4. The King of the Kingdom
T he following morning, Viola presented herself in Captain Isolde Drakesbane’s study to make her report. The Captain was a strong, steely woman nearing fifty, with short, silver hair, a proud expression, and eyes like chips of flint. She’d gained her name for taking down a dragon in her youth, which had left her with a series of scars stretching across her right arm and part of her face, turned silvery by age and healer’s magic. The study was crammed with books, scrolls and armour. Hardly an inch on the stony walls wasn’t occupied with some weapon or trophy—crossbows and enchanted arrows, daggers and maces, throwing knives and darts. Shelves were cluttered with dragon horns, wyvern skulls or manticore claws. The National Museum of Lysandra could barely boast a better collection.
Viola ought to have reported to the Captain the night before, but it transpired that Freya had somewhat exaggerated her injuries on her behalf, and Viola was not above using that to her advantage in exceptional, exhausted circumstances.
“Honesty is the best course of action,” her father had taught her.
“Except when it’s best to keep your mouth shut,” added her mother.
He’d shot her a look, but Adriana Brightstone had swiftly provided the example of that time she was heavily pregnant with twins and asked him if she looked fat, and he promptly shut his mouth.
Honesty, Viola learned, was good. So was tactful silence.
“A shadowmancer?” the Captain asked. “You’re sure?”
“Very. He conjured several shadow-arrows and two shadow wyverns. ”
The Captain sucked in a breath, taking her seat. “Two at once…”
“I know.”
Very few mancers were capable of controlling multiple things at once, save perhaps necromancers—another reason that they were so feared.
“What did he look like?” the Captain went on. “Could you provide a description?”
“Um, male, black hair, pale skin—that’s all I really saw. He was wearing a mask over part of his face.”
“I see…” The Captain tapped her fingers, her gauntleted digits clacking together.
“Captain? Is there something I should know?”
Drakesbane chewed her tongue, clearly trying to make up her mind whether or not to divulge her intel.
“We’ve suspected the rumours were true for some time,” she announced. “We didn’t want to cause a panic, of course. Not without confirmation. But now…”
“Now?”
“Now, we’ll prepare ourselves accordingly.” She reached into her desk drawer and retracted a book. “Everything we know about the shadowmancer so far,” she admitted. “All the incidents we believe him to be responsible for.”
Viola stared at the well-thumbed book as the Captain sifted through it.
“There are dozens of entries.”
“There are.” She rang a bell, summoning her assistant into the room. “Take down Windbright’s full report,” she instructed. “I need to speak with the King.”
King Jax Royale, the Queensaver, was an impressive man. He was born into obscurity, an orphan who became a squire to the House of Flame at the age of only fifteen. He gained fame for his slaying of a giant at the age of seventeen, whereupon he rescued Princess Isabeau and was awarded his knighthood. The two married the following year, rising to the throne not long afterwards when Isabeau’s father sadly succumbed to a long-term illness. It was not an easy start to their reign, as the kingdom was in the middle of a famine that even the country’s best floramancers couldn’t dispel. It was Jax who led a daring mission to a far-off land to secure a special seed, which he took to the plains outside of the Skyward Mountains and began “the farm to feed the thousands,” ending the famine almost overnight.
He was barely out of his teens at the time, and was one of the many reasons Viola had decided to become a knight. He’d visited her farm when she was a girl, on his journey further north, regaling her entire family with tales of his exploits. It was like a hero tumbling out of a childhood story. Viola couldn’t help but want to craft one of her own, to become a knight as glorious as he was.
He was twenty-eight now, with twinkling eyes bright as meadows, and dark gold curls more wild than neat. He dressed well in a blue-green doublet with gold embellishments, striped, pristine trousers and a pair of polished boots, but despite the crown on his head, there was an easy, humble quality to his gait and speech.
Few disliked him. Most had had a crush on him at some point. Even Freya, whose preference was only for women, had said that she could ‘certainly understand the appeal’ and ‘thought about it for a split second’.
The King was a relatively common sight on the Knights’ Island. He sometimes liked to spar with them, or get to know the new recruits, occasionally running drills and only once or twice sneaking out of the stables with one of the wilder rides and going for a fly when the Queen was displeased with him.
Once a knight, always a knight , the Captain had explained, with a certain degree of fondness. She’d trained him herself over a decade ago.
“Listen up, knights,” King Jax began, booming out over the group of them. “We have official confirmation that a shadowmancer is on the loose.”
A murmur passed over the knights, some concerned, some excited. Viola could understand the excitement; she’d have had a similar reaction two days ago if she hadn’t just had to fight one. They were knights. Of course they enjoyed the challenge. But up until recently, none of them had fought an enemy their swords couldn’t slice though.
