Queen to Ashes (Black Dawn Series Book 2) Page 10

  Through all the lies, scheming, and betrayal, Brokk had never changed. It was her. She had let him down. Emory remembered the swish of the steel, the connection as the blade bit in, and what it had felt like. Chills snaked down her spine as his blood seeped, and his breath stopped. His lifeless body was branded into her soul, haunting her. Not real. It hadn’t been him. Not real, not real.

  Blinking, Brokk washed away with the memory. The uncertainty of whether he was still alive gnawed at her, but if it hadn’t been him, whose blood stained her hands? Who did she kill? The room spun, the cold sweat clinging to her brow, her lips dry.

  Swallowing, she choked out, “Your sentence is death.”

  The man drained of color, his mouth hanging open as he searched her face, looking for a flicker of doubt, of humanity. Adair stood behind her as she glanced over her shoulder. His eyes glinted as a slow smile tugged at his lips.

  The man pleaded, “This is insane. My King, please. Have mercy.” She felt the needles against her skin. The plate hummed against her chest, warming her. Ripping her gaze away, she clenched the sword in her grip. The man’s pleas bled away, and she couldn’t look into his eyes.

  Adair spoke coolly from behind her. “I have no mercy for liars and thieves.”

  Muscles screaming in protest, her sword sliced through clothes, muscle, bone, and sinew. His breath left him as he gaped at the blade stuck through him. Those eyes never left hers as they dimmed, the light fading into the abyss, and the man collapsed. Wrenching the blade back, the crimson blood dripped from the metal, pooling around him. The guards jumped to life, dragging the body away without a flicker of remorse.

  Adair stood beside her as she stared at the stain, feeling it creep into her skin, something she would never be able to wash away. Tears burned as the world tipped, the walls swaying and bending.

  “Well done.”

  His voice was a murmur in the sea of her anger. White hot and pulsing, it filled her cracking heart. Bile seared her throat, and panic rooted her in place, the marble walls closing in. You just killed an innocent man. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, Adair’s approval branding her, and she swallowed down her disgust. How far did she think she would have to go to win her kingdom back? To claim her title as Queen? She was a traitor, a liar, and now a murderer.

  Her sanity crumbled as she locked eyes with Adair.

  “Thank you, My King.” The words were like tar in her mouth, and it took every ounce of self-control not to throw up, break down, or give up. Weakness wouldn’t win this war. Love wouldn’t fuel the revolution. She always knew it would come down to him and her. She forced her lips into a smug smirk and quelled her hands into compliance. Wiping the blade clean against her pants, she sheathed it.

  “Now, I do believe it’s time for us to resume our lessons. This was just a taste of court and our day-to-day obligations. I love my people, Emory, but liars breed doubt and defiance. My kingdom will never be tainted by it. I ensure it.”

  “Understood.”

  He stretched, shoulders popping, and then raised an eyebrow. “Let’s go.”

  Dread flooded her thoughts, her bruised body shying away from their last lesson. But she straightened, her voice steady. “Lead the way.”

  He stretched his hand to her, and her bloodstained fingers interlocked through his. There was a whoosh of cool air as gravity left her, and the smoke clouded her senses as they flew, soaring away from his bloodied court.

  ***

  Emory snarled against the edge of his blade. Chuckling, Adair dropped his sword, staring at the red mark against her pale throat.

  “How do you figure you will prove useful to me if you cannot fight?”

  Standing and coughing, she spit out blood. “Well, you know around these parts my family name means something.”

  Eyes narrowing, he said, “Status will not keep you alive. It will feed your ego and your arrogance, but it will do nothing against an opponent who wants you in the ground. Now, again.”

  They had been at it for hours. Every lunge, every trick she thought she knew had been obliterated, until there was nothing left but a dull hollow ache in her chest.

  “I need to rest.”

  “And will you need planned rest breaks in battle? Again, Princess.”

  Biting back her frustration, Emory exhaled, and with shaking arms, she raised her blade as he roared, his attack relentless. Her body bowed, her feet keeping up with the pace for the moment. Emory parried. Once. Twice. And again. And again. Tripping, her body crashed to the ground, lights flashing in her sight.

