Chapter 14
Topp Blatz pounded through the halls of the castle, his fingers clenching and unclenching. His guards fell back on days like today when they swore there was more than static charging off his fingertips.
Crown Prince of Kava, yet he had spent over half his life outside its borders. He could find no record of when the tradition had begun, but he was told that all the kingdom’s princes and princesses were trained and schooled by traveling from land to land. Making connections. Learning other customs and cultures.
For a short while, it was a great adventure. He and his older sister, Isamaya, ran amok in all the beautiful corners of the world. They went through a string of nannies and tutors who all eventually threw up their hands, exhausted by the Blatz children. Even when she was old enough to return to Kava, she stayed with Topp, wishing to stick together even if it meant putting off her own adult life. But then on one fateful trip home, Isamaya, barely into her twenties, caught an illness, and the royal line was slashed to one. It happened so fast that he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. And then she was gone, leaving him alone and without his one constant in life.
Topp touched the thin gold band he sometimes wore on a chain around his neck. He needed her today. Her laughter, her ability to remain a light even after their mother died. She was only five years old at the time and he hadn’t even cut his first tooth.
Topp had no memories of their mother. Maybe that was why he had loved Isamaya so fiercely. She had been his closest friend and confidant, guiding and protecting him the best she could while their father was consumed with grief and trying to save their failing kingdom. Losing a wife and magic in the same year might have killed a lesser man, but Garrison Blatz had clawed his way through the black hole of his grief to do what needed to be done.
Topp had often wondered if it was as Isamaya took her last breath that whatever lived inside him had taken its first. That the undead gods had not wanted him to be so alone, and so they had both blessed and cursed him that day when he set a small storm free within his rooms and watched his pain ravage the place whole.
It was that same day after his sister’s funeral that his father took him out into the city. He’d thought Topp ought to see the part of their work that he called the family business. Topp had gone along curiously enough, happy that for once they were escaping the castle walls and getting outside. As far as he was concerned, the Crown meant pushing paper and being dragged into meetings where you were forced to sit still and pretend to pay attention.
His father did not take him to any of the places he usually conducted business, though. Instead, they walked on foot all the way into the south side of the city. He’d never spent much time there as a kid. If he was in Relaclave, then he was at the castle or making a break for the forests that lined the landlocked portion of the city.
The buildings in the south side were cleaner, their lines sharper. Made of mainly new constructions from within the last twenty-odd years, the soot hadn’t scarred their outsides as much yet. It was inevitable, though. There wasn’t anyone or anything that could escape the dirty filter of their kingdom. The buildings had a certain efficiency in this part of the city. People needed somewhere to live that didn’t steal their entire wages and the south side was happy to provide it. If the cost was beauty, then so be it.
The cobbled paths turned to smooth black as they entered Relaclave’s younger half. Topp remembered listening to his father’s feet strike down over and over, watching how assured and tall he stood, moving through his city like he was invincible. Or at least, that was how Topp saw him. An invincible beacon of truth. The hero who had saved their kingdom from decay. Garrison stopped in front of one of the short towers filled with countless little homes, all scrunched into one stilted rectangular box.
He’d questioned his father, filled with doubt. “ Here ?”
The king had placed a strong hand on Topp’s back. “Today is about the safety and protection of not only the Crown, but the very soul of Kava.” Garrison paused, ensuring that he had Topp’s attention. His hand moved to Topp’s shoulder as he looked him in the eye. “Magic is the antithesis to life, son. It tried to steal everything from us once.”
His hand clamped down harder, and his face drew painfully tight just as it did when anyone talked about Topp’s mother. “And I will not allow that to happen again. This kingdom will be made clean. This is the only way to keep everyone safe. You’ll see.” He looked mournful now.
He’d found there to be a strange religious undertone to his father’s words that previously he had only heard in other lands. Kava was a land of no gods after all. No magic, no gods, no faith. He hadn’t known what to make of it. Only that it made unease crawl inside his chest.
The barely hours-old secret inside him turned heavy as his father’s words played over and over in his mind. And the youthful hope that he could tell him what had happened burnt to ash inside his mouth.
