Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He knew what he had to do. The decision was made before he was even consciously aware of it. Owain turned down the corridor opposite to his rooms and headed for Chrys’s room. He didn’t knock, instead barging into the small space. Chrys was stepping out of the washroom in only a towel.
“Can I fucking help you?” he asked, hair dripping as he padded over towards his clothing chest.
“He’s going to kill her.” The words were out in a rush as Owain closed the door and waved a hand, placing a sound shield over it.
“There’s only one her you’d be this flustered about dying,” he said as he pulled on his leather armor. “What happened?”
Owain recounted his father’s words in the throne room and his realization that his father was using Owain’s feelings for Orla against him.
Chrys stood silently, looking pensively at Owain through the retelling.
When he finished, out of breath from the words tumbling out, he told Chrys his plan.
“I need you to impersonate me and help the envoy plan to go to Ovidur while I get a head start and get to Orla. I know a place that I can take her that will be safe from my father, but I assume he will have me followed if he gets wind that I’ve left the palace.
But I won’t lie to you, Chrys, if he discovers you, he will kill you. ”
Chrys was quiet for a long moment, pacing back and forth in front of the bed.
“When I asked you if she was worth dying for, I guess I should have been asking myself the same question.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chrys let out a long sigh.
“I’ll do it. Because everything I have as a warrior, I owe to you.
But if I do this and we live, I’m done with the politics.
I told you, I am loyal to you. And for reasons I can’t fathom, you have fallen for her, so I will help you.
I will stay for two days. The evening of the second day, I will ride to meet you. ”
Owain embraced Chrys in a bone-crushing hug.
“I owe you everything, Chrys. Thank you.” Not for the first time, the two put their heads together and made a plan. Though neither acknowledged that none of their other plans had panned out well so far. Alas, they soldiered on.
* * *
Later that night, during the witching hour, Chrys crept into Owain’s room to put their plan into place.
Owain was dressed in black trousers, a black tunic, and a large hooded black cloak that covered his antlers.
Chrys was bearing the resemblance of the small messenger imp with his red hair and flat nose.
He had a sword strapped to his back in case they ran into trouble.
Sneaking out of Owain’s room would be a challenge.
Though they didn’t know who it would be, they assumed King Vernon would have Owain followed, so they had to be cautious.
Slowly, Chrys slunk out of the room and down the hall towards the back stairs with Owain trailing close behind.
The mage lights were no longer lit, but the large hall windows let in enough moonlight for the two males to be seen.
“Too bad your power isn’t manipulating shadows,” Chrys quipped.
“How the fuck are shadows a power?” Owain asked in a whisper.
“You know, like making shadows move. Being master of the dark.” Owain continued to stare blankly at him. “Never mind, keep moving,” Chrys said while rolling his eyes.
They made their way to the servants’ stairs that were tucked into an alcove near the entrance to the picture gallery.
Owain’s heart squeezed, thinking of when Orla had brought him to the gallery.
The first time he had ever seen Orla smile was in that gallery, and he had become addicted to those smiles.
The memory helped spur him on as he continued to follow Chrys down a dark narrow staircase.
The winding staircase seemed to go on forever with the occasional mage light to illuminate their path. As they approached a closed door, they heard a thud on the other side. They froze.
Chrys was safe while using the imp’s visage. Though it would be strange for the palace messenger to be out this late, it wasn’t unheard of. But Owain had no reason to be out of his rooms and sneaking down the servants’ stairs.
Chrys held up his hand, gesturing for Owain to remain silent as he stepped through the door. Owain couldn’t see what was on the other side, but he could hear Chrys speaking in the imp’s high, scratchy voice.
“Good evening, m’lord. Surprising to find you down here at such a late hour,” the person in question responded.
“Not that it is any business of an imp,” he said contemptuously, “but I have been stationed here on order of the king.” Dread gripped Owain. He knew that haughty, low voice anywhere: Lord Calix.
“But of course, m’lord. Though I was sent by his majesty to come find you and tell you that he is requesting your presence in the royal offices, m’lord. I’d be happy to escort you if you wish.”
The lie was very well done, Owain thought. Chrys’s moons of impersonating the imp had paid off. He heard Lord Calix shuffle off. He was too proud a male to ever take the servants stairs, even if it was the faster route.
Owain let out a sigh of relief as Chrys reopened the door and gestured for Owain to follow.
The door let out into a small storage room that held various cleaning supplies and servants’ attire.
Beyond it, there was another narrow dark hallway with an old door at the end.
Once they reached the door, Chrys opened it as the door let out a loud groan.
Both males held their breath, hoping that the loud sound didn’t alert any of the king’s other guards to their movements.
Once the door was opened, they were hit by the brisk winter air and the rushing of wind outside.
Owain resisted the temptation to warm the air around them, fearing that if someone were near, it would give away his identity.
They clung to the shadowy sides of the palace walls as they made their way towards the stables.
No stable hands should be working at this hour, but they still kept silent as they made their way over to Owain’s mare.
Once the horse was saddled, Owain felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
He just had to get her out of the stables, and he would be able to start making the journey to Orla.
He could protect her. And maybe with luck, he could get her to forgive him.
“Do you think I am that easily fooled?”
