Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
A s the General awaited their response, a soldier from among the ranks dropped suddenly to his knees, paces from Neve.
Her breath shortened as she watched him fall face-first onto the floor. Blood pooled rapidly around his head like a red halo, a small steel hilt protruding from his neck. The other soldiers raised their swords and shields in readiness, but stopped short of attacking, for lack of anyone to attack. Neve and her friends hadn’t struck the soldier. They were backed against each other in the center of the troops. As quick as Eleksi was with a blade, she was standing right next to him. He hadn’t done it.
The General pushed through his men toward the mysteriously fallen soldier. She stared around the glimmering and cavernous palace interior, mystified. But she wasn’t left to wonder for long.
Black shadows began carving purposeful lines through the soldiers from every direction, cutting down soldiers as they progressed. They moved with a silence and efficiency that was now familiar to Neve.
“Spider Kings!” yelled several troops in panic.
The General changed course, his attention on the waves of black-cloaked assassins now assailing his men with brutal ease.
Eleksi and Davron shared a look, the prince’s scarlet-smeared face showing a flicker of cautious relief.
“They’re here on our behalf?” asked Neve.
“I believe so,” replied Eleksi.
Yet she noticed that he moved to put his body between her and the fast-approaching Spider Kings.
Her smile faded. “What do you mean, you believe ?”
“There’s a small chance Meliohr reclaimed them and they’re here for you and Davron.”
Neve’s stomach clenched. “Oh.”
“We must get to Leonid’s chambers,” said Davron over the cries of pain and clashing of swords. “We are so close.”
The assassins were winning against the soldiers, and easily. If they intended to kill Neve, it was only a matter of time before they’d be within striking distance of her. Even Eleksi and her friends couldn’t defeat a hundred or more of his brethren.
A black shadow reached the center, passing right by Neve, followed by another. They completely ignored her. It was like she was a stone pillar, around which flowed a raging river.
The assassins were engaging the troops from all sides now, causing chaos and confusion. The General tried to shout orders over the din, but his words were drowned out by the grinding sounds of combat.
“This is our chance,” said Eleksi to Neve and the others. “Let’s move toward the chambers, but do not get separated.”
Riella nodded in agreement. Her face was flushed and her blonde hair was stained with blood. The sharp tips of her talons were red.
“We’ll make a path,” she said.
She flung a soldier to the side, as if to demonstrate. Then she and Jarin led Davron and Amelie along the corridor toward the west wing, pushing against the tide of bodies. Neve went closely next, afraid Prince Davron would attract a killing blow from an opportunistic soldier, and Eleksi guarded her rear. He neutralized a soldier about to crash into Neve, striking his knees and ankles before she had time to even react.
The press of the heaving, sweating bodies was stifling. As a sorceress, the combined essences of the fighting troops and assassins was making her feel unbalanced—energetically as well as physically. She tried to shore up her strength, to fortify her boundaries and prepare herself for a showdown with the queen.
Neve couldn’t allow Davron to kill Meliohr. If he was to rule, he could not begin his reign as a queen slayer. Any person who harmed Meliohr would become the sworn enemy of King Reynard and the Garstang family. Better it was Neve, the illegitimate sorceress, than Davron, the beloved returned Nikolaou prince. The Garstangs would loathe Neve on principle regardless, because she was a mage. In that way, she had little to lose.
Perhaps this was the reason for her deathly abilities. To protect not only her friends, but the kingdom itself from the insidious rule of the Garstangs. She could think of no better cause.
When she and Eleksi had met, they’d both been lost souls, unsure of themselves and their power. And now, they fought for something bigger than them. Together.
Finally, the brawling crowd started thinning, allowing Neve to breathe. As they plowed free of the horde, they quickened their strides. Amelie held Davron’s hand, grasping the silver rose in the other, the bud in place and the Sirenstone sword dormant.
At the end of the corridor, they stopped, panting and blood-streaked. Past the next corner, Neve glimpsed a series of ornate gilded doors, the candles in the hallway sconces burning brightly.
“Is everyone alright?” asked Davron, looking at each of them in turn.
His concerned gaze lingered on Amelie, who nodded insistently.
“Leonid lived in this wing when I was younger,” he continued, his eyes roving down the hallway. “There’s a good chance he’s here, like the royal guard said.”
Riella frowned, following his gaze dubiously. “If he was here, wouldn’t there be guards? It seems empty.”