“We know very little about him, or his goals,” Jax continued. “But we do know that he appears to be male, and he’s very dangerous. I doubt any of you have faced such a foe before. We’ve contacted the House of Light to see if they have any lightmancers that are also skilled fighters, but at the moment it appears that most of the House are little more than illusionists. They do have a weapons-maker, however. He’s on an airship here right now.”
That was something, at least, if they could imbue their weapons with light magic, or something to repel shadows.
Freya groaned beside her. “Lightmancers. Bloody useless. ”
For a House associated with Auro’s favourite goddess, Auriel, the House of Light rarely lived up to its name. It wasn’t entirely its fault—a lot of branches of the House had been destroyed in the civil war—but lightmancers did have a reputation for being a bit… style over substance.
What good would one lightmancer do against shadow, anyway? Light was rarely a match for the dark.
“Did you say something, Ser Whiterain?” asked the King.
“I made a disparaging remark about the usefulness of lightmancers, Your Majesty. I apologise. I should have waited until after your speech.”
The King paused, his brow raised, his mouth half-open, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh. “I appreciate your candour, Ser Whiterain. Returning to the matter at hand…”
Freya waited until he’d turned away from her, focusing elsewhere on the crowd.
“See? He appreciates my candour. My candour is royally-approved. You two never appreciate my honesty.”
“Your honesty lacks tact,” Heindrich returned, looking slightly miffed at himself for talking.
“Name me one time—”
“Two days ago, I asked you if you liked my new doublet.”
“I said I didn’t.”
“You said it was the ugliest doublet you’d ever seen and you wished you’d been petrified by that lesser basilisk last week so you’d never have to know such ugliness existed.”
“To be fair, Henry, maroon really isn’t your colour.”
King Jax finished his speech. The Captain stepped forward to deal out duties for the day. Most were assigned training, although there was a limit to what could be accomplished until the new weapons were ready, or the mages were summoned to cast illusions that might help them.
“Where do you suppose this shadowmancer is?” Freya asked, as they made their way to the training grounds. “Who finally caught sight of him—”
“Ah,” said Viola, stopping shortly. “That would be me. Yesterday.”
She tugged at her cuff, as if hoping to conceal the wound and all evidence that he’d got the better of her.
Freya elbowed Viola in the side. “You faced a shadowmancer? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Truthfully? I was very tired.” Mentioning it would have led to more questions when all she wanted was quiet and whatever semblance of peace she was able to snatch. “I didn’t mean it to be a secret.”
Freya groaned. “Henry—do you hear her?”
“She was very tired, Frey. ”
“You must tell us everything. ”
“There isn’t much to tell. He ambushed me when I was trying to assist a civilian and started throwing shadow arrows at me. I ran away and he summoned two shadow wyverns to attack me instead, until I hid in a cave.”
“A shadow wyvern?” Freya gasped. “That sounds incredible!”
“They were less incredible when they were trying to kill me.”
Heindrich did not seem to share Freya’s enthusiasm. His brow tilted into a frown. “What was a civilian doing in that part of the forest?”
“An excellent question,” Viola answered. “And I have no idea. I didn’t get a chance to ask her.”
It certainly was strange that a small child had been out there by herself, and Viola half-hoped she was still a fey creature or an illusion of some kind. It would explain why the shadowmancer hadn’t attacked her, and it would make Viola feel better that she hadn’t gone back to search for her—even though she knew that the girl either had to be long dead or long gone by that point.
By the time they arrived at the training grounds, most of the knights had already arrived. The Captain was running drills. Nothing ambitious or challenging today—a simple obstacle course, the best that could probably be arranged on short notice. Sometimes, the knights arrived to find the arena was transformed into a swamp, with watermancers prowling in the mists, ready to drag you down into the depths or swing you through the air with tentacles of liquid. Floramancers might transform the maze into a living, breathing thing, with flowers that swallowed you up and vines that strangled you, or stonemancers would hurl projectiles or vanish floors that gave way to traps. At least flamemancers were more obvious; very few relied on stealth, setting up barriers of fire or chasing you with phoenixes. Lightmancers, few as they were and rarely skilled in the art of battle, were seldom seen in the arena.
Ironically, it was windmancers who often gave Viola the hardest time, though she’d trained with them the most during her apprenticeship. Masters in the art of stealth, they were as skilled as any knight, aided by their ability to cast illusions and flit about, defying the laws of gravity. They were the hardest to track, the hardest to take down.
But all mancers had one thing in common. Precious few are ever going to be taken down by a singular knight.
Viola was still sore from yesterday, and the drills seemed pointless without the proper equipment, so when a break was called, she headed back to the Captain’s quarters and asked her assistant if he had a copy of the notes on the shadowmancer, which were clearly now open for the knights’ perusal. She took them to a quiet corner of the grounds to read, wishing she could tear apart the notes and reorder them .
