Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords Book 3) (28 page)

The battlefield is in an uproar. The stench of fear is thick.

“What’s happening?” I ask in a calm voice. Shard answers.

“There’s maybe … two hundred of them standing on the Great Stairway. They’re not moving, just watching. Like…” he trails off.

“Like they’re waiting for something?” I ask. The Solati army is giving the Elite time to slaughter all the people I’ve come to know over the last three sectors. Cassius is trying to distract the king of Glacium from the real game.

“So few?” someone remarks behind me. “They’ve got no chance.”

The person shows their inexperience with the comment. It will be a close battle.

“Maybe the others are hiding, or still to come,” another answers.

“Maybe they couldn’t feed everyone with the delay.”

Somewhere up there, Cassius stands sneering down at us. I hope he can see me. I hope he can
feel
how much I want to stay and disembowel him, slowly, bit by bit. But, to his immense luck, our meeting is to be delayed once more. “We need to go now,” I say over the clamor. I can’t speak to Jovan again, or I fear my resolve will break.

The seven chosen men crowd around me as I make for the edge of the campsite. I know Shard will have his eyes sharpened for signs of attack against me. I reach the tree line and remove my veil, taking a few precious moments to squint back at the battlefield. I gasp at the sight and take an involuntary step back. Being told is one thing. Seeing for myself is another.

My people are there. My mother’s army! They stand tall and straight, and in perfect formation, making the neat rows of tents between us look like a messy heap. The army is a formidable and impenetrable force.

Any sane ruler would be proud.

Why then, are all of my thoughts for the Glacium king and of the goodbye I never gave him?

We take an entirely different path back to the castle. Rhone leads the group, setting a punishing pace. Unlike the sluggish walk here with the cavalry, the eight of us race through Glacium’s outmost wilderness, only stopping by the occasional stream for a drink of brain-freezing water.

My fury at Cassius’s plan fuels my speed well beyond what I would usually be capable of. Why hadn’t we discovered this sooner?

Hours pass, and we take turns signaling to slow the pace to a walk at intervals to catch our breath. I get used to the swing of the two short swords strapped at my hips. I realize it won’t matter if the Elite are tired from killing the castle watch; we’ll be just as tired from running all the way there. Sanjay and Blizzard hand food back down our single-file line in the moments we slow our pace. We eat a few bites, often, consuming for endurance.

Malir holds up an arm and we slow to a complete stop. I have no idea where we are, but I wholeheartedly trust Rhone to get us where we need to be as quickly as possible.

“We must rest.” He glances at me.

I swallow back my initial refusal and survey the group. Blizzard and Sanjay look ready to drop. A chorus of complaints arise from the others, but I move forward. “Malir is right. We’ll be of no use if we’re exhausted when we arrive.” I turn to Rhone. “Where are we?”

“On the edge of the First Sector,” he responds instantly. We’re so close to the Sixth! I suppress my groan at the delay with difficulty.

“We’ll rest for an hour and then continue on,” I order.

“Get as much rest as you can,” Malir says. “We’ll need it. I’ve seen those Elite fight. We need our wits about us. I’ll keep watch with Rhone.”

I obey him, selecting a tree to lean against. I focus on the rough, cold bark behind me until I’m lulled into an uneasy stupor.

I glance down at the little boy in front of me. It’s Cameron, Tomi the delegate’s young son. I smile, wondering what innocently rude question he will ask today. He doesn’t smile back. I frown. His eyes are wide, terrified. I realize his mouth is open in a soundless scream. I try to get to him, but my feet are stuck. I look down at them and find I’m shackled to the ground! I meet the young boy’s eyes as a red line appears on his throat. Icy horror grips me as blood pours from the slit in his neck.

It’s my turn to scream as Hare, the member of the Elite who broke my leg all those revolutions ago, steps out from behind Cam. The boy hits the ground, dead and glassy-eyed.

I start from my nightmare, gripping my neck where it must have fallen into a bad position.

“Tatuma.” A hand shakes me.

“What?” I croak into Sanjay’s face.

“Time to go.”

I look around at the tired faces, my terrible dream still haunting me. Doubt creeps under my skin. This band of weary fighters is planning to take down the best fighters of Osolis?

Shard crouches beside me. “Don’t let them catch that look on your face. They’ll get better once we get running again. You know you feel worse when you only get a couple of hours here and there.”

I smooth my expression and stand, wincing at the pain in my muscles. “Of course,” I say in a tight voice.

