Chapter 47
“Rhoswen, good of you to join us.”
A tunic clung to Evandor’s back, darkened with sweat. Wiping his brow, he tucked caramel hair behind his ears and heaved a long breath. His duel attire was stained and shabby, not matching the weight of his title, and the ebony circlet was nowhere in sight. He looked as if royalty had been stripped away and left the man beneath the crown.
Evandor sheathed his blade and neared from the clearing.
I watched my steps through the gardens. Shadows played with my feet, hiding the vines of thistles and frost that crunched beneath. As I wove through the brambles, it seemed the stone paths were nearing the end of use in the garden’s overgrowth.
Clenching my cloak, I wrapped myself in the wool, cold and weary from a long night. Before the quiet sun could kiss the lands, a servant had come to me in beckons to draw blades. I had only just lain down. And, as the clouds suspended low, I could half-believe the night still drew on.
I fought a yawn, but it bested me.
“Do not tell me you are tired before we even begin training,” the prince taunted.
“Was something keeping you up last night?” A mischievous tone was coupled with a fox grin.
I cut my yawn short with clenching teeth and a subtle scowl.
Though a many things kept me up in the night, I knew Evandor only referred to one—his interruption at Alistair’s door.
“Perhaps,” I admitted, and, in Deceit’s magic, I pooled blush onto my face—a woman simply caught up in romance. My cheeks became the brightest shade in this lifeless garden.
As Evandor stepped towards the edge of the clearing, another stood behind.
The god’s magic disappeared. Sincere scarlet burned my face.
Drawn by my gaze, a soft smile crossed Alistair’s lips, and his eyes wandered from the crown of my head to my feet. He stood from his stone seat, burdens and weariness apparent upon his shoulders.
Deceit groaned as my lips echoed his. My heart fluttered, though it was weighted by chains of reality. That, in the ancient tombs, there now stood a crowd craving this lord’s death.
The lords of this age will fall, the god had sworn time and again.
The Raven Lord sheathed his blade and wiped the sweat from his brow. He came to me with those darkened eyes. As a stream of shivers jittered my jaw, he set his hand upon my arms and stroked them gently.
My eyes closed for a moment where comfort found me.
“Were you able to rest?” I asked, noting the bags beneath his eyes.
He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair.
“Did you leave your room last night? I saw Freya in the hall, and she mentioned she hadn’t seen you.”
“I ran into a friend from another house. I stayed the night with them.” His brows hardened. I added.
“In the shadows. I did not see Briarwood.” Before Alistair could question me further, I came nearer to him and whispered.
“Does Evandor know about Briarwood? About you in the wood?”
He nodded so delicately, I barely caught it.
“What will you do?” I asked.
“Rhoswen—” His words silenced for a pause.
“You walk a line between truth and riddles with your lies and secrets. And yet, you ask honesty of me. When will you be willing to give what you yourself demand?”
A swell of sadness overwhelmed my heart—be it the guild in the crypts, Briarwood being alive, or perhaps the sheer exhaustion I had. But I knew, above all else, it was the raw openness Alistair presented here.
I yearned to be entirely honest, but I couldn’t. Not yet, at least.
“Honestly,” I began, giving what I was able to.
“I wish you had never opened your door last night. I wish to be there now, in your chambers, beside the warmth of the fire. To forget all that happened after you left.”
“Believe me, if we find ourselves there again, I will weld the door shut. No one is getting in. And no one is getting out.”
Blood in my cheeks, the ache was alive.
“Do you promise?”
Somehow, his eyes darkened and softened in unison.
“On my life.”
Deceit hissed. This lord has been marked by the gods, and the guild will seek to take his life. Will you allow it, child? Will you allow the will of the gods to claim the lord’s last breath?
As quickly as my heart came alive, the god slaughtered it.
I glanced off to the dark dawn, remembering the beating red in Moira’s eyes at the mention of the Raven Estate. There was mature bloodlust in her gaze. It was bloodlust Taison shared in, and I feared what the God of Carnage might bring this night.
“Are you all right?” Alistair asked.
“Come now, you two.” Evandor unsheathed his blade, iron scraping leather.
“We’d best start before I am called to entertain the castle guests.” The tip of his blade tapped the ground.
