The Twin Princes Page 6

  ‘Your theology is lacking, priest. The Hallowed Masters would hang you for declaring gods other than their precious Oredmere,’ said Eymeg, letting the mace fall to the ground with a clank. ‘Don’t they know their precious steed set ablaze was lost long ago?’

  ‘Is that why you’re still here? To argue with me?’

  Eymeg shrugged. ‘I didn’t come here to kill you, but now I cannot forgive what you’ve done.’

  The angel coughed and tried to speak, but Eymeg slammed his fist into the man’s face. Father Sabathiel fell to the ground in shock, covering his face with a pained moan. Eymeg kicked him in the stomach once and then again. He spat on the old man. Father Sabathiel coughed, gasping for breath, squeezing his fingers. The old creature’s eyes turned bloodshot as he folded his hands to plead for mercy. Eymeg grabbed the angel’s neck and slammed his fist into his skull. He heard a sickening crunch, and he let the angel fall to the ground.

  ‘I…I cannot see…’ the old angel said with hesitation. He put his hands to his face, and his eyes moved erratically. They were turning white.

  ‘Let me help you with that,’ said Eymeg, breathing heavily. He grabbed the metal hammer from the floor of the chapel and picked up a nail, inspecting the crude but sharp object.

  ‘The danger of falling in love with a dream is you starve yourself of the very necessity of life,’ said the fallen angel. His grey tongue ran around the edges of his mouth, blood dripping from it. ‘You die, slowly and deliberately, for something you can never achieve. You are a poison in the air to those around you. You are a curse to the very humanity you hold so dear.’

  Eymeg paused at the dying angel's words. ‘You asked me a question when I first came into this place. What was it again?’

  ‘Have you ever—?’ The angel spat blood. His left eye was crushed, and his right eye quivered, searching for light. He held his hand up to the bronze statue of Oredmere. ‘How many did you kill in pursuit of a dream, forsaking the very notion of reality? Did you stray too far? Have you—have you ever fallen in love with a dream?’ Father Sabathiel turned his head to Eymeg and began to laugh.

  Eymeg placed the nail on the angel’s temple and raised the hammer above his head. Father Sabathiel stopped laughing. His legs and arms began to convulse, but his eye remained ever steady, staring at Oredmere’s statue.

  ‘Will it hurt?’ asked the angel.

  ‘No.’

  Eymeg did not lie.

  EYMEG SHOVED A stone sword into the ground with his boot. It belonged to one of the statues in the catacombs beneath the chapel. The olden stone sword was meant for a young soul who was now among the ranks of the dead. He doubted the dead would care too much.

  ‘So that’s it?’ asked Tiebalt, who sat on a stone beside the graveyard.

  ‘I…I suppose so,’ said Eymeg. He stood back and glanced at all the gravestones around him. ‘A rather short journey, or so it seems.’

  Tiebalt folded his arms over his chest and pulled a thin brown pipe from his pouch. Eymeg turned away as the grey shuck lit his drug. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I feel…off,’ said Eymeg.

  ‘Off?’

  ‘I don’t feel…anything. A father should never have to mourn his own daughter. Is that fucked up?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I never knew her, not really,’ said Eymeg. ‘I should say something.’

  ‘Eymeg…don’t force words out of your mouth just because you don’t know what to feel… You’ll end up saying something you regret.’ Tiebalt took a drag from his pipe. The smoke escaped from two small holes in his neck. His shoulders seemed to relax. ‘What now? You sacrificed a lot to make this trip.’

  ‘I know. I guess I was wrong…again.’

  ‘You can’t go back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to,’ said Eymeg as he grabbed Tiebalt’s pipe. He put it to his lips and inhaled. His eyes instantly watered, but he refused to cough. He swallowed hard and let the smoke seep from his nostrils. ‘I have to see someone in Aivaterra.’

  ‘Ah, the blacksmith.’

  ‘That’s right. Andre had a message for me. I guess it’s time to see what he wants. With the money I have left, maybe I’ll settle there with him, start an apprenticeship.’

  ‘You’re too old for something like that.’