The prince showed his palms in a hapless gesture. “Perhaps they abandoned their posts. Or Leonid wished not to draw attention to himself. Or . . . ” He trailed off.
“What?” asked Neve.
“Or we are walking into a trap,” supplied Amelie quietly with her eyes on Davron, who gave a brief nod.
“Meliohr might’ve left the palace,” said Neve, returning her silver sword to her scabbard. If there was a chance she was about to meet Leonid, she didn’t want to be waving a sword in his face. “She might’ve deemed it too dangerous to remain inside the palace while the people are rebelling.”
“Wherever she has gone, we will catch her,” said Eleksi. “A monarch can’t hide forever. Not if they have any desire for power, which she surely does.”
“I would take Neve and Eleksi now to find Leonid.” Davron addressed Jarin and Riella. “Will you remain here with Amelie? If there is trouble, spirit her someplace safe.” He paused, his dark eyes contemplating his wife. “Sail away with her if necessary. Take her to Velandia, or further. She has family in Ennisfall.”
Amelie’s mouth fell open. “You can not mean to?—”
“A precaution, my precious wife,” said Davron, cupping her face with one hand. “I swear that death itself could scarcely stop me returning to you. You ought to know that by now.”
“She’ll be safe with us,” said Riella. “I promise.”
Jarin nodded, standing by the siren, his hand on her back.
“Alright,” said Amelie reluctantly, staring sadly into her husband’s eyes. “But mind you do return.” She looked at Neve and Eleksi. “The three of you. Please remember, your lives are more important than any throne.”
A furious shout broke through the din of the melee. The General was flanked by several men and strove to fight his way to Davron. There was no more time to talk. If the General reached them, they’d be arrested. Or killed.
The prince went to a door around the corner and tugged the handle. “In here. Hurry.”
The handle jammed, locked. Davron gave a mighty yank that removed the entire mechanism. He shouldered the broken door open, and then entered.
Eleksi followed him, Neve right behind. The last thing she saw before she went inside was Amelie’s haunted face staring after her. Jarin and Riella had already assumed fighting stances, their attention on the soldiers.
The chambers were luxuriously decorated, with a carved mahogany sleigh bed, and navy and gold upholstery. A painting of a young Branimir and Leonid hung above the crackling fireplace. Despite the merriness of the fire, the room felt devoid of human presence, to Neve’s senses. But she could also discern that the air had been stirred. Someone had definitely been here.
Davron searched the chambers thoroughly, including the washroom. Knowing he would find nothing, Neve waited in the bedroom with Eleksi, who surveyed the space with careful eyes.
A stack of parchments had been left to dry on the desk, the ink pitch-black and spidery against the creamy background. The signatures belonged to Leonid. Running her fingertips across the raven feather quill, she tried to magically discern whether or not he was still alive. The emanations she received from the feather were scattered, rather like Leonid’s aura when he’d approached her in the drawing room.
“I think I know where he is,” came Davron’s deep voice, snapping her from her reverie. “He is right here.”
She looked up in surprise. “I don’t believe I can sense him.”
The prince pointed at the ceiling. “He used to hide on the roof to stargaze, when he did not wish to deal with my grandfather.”
Neve’s heart lurched. This offhand piece of information made her feel like she almost knew Leonid. To relate to royalty was impossible, but a young man finding solace in the stars? That she understood.
Davron sheathed his sword and ran his scarred hand over the baroque panels on the wall beside the bed.
“Are you alright?” murmured Eleksi to Neve, stroking her arm.
She hugged him, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart against her temple. “Yes.”
He kissed the top of her head tenderly. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I promise.”
Davron felt around the wall for some time, his face set in concentration. “Can’t remember where it is,” he muttered in frustration.
At last he laid his hand on a golden scroll. When he pulled the scroll, the entire baroque panel fell inward. A spindly iron staircase spiraled upward and out of sight.
Neve felt a rush of optimism. If Leonid had heard Davron was in Klatos, perhaps the king chose to stay in this tower because Davron alone knew about the spot on the roof. Conceivably, the king could’ve kept it secret from Meliohr, and hidden there in wait of his nephew.
The trio climbed the stairs quickly, Davron having to hunch his shoulders to fit in the cramped space.
“The palace has shrunk,” he grumbled.
