Chapter 14

Ceven

THE FRIGID AIR settled into Ceven’s bones as his boots plowed through the snow. If he had been born human, it would’ve sapped all his warmth even between the layer of his brown fur coat and dark slacks. The outer district of the city was quiet tonight aside from the squeak of a single carriage and the frantic steps of someone who was out way later than they should be. Smoke billowed from the tops of tin and plated roofs that were more spread out than the ones closer to the castle. He was still within the walls, but at least he felt he could breathe a little easier here. If only for a moment.

Xilo walked beside him, his long strides keeping up with his. Ceven was tall, even for an Aerian, but Xilo met his height. Mayhap was even a little taller, but his lithe frame could’ve given more of that impression. Tarry had stayed behind at the house to heal—and to keep watch in case his friends from Atiaca suddenly made their own move as well.

Up ahead, a structure, slightly crooked if Ceven stared at it for too long, emerged between the light flurries of snow. It was the moon’s light that helped him see the worn barn house, the street lamps a hundred paces in the opposite direction, past Xilo’s son’s house. Two figures emerged from between its doors, and Ceven’s hand tightened on the letter rolled in his coat pocket.

After what he had witnessed in the west wing, he had to warn his other comrades back at the castle. They were young guards, eager to butter up to him to win favor, but since his return to Castle Peak, they had grown on him. Literally. He remembered them coming up to his waist before he’d left for Atiaca. Now the same Rathans and Aerians stood almost at his height with the same determination Ceven’d had in his youth.

Ceven snorted and knew what Tarry and Xilo would say: you’re still young, and you have much to learn. Maybe he did, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it, nor of the fact that he felt he could think more clearly on matters than his own king, at over a hundred years old. If only he hadn’t been born a bastard, if only Sehn hadn’t come back from Sundise Mouche. Ceven could’ve become a great king.

“Your Highness,” the broad-framed soldier said when they got closer, fisting his right hand over his breast. His companion, whose braids outnumbered Rasha’s, did the same. Both were Aerians, their snow-dusted wings tucked tightly behind them.

Ceven had seen the two of them occasionally from afar but never caught their names. They weren’t in uniform and matched closely in physique. According to Xilo, one was a guard of twenty years, the other a Royal Guard much longer than that. They were here only because of their respect for Xilo, him and Tarry earning their positions within the Royal Guard rather than being born into it like most Aerians.

They weren’t here for a bastard prince.

Ceven pulled out his letter, the parchment rolled into a palm-size note. “Thanks for coming out here tonight. We have a serious problem on our hands.” They both nodded, but their eyes darted to Xilo’s. Ceven frowned and shrugged it off.

“We’ll make sure it gets into the right hands,” braids said.

The letter contained what he had seen in the west wing, the potential war Peredia was about to face, and the Caster disease that was plaguing its soldiers.

Ceven pinched his brows. He wished they had gotten more out of that soldier in the west wing, but he had lost too much blood, becoming incoherent before bleeding to death on the ground. It doesn’t make sense. We just signed the treaty with Sundise Mouche, and we have strong relations with Atiaca. There’s no way the king would create a treaty just to break another, had been his current thought ever since they’d encountered that marked soldier. Unless it was a false sense of protection to give way for an attack? No, I don’t think so. Sign a treaty, only to turn around and stab them in the back? Still an unwise move. The king is smarter than that.

When the question of war was brought up last night, Evangeline had asked if the king may have another incentive. Ceven didn’t know, but if anyone would, it would be his brother. Sehn had said killing the king would solve all their problems, and Ceven was inclined to agree. Removing King Calais would save Evangeline and prevent a war—that was, if Sehn wasn’t in on what the king had planned. But Ceven was going to figure that out.

“I plan on returning to the castle soon,” Ceven said, tempted to step in front of Xilo so they would look only at him. “But I need you to get word to Xilo here, for our . . . later plan.”

The ‘plan’ from last night wasn’t so much a plan as it was a compromise. Ceven needed to return to the castle to figure out what Sehn and the king were up to, but he couldn’t bring Eve with him, and like hell was he going to leave her with the Atiacan warriors.

So, in the meantime, when Tarry has healed a bit more, the two of them would make their way to the castle, along with Barto and Rasha. He would leave Quan and Xilo at Eyvan’s house with Evangeline and Lani until they returned. What Ceven neglected to say that night was his plan to get Eve and Lani beyond the walls without the Rathans finding out. Hence, tonight’s meeting.

