Chapter 2 Ezryn
Ezryn
Each step I take into the Hall of Vernalion is quicker and lighter than the last.
My boots are the only sound, for I wear no armor, no metal, only cloth. The crevasse created from the battle waged between me and my brother still mars the ancient stone, though planks of wood form a makeshift bridge. I cross, unhindered.
Our plan succeeded. At least this far. Dayton and Farron’s forces were able to distract the armies left occupying Florendel and emptied Keep Hammergarden of its defenses.
Tilla and her team took care of the guards posted on the wall.
What soldiers I did encounter on my way here, I dispatched easily.
But one remains. One entity between Spring and its liberty.
The Sapphire Knight stands at the base of the throne, his armor glinting blue as his namesake.
The token of Winter, a crystal snowflake, hangs like a medal across his chest plate.
Haphazardly, he swings the Sword of the Protector—Keldarion’s sword—as if testing out its range.
The whole act is a cruel mockery. I can only imagine how many of my people he’s cut down with that holy blade.
But everything that was once sacred in Spring has been ripped open. The monastery. The grove. Our family.
“Well, what do we have here?” the Sapphire Knight calls, his voice reverberating from behind the helm. “If it isn’t Ezryn, the exiled prince, seeking more Spring blood!”
I don’t respond. There’s no point. Words can’t reclaim a throne.
“I’m surprised you dare to show your face here, Ezryn. Every citizen can mark you by those raggedy ears. Failure. Traitor. Mother slayer.”
Slowly, I continue to close the distance between us, the weight of my mother’s sword on my back.
“Banished by your own brother! Humiliated, cast out. Your people don’t want you here, Prince of Blood. They chose Emperor Kairyn.”
The sound of Kairyn’s scream rattles in my head as I picture him hanging below Solonius’s Spine, trapped in vines of his own making. The hate and grief and love that warred within me. That still war.
Other images flash through my mind. Faces. The former members of Kairyn’s Green Rule, renewing their vows of allegiance to the Queen’s Army. Delphia and Nori, reminding me who I am and what I stand for. The bright shine of Rosalina’s eyes as she promised to protect the token of Spring.
“You’re really going to do this?” the Sapphire Knight says.
“The last time you faced me, you and your dear friend Keldarion were like children, playing with sticks.” He holds up the sword, examining it.
“Does the High Prince of Winter miss this? It’s quite the blade, though insatiably thirsty for Spring blood.
I get such a thrill when one of these Spring sheep acts out of line.
It’s immensely satisfying cutting through them. ”
I wonder who this Sapphire Knight was before he and my brother disposed of the high clerics and set their sights on the sacred weapons. Were they friends? Did he like to read? Did he wish to do good at first?
That’s the only way I make sense of it: knowing Kairyn wanted to do right by our people. But the allure of power was too much for him, as it is for the Sapphire Knight.
And that sword belongs to the Sworn Protector of the Realms.
I draw my mother’s blade and stop several feet away from the knight.
He scoffs. “How do you intend to beat me, Ezryn? Look at the steel I wield!”
He’s right. There is no blade in all the Vale like the Sword of the Protector. My sword will never be able to pierce his armor. Regardless, I take a defensive stance and wait.
The Sapphire Knight lunges first, faster than I expect for such heavy armor. His sword slams down, sparks bursting as it gouges the stone where I stood a heartbeat before. He wheels, snarling, striking again in a savage arc.
I lift my mother’s blade to parry. The shock jars my arms, steel shrieking against steel, but my pulse stays steady. He strikes again, harder, driving me back a pace, then another. Each blow rains down like thunder, but I let them come, let him exhaust himself like a rainstorm against a mountain.
“Fight me, coward!” he bellows, hacking sideways. I twist away, his blade crashing into a pillar with a crack that showers the hall in shards of stone. He staggers to recover.
“Perhaps your brother will return to his rightful seat here in Florendel when he learns of your death,” the Sapphire Knight pants. “Let me take the last shreds of honor you have left. You don’t belong here, Prince of Blood. It is time to embrace your death.”
He wants me to rage. To snarl and snap and make mistakes, as I once did. I already fed him and his allies too much of my anger, and it only made them stronger. They will never taste it again.
The Sapphire Knight charges and swings Keldarion’s sword with all his might, all his arrogance. This time, I don’t meet it. Instead, I sidestep, letting my mother’s sword slip from my fingers. It clatters to the stone floor. The Sapphire Knight stumbles, off-balance.
With one hand, I snatch the token of Winter from his neck.
The other I close around his wrist, and with a swift movement, I wrench the Sword of the Protector from his grasp.
Before he can react, I twist the blade around and drive it through his chest plate.
The weapon cuts through the armor as if it were paper, and I know I’ve found his heart.
The Sapphire Knight freezes, chest heaving, staring at his stolen relic, turned upon him. A wheezing sound emits from beneath the helm.
“You’re right,” I murmur. “I don’t belong here. But neither do you.”
I pull the sword out. The knight falls to his knees, then to the floor in an echoing thud.