They walked past an old grandfather smoking in the hall of the apartment building. The man ignored the king, perhaps did not recognize him, but then he winked at Topp with a tiny bow of his head and took another drag. Topp could still remember the intense aroma of so many different families cooking dinner all at once and how his trepidation and curiosity had grown with every step. His father stopped and rapped on a door. There was a bit of shouting, the sounds of a mother herding children, and then a tentative crack of the door.
“Yes?”
The king caught the door, prying it open a little farther. “I’m looking for a lad called Pyre. I’m told he lives here.” The king smiled pleasantly enough at the tired mother. She eyed him as any mother would, wondering if her boy was in trouble. Topp could tell she was trying to gauge her recognition of the man in front of her, but without any of the king’s usual finery, his father easily passed for any other well-groomed man of Kava. Despite being in his sixties, Garrison still had a headful of Topp’s same chestnut locks and his stone gray eyes sparkled kindly.
The woman called over her shoulder, “Jedd, there’s a man here for you.”
A teenager just old enough to be in that strange time between boy and man lumbered into the room. Topp imagined they couldn’t have been more than a few years apart. The teenager towered over his mother and leaned into the doorframe. “What’s this now?”
“I hear you can weld. Like the flame and iron run in your blood.”
The boy shrugged, but the king persisted. “Come now, I can pay you well. Surely, a few extra coins can go a long way. The tip I received about your work comes from a reliable source, so I’ve no doubt you really are the best there is in the city.”
Jedd sighed and ran a pale hand through flame red hair. “I’m booked for weeks. What kind of work are you needing?”
The king stepped back, giving an air of ease. “I’d really like to see you weld first. See the master in action.”
The young man’s body became rigid. “Nobody comes into the shop. Those are the rules.”
The strong reaction confused Topp. Who cared if someone watched you weld for a few minutes? Getting a job with the Crown could set you up for life if you were any good. The smell of seafood stew drifted out the door, making Topp’s stomach rumble.
But his father nodded slowly. “Yes, yes, I suppose I wouldn’t let anyone in the shop either,” he mused. He straightened, letting a bit more of his authority leak out. “Perhaps you will make an exception for your king.”
All the color slid from the boy’s cheeks and his fingers started to tremble. “K-king?”
“Come with me, boy. I have a job for you.” The king turned heel and did not wait for the pale, trembling boy who was not quite a man to follow him because he knew he would. They always did.
The king brought the boy to his own shop within the castle grounds and set him to task with one word: “Weld.” He waited with his hands loosely behind his back, patient as a hawk gliding over its prey.
Topp remembered how the boy’s eyes flickered to his own as if begging him to help, but Topp hadn’t understood until he started to weld. And then it was too late. It had been too late the entire time. Each of the boy’s fingers alternated between catching fire and dashing out cold as he manipulated the iron with no fear of the flames that danced over skin and iron.
Topp thought of the furniture that had become kindling in his room. How his grief had taken physical form, escaping his body. He looked at the young man, anxious to know what would happen next. As if it was his own fate he was watching unfold. Cold, bone-deep despair filled him.
But he should have known.
As every child of Kava knows. The undead gods are friend to none.
The trajectory of Topp’s life had changed somewhere between the time when he had risen and when he watched a young man weld for the last time. Garrison stared at the boy, his face devoid of any emotion or reaction. Topp had no idea who he was going to become. He’d never wanted to be a hero like his father. All he knew now was that whoever he’d been this morning was no longer an option. The carefree, reticent heir could no longer exist. Not after today.
It was an odd thing in Kava. That no one remembered the undead gods or their stories. People rarely spoke of the wondrous small and large magics that used to be so normal. Topp had only been a baby when magic had died, yet warnings of the dangers of magic were all that were left now. Mothers and aunties and grandmothers telling tales of those who had lost their lives for the mere suspicion that they’d been visited by an undead god. If a child asked a question about the Fall, or the gods, they would be hushed.
We don’t talk about that. It was a long time ago. Things are different now.