  ‘Maybe, but I am strong enough. Fuck, if nothing else, I’ll fight in the slave arenas, make some money that way.’ Eymeg handed the pipe back to Tiebalt. ‘Come, let’s get away from this godforsaken place.’

  The Birth Of Usurpation

  RICKERT STARED AT a luminous, blue fat fish that was swimming along the bottom of the pond. The bottom feeders ate moss and nibbled at the little animals living in the small body of water, oblivious of the little elfen child watching them. Rickert looked on wistfully. He sometimes wished he had gills so he, too, could live in the sea and breathe underwater. It had always been one of his dreams. He dipped his bare foot into the water, watching ripples spread across the entire pond. Birds circled the tops of three massive trees nearby, which rose dozens of feet into the air, spreading their vast green canopy over the Chloranthy Terrace Gardens.

  ‘Rickert, pay attention.’

  Rickert looked up at Noreadryyn, who was holding a thin reed in her pale hands. Noreadryyn’s dress had white silk embroidered into the fabric, with blue flowers strewn into a crescent moon design. Her hair was tied up in a braided ponytail with golden clasps holding the hair throughout. She had her spectacles low on her nose, meaning that she was serious. ‘Where is your mind, little one?’

  ‘The festival is happening right now. I didn’t think we would receive lessons during the festival. We must be the only children stuck indoors.’

  ‘You have no one but yourself to blame, Rickert. If you and your sister focused more on schooling than your regular time-wasting hobbies, you wouldn’t have to be here to make up for the lessons you have slacked off on. Once you finish your lessons for the day, you will have the opportunity to play. Now, were you listening to me?’

  He bowed his head in shame, not recalling what she had said.

  Noreadryyn sighed at him and shook her head. ‘You’re making this very difficult for me. I asked: Who wrote the Parothean Edict, and when was it published?’

  ‘Headmistress,’ said Rickert, biting his lip.

  ‘What?’ she asked, a hint of warning in her voice.

  ‘What was the war like?’

  Noreadryyn sighed, took the spectacles off her nose, and folded them neatly onto her lap. ‘Now isn’t the time to discuss this topic. You have your studies to complete.’

  ‘You never talk about it. No one ever does. It’s like a dark memory to everyone I ask.’

  ‘It was a dark time in our history, young prince. The wounds are fresh in Felheim. Even though more than one hundred years have passed, there are still some alive who lived through the war.’

  ‘Did you?’

  Noreadryyn sighed once more. ‘You cannot derail your studies by asking me this. If I answer this one question, you will answer every question on your reading list before the sun goes down, you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’ Rickert nodded.

  ‘The war began with an elfen assassin killing High King Eresmus, your grandfather. With his death came the realisation that a secret clan known as the White Dagger Guild existed. Once your grandfather was dead, the rebel guild rallied a mass of elfen from the Insolvent Quarter of the city and began burning buildings and monuments in a violent protest.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’ asked Noreadryyn.

  ‘What would any of that accomplish? Burning buildings and killing.’

  ‘They wanted to be free.’

  Rickert scrunched his nose. ‘We are free. Going outside Felheim isn’t forbidden. We do as we please.’

  ‘It was not the fear of going outside that worried the hierarchs of old. It was what could be brought in. You see, before that time, most of Felheim was pacifist. Trouble was, they would h
ave killed every last monarch if Morrenwylf hadn’t revealed secret technologies that could stop the White Dagger Guild. These secret technologies launched our society hundreds of years forward.’

  ‘Where did he get these secret technologies?’ asked Rickert.

  Noreadryyn flashed a smile. ‘We never found out. The White Dagger Guild was quickly eradicated, and the head assassin, the head of the snake, was exiled from Felheim, never to be seen again. All members of the rebel guild and anyone who rallied with them were executed without trial.’

  ‘They just let the assassin leader go?’

  Noreadryyn glanced to her sides and shrugged. ‘I think the head of the snake escaped the clutches of the Golden Guard. They would swear up and down the assassin was exiled before they admitted they had been fooled by simple tricks and smokescreens.’

  ‘You sound like you admire this assassin,’ said Rickert.

  Noreadryyn unfolded her spectacles and put them back on her nose. ‘Perhaps once I did. That’s enough now, Rickert. You must finish this report, now.’

