Like the leader of a great procession, I march straight to Imperi Hill, a crowd of Bellonians steadily growing along the way. Despite the tightness in my chest, the crippling doubt weighing down my mind, and despite the large, boisterous group on my heels, I stay quiet. Fervent.
When we reach the High Regent’s palace, I stop a decent ten paces before the gate. The crowd behind me has calmed. Hushed to quiet mumblings and whispers. Taking in the heavy silence building behind me, I half expect to find the majority has fallen away, abandoning the effort the closer we’ve come to the palace. And I wouldn’t blame them.
But when I turn to face the crowd, I am shocked to see they number a good two hundred thick.
Bellonians—Dogio, Imperi, and Basso alike; young and old and in-between—erupt in celebration, the sound gloriously deafening.
There is no way Raevald can ignore it, not even from the darkest depths of that stone-and-iron lair of his. With a final push and calls of “The heir returns!” and “Huzzah!” and “Blessed be the light!” they urge me on.
The wall surrounding Imperi Palace is something to behold. All thick iron slats, at least twelve feet tall, there’s no climbing it. Even if people did manage to claw their way up to the top, they’d be greeted with sharp iron thorny vines upon attempting to hoist themselves over the top. They’re said to be decorative, but I’m not sure anyone’s ever dared find out.
There are a couple of arched doorways for guards and staff to go through along the perimeter, but they’re heavily reinforced. Always bolted shut.
The gate, though?
As foreboding a presence as the wall is, the gate is ten times more forbidding.
Made of the same black iron as the wall, the gate towers a good five feet over it. There is always a pair of soldiers standing guard, one on each side. Along the top of the gate, mimicking those along the wall, are iron spikes. But unlike the more decorative wall versions, these are clearly meant to intimidate. To impale if necessary.
The ten steps to walk from where I stand to the front of the iron gate, while a short distance, takes a lifetime. The crowd, still boisterous, still chanting, stays behind.
I approach the gate, make eye contact with the soldier on the other side. There is a moment, a brief lapse, not more than a breath when I feel fear. The soldiers who guard the gate are well trained. It’s a prestigious post and one not given to new recruits. In this case, it’s a woman in her mid-twenties, a respectably decorated crimson sash pressed and fastened over her shoulder.
It is during the blink of an eye that we inspect one another that I worry she will see right through me. Somehow she will know I am not truly the loyal heir of Bellona she sees before her, but the enemy. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
She nods.
Salutes.
And without pause, cranks the gears on the lock of the gate. Turns a key. A series of complicated bolts unhinge and, from the middle, the gate opens up like a sideways fanged jaw. As I am ushered over the threshold and inside the palace grounds, one loud thought crosses my mind: I am here for Veda.
The crowd isn’t nearly as discouraged by the gate as I am. Some climb and perch themselves near the top, just shy of the spikes. More Imperi soldiers rush the gate, line the wall, many threatening the people to climb down. Or else.
I don’t get a moment to check because two soldiers instantly flank my sides. I have no idea where they have come from, but they usher me straight for the grand front entrance of the palace as more guards storm the gates, surround the wall.
The closer I get to the palace, the fainter the noise back at the gate grows, but the storm of angry shouting by Imperi and Bellonians both is undeniable. Halfway up the lengthy cobbled walkway to the doors, I force a glance over my shoulder, where I catch sight of the guards trying to disperse the crowd. Several are shoving sharp poles through the slats in the fence to force people off the barricade.
I have to make myself not react to the Imperi’s aggressiveness. Setting my sights to the front door, I square my shoulders, adjust my pace. I need not rush nor stagger but walk with steady purpose. Putting all of my focus into the task at hand, a few things still steal my attention. First is the barking. The High Regent’s guard dogs are in fine form—I can only assume the out-of-character racket has them completely unhinged.
Then there is the group of Bellonians being shoved along the outside of the surrounding fence by a few angry guards. They must have tried to sneak around the side to get a better look.
But it’s the last thing I see before reaching the palace that catches me off guard. At the rear of the group being led away is a Basso prisoner. What gives me pause is how he isn’t part of the other crowd but clearly under arrest, hands bound, and attached to an Imperi officer. Not so strange in and of itself, but the prisoner has a familiarity about him and as our sights briefly connect, I am momentarily pulled from the present. From my task. My focus.
Looking more closely, a hat covers most of the boy’s face, but I can’t help the feeling I know him. Or have maybe seen him? Perhaps talked with him on some odd occasion?
But I won’t get a chance to squint for a better look.
Once the palace steps are before me, the boy is gone.
The grand return-of-the-heir entrance I’ve built up is upon me.
I’d planned to beat the great golden doors down with my fists, but, always one step ahead, Imperi guards swing open the doors, unceremoniously ushering me straight inside. The thick double doors close with an echoing latch behind me.