Everyone had heard of someone who had suddenly disappeared. Maybe they’d painted a portrait that dazzled the eye in the most unnatural fashion, or someone swore they’d seen their neighbor dry their wet clothes with a single concentrated wave of their hand. It was hard to say just what marked you as someone who’d dabbled with the undead or been born with a curse upon your blood, but you could be certain that it would get your throat slit if you had.
The boy from the scrunched building with hair like fire did not walk out of the castle grounds that day. A common errand boy delivered a small bag of money to his mother with the simple note that Jedd would not be coming home. And that was the end of his story.
Today, Topp Blatz lived by one single rule. It wasn’t that he could never let his secret be known—that was just a given. His rule was that he would put no one and nothing above himself.
This rule was forged as that fire-haired boy died. His father had met his eyes and given him a calm, resigned nod. As if this was unavoidable. As if he were leading a rabid animal out to be put down instead of a boy with fire and ice in his hands. Until that day, Topp had believed his father to be someone who would protect him. No matter the cost or cause. The boy’s dying screams made it clear as the Kavian skies were not—no one would be saving him.
One day, he would have to choose between his life and his father’s. And he was determined to choose himself. His mother, his sister—they were both dead. He refused to meet the same end.
Because whatever his father was protecting, it wasn’t him and it wasn’t the people of Kava.
His mission became to unravel Kava’s greatest secret. Somewhere in their buried history was a story of Kava, the Crown, and the undead gods. A story of how and why magic had disappeared. Topp was convinced this was where Kava’s redemption lay.
He shook out his hand, halting in front of the door to the meeting. There was not a single part of him that wanted to be here. All of this shit with Elysia had his anxiety cranked up with no outlet. Instead, it moved roughly inside him, pushing his magic to lash out. Last night was a disaster.
He schooled his face into indifference. Within these walls, there wasn’t any room for his natural inclination toward dirty humor or honest, blunt communication. No, he had learned to lie and be as silver-tongued as the rest of them.
Well, he still fucked with people. It just wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart.
And the only time he was honest was when he felt like being an asshole to the slugs surrounding his father. Outside of his obligations, he spent every possible free second under the open sky, wishing he could disappear. His ambition, sense of responsibility, and guilt held him here like an unwanted but necessary anchor.
He’d acted as the hands of his father too many times to count, wasted lives piling up behind his name. He kept a tally of them all. The tally kept his focus clear. It reminded him that he had one job and that was to find the antidote to whatever had swept through Kava, robbing every last citizen of their birthright. But he still hadn't found an answer—he was still clueless why magic had disappeared. He had a terrible feeling that if anything happened to his father, the truth and any hope of restoring Kava would die with him. So, he waited. And tried not to lose his mind in the process.
Time to go inside. Cool arrogance slid over his bones like a second skin. His feet did not pound, his fingers did not clench.
He opened the door.
The meeting was in full swing, probably half over as he strode to the empty high-backed chair beside his father. The din of the men’s voices rose to the high beams of the room even as Topp relaxed into his chair. He shoved back loose tufts of hair, his thoughts straying to Elysia and who in the realms had summoned her at such an hour the night before. Of all the things he’d been worrying about, it had not been some other man swooping in like a vulture at a time like this. He didn’t know it was a man. But he had a feeling. His fingers twitched against his leg.
“Topp?”
His father’s warm voice drew him back into the present. The look on his face said he was well aware that Topp had not heard a single word of the meeting carrying on around him.
He straightened, leaning forward and spreading his knees wide. “Yes?”
Irritation shot through the king’s generally even-keeled expression. “There appears to be a new wave of cursed souls cropping up. As we know, this happens from time to time, but they’re banding together now, getting bolder.” The king chuckled as if he felt bad for the poor folks. “I would like this handled efficiently—gather them all up, take care of it. No loose ends. Easier for everyone that way.”
Topp steepled his fingers. It was just business, after all. “You want to set a trap for them.”
The king appraised him. He was getting into his seventies now. Constantly pushing for Topp to actually be useful and engage in what he deemed the more important aspects of the Crown.
