Chapter 10
Slate
Four days had passed since the insurgency meeting where Chrome had basically all but ordered the top commander of the Kinetic Warrior Guilds to ensure that Princess Gray would be trained in weapons and sparring.
By me, nonetheless. We’d heard nothing in that timeframe, and with each day that passed, we grew more anxious.
I hit the elevator button leading to the basement level of the Kinetic Palace to the training room. It was a vast area divided into sections designated for either weapons, sparring, or magic training.
Walking through the training facility, I found Chrome running through stances with two swords.
I walked to the weapons cache and grabbed two of my own.
Our weapons posed no serious danger to us.
For one, we couldn’t kill each other with Kinetic weapons since they were infused with black crystal, which was only deadly for Elementals.
Although, they could be fatal to us if particular organs were gravely wounded and our healing abilities suppressed.
Our blades, however, were dangerous to Chrome.
If he happened to be cut or stabbed, he would immediately inject the antidote that the king provided for him.
He’d gotten quite creative over the years in disguising it from others in the training room.
Usually, he’d discreetly angle his body away from everyone, lift his shirt, and swiftly inject the healing liquid into his stomach.
It always appeared as if he simply nursed his wounds for a moment before returning to spar.
Once both my callused fists closed around the hilts of each sword, the blades ignited blue with Kinetic sigils. My gold currents stood out against the olive undertones of my tanned skin.
“Heard anything yet?” Chrome asked, not stopping his rundown of stances as I moved to face off in front of him.
I shook my head. “Not yet, no. Dad won’t tell me much. I guess he doesn’t want to give us too much information since we’re ‘just kids,’” I grumbled, rolling my eyes and then my shoulders to stretch. “Hopefully, I’ll hear something soon.”
Chrome clenched his jaw. “It needs to happen fast. I feel her.” He adjusted positions, pushing himself to loosen his upper body. “She’s not okay, Slate.”
My fists tightened around the hilts of the swords. “What do you mean by that?”
“Her emotions are strong.” Chrome’s nostrils flared and jaw flexed as he dropped into a lunge. “Dark. Extremely dark. She needs help.”
“Right now?” I asked, my heart jumping into action, fearful for her wellbeing.
Chrome jerked his head, a short lock of chromatic hair draping over his brow. “Your father needs to hurry.”
My heart cinched as worry catapulted my mind to the worst of places. “How bad is it?”
Chrome didn’t respond. He just remained staring at a spot in the distance as he fluidly transitioned from one stance to another. My anxiety only increased, needing to be released.
“Let’s go,” Chrome said, straightening his spine and relaxing his arms.
I squared up with him, bracing myself in an offensive stance. The anxiety lined both of our postures as we readied to spar once again. There were very few times I’d best Chrome, usually if he were distracted. Perhaps right now would be one of those times.
I attacked first, slashing one sword down at an arc, but missed, giving Chrome the free opening to go on the offensive. I blocked his blade with one of my own while stepping from underneath and spinning away, using the free sword to swipe at his midsection.
He sidestepped the move and countered it with another maneuver of his own.
Soon, we fell into a lithe dance of lethality.
The metal clanged and clashed as we fought to land a blow against the other.
I allowed my anxiety to power me through, coming at Chrome from a place of strength and speed while he seemed to concentrate on being precise and agile, making it impossible for me to strike him.
“Fuck!” Chrome shouted, stepping back and dropping his swords to the mats in an uncharacteristic motion. He spun around, jabbing his fingers into his hair and squeezing the strands. His shoulders hunched forward as his breaths came in, harsh and uneven. “She…” he growled. “She’s giving up.”
A tight fist coiled around my jugular, squeezing it until I couldn’t breathe. My heart seemed to stutter with it. “What?” It was barely audible.
With a pained groan, he faced me, his fingertips digging into his chest. “Go to her. Now. She is dying.”
Before I could even process what he’d said, I demanded, “Where is she?”
“Third floor. In the stairwell.”
I spun to leave, an urgency powering me like none other had before.
“Slate!” Chrome called out, making me stop. My jaw clenched, not wanting to be held up any longer than I already had.
“What?” I snapped.
“It’s redfern poisoning. Get an antidote.” The legendary warrior stood behind me, his body strained with anxiety, frozen in place.
