Chapter 20 Skylar #2
There is the sound of coughing, and both Axel and Skylar turn to look.
A servant is there, his gaze darting between them, then around at the menagerie.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he practically whispers, “but the king has requested your company.” He looks at Axel as he says this.
More rebel activity? Skylar wonders. Are they really causing that much trouble?
Have they really been getting conscripts out to safety?
Her heart gives a half leap in hope—but she knows Cam isn’t free.
If he was, he’d have sent a Projection to her, she’s sure of it.
“Fine,” Axel says. “Reuben?” The Flame Thrower steps forward.
“No way,” Skylar says. “Simone can guard me, if that’s where you’re going with this.”
Simone, back in her human form, quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. Maybe Axel has remembered Zryan’s instruction to be nice, because he nods. “Fine. Go and get cleaned up. I’ll find you later.”
“Can’t wait,” Skylar mutters—but he’s already retreating, along with the rest of the menagerie.
Simone sidles up next to her. She studies Axel’s retreating back. “He’s got being a dick down to an art form, doesn’t he?”
Skylar slides her gaze over to the Shifter. “Aren’t you supposed to be all reverent and shit? Given he’s your boss and all.”
Simone snorts. “He’s not my boss. And I’m not the reverent type.” It’s said with just enough bitterness to make Skylar curious.
“You work for the king and queen,” she points out. “I’d say a touch of reverence is part of the job description.”
Simone’s eyes, still holding a yellow glow in her human form, spark with something like anger. “You’re assuming we all want to be here, Your Highness.” The last words drip with sarcasm.
Skylar considers her, then glances around, checking they are alone. “You were conscripted,” she states.
Simone hesitates, then nods curtly. Skylar reaches out, grips Simone’s forearm. “Where were you taken?”
Simone raises her eyebrows. “Here.” Said like Skylar is thick as shit.
“Before that,” Skylar says impatiently, not letting go of Simone’s arm even as the Shifter tries to extract it. “Where do they all get taken? The conscripts?”
“Can’t help you there,” Simone says with an attempt at breezy. “All I know is they get sent to the camps—only a very few, like me, are lucky enough to come here.” She tilts her head—a very feline gesture. “You’re looking for someone.”
It’s not a question, so she doesn’t bother answering. Besides, Simone was there when she tried—and failed—to get Axel to help her.
“I’m so sick of this castle,” she says instead. Which is true. She feels like she’s suffocating, and she swears she hasn’t slept properly since she’s been here. She glances at Simone. “Any chance you fancy a night on the town?”
Simone’s lip quirks. “Fun as that does sound… I’m not stupid enough to play hooky with the Vatran heir, sorry.”
And Skylar can’t get out of the gates without help.
“Fine,” she says, massaging her temples, where a pounding headache is threatening to settle in. She starts walking back to the castle, and Simone falls into step beside her. It’s only when they come under the shadow of the stone turrets that Simone reaches out to stop Skylar.
“I should make something clear,” Simone says slowly. “Just because I didn’t choose this life, there are plenty here who did.”
Skylar glances at the turrets watching over them. And nods. It’s not said out loud, but Simone’s meaning is clear.
Be careful who you trust.
Axel delivers on his promise to find her later as she’s making her way to the dining hall. He jerks his head at Simone, who has stayed by Skylar’s side since earlier, and Simone slinks off in that feline way of hers.
“I heard you want to get out the castle,” he states without preamble.
Skylar keeps her expression neutral. “News travels fast around here.” She tries not to show how disturbed she is by that fact.
He produces a cloak, a mask. He tosses the latter to her.
She catches it. “Because you’re that fed up with looking at my face?”
“Your face is fine.”
“What a compliment.”
“I just don’t want it recognized. There are plenty out there who would love a chance to have a crack at you.
” Maybe, she concedes. But she knows there are some who might be more likely to ask her to sign something for them.
She’s heard the rumors, the odd muttering between guards.
She knows that she’s been the subject of plenty of gossip outside the castle walls—and that there are those who are furious that she has usurped Zryan as well as those who are rooting for her, the long-lost princess.
Still, she doesn’t say any of this. Instead she frowns down at the mask. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because, Skylar,” he begins slowly, “you are currently the most important person in the entire kingdom—so if you need a night out to be at your best, then maybe you ought to have one.” He hesitates, then drops his voice a fraction.