From there, I am pulled along through winding hallway after winding hallway. The interior of the High Regent’s palace passes by me in a gold and crystal blur.
YES, I’VE MADE it inside unscathed, a victory in and of itself. But the hard part is yet to come.
My heart raps full force as the guards lead me down a lamplit hallway, door after door lining the walls. Body and mind on high alert, my eyes catch every possible shadow.
I brace myself at each turn of the corner.
With every door we pass by.
I force the most authoritarian voice I can muster and stop by digging my heels into the polished marble floor. “I demand you explain where you’re taking me!”
The two soldiers halt to a stop.
The guard to my left, young, probably his second year or so as an officer, gives a sheepish look to the other, more senior guard.
“My sincerest apologies, my lord,” Chevreau, the senior officer, says with a slight bow. “We should have explained. The High Regent’s orders were to deliver you to him as swiftly as possible.” I stare. “For safety and security, of course.” I nod. “The crowd posed a significant danger to both you and the palace.”
“Right,” I say. “I appreciate it, officer.” And I’m ready to keep moving, but neither of them takes a step until I do and we’re off again.
Now I’m more relaxed but still confused. I’d assumed they’d have me seen by a doctor. Cleaned up at least. But apparently, Raevald is as anxious to see me as I am reluctant to face him.
I dig deep. Adjust my expectations.
The High Regent … You’re going to be face-to-face with Raevald. You’re the heir. Heir to all of Bellona.
Now act like it, damn it.
SHOULDERS SQUARED, head held high, trying my best to ignore the fire spreading between my shoulder blades, I make sure to walk one step ahead of them. Sure, I have no idea where we are going. It doesn’t matter.
I’m heir.
Finally, we stop outside an unassuming door.
Enter.
The younger officer closes the door behind us, and once again I am on edge. Suspicious this is all some ruse and at any minute I’ll be taken straight to my Offering.
“Please, take a seat, my lord. The High Regent will be with you shortly,” Chevreau says, motioning toward one of two identical chairs.
I sit.
The soldiers leave and, I note, do not lock me in. A very positive sign that eases my nerves once again.
It is then, upon sitting, that I realize how inexplicably heavy my eyelids are. How my stiff body aches. I’ve finally let down my guard.
But I can’t. Not yet. At least, I’ll have to jump back into character full force the moment Raevald enters.
Until then, I scoot back into the chair. Take in the room.
The space is mostly empty. Not at all in line with the unapologetic grandeur of what I saw of the palace during the winding walk here. There isn’t a window or hourglass or art hanging. Just four walls. I’d have thought it a prison cell save the decorative molding along the ceiling, the delicate light fixture hanging down into the middle of the room, and the pristine golden-embroidered upholstery my filthy clothes are tarnishing.
I decide that allowing myself to relax is a bad idea and the pit in my gut has expanded up and into my chest; everything feels all wrong. I stand to go to the door. Right as Raevald enters.
Without a word, the High Regent strides toward the chair opposite me, lifts his coattails with a flourish, and sits. Two guards flank the doorway, not taking their sights off me, as if I might attack.
Heir turned assassin for the Night.
Raevald just stares at me with his muddy gray eyes.
I stare back, both of us daring the other to speak first.
Until I decide to beat him to it. If I am going to act the part, I’d better start now. I sit back down. Inhale a deep breath.
“The Night executed two of my fellow soldiers. I was next but managed to escape.” Glancing down at my torn and bloodied clothes, scuffing the stubble along my jaw, I wait for him to acknowledge how obviously true my story must be based on my appearance. Silently, I thank the Sun I wasn’t taken to be cleaned up. Raevald doesn’t utter a word. “I’ve been foolish,” I blurt. This gets his attention. Of course he wants me to grovel. “I was blinded by Veda’s lies. I had no idea she was involved with the Night.” I push out my own lies as if they were bitter truths. “And now that I’ve seen how cruel they are, all I want is to serve Bellona as heir. Learn from you. Earn your trust.” The emotion in my voice, the way that last word cracked with passion, shocks even me.
Expression like stone, the High Regent finally breaks his silence. “Welcome back, Mr. Denali. We’ve been praying for your safe return.” He looks me up and down. Glances at one of the guards and motions toward me. “Clean him up. Make quick work of it.”
Raevald stands. Then leaves.
That is it.
I suppose it could have been worse.
That was several long hours ago.
Since then the day’s gone by in a blur.
I’ve showered, been seen by the royal doctor, had my hair cut, been given a crisp new uniform, been granted permission to write a letter to my parents, and sat before an artist to capture my likeness in preparation for newly printed THE HEIR RETURNS! posters.
All of it over the top but not surprising.
Except that I’m now in the High Regent’s personal wing of the palace. A place few are granted access to.
I sit in an overly stuffed leather chair, surrounded by an elegant sitting room. Fresh sunrise flowers rest on the table to my side, as, yet again, I wait for the man in charge. Vesper bells clang from outside, signaling that the Sun has just gone down. I’ve been allowed zero contact with the outside world but have been promised an eventual reunion with my parents.