“Rhoswen, you had the disadvantage of Alistair taking an easy on you last time, and I do not believe today would be any different.” The prince motioned to Alistair. “How about she uses your blade? She and I will begin.”
There was something familiar upon Alistair—the need to know more. To know what I did not say. But, rather than demand honesty I was unwilling to give, he only lifted his sword and offered me the handle.
Our fingers brushed together.
I clenched the blade, and Alistair’s warmth from the hilt melted the frost of my skin. My fingers traced along the crossguard. It was a simple blade—not adorned with jewels and gold, but made for battle. This was no forgotten weapon sharp in idleness. Its purpose rippled through me as I held the hilt.
“I am glad you came,” Alistair hushed.
My brows raised with the edge of my smile.
“You enjoy watching me make a fool of myself, do you?”
A smirk tugged on Alistair’s lips that disappeared instantly.
“No. I’m glad you’re learning how to defend yourself.” Creases marked between his brows, and his eyes fell to my side—to where I was stabbed by a corpse.
“I am glad to be here, too.” My hand swept beneath his chin, lifting his gaze.
“I know my fate would have been far different had you not been there that day.”
“A day that cannot come again.”
I carved a grin.
“I have lived in this realm my entire life, yet to fall to the other side. Regardless, you have an arsenal of healing potions at-the-ready.”
And where I aimed to uplift, Alistair’s face only hardened.
Smoothly, he spoke.
“You cannot rely on me, Rhoswen.”
“Rely on you?” I scoffed, knowing there were only two I had ever relied on—myself and the god in my head.
“I may not always be here,” he said, as though he meant it with undying certainty. As though he could vanish in an instant.
“Briarwood will meet his end, I will ensure this, but the days bring change that I cannot hide from.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The god’s cackle pierced my ears. Feathers of black doth fall from the sky. His days are numbered. The lords of this age will fall… And it seems your lord already knows this.
Alistair nearly stepped away, but I reached out and took his wrist. His brows furrowed. He looked down at me. Marking me.
I lifted my chin.
“Alistair, what is it you do not say?”
“Are you two about ready?” The prince called.
Though my stare was meant to hold him captive, Alistair turned from me.
“Alistair?” I whispered, but he did not look at me, did not turn back.
He slipped from my reach and set his hand upon Evandor’s shoulder.
“Be nice to her,” he said, before clearing distance.
I tore my eyes from Alistair and looked at the prince.
The god’s tongue clicked as he held Evandor in his gaze. A maiden before a man, a sister before a brother. A god before a fox, a prince before the fallen heir. A contest sung in steel and blood, a prelude to the impending battle. But, whose blood is it that will stain the ground first?
Alistair’s words left my chest hollow, but the god pressed my disquiet into silence, tucking it away.
I swung the blade.
Evandor let out a snicker as he measured me from across the clearing.
“You, dearest Rhoswen, already seem ready for war.”
I did not look at Alistair, sitting on ruin stones at the clearing’s edge, though I could feel his stare like a rigid cord fastened around me.
Standing beneath the clouds, Evandor’s eyes illuminated in the dark—two hovering orbs, burning as bright as flames and marking his opponent. There was a harmony to his gaze. It was the balance of skill and wisdom that made him a deadly rival. His form was practiced, his breath calm, and his arm raised like a scythe.
“I would enlighten you on proper footwork if I believed you did not already know.” Evandor took a hastened step forward, never breaking his controlled stance. His blade pierced the air as he neared.
Goaded by the prince, I bent my knees and advanced.
As Evandor surveyed my form, it was not a regal grin molding his lips, but more of a starving haggler after a profitable sale.
“See, Alistair?” Evandor looked at the edge of his sight.
“Effortless.”
I did not expect the prince’s blade to rise so quickly. Without even staring his foe in the eyes, Evandor slashed through the air. I yelped, unable to maneuver, and the blade glided past my arm and sliced.
“Sands, Evandor!” Alistair growled and leaped up.
My lungs convulsed in a shaken breath, and my eyes cautiously lowered to my arm. Through the tear in my sleeve, I slipped my trembling fingertips to see what the prince had done to me.
My short breaths turned to relief. No blood.