  Rickert stopped his leg from moving in the water. He glanced across the pond. Rhiannon was conducting her sparring lessons with the Kindler. She and Rickert had been equally glad upon hearing that the Kindler had arrived at Felheim. Rickert didn’t know if he had another name, and he had never asked. That was the name given to him by King Feldyr.

  The Kindler was the only human in the elfen caravan, but he was regarded with as much respect as any other elfen, and sometimes he was revered as royalty. It was said that he had visions that could reveal people’s futures. Rickert had once asked him what was in his future, but the Kindler had never told him, because the fate of monarchs rested in the hands of Alestaeyn alone, according to him. No one, not even a seer like him, could tell of such outcomes.

  Rickert was jealous of Rhiannon, as the Kindler was now whispering into her ear and pointing at the dagger in her hand. The Kindler was the twin princes’ favourite person, and they both desired to spend as much time with him as they could. Rhiannon, wearing a simple grey padded sparring robe, was in a crouch, a dull iron dagger in hand. The Kindler, wearing a similar grey suit, stood up and walked behind her with his arms crossed. His hood covered the features of his face, but Rickert knew he liked it that way. The Kindler pointed at a straw target and said something to Rhiannon, but Rickert couldn’t hear from that far.

  ‘Rickert,’ Noreadryyn said, bringing his attention back once more. ‘I’ve told you a story, and now it is time to focus. You will feel the reed if you do not pay attention.’

  He turned to Noreadryyn. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Ambiguity, Rickert, is not becoming of a prince. Who do you mean?’

  ‘The assassin?’

  ‘What makes you think it was a he?’

  ‘A she-elfen?’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Rickert, I’ve had enough. You will focus now.’

  Rickert stared back at Rhiannon.

  ‘Rickert,’ said Noreadryyn, tilting her head. ‘You continue to look at your sister. Is there something you wish to tell me?’

  He glanced down at the pond. If anyone would listen to him, it would be Noreadryyn. A shadow of doubt clouded his mind. She also might merely brush him off. The headmistress pushed her spectacles higher on her face and shifted in her seat. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Something happened.’ He nodded.

  Noreadryyn carefully set the reed to her side.

  ‘This had better not be one of your tricks. I will reprimand you heavily.’

  ‘No tricks. Someone did…something to Rhiannon…’ Rickert hesitated. He could barely form the words in his mouth. He looked back at his sister as she loosed another arrow. This time the arrow sailed high above the target. Rhiannon glanced at Rickert with a look of worry.

  Their gazes met for a moment.

  ‘Rickert?’

  ‘I don’t know how to say it, headmistress. Someone did something to her that they shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘High Primarch Morrenwylf. He—’

  Noreadryyn put her hand over Rickert's mouth and looked over her shoulder. She chuckled at him.

  ‘Oh, we all know how much you love the high primarch. Exemplary lord, isn’t he, my prince?’ she said flippantly with an awkward laugh.

  Rickert's mouth dropped open. He pushed her hand away.

  ‘What?’ he said, frowning. ‘No, I do not think he is—’ Again, Noreadryyn put a hand over his mouth. This time, she bent low to whisper in his ear.

  ‘Hush now, Rickert. Never mention his name again in this manner.’ She then stood up from the pool, and Rickert stood beside her. She towered over him, her purple eyes peering down at him. ‘It could be a very grave mistake to speak like that where there are so many ears.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Never again, Rickert. Now hush.’ Noreadryyn turned her head as Rhiannon and the Kindler approached from the opposite side of the pond.

  ‘My Princess. Is your sword arm improving?’ Noreadryyn said with a soft chuckle. Rickert's face went red. He glared at his headmistress.

  ‘Not by very much,’ answered the Kindler, pulling back his hood to scratch behind his ear. 'But her dagger play is awe-inspiring. I will give her that.’