  “Pathetic.”

  Tapping his blade against her throat for the millionth time, annoyance etched into the crevices in Adair’s features. Prowling around her, he seethed, “Again.”

  Narrowing her eyes at him, she shoved the blade away, the sharp edge slicing into her palms. The blood was warm, trickling down her forearms and mixing with her sweat. The pain ignited her, tended to her ire, flaming it to life, pushing her tiredness aside.

  The forest seemed to dim, the lush purple leaves of the Noctis woods glowing with the filtered sunlight. The forest floor was soft, and dirt mixed with lush moss cushioned their footfalls.

  All she could see were the dead man’s eyes. How the blue had flamed before it bled away, dimming. He had been young, and she had taken everything away from him. She was nothing but Adair’s puppet. Flicking her gaze up to him, Adair paused, sensing the change of energy as she gripped her sword, the embers flaming to life in the metal, sparking and cackling. You did this.

  The bile seared up her throat, burning as she clamped her lips shut—attacking. She forgot everything Memphis had taught her. Be better. Stronger. Time swayed them: The rebellion held her to their clock, where they had no time left, and their desperation rode their decisions. But where did that leave her now?

  Emory slammed her blade down, meeting thin air as it lodged itself in the forest floor.

  “Your rage masks your logic.”

  Panting, Emory turned, as he smirked.

  “Blindly trying will get you killed. What’s your plan, Emory?”

  Sprinting, she left her sword behind as Adair flicked his eyebrow up. Her knuckles slammed into his jaw, his head snapping back from the force.

  Biting back her string of curses, she spat, “You will train me in a way that works or not at all.”

  His eyes flashed, turning almost black as he took her in, his split skin raw and swollen. “And exactly what do you suggest?”

  He didn’t move, both of their chests heaving. She didn’t care that she had crossed a line. She didn’t care.

  “Build my strength up. You have shown me that you are an impossible opponent. Allow me the chance to become your equal.” Her voice cracked as she waited.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Shadows danced in his eyes, his muscles feathering along his jaw. “Fine. But next time you attempt anything like what you just did—” he breathed in her face, bringing his hand up to hold her chin “—you will regret it.”

  “Understood, My King.”

  Rolling his shoulders, he uttered, “Let’s begin. Try to keep up.” He sheathed his sword, and she jogged back, mimicking the action. Shooting her a sideways glance, he said, “You haven’t changed much, you know.”

  Sweat trickled down her back, as she stalled. That voice, she knew. It wasn’t one of a deranged king; it wasn’t the man that had just been present. It was an echo of the boy that she once had known. Tilting her head, she swallowed hard as memories tugged at her gut. He sighed before turning, taking off at a jog. She didn’t think, simply responded. Her breath hitched as she followed, her surroundings blurring, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as they lost themselves to the depths the forest kept secret.

  The prisoner today had a life. Murderer.

  A home. Ambitions. Love. Secrets. A family. Killer.

  And she had taken it all away in a moment.

  Leaping over a decaying tree, her heart pounded, sweat lathering ever
y inch of her skin, the sword strapped across her back a dead weight. Her skin prickled as a chill snaked down her spin, her muscles burning, but the cool wind cutting through the trees snapped her to awareness.

  Her ragged wheezes cut through the silence, but on Adair pushed, leading her deeper into the enchanting woods. Enchanting but dangerous. Whispers chased behind her, breaths soft and alluring.

  The Queen has come. She has come. She has come.

  And as she ran, she lost herself in those soft voices and the flicker of life resonating in the woods. In the unseen eyes of the residents, the blackened bark of the trees, the jewel-like leaves. Each color was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Purples, blues, reds. Casting their world into fantasy, reality bleeding away along with logic and reason. She pushed harder, her shaking limbs burning, but the pain reminded her, centered her. And she repeated to herself: You are more than what he knows. What he thinks and sees.