“You must be faster than that, Rhoswen.” Evandor stretched out his arm, blade levitating over the ground, and he quickly brought his hilt back to his chest.
The sword’s whistle met me like a song of humiliation.
“Are you all right?” Alistair asked. He took my arm and searched for blood.
“Don’t worry about me.” I stole my arm back and glared up at him, finding his dark eyes hidden behind strips of hair.
“I can handle my own.”
“You should not be dueling against Evandor.” His brows creased.
“His vanity does not let him play easily.”
Easily? My annoyance found Deceit, and the god relished in it.
“Truly, Alistair, I am fine.” My teeth bared.
“I do not need to rely on you.”
Alistair looked as though a man had clouted his stomach. But, only for a second. Then, he became a statue—a vacant expression of stoic stone. It wrenched my stomach, but I held my ground.
“If you don’t mind.” I lifted my palm towards the outskirts, and Alistair stepped backwards to the ruin stones.
“Ah, she’s ready for another round.” Evandor laughed to himself.
A fire sparked in me.
“I was not ready before, but I will be this time.”
“Of course, darling.” Evandor bowed, and it met me like mockery.
I lunged forward, sand kicking at my feet, gown tossing as though it was in the height of dance.
“Come now, Rhoswen. Your movements are predictable,” the prince called.
Evandor cut forward. I tucked low. Spiraling beneath his blade, I rose beside his shoulder and positioned myself at his back. Before I could lift the steel to his neck, Evandor twisted his form and struck my stomach with the flat of his blade.
The air knocked out of me.
I hunched over, cradling myself, and my blade fell to the ground. Tight breaths wheezed down my throat. A hand set at my back. I was ready to cast Alistair away again, but when I looked up, it was the prince himself.
“You’re all right, Rhoswen.” This was new, how the prince spoke to me. Kind. Comforting.
“Take deep breaths.” Lifting the sword from the sand, he set it in my hand.
“You must not stop when in a duel. Your concentration cannot be broken, not for a single moment.”
I nodded with another tight breath and straightened my spine.
He held a slanted grin.
“We do not want any more hooded men in the wood trying to kill you.” Evandor stepped back, clearing space.
“Come. Again.”
Glancing at Alistair, his glare was loyal to the prince.
“How did you know where I was going?” I asked, my voice still gathering strength.
“I have seen that move before, many times.” The prince balanced his blade on his fingertip, tossed it into the air, and snatched it by the handle.
“A counter I had learned very early in my time with swords. Did your father ever train in the castle before moving east?”
Alistair’s eyes bore into me with that hunger for truth.
“No. He had always lived in the eastern lands.” I chewed my lip.
“Why do you ask?”
“After I had learned how to lift a blade, that was the first counter General Alus had taught me. That old goat taught us all the same, from the young princess to the captain of the guards.”
My heart leaped into my neck and pounded in my throat.
The god’s voice slipped in my skull like oil. Wise and dangerous, is the prince. Be careful, be cunning.
“Well, it seems he did an adequate job in training,” I noted, my voice even. Assured.
Evandor whisked his wrist.
“Alus held his title far past his prime. By the age of twelve, I’d left his counsel and sought my own teacher.”
“Another general?” I asked.
I bitterly recalled Evandor’s sword that struck down the Volant—I could not deny, he had mastered the precipice of life and death with a blade.
“Gods, no.” Evandor spun his sword again, the air cracking in the cut of steel.
“One of my father’s assassins. Not past thirty, that man had killed over a hundred men as a shadow to not be seen, not be heard. Stealth. Stamina. Strength. His skills were deadly, with or without a blade.”
I lifted my arms in anticipated surrender.
“And here I am, an inexperienced woman from a pitiful village in the east.”
Evandor shrugged.
“We all have our beginnings, some more humble than others. But, in the end, we are all simply trying to survive.” Raising his blade, he demanded.
“Come, Rhoswen, attack me.”
I clenched Alistair’s sword.
The cold winds pressed at my back, tossing whisps of hair to tickle my face and propel me forward. I strode in tune with the god’s cackle. He seemed amused for reasons I could not quite understand. Perhaps it was the blood my opponent and I shared, or the vision of Sight claiming a new crown would lift from the ashes.