At the top of the stairs, the door to the roof was open. Cool night air whistled through the doorway and Neve stepped out onto the roof after Davron.
It was a flat, tiled platform with a low decorative railing. From the turret, a Zermetic flag snapped rhythmically in the nighttime wind.
Neve had never seen the city from such a height before. It spread out below like a glimmering gold and black blanket, an earthly mirror of the dark starry sky. The vast onyx sea lay beyond the land.
On the opposite side of the platform, not five strides away, stood King Leonid. He was alone. Wearing his golden crown, beset with rubies and sapphires, and a resplendent deep red cloak, his rheumy gaze fell on Davron.
“Uncle.” The prince’s voice sounded strangely young and uncertain, far removed from its usual thunderous timbre. “Uncle Leonid.”
“My boy,” croaked the king. “My dear boy. I always believed you would find your way back. I never gave up hope.” He coughed. “Every breath I have taken since you departed has been in await of your return. This is where you belong. This is your?—”
His throat caught. He tried to continue, but he only spluttered and coughed harshly. With a gnarled hand, he reached to the railing behind him for support.
Davron seemed frozen, his face a mask of sadness and disbelief. How different Leonid must’ve looked, compared to the last time they were face to face. Indeed, how different Davron must’ve looked since his uncle had seen him. A decade and a curse had passed since then.
Should she urge Davron to go to the king? He seemed almost paralyzed by the reunion, and Leonid could hardly stand upright.
“Neve.”
At the sound of her name, she froze too. The king gazed at her with a sorrowful smile, his chin quivering.
He knew her name? He knew who she was? Unbidden, tears pricked her eyes and her chest tightened.
“I loved your mother,” he said with a wheeze. “I want— I need to—” He coughed again, his whole body shuddering. Seeming to steel himself beneath his heavily ornate cloak, he forged on. “I vowed to myself that I would make no heirs.” Another pained wheeze. “Not my place. I have always considered myself only a steward of the throne. That is why I never?—”
“Enough,” came a steely female voice from beneath an archway to the side of Leonid.
Ice-cold shock skittered across Neve’s skin. With the strong, loud wind and the gravity of encountering the king, she had failed to sense the queen hiding under the archway. Queen Meliohr, dressed impeccably in dark blue silk, stepped from the shadows. She held a loaded crossbow and her eyes were narrow slits of fury.
Davron tensed at Neve’s elbow. Eleksi swiftly stepped in front of Neve, shielding her with his body. But Meliohr wasn’t pointing her weapon at Neve, or the prince.
She was pointing it at Leonid’s neck. Neve moved to stand between Davron and Eleksi, so that she was no longer shielded by either of them. She didn’t come all this way to cower at the most critical moment. If her father would be murdered, she wanted at least a chance to stop it.
Her mind whirled as she did the calculations. Could she cast a spell to disable the queen? The energy on the tower was wild. Any magic she cast would be immediately infused by the howling wind, rendering it unpredictable and imprecise. And Meliohr could fire the crossbow in the blink of an eye. There was zero margin for error on Neve’s behalf.
Boots pummeled the spiral staircase. The queen’s furious gaze slid to the rooftop doorway. A moment later, the General emerged, a scandalized expression on his lined face.
He took in the incredible scene before him. “What on earth?—”
“Silence!” shrieked Meliohr, a manic gleam in her eye, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You have no right . No one—not a cursed freak nor a bastard witch—will take my crown.”
She grabbed Leonid’s collar in her bejeweled fist, then pointed the crossbow directly at Davron’s heart. Neve’s blood sang with fear. At this short distance, the queen could not miss.
“This is my throne!” she went on. “This is my?—”
The click of the crossbow was preternaturally loud when she fired it. Before Neve had time to summon a spell, the arrow flew straight at Davron’s heart. While Meliohr was grinning in triumph, King Leonid wrapped both of his arms around her in a massive bear hug.
With a labored grunt, he wrenched her bodily over the railing. Neve bolted over, only to watch her father fall, the midnight wind whipping his cloak. He stared right at her as he plunged in silence through the velvety night. Meliohr’s screams tailed him the whole way down. As they closed in on the stone courtyard, Neve quickly turned back around, a sob escaping her throat.
In Eleksi’s fist, he held the steel arrow Meliohr had loosed. He’d caught it the instant before the arrowhead buried itself in the center of Davron’s chest.