“And because I might not be able to alleviate anyone else’s suffering, but I can, for one night at least, do something about yours. ”
She stares at him. He’s doing this to be nice to her?
He jerks his head. She debates for about a second. But she meant what she said to Simone. She’s so sick of this castle. And she goes to the island in a week—so if this is her last chance to see beyond its walls, she has to take it.
Outside the gates, she breathes in the spice that laces the night air as the sounds of the city wash over her. The hum of Vitalas, worn shoes slapping sunbaked streets, rushed chatter as people pass each other in the street.
Axel walks next to her, a silent presence. As they pass a tavern, she thinks of the “meeting” she was supposed to overhear the night she was captured. A setup, sure—but is there a chance she might overhear something useful while she’s out here?
“So how did you end up living at the castle anyway?” she asks Axel, like it’s a continuation of a conversation they’ve been having.
He raises one eyebrow in recognition of that fact. Or maybe just in surprise that she’s asking. “I grew up there.”
Skylar tries to imagine Axel as a child, and just can’t. “I’m sure that was… fun.”
“My mother was Zryan’s bodyguard,” he says, and there’s something in his tone she can’t quite read.
Skylar’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s never really thought of the prince needing a bodyguard, but she supposes he was young and defenseless, once. “She must be pretty powerful.”
“She was.” Skylar doesn’t miss the past tense.
“She was a Precog.” It’s one of the powers Skylar has secretly coveted in the past, and she’s impressed despite herself.
True foresight is impossible—it’s not a Blooded power, rather the stuff of myths and children’s stories.
But Precogs can see up to a few minutes ahead—which, she’s sure, would make them badass fighters, if they wanted to be.
She wonders for the first time what it must be like to grow up needing a bodyguard. To grow up knowing there’s a target on your back—and knowing your future is to die or kill. That’s what the witch grew up with, too.
Axel is looking at her. Waiting for some kind of reaction, presumably. “So… what happened to her?” she asks.
“That,” he says coolly, “is none of your business.”
Right. They pass by a small square, lamplight flickering in the dark.
On the corner is a busker, with that thin, unwashed look Skylar has seen all too often.
A near-empty hat lies in front of him, as his voice scratches the air.
She wonders if he grew up here, or if he moved from the dying lands out on the southern coast, perhaps, in search of something better.
Axel’s face is illuminated briefly, but his gaze isn’t on the singer. It’s on her hands.
“The scars,” he says evenly. “How did you get them?” It’s not the first time he’s seen them, of course, but it’s the first time he’s acknowledged them.
She starts to curl her hands into fists, then stops herself.
Why should she hide? “I wasn’t born knowing how to catch a dagger,” she says.
“And out in the real world, if you want to eat, you learn how to make money, fast. Otherwise you end up like him.” She jerks her head toward the busker, who has noticed them now.
She walks on, down an alley, before he can get his hopes up.
“Not that I’d expect you to know anything about that. ”
“Just because I live in the castle doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on outside her walls.” His voice is quiet—almost soft. If it were anyone else, she’d say it was a pleasant voice.
Bitterness rises in her. “If you know, and you do nothing about it, then that’s worse.”
He takes her arm, pulls her around to face him.
“You really think I’m doing nothing? Everything I do is for the sake of this country, her people.
I’m trying to stop the rebels from making things worse.
And training you—what do you think will happen if Vatra doesn’t win?
Because, I assure you, the poor will suffer far more than the rich if we’re forced to cede the Heart. ”
Skylar is shaking her head—because they’ve all heard this story before, about how the duel is evidence of the royals’ benevolence, how they are “sacrificing” themselves for the greater good. Only they never actually have to sacrifice themselves, do they? Instead, all they do is kill.
“If you’re saying this to put more pressure on me, then—”
“I’m not.” He lets go of her arm. “I’m saying it so you understand that what I’m trying to do… It’s bigger than either of us.” It’s hardly an apology, but his voice holds a hint of that—an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the way he is treating her.
“So you’re stopping the rebels from saving people because you care so much about the kingdom?”
His gaze meets hers. “The rebels might think they’re helping, but they don’t understand.”