As I raised my blade, I promised myself—I would never uphold the crown.
The fates of the gods breathe stronger than any convictions of man, dear one.
The god’s laughter came alongside all that’d been spoken in mere hours. Desire, deception, death—it did not strangle me, but cast vicious intent from my heart to my blade.
The corners of Evandor’s eyes crinkled as his lips bowed up.
I was without control in this realm, no matter how hard I tried.
All those months ago, when Gwendolyn tasked me with the Raven estate, she did not know it would be the place I lost control. My heart had fallen to desire, Alistair could see through Deceit’s magic, corpses nearly took my life in the laurel wood, and it was the Shadow, not the god, that spared me that day.
The god in my mind, the Shadow at my back, I was merely a puppet on strings.
Hated by my father, marked by Shadow, chosen by gods, my life had been decided for me.
I was a fallen white rose.
And for that, for what I was and what I was not, I was furious.
My skin burned, my arm alone transforming beneath the concealment of my sleeve. I thought of another—Moria, the Bloodletter. I thought of how her arm flexed as she lifted her hammer, and I considered each muscle that had been fortified through years of training.
The god’s talons straddled my mind. You are a puppet. You are a tainted rose. You have fallen, I have raised you up, and you are mine to keep.
I lifted my arm, Moira’s arm, and struck his blade.
The steel rang in my ears. Evandor’s arms flew back, exposing his chest.
“Gods!” He yelled, and I struck down his sly smile.
He pivoted back, reassembling his stance, but I lunged forward to strike again.
Yes, child. The god savored each swing. Strike him down!
The god’s anger was mature. It seeped down into my mind and discarded ration. This control I had, it did not belong to me, if it ever did. It belonged to Deceit. To the art of deception. And, as I let my rich anger flow out, it was in desperation to change my fate. As though proving myself in this moment might grant me right over my own future.
I struck again, then again, and Evandor quickly transitioned from teacher to survivor.
His breaths were becoming heavy. In his ever-wise gaze, I could tell he did not know what to do with me. Would he strike me down, or would he allow me to win this duel so it might end?
My muscles flexed, hidden beneath my sleeve, and I swung again.
Evandor shifted in the sands, his stride guiding him to my side. My elbow struck his chest, my hilt battered his shoulder, and I tucked low as I did before—just as General Alus taught me—and stood at Evandor’s back. Before he could pivot, I had my blade at his throat. My arm snapped, and Moira’s muscles deteriorated.
The prince’s shoulders hunched as he griped.
“What the fuck was that?” He twisted towards me with dissecting eyes. Staring into my gaze, he then studied my arm and the sword, but he could not derive an answer. His mind, filled with limitless knowledge, had failed him. The infuriation darkened his eyes.
“I told you.” I placed a tune of innocence in my voice. Haughty innocence.
“My father trained me.”
Evandor swatted away my blade from his neck. He looked as though he might scream at me, send me away to rot in the prisons with my brothers and sisters, but he simply shook his head and fashioned himself a smile.
“You are full of surprises, Miss Fallen. Unexplainable surprises.”
“How humiliating,” shouted across the grounds.
“The undefeated prince of Andrael, nearly losing his head at the hand of a woman!”
A groan escaped Evandor, and we both looked out to see Knox in mighty steps. He appeared like a ruin that’d come to life, striding through the remains of the garden, crushing floral carcasses.
Knox’s yellow hairs were slicked back. He was adorned in fine, royal garbs of gold and blacks with a crown atop his head. Evandor rolled up his ragged sleeves and wiped the sweat from his brow. Standing opposed, the brothers looked as though they shared little of anything apart from blood.
Alistair stood to his feet and came to my side.
The brothers began to banter.
Alistair leaned nearer and whispered.
“Rhoswen, what had you done?”
“I held my own,” I said flatly.
“No, you did not. That was not you.”
I turned to him, glaring up towards the grey sky.
“Then tell me, Alistair, what was it? I thought you wanted me to be able to take care of myself.”
My glare was mirrored in his.
“Do not twist my words.”
“I am not. You said it plainly. You wish for me to be able to take care of myself, and I obviously can, so I do not understand why you are upset.”
“I am not upset. I—” He let out an angered growl.
My pitch rose.
