tactical lies.
Tynan frowns at me. “Why would I tell you anything about my motivations?”
“Did you not just tell us what you’ve already done?” I counter.
“Yes,” he answers simply. “But detailing my accomplishments is not the same as making you privy to my driving forces. That, dear girl, would be exposing a vulnerability to you. Something of which I will not be doing.”
“Then answer me this instead,” Draven demands. “You and I both know the Three King System is the better system. So how is it you plan to rule as…” He pauses, his upper lip peeling back. “What do you want? To be called a king? A tyrant? A god?”
Tynan only smiles.
Draven’s jaw flexes. “The Three King System is what works—there is no denying that. So how is it you plan to grip the reins of power without redistributing them amongst the borders?”
“King Alastair has no heir, so who should claim power over the Rivara Kingdom? And King Erasmus only has two daughters and never named a successor. His sights were too set on returning Solaya to a land united under one king. So who better to rule than the man who saved the kingdoms from their imminent destruction?”
“Destruction all incited by you.”
“Yes. I am tearing everything apart so I can stitch it all back together again. And history will forever remember my name because of it.”
Draven’s mouth tightens. “The people will never allow it. They will continue rebelling. Most will fight against a unitary rule. You will split the masses, inciting a civil war atop the war you’ve ignited against kingdoms.”
“They will until they won’t. All they know right now is something is broken; what they don’t know is how to pinpoint what that something is.
Not while they are desperate. Are hungry for food.
For change. Something better. So I’ll continue telling them what to believe the problem is, just as I will tell them how to fix it.
And when everyone is warring, squabbling over who is right and who has the better opinion, too distracted by the noise of their own bickering voices, I will shape this realm into exactly what I want it to be.
I will have already finished my perfect game before anyone ever realizes they were playing in it. ”
“You underestimate the intelligence of our realm.”
“And you underestimate how powerful weaponizing our differences can be.” He splays his arms out as if showcasing some masterpiece on a grand stage.
He tips his head back and laughs manically, all previous polish rubbing raw, revealing the true jaggedness beneath.
“Just look at what I’ve done already. I have isolated the Anatolé Kingdom—the only opposing force left who could stop me—by waging a war on its people and land.
I played the strings of my instrument so beautifully, I even made it look justified.
I made the highest councils and the academy meant to check the balances of Solaya focus on locating a benign girl and a centuries-old prince so I could move freely.
I have pitted lower noble houses against upper noble houses.
Have turned the slums against an entire system, subtly stirring the discord with such perfection, they fight for an old system they don’t even truly understand.
You know why? All because I told them what to believe in the packaging they found most desirable.
In a way that caressed and soothed those fickle morals people so love to cling to. ”
“You’re a monster.” The words—which I know have no effect on him—leave my lips in a hiss before I can stop them.
“Am I? Or are the people so willing to point fingers and condemn that which they don’t understand the real monsters? Tell me, which is truly worse?”
I don’t answer, instead choosing to glare at him with all the disgust my eyes can hold. Hearing all of this—experiencing such demoralizing circumstances—it is slowly changing something inside me, as though I am clay being remade by a sculptor’s rough hand.
And I am not yet sure what I will be forged into.
All the many conversations Casimir and I had flood through me. My heart beats their words as my veins swallow their meanings.
Justice isn’t divine, Lyra; it’s inherited. Handed down from generation to generation like bloodstained heirlooms. Chiseled into law by the last man standing.
War is not the cost of what I intend to do; war is the cost of forgetting. So I will make sure they never forget again.
Is this what it was like for Casimir, attempting to stand in the face of good while a world ruined itself, dragging so many innocent lives into the teeth of war and greed?
I had fought and fought against him. Told him he was wrong. That there was a better way. That humanity is worth more than the worst parts of itself. Yet in the face of all this…
Is it?
Had he been wrong? Was his plan truly so terrible? Or was it I who had it all backwards?
Tynan claps his hands together. “No more idle chatter. We still have a game to play.”