A sense of silence and calm flows into the Hall of Vernalion, a peacefulness I have not felt since my mother’s rule. I take the Sword of the Protector’s scabbard off the Sapphire Knight’s body and sheathe it. Then I retrieve my mother’s blade, mumbling an apology for casting it aside.
I don’t spare another look at the Sapphire Knight. My focus is on the throne. To stand before it is to stand before my ancestors, to bear the weight of their glory.
My eyes catch on the catlike slits in my mother’s helm, forged into the steel that makes up the throne. “I know it’s not enough,” I whisper to her, “but it’s a start.”
The clatter of armor sounds, and a figure appears in the doorway at the back of the room.
Tilla stands, breathing heavily, blood splattered across her tawny cheeks.
Her black hair is tied into a braid that cascades down her dark gray armor.
She carries her helm under one arm and a mace in her other hand.
“Are you okay? I tried to get here as fast as I could,” she calls, voice breathless.
“The Sapphire Knight is no more,” I say, grateful to turn away from the throne. “Spring is free.”
She leans against the wall, a rare smile breaking across her face. “We did it. The rest of the keep is clear. Dayton and Farron are purging the last remnants of the Green Rule. They should be here soon. The city is ours!”
I return her smile, then look back at the throne.
She crosses to me, footsteps heavy, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s yours, Ezryn. It’s always been yours. Our people will follow you.”
My chest tightens. Perhaps she’s right. Maybe I could rally the people of Spring back to my side.
But this throne does not belong to me. Can’t belong to me. Not after I gave away Spring’s blessing.
I shake my head. “No, Tilla. I’m not what Spring needs right now. You should rule as steward. You’ve led Spring’s resistance. The people look to you.”
“Ez,” she breathes. “No.”
“Yes, Tilla. You must.”
Her lip trembles, but she sets her jaw and nods.
I pull her helm out from under her arm. “I will do everything I can to heal Spring,” I tell her, “including finding a way to deliver the blessing to a worthy high ruler. Until that day, keep our people safe.”
Carefully, I pull the helm down over the new steward’s face. Tilla takes a deep breath. “Yes, Prince Ezryn. I promise.”
Pulling her close, I kiss the top of the helm, then step away. There’s something I need to find before the other princes and I leave Florendel.
“Ez,” Tilla calls as I get to the doorway.
I turn around and raise a brow.
“I’ll be steward, but I’m just keeping the throne warm until the true high ruler shows up. So don’t take too long finding them, okay?”
I nudge the door open and enter my father’s bedchamber. It’s cold, and there’s a layer of dust on the bedsheets. No one has been in here in months.
I recall sitting at his bedside, attempting to feed him soup as he tossed and turned in his fever. Was it true? Had he been poisoned, destined to shift into a horrible monster?
Had Caspian spared him that fate?
I squeeze my eyes shut and grab the bedposts, trying to weather the pangs of grief as I’ve weathered blows of a sword.
Finally, I’m able to take the last few steps over to the cabinet.
Its dark wood looms over me, imposing yet familiar, carved with vines and blossoms. I reach for the handles, feeling the cold metal bite against my skin, and with a deep breath, I pull open the doors.
Inside, his armor waits.
The plates gleam even in the dim light, as if they were not so distantly polished. Did Kairyn tend to Father’s armor as I used to when I was high prince?
This is not his usual set, the one he would wear day in and day out.
This is his wartime armor. It is a brilliant gold, the color of coins.
Every piece—pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves—carries the marks of countless battles.
I remember the story for every scratch and dent.
Though he could have had the finest metalworkers make the armor appear like new, my father wore each scar with pride.
I can almost see him standing here with me, tall and unyielding, his presence as unwavering as the armor itself.
Hands shaking, I pick up the helm, running my hand along the flowing red plume, made of horsehair. The air feels too heavy, and I sink to my knees, holding his helm in both hands.
“Are you happy to be with her again?” I whisper. “Did he free you where I could not?”
Two shadows drift over me, and then Dayton and Farron are on either side. I didn’t even hear them come into the room.
“We thought we might find you here,” Farron mumbles. “The city is secure.”
“Thank you,” I say, “for freeing my people.”
Dayton wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest, resting his chin atop my head. “You helped save my city. I help save yours. That’s what brothers do.”
My voice is barely a breath. “My realm is in ruin. The Green Rule has ravaged Florendel, and a tyrant possesses Spring’s blessing. Where do I go from here?”
Farron grabs my hand and squeezes it. His golden eyes flicker. “Listen to me, Ez. Sometimes, you have to burn it all down, turn everything to ash, before anything good and true can grow again.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course he’s right!” Dayton exclaims. “He’s Farron. He’s always right.”
I manage a laugh. “Alright, I’ll try to believe you.”
Dayton stands and yanks me to my feet. “As fun as this has been, shall we go find our mate?”
“You go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
Farron and Dayton shuffle out of the room, tossing sympathetic looks over their shoulders before they’re out of sight. I turn to follow but stop in the doorway.
Tell me what to do, I plead. To whom? My father? My mother? Kairyn?
Myself?
For once, all the voices in my head are silent.