“Go on, tell me. What are you?”
Alistair reached out, taking both my shoulders. He held me tight with furrowing brows and narrowed eyes.
“Rhoswen, there is going to be a time when the truth reveals itself.”
The god and the lord spoke in unison.
“The truth always reveals itself.”
Alistair continued.
“And I do not know which side you stand on. And I fear what side you stand on. I have my speculations, and if my speculations are true, you and I will be brought to a place we cannot turn back from.”
“It always comes to trust with you,” I bit.
“In a realm where lies are spread as truths, brothers kill brothers, and the gods are deemed evil by the men they created.”
Alistair quietly uttered.
“I saw the light on your arm, Rhoswen.”
Oh gods.
All fell away. All, except the god in my head.
He knows, I uttered to the dark.
He only bears speculations, child. Do not be rash, or he will discover the truth.
“I know I could defeat her in one strike,” Knox rumbled.
“Your damn confidence is unbearable.” Evandor’s voice was anchored in annoyance.
“And I know better than putting anyone against you.”
Knox crossed his colossal arms over his chest.
“Because I take down my enemies before they can beg for mercy.”
“Again, brother, your confidence. Truly unbearable.” Evandor spat his words.
“It has nothing to do with you winning. You don’t know how to control your anger. That sword of yours would go on a killing rampage before you’d lay it down.”
Evandor’s scolding met Knox like praise, the heir’s blue eyes burning in pride.
“That is what this kingdom needs,” Knox stated.
Evandor pinched the bridge of his nose.
“That is what this kingdom already has. You are simply the continuation of Father’s work, not a damn prodigy.”
Knox’s square jaw turned red, and he stabbed his finger on Evandor’s chest.
“When I’m done with her, you’re next.”
“You are not dueling Rhoswen. She is not a game for you to play.”
And here, I knew, I had become a pawn in the undying grievances between brothers.
Alistair’s hands soften on my shoulders before letting go. He positioned himself before me, dividing me from the princes.
“Your Highness.” He bowed.
“Let us draw blades. It has been some years since we’ve stood against each other.”
“Now that is a rational idea,” Evandor added.
The crease between Knox’s brows only deepened.
“No,” he said, looking me up and down.
“Let’s see what she can do.”
But this was not about me. This was about Knox’s pride.
Alistair’s voice lowered.
“She needs time to be trained. Not thrown from one duel to another.”
“Bite your tongue, Raven.” Knox’s throat veins tautened.
“My brother might allow you to speak without respect, but you will not address me like some commoner.”
Knox unsheathed his blade, jewels at the hilt, and tread towards me.
Alistair did not move, and the crown’s heir noted his defiance.
Knox shot his glare at Alistair.
“Get out of the way before I make you grovel at my hallowed feet.”
Evandor cut in.
“Gods, Knox, get off your damn pedestal for two seconds.”
Knox huffed with a smile that would make a blind man run.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,” Knox assured, but I knew a lie when I heard one.
Though so did Alistair.
It was a lord against a crown, and we all knew how this would end.
Alistair turned to me with soft, dark eyes and drawn brows. As we looked at each other, I fell into thoughts of last night, caged beneath his arms. Protected. Safe.
“I wish you hadn’t opened the door,” I said quietly for only him to hear. Any hostility in my voice had entirely worn away.
“Just for one night, I wish…”
I wished I were not the sister of my brothers or the daughter of my father. I wished I were not chosen by gods and marked by Shadows. I wished there were no secrets between Alistair and me that, once revealed, would find us against each other.
Alistair said nothing. He marked Knox one last time before surrendering to the prince’s command and withdrawing from me. Like gentle waves that had just kissed the shore, he left, and I now stood before Knox.
It was a familiar scorn that etched Knox’s face—similar to my father’s. My scar throbbed in fear of being resurrected, as though my past could manifest through Knox and cut past the hardened skin.
This is not wise, Rhoswen, the god warned, though I did not believe I had a choice.
Knox licked his lips in sick craving.
“Let’s see what you’re made of, girl.”
I did not know if what I was made of could help me here. Though still, I lifted Alistair’s blade and centered my stance.
Like a beast to blood, the heir to the throne—the man crafted from my father’s cloth—swung his blade.