  Rhiannon blushed. Rickert gazed up at the traveller. He stood nearly three feet shorter than Noreadryyn. His hair was long and unkempt, as was his beard, which seemed to have more knots than a fisher's net. Despite this, he didn't smell bad, at least not to Rickert's senses. He smelt like oak or pine needles. The Kindler’s long but sharp nose had a scar over it, as if someone had tried to cut it off but failed. His eyes were the colour of coal, and his beard was brown, but it was beginning to show signs of greying. Noreadryyn curtsied to him, but the Kindler didn’t seem to notice. He scratched his ear and pulled a tiny insect from behind it. He inspected the bug and then put it in his mouth with a sickening crunch. Rhiannon and Noreadryyn both cringed and turned away in disgust, but not Rickert. For a moment, he let himself smile at the odd spectacle. The Kindler caught his gaze.

  ‘You see, my prince,’ The Kindler said, putting a finger to his teeth and picking at them. He placed his other hand on Rickert’s shoulder, pulling his gaze from the headmistress. ‘Insects like this are high in nutrients not found anywhere else in the world except in the Chloranthy Terrace Gardens. It is a treat packed with protein and excessively good for your bones, regardless of what wimin-folk think of it.’

  Rickert smiled but then looked at Noreadryyn. She was smiling like she’d forgotten the previous conversation. Rhiannon stepped beside her brother and touched his elbow.

  ‘Speaking of nutrients, headmistress, could I have a word with you where the tiny prince or princess’s ears cannot hear?’ asked the Kindler, gesturing with his hand to a more private area of the garden. Noreadryyn cleared her throat with a nod and walked away with him. Rickert watched her walk away. With her went his only chance of getting help for Rhiannon.

  ‘You told her, didn’t you?’ Rickert turned to his sister. Rhiannon glared at him. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘We need help. I cannot take him all on my own.’ Rickert sat down by the edge of the pool once more. He was upset, but somehow Noreadryyn’s reaction had not surprised him. What could she do anyway? Morrenwylf had all the power in Felheim. He could do whatever he wanted.

  ‘I still think we could find someone to…’ Rickert began. He wished with all his might the assassin from the civil war would simply kill the high primarch, even though she was responsible for the death of his grandfather. Right now, all that mattered was Rhiannon.

  ‘I do not wish to speak about that, dear brother. Please, for your sake and mine, push it all from your mind,’ whispered Rhiannon. Rickert shook his head but didn’t say a word. He stared at the fish circling the bottom of the pond. One swam close to the surface and created ripples as it broke the sur
face, staring back at Rickert. He kicked the fish in the head as hard as he could, splashing water onto Rhiannon, but she hardly noticed. The blue-and-green fish rose to the surface and bobbed there, lifeless. Perhaps Rickert should have felt regret, but he didn’t. A bigger fish swam up from the bottom and gulped the dead fish whole. The big fish then swam back to the bottom of the pond, barely noticing the elfen prince staring at it from far above.

  Everything is wrong.

  ROCKETS OF DIFFERENT SHAPES and sizes were lined up in rows at the edge of the festival grounds. Rickert could see the tops of them from his seat in the royal carriage. He scratched at his frilled collar, disappointed that he had been made to wear it once more.

  Rhiannon, however, glistened with radiance. She wore a dress of gold and silver. A serpent made of emeralds coiled from her left wrist all the way up to her neck. The head of the snake flicked its gilded tongue from cheek to chin. She beamed as three rockets, coloured red, purple, and gold, shot into the dark sky, illuminating it with colours of the rainbow, spinning and sparkling through the heavens. Cheers erupted from the masses—elfen from Felheim and visitors from the Quiet Valley to the north. The elfen from the north were coloured blue like ice, but their ears were pointed and covered in fur just like his and Rhiannon’s.

  Rhiannon grabbed Rickert’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Look at that one!’ she squealed as a green-coloured rocket sprang up from the grounds and burst into elabourate circles forming the golden face of King Atmerys of the House of Feldyr.

  Suddenly, a crack shook Rickert, Rhiannon, and the crowds. Everyone turned to see a procession heralded by a marching platoon of elfen knights. They walked before a construct, a track variant of a tank, that made Rickert catch his breath.

  The metal was painted pearl white with intricate red and gold designs. The track sported a turret with two main cannon guns. Rickert’s eyes widened as a rocket exploded overhead, shedding light over the devilish machine.