My chest knotted up, and my stomach soured. I dipped my chin and took off at a sprint to the doorway exiting the training room. Reaching the elevator, I beat on the button in a hopeless but desperate attempt to speed it up.
Fuck it. The stairs would be quicker, especially since Chrome had said the princess would be on the third level.
The metal door to the stairwell pounded against the wall as I slammed it open, creating a deafening bang that echoed in the hallway. I took the stairs three at a time on each level, racing to get to her before it was too late. Why would she do this? She’s only fourteen!
After what felt like an eternity, I came across a limp form lying at an angle on the stairs. No one ever took the stairwell, so it would’ve taken a while for someone to find her.
Hang in there, little princess.
I dropped to my knees on the edge of the steps, pressing my fingers to the pulse in her neck. Faint, feathery beats pumped blood through her bloodstream. Weak.
Her breaths wheezed from her throat as her complexion paled more by the second, a sheen of clammy sweat coating her exposed skin.
“Princess Gray.” I shook her gently in a panic, knowing she wouldn’t awaken. Instead of wasting time trying to wake her, I scooped her up in my arms and ascended the steps. I carried her to the next floor, exiting only to find the quickest route to the closest elevator.
Once the doors slid open, I took her to my family’s suite, knowing my father kept a small emergency stash of antidote syringes in his office. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind sacrificing one or two for the princess that all our hopes and plans hinged on.
I kicked the door, unable to unlock or open it myself, hoping that someone would hear me.
The princess was small and fragile, but her dead weight had my arms burning.
I kicked the door again with the toe of my boot.
As I waited, I studied her relaxed facial muscles.
I began to shake at her skin’s waifish shade.
It’d grown so pale that I prayed I made it in time.
I squatted to lower her on the floor so that I could punch in the code to the door.
Just as I bent my knees, the door swung open, revealing my mom’s worried, then horrified expression as she took in the scene.
“Oh, Slate. What happened?” she asked as I pushed past her and headed straight to Dad’s study.
“Redfern,” I grunted as I hoisted her in my arms again. Fuck, I needed to hit the gym and lift soon with Onyx and Chrome.
Mom recovered her shocked expression to follow me down the hallway to the right. “Do you know how?”
“I don’t,” I lied. “I just found her like this, but I assume it’s redfern poisoning because of the clammy skin and faint pulse.
” I wasn’t sure that being truthful in this situation would be the best move.
Mental health wasn’t taken seriously in our culture.
Only the strong survived. And while my sweet mother would understand, others would not.
And it would only serve as a reason for our people and king to hurt the princess in the long run. I couldn’t risk it.
Protect her at all costs.
Mom ushered me into Dad’s study, and I took hurried steps toward the black leather couch pressed against the wall. As she rummaged through the wardrobe behind his desk, I laid her down with ease, making sure she lay flat so her oxygen wasn’t obstructed.
The princess’s chest fluttered up and down erratically as life slipped away from her with each faulty breath. “Fuck, Mom. Hurry. She’s too close.”
I couldn’t stand around and not be useful, so I rushed to aid my mother by searching for Dad’s hidden antidotes. “Should I just call him?” I asked, panic rising in my voice. There were folders, blades, and gear in the wardrobe, but no sign of the antidote anywhere.
With a groan, I spun around and sifted through my dad’s drawers in his desk, rummaging through papers, pens, and all the other useless bullshit that did me no good. “Mom, should I call him?” I urged again, reaching for my phone stashed in my pocket.
“No,” Mom snapped. “He’s with King Forest and Grim. Don’t risk it.”
“Fuck,” I growled.
“Language, Slate,” she chastised half-heartedly as she continued to search the wardrobe.
I slammed the drawers shut and gripped the back of my neck as panic seized me, threatening to make me lose focus completely. “Where the fuck is it?”
My gaze fell on the family portrait mounted on the wall. There were no other photos or paintings in the office—only the one. As a male that wasn’t very artistically inclined, it wasn’t something I’d ever noticed before, but now, it seemed odd. Or perhaps I was just that desperate.
I raced toward it, trying to yank it from the wall.
“Slate! What are you doing?” Mom exclaimed.