  She gnashed her teeth together as he picked up the pace, the slight incline of the forest floor igniting her lungs into flames. Gasping, she slipped, her palms slicking with dirt and blood. She lurched up, ignoring his look. You lived your entire life feeling like half of you was missing. Fight for the missing part. Fight for this.

  And she fought. Every breath, every second, she fought for that girl who was now dead. The girl who dreamed of another world, of having a family, of a home. Of a prince waiting for her. Who was never satisfied and had always wanted more than her job, than her friends. She had been displaced, like oil in water. But now. The woman had emerged, alone. She was questioning but regal. Clumsy but deadly. She was lost in a kingdom filled with snakes. Filled with lies not answers. A woman who could kill. A woman with the weight of a revolution on her shoulders. The promise of a better life. One where she might belong.

  Her stomach reeled, threatening to empty its contents as her hands trembled. She numbly ran until Adair stopped at the top of a rolling hill, the trees towering above them. The crisp air carried the trace of salt, conjuring up memories of the ocean side. Stopping, she tried to catch her breath.

  “Do you remember a man named Marquis Maher?” His voice was like silk. Straightening, she begged her body to stay standing. She looked onto the horizon, seeing snippets of light between the thick trees.

  “No.” Lies.

  “Well, in a few weeks, we have a meeting arranged.” We? Dread filled her core, but she held her tongue. “Marquis is the King of the Shattered Isles. He is the reason my kingdom is well fed with a healthy supply of the finer foods and wines. As we enter the war with the rebels, we will need reinforcements. It’s time my old friend leaves his island.”

  Panic clutched her throat. “Surely you will be able to destroy them alone?”

  “I will be the first to admit, I have already underestimated my old school colleagues.”

  Could he sense her fear? Her raging thoughts?

  Her nails bit into her bloodied palms as she tried to keep her voice steady. “And what about my training?”

  Turning, the wind caught tufts of black hair that weren’t coated in sweat. His gaze flicked down to her for a moment before taking in the forest around them.

  “I will ensure you are more than ready.”

  She devoured the scene in front of her as her mind scrambled. Guaranteeing Adair left Kiero would mean the Rebellion would be safe from his clutches for a time. Emory’s mind spun. If she could get word to Memphis or to Azarius, they could infiltrate and take over the Draken Mountains with Adair gone. Take away his entire kingdom, his army. His allegiances. The plan was sloppy, but it formed all the same. It was her only one, and she was running out of alternatives.

  A tight smile. “Of course, My King.” That warmth spread over her skin, and she tried not to scream, had to stop herself from ripping that blasted plate off her skin in one motion.

  He dipped his head. “There is much to learn. Their world is not like this one.” Another nod. Those sweeping dark eyes took her in, and she tried not to shiver. “There isn’t a moment to lose then.”

  Turning, he fell into a steady run once more. Sucking in a deep breath, she took one more look to where her heart knew the sea raged beyond the tree line. Marquis Maher. The name rolled around in her mind.

  Following Adair, her body screamed in defiance at the movement. It would be a miracle if she could even move tomorrow. Forcing herself into that well of perseverance, she ignored her tingling palms and the whispers cutting through the trees.

  She was lost in the fogginess of the memory as she ran, of a girl and a prince. That name, slicing through her core, resonating one thing. At one point in her life, she had trusted him, the prince from across the sea. Chewing on her inner cheek, she wondered if she still could. Adair’s pace was relentless, but she said nothing, allowing her exhaustion and frustration to carry her back, trying to leave her ghosts behind her but to no avail.

  ***

  They reached the mountain range as night was sweeping in. Purple hues danced across the sky, igniting the stars hidden behind the sparse clouds. With her hands on her hips, she stared up, her skin burning, her sweat having ceased hours ago. Warning bells went off in her mind as she swayed. Adair looked like they had gone for a pleasant stroll. She was dehydrated, her pulse racing too fast, her tongue thick, and her mind foggy.

  “I expect you at the same time tomorrow.” It wasn’t a request, and she bowed her head as internally she screamed. “Should I see you to your room?”

  Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “That won’t be necessary. Besides, I haven’t seen much of our kingdom. The market we passed earlier looked exquisite.”

  Adair tilted his head, more predator than man as he weighed her request. The challenge and the danger in it.

  Please, please, please, please.

  “Very well, but a guard will accompany you. Not everyone is thrilled about the mysterious heir returning.”

  Relief washed through her, as he stepped forward to the stone face. The dagger was small as he grasped it from his pockets, slicing the edge across his palm swiftly. Crimson blood welled, and not flinching, he placed it on the rock. The stone face melted like wax, forming a smooth entryway: Low lanterns were flush to the walls, blue flames dancing merrily within the opal bowls. It bathed the walkway in a pleasant light, the decorative flooring swirling beneath them in lush colors. They both stepped in, and instantly, the rock behind them shifted and groaned, sealing them into the heart of the mountain.

  Adair led the way, and Emory was speechless as she followed. His kingdom was breathtaking. Unlike the courtroom, the tunnel widened, the mouth opening to the tiered walls, the chatter of people’s homes soaring down to them. Fires burned in the hearths, a thousand flickering lights, and stairs climbed to the different levels, soaring up toward that beautifully constructed opening that she realized was in every room, exposing the blinking stars.

  The complexity of it, the normalcy, left her winded. They walked in silence, as they crossed the room leading into a bigger cavern. She froze as the smells and sounds assaulted her.

  The market was in full swing, but the vendors had changed since the morning. Gone were the bright clothes and delicious foods. Lavender, citrus, and smoke drifted on the air as a roaring fire burned in a well-sealed pit, the flames a rippling green and purple. Men and women twisted around it.

  Emory tried to keep up with the graceful arcs of the people as they followed the aching melody. Off to the side, the musicians stood, their bodies moving with their instruments. Fingers flew on strings, arms a blur as they commanded their bows. Drums pounded, and it was a different kind of war, one of creation and creativity.

  Her cheeks flushed as she took in the dancers in more detail, their silks midnight-black and shimmering, leaving nothing to the imagination. Clearing her throat, she drank in the vendors next. One vendor sold smoky meats premade for the audience, their savoury scents drifting toward her causing her stomach to rumble. Beside them, beautifully crafted instruments hung
and were propped up against a vendor, the young woman watching the crowds with a hawk-like accuracy. Beside her, the vendors continued: Crystals flashing, reflecting off the crackling flames. Books and orbs cluttered the space, silks stacked alongside them. Ale poured freely, and the carefree atmosphere was contagious.

  She forgot her hair was matted and slicked with dirt. That her hands and clothes were bloodied, that she was dressed for battle. Her mouth must have been hanging open as a dark chuckle resonated from her side.

  “I will leave you in the hands of my captain now.”

  She recognized the guard from her cell instantly, and Emory flashed him a chiding smirk.

  Dipping his chin, Adair murmured, “Enjoy it. The night market is renowned, and we all take great pride in it. But always, remember yourself and who you are.”

  Like she needed a reminder.

  Following his cryptic words, Adair vanished in a plume of smoke, every eye in the room watching the fleeting king. Throwing a dirty look to the guard, she melted into the crowd. Each pull of harmony, each pounding of the drum, she unfurled, each layer of tension shedding. She felt the guard’s eyes burning into her back, as she first cut her way through to the delicious smell of garlic and chives. The woman and her husband worked in a blur, each anticipating each other’s movements. Sweat glistened on their skin, their loose clothing and worn aprons twirling as they loaded plates, talking happily to each customer. The sliced meat melted off the bones beneath the knives, each garnished with a healthy amount of what looked like golden chips.

  With a watering mouth, she got in line, allowing herself a moment to get her bearings. This life, from the outside looking in, was not the group of blood-thirsty people she had seen in the Pit. Gone were the judgements. Gone were the defining titles of soldiers. In their place were husbands taking a moment to dance with their wives, their children nestled back in their homes: In the darkness, they blushed at soft spoken words just for each other and echoing laughter bounced off the walls, the crowds oblivious to those beautiful stolen moments.