“I want you to take the lead. Find the rebels. Determine when they’ll meet and get the job done.” He pushed away from the table, effectively signaling the end of the meeting.
Men stood up, chairs scraping as they shoved off. Some glared, annoyed that Topp was stealing their thunder and getting to take point in spite of his often begrudging willingness to do his duties. Others patted him on the back, hoping he’d pick them to be on his team.
Topp ignored them all, stalking out of the room without another word. Unknown to his father, he’d already been trailing the rebels for months. Being ordered to find and execute them was going to fuck up everything. He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. This was the largest group of people with undead gifts he’d ever come across. Killing them would really get in the way of questioning them. Obviously.
His brain searched for loopholes. Maybe I can make sure some of them get away. His mind darted on to other solutions before the thought was even complete. That wasn’t probable and he knew it. His father likely had the exact number and names of the people involved.
He’d felt certain that this group could at long last answer his questions. He’d picked up pieces of answers over the years, both in Kava and in his travels. Stories of a deal made long ago that once sealed had changed their kingdom forever.
He was convinced the answers were here in Relaclave. Possibly even within this rebel group. He just had to find them.
The now hunted Kavians usually met in small numbers. Kept their gatherings short and limited in size. They knew what would happen if they were found out, and until now, that had prompted them to exercise caution. Topp had spent so much useless time following their members. But then he’d heard them whisper about a distraction. That’d they’d finally be able to all meet. Excitement and danger hummed through their quiet words.
Further surveillance led him to discovering the meeting would be this week. The date had been tentatively set, but the signal that all was clear still had not been given. Members whispered over teas and gin to not hold their breath that all would go to plan. They were waiting for something, but he didn’t know what.
Topp flipped the coin he’d stolen and rubbed his thumb over the insignia. The coin, he’d discovered, was given to potential members. Those who had not yet been initiated into the society’s ranks.
The day he had swiped the coin off the counter and walked out of Elysia’s flat, he’d been in a marvelous mood in spite of his girlfriend puking her guts out in order to avoid telling him the truth—that she was just as cursed as him. It pissed him off, but he had to respect the woman’s game.
His little liar didn’t have any practice telling the truth, and he would have been worried for her intelligence if she had simply folded after a few leading accusations from a prince.
They’d have their talk once she settled and realized the truth of him. She’d always been a jumpy thing, and he wasn’t trying to rile her anxieties, but there was a part of him that wanted her to open her enormous brown eyes and really see him. Because if she did—then she would trust him, and she would tell him everything.
But he could hardly blame Elysia for what she’d done. If anything, he admired her for it. The tenacity, the drive to survive at all costs.
Even if she did not know it, he understood her more clearly than most others ever would. He knew why she’d withdrawn and held her secret tighter the second he’d started to look her way. Secrets were what had kept both of them alive all these years.
He’d wanted to come clean. Have them both lay it all on the table. Pool their resources and conquer Kava’s riddle.
It was only within the last month that he’d been certain. He had stopped at her flat to surprise her and found her dead asleep in the middle of the day. Passed out over a pile of books. Dark hair splayed out in waves. Eyes wide open and blank. And a strange silver glimmer rising off her body like a rope that went into the ether.
The business that occurred at the House had been a complete surprise. She’d hidden that little tidbit well over the years. If he was a better man, he would have ripped her out of there the second she looked like she was in a trance. But he didn’t. He might care for her, but the incessant desire to find out what happened to Kava—what his father had done—trumped everything. It had to and for that he couldn’t be sorry.
He flipped the coin one more time and tucked it away. That being said, he wasn’t a monster. Somewhere inside of him, a better man existed and growled at him to keep the coin, and to ensure that Elysia stayed far, far away from that meeting even if it meant locking her in her flat and barring the damn windows. But the creatures and trees whispered to him that there was another way, a more cunning way, and so he heeded their counsel like he always had and prayed it would not come back to haunt him.
Topp whistled the entire walk to Elysia’s flat where he replaced the coin just as he’d found it. And when he locked the door, he tried not to notice that it was clear she had never come home.