I stand when Raevald enters, a small entourage on his tail. He greets me with a nod, then sits in the other chair, a marble side table between us. I sit as well as he motions his guards at ease against the far wall.
Raevald leans forward. “Never a moment to myself.”
I risk a half smile. Was that a joke?
He chuckles under his breath. Apparently, it was.
Not missing a beat, I allow a small laugh to humor him.
He meets my eyes, then leans back into the chair, further studying me. “There will be a ceremony, an Offering in your honor, in gratitude to the Sun for your safe return.”
“I’m honored.” I nod. I don’t want to nod. I don’t want to see another person Offered as long as I live. But I remind myself to stay strong, play the part. There’s a much bigger end game here.
Now Raevald leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, each movement, each word calculated, as if rehearsed. “The girl’s currently under lock and key. Bellonians will determine her fate. She’ll either be Offered or executed.” He eyes me. “Sooner than later.”
On the inside, I die. My instinct is to double over, to quell the aching in my chest by marching out the door and turning this palace upside down to find Veda.
But I can’t do that, can I?
I’ve got an insurmountable task ahead of me. How will I find her, much less get her to the Lower? But I cannot give any of this away. I squeeze my toes inside my boots as hard as I can for the smallest release of anger.
I will find her … I will find her … I try to convince myself of this.
Raevald, brow at attention, scrutinizing even my breathing, waits for a reaction.
“Oh?” is all I say. Steady. Strong. You’re stone, Nico. Right now, your heart is as brittle and callous as the man’s before you.
He nods, acting as if he’s completely uninterested. I’d wager a guess we’re both doing a bit of acting. “I’m betting on an Offering, but we’ll see. Votes will be counted in two days’ time.”
“And she’s under lock and key, you say? I hope she’s also surrounded by solid iron bars as well.” I throw a look of disgust across my face.
“The girl’s as good as dead and in the most secure location in Bellona.”
“The Coliseum,” I say confidently because I assumed as much.
A wide grin stretches across his face, and I can tell he can’t even help but gloat. “No … no, but it’s a good guess. She’s actually…” He pauses for effect, and it works because I am about to jump out of my skin with anticipation. Burst into pieces from having to restrain it all so coolly. “Not in a prison at all. Well, not one commonly known anyway.”
I sense a morbid game he’s trying to play: Guess where the prisoner is. It’s an impossible game. One I’m sure to lose. I know this by the look of pure satisfaction already showing in his eyes.
Still, I try my best to indulge him.
“Really? Not in a prison at all?”
He folds his arms over his chest. Nods.
“A secret location … Perhaps for high-level prisoners…” I genuinely attempt to think of a place where a prison could be hidden, but knowing Raevald, she could be anywhere on the island. “And it would have to be secure…”
Raevald watches me, his eyes narrowed, yet I can tell he’s amused by my floundering. The fact that he’s stumping me. “In the market?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“A cave? Maybe near the fishing grounds?”
“No.” He’s practically rolling his eyes at how far off I am. And, truly, I have no idea.
“The…” But I’m out of ideas. “The…”
He leans in. Motions I lean in too. “Think closer. Grander.”
Grander. The grandest place on the island is this palace. Surely not. Still … I have nothing to lose at this point. It’s not intentional, but I glance around the room as if I’m imagining if it’s possible.
“Yes…?” he asks.
Of course it’s possible. Imperi Palace is humongous. The largest structure for miles save the Coliseum.
“Here?” I finally say. “Inside the palace?”
“Precisely. I learned a long time ago to keep my enemies near.” His smile broadens. “However, very few people know how to find the secret prison, much less get in.” He’s sure to add that last part, and I believe it’s strictly for me.
I take a moment to be absolutely sure I’m not going to react in any way to this news I can barely believe despite the words that just came out of my own mouth. “Well.” I nod, genuinely impressed at his candor. His confidence. “This palace is a fortress. Arguably more so than the great Coliseum itself.”
He nods. “She’ll never be found here. And soon she’ll be dead and no longer a thorn in my side.”
I try my best to convey an expression of respect and awe. Then I lean back, settle deeper into the overly stuffed chair. Force my muscles to relax as if I’m at ease. As if every nerve in my body isn’t on edge.
“It’ll be for the best.” He cocks an eyebrow. “The Night can barely function without her.”
“Is that so?”
I nod. “It’s eating up all their time and energy. They’re spending resources they don’t have searching for her. And once she’s gone, their morale will suffer greatly.” It’s only part true, but I’ve got to give him something. I’ve got to convince him where my loyalties lie.
Besides, I’m not here for the Night. I owe them zero allegiance. Aside from Dorian setting me free, there’s no love lost there.
This is all for Veda.
For Bellona.