Creeping out of the shadows of the next stable was Lord Calix, a vicious grin spread across his face.
Owain and Chrys froze. Reaching for his sword, Chrys moved towards Lord Calix, but the older male was quicker, blinking out of the way from Chrys’s blade before unsheathing a dagger and throwing it. The dagger buried deep in Chrys’s forearm causing his steps to falter, as he dropped his weapon.
Realization swept over Owain. Calix was the one who attacked Orla in the gardens.
But that should have been impossible. Orla had stabbed the attacker in the throat several times, and Owain could have sworn they were dead when he shoved them off her.
Very few kinds of magic could protect someone from that kind of attack.
“Tell me, Chrys, why would a messenger need a sword strapped to his back?” He unsheathed another dagger, this time pointing it at Owain while Chrys clutched at the wound to his arm.
“You two bastards aren’t as clever as you think you are.” Both males thought about moving, but one well-placed throw from those daggers, and they could be dead.
Owain’s brain was working double time; he had to get to Orla, but he wouldn’t leave Chrys here wounded and defenseless. Discreetly, Owain removed his own dagger, but Lord Calix caught the movement.
“Try it. But your aim better be good, bastard, because I’ve already informed the king of your deception. Others will be here shortly.” As he said it, Owain heard shouts coming from the palace. They had minutes, if that, before this plan went to shit.
Owain’s best course of action was to distract the male for as long as he could.
“Teleportation? That’s not one of your powers. How’d you come into such a convenient gift?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, bastard. My king has been amassing power for decades and those loyal to him will be bestowed a greater power than the Elves of this continent have ever imagined.”
Owain didn’t like the sound of that, and he worried that Calix would blink again any moment and kill either him or Chrys.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Owain moved.
He threw his dagger, aiming for Lord Calix’s boot.
The older male didn’t see that coming, throwing his own dagger as well, but missing Owain.
Chrys lunged for his sword, arms shaking from the strain of holding it with his injured arm when Calix blinked again.
This time, he appeared in front of Owain before slashing down his thigh.
Before he could react, Calix blinked to the other side of the stables and out of reach.
He had never seen magic like this. Calix’s Elven powers were all related to the mind. Unless he had been hiding this ability, it didn’t make sense, and an ability like this was hard to hide.
Owain had to think.
Calix could have killed them by now with how fast he was.
The only reason he hadn’t must be because he is waiting for the others to arrive.
Owain’s father would love nothing more than to kill Owain himself for his lack of loyalty.
If Calix was told not to kill them, he could use his hesitation to their advantage, he just had to try to anticipate where the male would strike next.
Owain pivoted on his feet, putting himself between Chrys and Calix while he unsheathed another dagger.
“You deign to try and kill me, bastard? But it’s too late, you showed your heart and your father knows you have betrayed him. Killing me won’t keep you your lackey”—he tossed a glance at Chrys—“or your whore safe. If only you had remembered your place instead of trying to best your betters.”
Calix blinked again, but Owain anticipated this move and was on him in seconds.
He unsheathed the broadsword on his back.
He felt Calix tense beneath him as if preparing to blink, but in a heartbeat, Owain sliced this sword across Lord Calix’s throat.
Blood poured from the wound as he dropped the older male to the ground with a dull thump.
Owain rushed to grab the discarded daggers before reaching for Chrys’s arm to heal him.
“Leave it,” Chrys said. “We need to hide his body. It won’t buy much time, but it can buy us some.”
Owain nodded, quickly pulling off Lord Calix’s blood-soaked armor and handing it to Chrys. As Owain stripped the male, he noticed a series of complex runes etched into the flesh on Lord Calix’s chest like a brand.
“Have you ever seen runes on a body like that, Owain?” Apprehension and fear laced Chrys’s voice.
“Never.”
Gaping with confusion, Owain leaned down to examine the intricate symbols. Dread crept along his neck. Whatever was happening within the inner circle of his father’s court was more complex than he had realized.
Making a last minute decision, Owain drove his sword straight down through Calix’s neck. He sawed back and forth until the elder males head came free of his body as Chrys nodded in agreement with Owain’s course of action.
More shouts could be heard, growing closer to the stables. They were running out of time.
“You have to go,” Chrys urged.
Quickly, Chrys changed form again, making himself resemble Lord Calix as Owain dragged the corpse of the real Lord Calix into a dark stall.
The two worked to cover him in straw before giving up and throwing a blanket over the male.
This ruse, if it worked, would only buy them a few hours at most, and they had to move.
Owain mounted his horse and reminded Chrys of their meeting point. The voices of Lord Calix’s reinforcements were growing louder as Chrys made to leave the stables.
“Chrys,” Owain called out. “Don’t die.”
Chrys nodded, his cocky smirk out of place on the face of Lord Calix. “I don’t plan on it.”
And with that, the two males separated. Chrys ran out to meet the approaching guards, telling them how Owain had attacked him and fled towards the port, hoping that they would go the wrong way and give Owain time to get off the palace grounds.
This time, the ruse worked. The guards rushed towards the palace entrance that would lead towards the port.
Once their footsteps softened, Owain rode out of the stables as fast as he could, determined to make it to Orla.