This time Ice sets the pace, starting slowly. My feet thud loudly on the ground behind him, but as the sky begins to lighten, my running steps skim over the cold, hard ground, and my heart begins to beat wildly in my chest. Soon, I recognize the main laneway between the First and Sixth sector and come up to run alongside Ice. The people of the Outer Rings scurry out of our way, identifying the seriousness on our faces. They must wonder why Frost is racing through the rings with a mixture of the barracks, the king’s men, and a Solati. I pick up my pace as we dash through the less-populated Middle Ring. Have the Elite already passed through here? Did they sneak through in the night? How did they do it? Did they steal clothing and impersonate the Bruma?

I lead the others, only leaving the main lane to dart through the occasional shortcut I’ve come to know in my time here. I grit my teeth and push my legs harder, all feeling of fatigue gone. I’m driven by pure determination.

I will get there in time.

I glance behind and see Shard and Olandon on either side of me, with the others a hundred paces back or more. I stop at the edge of the assembly lodgings to wait for them, striding in a jerky line.

Malir grabs my arm when I move to continue. “Plan first,” he gasps. I narrow my eyes at him. I wonder if Jovan told Malir planning wasn’t my style. Maybe it’s common knowledge I’m more of a see-what-happens kind of person.

“We need to get into the castle first,” Shard says. Well, obviously. I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.

“I doubt they’ll leave a guard with their limited numbers,” Olandon offers. “They will be searching and containing.”

“We need more information,” Shard says.

“Get in, gather information,” I snap. “Got it.” I turn on my heel and take off, not waiting to see if the others are behind me.

My feet skim over the cobbled path toward the castle. What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve left Jovan to fight my mother’s army alone? Arrows will rain down on the Bruma first, then the two armies will clash together and the bloodshed will truly begin. How many hundreds will die? What if I’ve misjudged Uncle Cassius’s strategy? My heart twists in my chest with all my misgivings. My knees buckle. Will I be able to bear life if Jovan dies?

I dimly take in the passing of Sanjay and Fiona’s house. Fiona won’t be there. All of the defenseless assembly members are in the castle. I groan out loud as I recall my friend is pregnant. The sound draws a concerned look from Blizzard to my left. Poor Sanjay must be going out of his mind.

My eyes take in everything as we approach the portcullis. Nothing seems unusual, barring the fact the gate is opened, when it should be closed. Where are all the bodies?

“Brother,” I ask, trusting in his eyesight, even though my veil is off.

“The way is clear,” he answers, not even slightly out of breath. I push forward, keeping the pace steady, only slowing as I climb the giant stairs to the entranceway.

One of the heavy doors stands ajar.

“What about the kennels?” Blizzard whispers, suggesting the alternative route. Malir gestures to Ice and Rhone, who slip away to check this path.

They crouch next to me a couple of minutes later. Kaura and Leo trot behind them.

Kaura leaves Rhone and sits down beside me. I pet her absently with an impatient stare at the two men.

“The kennel door is open, but the doors up to the second floor and into the main hall are stuck. They must’ve put something on the other side of it,” Rhone reports curtly, looking down at Leo.

I place my back to the stone of the castle and lean forward to peer through the entrance. I signal to Ice, who darts halfway down the hall. The others quickly follow suit, with Malir taking the back.

The castle is eerily quiet.

“Something’s wrong,” Sanjay says, echoing my thoughts.

No children squeal; no women laugh. There are no clangs, yells, or shattering of broken plates and goblets. There’s none of the noise I’ve grown accustomed to over the last half-revolution.

“Food hall?” I ask Olandon.

He mulls it over. “Either there, or the training yard.”

“Only one entrance in the food hall,” I whisper. “Easier to secure and defend than the yard.” There is a meeting room which extends off near the throne table, but it doesn’t link to the rest of the castle. Not that I’m aware of, anyway.

We move toward the heart of the castle in increments, every man in the group tense and ready to do battle. I wince at the click of Kaura’s nails on the stone. Sanjay’s heavy footfall sounds like toppling bricks. But I forgive his distraction, seeing the tightness around his eyes.

The archway looms into view. Unguarded. Five watchmen lay unmoving, their postures unnatural and bent. The gaping wounds confirm their death. Malir checks them quickly for any signs of life. The commander looks straight at me with a grave shake of his head.

I look around the area for more bodies. By my count, there should be fifty-one other men.