“It’s for that human girl, isn’t it?” the broad-shouldered soldier said, catching Ceven off guard. “Xilo said you planned to smuggle a few people beyond the walls. One of them has to be her.” He kept his face still, expressionless, but Ceven sensed his dissatisfaction. The disrespect. And while it shouldn’t bother him, it did.

Before Ceven could stop himself, he said, “You got a problem with that?” He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. Just plain wrong. This whole blasted kingdom is wrong. Humans aren’t animals and shouldn’t be treated as such simply because they’re weaker.” The two had shifted their gazes away from him, but Ceven stared them down. “Would you beat, torture, and force a Nyte child to do the things these humans do in the castle? They’re weaker than us, after all.”

The two men didn’t answer. Ceven knew they wanted to argue, to bite back and say, but a Nyte child isn’t a human, as if that were the answer and not the problem.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to face Xilo.

Ceven sighed, biting back the words he wanted to say to these two guards. “Thank you for coming out here tonight. I hope our letter gets into safe hands, and for your information, this is more than just smuggling a couple of humans beyond the walls. This concerns the safety of our kingdom and its future.”

He turned before the two could reply, storming past Xilo back to Eyvan’s house.

Ceven’s hands stayed curled into fists, his back straight as he stepped across the missing, broken floorboards on the porch. When he entered the house, he was as quiet as he could be, though with Rathans sharing the residence, it was likely they’d already heard.

Barto and the others were upstairs, with Tarry lying on the couch in the living room, his shirtless torso covered in bandages that matched his left wing. The fire sizzled and cracked, showcasing the worn leather couch Tarry sat on, seams unraveling at the edges, along with the faded green and brown rug that was still covered with bloody sheets and pillows since they’d patched up Tarry and Quan.

 Tarry wobbled to his feet upon Ceven’s arrival, and Ceven recognized his expression.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said, raising his hand to dissuade Tarry from standing and opening his wounds. Ceven had a feeling he knew what it would be about, considering they’ve had little time to chat since last night’s discussion. Whatever Xilo had given the Aerian had knocked him out a whole day.

Tarry ignored him, standing to his full height, holding his side. His wings had seen better days.

Xilo was close behind him, eyeing Tarry’s bandages before giving him a similar look. “It would be wise to listen to us, Your Highness.”

Ceven frowned. Great, now he was being tag-teamed. He buckled underneath their combined stares and nodded. Xilo gestured for Ceven and Tarry to follow him.

Rather than going back outside for privacy, Xilo guided them into the basement of the house that Eyvan had remodeled into a study. Bookshelves covered the walls, which looked to be painted burgundy to hide the concrete beneath. Papers lay neatly stacked next to a cup of pens on a white desk, revealing a meticulous owner. Labeled bottles lined the shelves, but Ceven didn’t observe further when the two Aerians cornered him, their arms folded.

Tarry cut straight to the point. “With the threat of war coming, and Nytes turning into monsters, we have more important things to focus on than aiding Miss Evangeline and Delani.” The Aerian stood heads shorter than Ceven but still made him feel small. “We know you care for the girl, but she’s becoming a liability.”

Ceven’s eyes narrowed. “I get plenty of that from Barto and the others. I don’t need it from you two.”

They didn’t budge. He wondered if they had always been this way, stoic and expressionless, or if it was a prerequisite for joining the Royal Guard. Or a product of their shared past.

“Barto and his guards . . . they also pose an issue. They know too much, can use this situation to their advantage,” Xilo said. “We risk them turning you over to the king for sheltering Ryker’s murderer to gain sway for their empress.”

Ceven flinched. After Evangeline’s admission last night of killing a Nyte, of killing Ryker Ardonis, he hadn’t been able to look at her the same way. As if he still couldn’t believe it.

 Tarry nodded. “Evangeline has admitted to it. If you continue to associate with her, the king—”

“The king will what?” Ceven barked. “Belittle me? Beat me? Cast me out?” He snorted. “At least it’d be better than being forced into a political cage for his own gain.”

“You’ll be executed,” Tarry finished.

Ceven waved his hand. “He wouldn’t. He hates me, but he hates taboo even more. Killing a prince, bastard or not, would tarnish his name.” But the thought sobered him. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was underestimating how much King Calais hated his presence, hated what he was. Proof that Queen Beatrix, whom the king had adored, had loved another. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. I don’t plan on staying.”