Reading and writing were never her strongest suits at school. It took her far longer than most of the other children to read a passage, and the letters had a habit of occasionally jumping around the page. What she was good at, however, was recognising patterns.
Perhaps dozens of people had looked over the notes already and found nothing, or perhaps until yesterday no one had bothered, unsure whether or not they were connected. Viola poured through every incident now. Every reported theft, every unexplained heist or murder. He was amassing wealth, she realised, and most of his burglaries weren’t accompanied by murder. He slunk in and out, unnoticed.
But the murders that were being attributed to him were brutal and bloody, bodies cut into pieces. The crime scene prints did not hold back.
Last month, he’d slaughtered a tavern full of people, leaving only a few quivering bar keepers behind, who could barely give statements. The tavern appeared to be a front for some sort of crime syndicate. Viola wasn’t fooled into thinking he was doing this as some kind of noble endeavour. He was eliminating the competition, or taking it out for someone else.
For a price.
Four other murders stood out to her, partly because she recognised some of the names and had heard about some of their deaths, though the papers had failed to report exactly how they were killed. Battletorn, Seafairer, Ironstone, Blackflame. All retired knights. Uniquely, nothing seemed to have been taken from their residents, and unlike the other murders, Viola doubted that they had power enough for someone to want them dead.
Those murders seemed more gruesome than the others, too. It looked like some of them had still been alive when he used his shadows on them. The blood seemed to bleed through the pages.
What do you want? She asked the book, as if it could spout a voice and reveal the Shadowmancer’s secrets.
“Knock knock,” said someone, tapping against the hedgerow.
Viola bolted to attention. King Jax stood above her, doublet removed, his crown missing and his shirt now rolled to the elbows. “Your Majesty—”
“Jax is fine, Ser Windbright, at least while no one is looking.”
“You just called me Ser Windbright.”
He laughed. “I suppose I did. Viola, then,” he said, as if he were no more than the boy he’d been when they’d first met. “I hear you had a run-in with the Shadowmancer in the Feywood. Are you all right?”
“Quite fine, sire,” she said, unwilling to use his name so casually. “A few scrapes, nothing more.”
“Good. Good. I just read your report. I was just wondering… is there anything you left out? ”
“I would never—”
“No, of course not,” he said quickly. “Foolish to even think such a thing of one of our finest knights.”
Viola smiled, though the compliment wasn’t accurate. She worked hard, that much was true, but she was far from the finest. Heindrich was stronger, Freya was faster, Flameborn had greater endurance. Many others were more loyal or brave or true. Her knowledge was better than most, perhaps, but only through sheer perseverance and the fact she spent most of her leave abroad, learning. It didn’t necessarily translate to being fine.
“You’re too kind.”
Jax hovered beside her still, peering over her shoulder. “I see you’re reading up on him. Found anything of interest yet? Our researchers are calling him the King of Chaos.”
“I’m not sure it’s chaos he wants,” Viola said.
“No?”
“I think it might just be money.” Mostly. Mainly. It didn’t explain the bodies of the former knights of the bloodiness of their deaths, but they were the only anomalies.
Something indiscernible flickered in the King’s eye, but whatever his thoughts, he did not elaborate. Neither did Viola ask. She could be wrong, of course, and even if the Shadowmancer did just want wealth, there was the question of what he would do with it once he had amassed enough. He already had power. Money and magic would make him a formidable foe.
“What was he like?” Jax asked, his voice soft. “The Shadowmancer? Did you speak to him at all—”
“Mostly I was just trying to make sure he didn’t kill me.”
“Right,” said Jax, running a hand across his clean-shaven chin. “Of course. I’m sorry for bothering you, Windbright. Excuse me.”
He left without another word.
That night, Viola dreamed she was back in the forest, running through the mists, the shadows slashing through the trees. A figure composed entirely of darkness was stalking her, only when she looked up, the trees themselves were shadows too. They arched over her, enveloping her like a wave.
And then she was somewhere else, dark and red and burning. Fire latched onto her skin, snaking around her limbs, clawing at her throat.
She couldn’t breathe. The air was choking.
She shuddered awake in bed, breathing heavily, clutching at the covers. Freya murmured next to her, an arm around her waist. “Are you all right, elskling?”
“I’m fine,” Viola lied. “Go back to sleep.”
“I can get you—”
Viola leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m all right, Frey. Go back to sleep. It’s only a dream.”
Freya didn’t take much convincing. She gave her a quick squeeze, and was asleep within moments. Viola pulled the covers up to her shoulders, brushing her lover’s hair over her back. She tried to take some comfort in the serenity of her sleeping face, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the weight of her beside her. It did not come.
“I am a knight of the realm,” Viola whispered to the dark. “Though the shadows of doubt may cloud my mind and uncertainty may tighten its grip around my heart, I shall not falter. For though I may feel fear, I will never be conquered by it.”
Fear had no power over her. She would not let the nightmares win.