I take careful steps toward the side of the archway. For some reason, I’m remembering when I first walked through here, feeling frustrated because the walls were too thick to glimpse the throne platform from the outside. Since then, I’d learned it was for defense. So an assassin couldn’t shoot the king from the hallway, but it meant I’d have to rely on my ears now. Something I was well used to. We hold our breath collectively as we all strain to hear something,
anything
to tell us our family is still alive.

A child whimpers.

I hold a shaking fist to my mouth and share a hopeful glance with Sanjay. My mind races to think of some kind of plan. We need to know what we’re going into, but the odds of being seen on the way to the roof to peer through the hawk’s entrance are high. And who knows who will die while we waste time trying to get a good look?

I motion the others to retreat to a branching hallway.

“I’m going in first,” I say. “We need to know more before engaging them. I’ll enter alone. Listen carefully to what I say; I’ll try and pass on any information I can without raising their suspicions. If there are too many, you’ll need to think of another plan. Maybe the Elite can be lured to the training yard and shot.”

Malir swallows. “The king will have my head if I let you go in by yourself.”

I grin without humor. “Malir, you’ve seen me fight. You know Jovan trusts my judgment. And you’ll be joining me soon. We keep the element of surprise.” He recognizes this as an order and gives a short nod. I draw out my veil from beneath my tunic, shaking it out.

“You won’t be able to see with your veil on,” Olandon says.

“It won’t be an issue,” I reply. “I have to go in with the veil on or they’ll kill me straightaway. Be ready. I have no doubt this will end in bloodshed.” I peer into the eyes of the men, all of them loyal friends.

I look into my Olandon’s last. “There’s fire in your eyes, brother,” I note with a grim smile.

“And there is ice in yours,” he replies.

I nod to the others and place the veil over my head. I needed to stall the Elite to gather information from them. The sight of the Tatuma would make them pause.

“Wait for my word unless they kill me immediately,” I instruct.

“Be careful, girly,” Ice says.

I straighten, blinking until I can make out the corner of the hall we huddle in. Then, leaving the men behind me, I skim to the archway with soft steps. I think about what awaits me on the other side and my body begins to hum.

I am the Tatuma of Osolis and I’m going to protect my enemies against my own people.

I pass beneath the thick curved entrance into the food hall, shoulders straight and steps measured. My senses are focused. My ears pick up the gasps and screams of a large group of people. The pitch is high. The sound of women or children. Relief settles in my bones. At least some still have their lives. The sounds are coming from the far back of the food hall in the area where the watch usually sit, farthest from the throne platform.

Most of my attention is on the remainder of the room. More specifically, the whir of a released arrow.

The whir doesn’t come. But a voice does. One I’ve hated.

“This is indeed a surprise, Tatuma Olina. I am glad you are faring well. We have feared you a prisoner or dead this last half-revolution.” Hare’s voice carries across the room. My torturer.

Jovan’s deep tones ring in my ears saying, “Bullshit.” If only that were the way the game was played on Osolis.

“Indeed, Hare,” I say in a cool, detached way. “You will be pleased to deliver favorable news to my mother.” I hide my snort of disgust and continue. “I know the Tatum’s army lies in wait on the Oscala, but I did not expect the Elite here.” I keep my head facing to his voice as I peek side to side. There are at least seven outlines. And I’ve heard the brush of feet on stone. I don’t know if there are more Elite or if it’s the women and children shuffling in fright.

“We came here to slaughter the king’s assembly,” he calls back. His honesty surprises me. I wonder what he expects my reaction to be. Keep him talking, Olina.

“Cassius was always fond of Tatum Ronsin’s tactics. However, you’re lucky I arrived before you had time to follow his orders,” I say demurely. My measured stride through the hall continues. My heart sinks as I do. There are more than twelve here. Drummond was right. Either the Elite has grown, or they’ve brought reinforcements.

“Luck is an interesting choice of word, Tatuma,” he says, slighting me by omitting my name at the end of my title.

I chuckle. “You are brave to insult me, Elite. Or stupid. Either way, it tells me a great deal about your orders.” The soldier stiffens, no doubt angry at giving himself away.

“How was my mother when you last saw her?” I gasp and cover my mouth as the man jerks. “Forgive me, Hare; I hope I have not offended your delicate sensibilities with a question. I’ve been too long on Glacium and my Solati mannerisms suffer from disuse.” Questions were the height of bad manners.

“Your mother thrives, as always. Strong and
beautiful.
”