Xilo raised his brows, and Ceven would argue he looked almost haughtier than the king himself. “And where would you go? Back to Atiaca?”

He didn’t like this pointed observation.

“Your life and men are here. I know you don’t believe it, but your presence amongst the Peredian army is highly respected,” Tarry said.

Ceven bite back a laugh. “Only you two think that. Like a parent boasting that their kid is the best swordsmen in the world when he can’t even pick up a proper blade.” Calais had said a similar sentiment about him, before he stopped loving him, and before Ceven started taking his training more seriously.

Tarry continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You once told us you wanted to change Peredia. For the better. How are you going to do that if you’re not here?”

Ceven flung out his hands at an invisible opponent. “Don’t throw that at me. Those were the words of a child. And I’m just barely respected amongst the rookies, because they think I can somehow promote them or put a good word in for them. Anyone with enough rank knows I don’t amount to anything in the kingdom.”

There was a knock, and the door to the basement opened. It was Barto.

“What?” Ceven said harshly. Tarry and Xilo’s advice never got easier to swallow, even as he was nearing twenty.

“We need to talk.”

Everyone needed to talk. It sounded like a broken record around here.

Barto was alone, his black tuft of hair looking tousled as if he had been running his hands through it. His face had no hint of a smile. It didn’t surprise Ceven that the Rathan was awake at this hour, knowing the man always slept with one eye open.

“If this is about Evangeline, I’ll only listen if you can swear to me you won’t take her to Atiaca,” Ceven started.

Barto scoffed, crossing his arms. His green coat rolled up to show the thickened black fur underneath. “I won’t take her without telling you. And if you imply that I’m going to backstab you one more time, I’m going to deck you in the face, like you rightly deserve.”

Tarry and Xilo shared a look of agreement. Ceven bristled. Whose side were they on?

“Why would I think otherwise? We’ve never had to go against each other like this before. You expect me to think you’d disobey your empress, whom you’re loyal to? I’m not stupid enough to believe friendship is going to make everything okay.”

Barto growled and unsheathed his claws. “I’m loyal to my empress and my friends. I didn’t think I’d have to prove it to you. Again. Remember, it was me who saved your ass more times than I can count back in Atiaca. It was me who convinced the empress to send me as an emissary to Peredia, because I wanted to show the king how great of a son you could be to him.” He paused and then glanced at the ground. “But mostly it was because I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you again.”

Ceven frowned at the admission. Out of the corner of his eye, Tarry nodded at Xilo and, before Ceven caught on to what they were planning, it was too late.

 From the speed with which Tarry had his ax unchained and in his hand, Ceven would think he’d never been injured at all. Xilo moved a tad faster as they rushed Barto, who whirled around just in time.

Everyone froze.

Tarry’s ax hovered above Barto’s throat while Xilo’s knife pressed against his heart. Barto had one dagger to Xilo’s neck, the other held backwards, jabbing into Tarry’s existing wound.

“What the spitting blazes are you two doing?” Ceven had drawn his sword as well.

“A reminder.” Tarry’s side bled where Barto’s dagger reopened the stitching. “That if Sir Nu’yuen decides to do something that isn’t in His Highness’s best interests, there would be no hesitation.”

“Killing me will only create more problems for you. I’m not someone you can make disappear that easily,” Barto said. “And trust me, you don’t want to deal with Rasha and Quan when they find out what you’ve done.”

“Enough. No one’s killing anyone. Let me make my own decisions; I’m not a child anymore.” Ceven’s voice was sharp. “Unless you plan to break your oath.”

The three men warily stepped away from each other before silently agreeing to a temporary truce.

“I pledged my loyalty to you nineteen years ago. Again, when you turned eighteen. That hasn’t changed,” Tarry said.

“And I as well, Your Highness.” Xilo clenched a fist over his heart in a sign of respect. “We chose this path. We just want to see you survive it.”

Barto remained silent, but his face said it all. It was an expression Ceven had seen on him once when he’d shared how he was the one to find his eldest sister’s body. Erika hadn’t believed in violence, had spent most of her time foraging for food for their small tribe. A group of passing bandits killed her, all because she had tried to talk them out of stealing their season’s harvest.

“Barto . . .” Ceven’s words felt heavy on his tongue.

He held up his hand. “I came to patch things up, but it’s clear to see where you” —he gave Xilo and Tarry a nasty look— “and your men stand. I just hope it doesn’t come back to haunt you later.” He turned and left.