The Firebrand Legacy (11 page)

“A massacre,” said the woman, eyes wide.

“By then, even the king won’t be able to
offer any help,” the man said.

“He has to act now.” It was David who spoke,
a strong line in his jaw that matched Giles’ for once. “Let’s
go.”

“What about my parents?” Carine said.

“If we don’t help the city, where they are
now won’t matter,” David said.

“I have to find them.”

“We’ll go to my tower,” said Giles. “I have a
telescope you can use to look down into the crowd for your parents.
Fair?”

“Fine.” She hoped it would work.

“Your tower?” said the woman, inspecting the
boys closer. Carine pushed David and Giles forward into the crowd,
but it was too late. “It’s the princes! It’s the two young
princes!”

The crowd turned. One by one their noses
faced David and Giles, assessing them. Their signs fell as
questions flashed in their faces: is it true? Were the princes out
here? If yes, why? Why was their hair wet and why were they wearing
Grunge-dweller clothes?

Carine shrunk under their eyes. As strange as
her family was to Esten, never had so many people looked at her
with such conflicting expressions. The crowd in front of them had
turned to see, so Carine and the twins were trapped in a circle of
onlookers.

David forced a smile.

“What’s going on?” said a man finally, but
before either of the princes could answer, the others shouted their
questions.

“Where is the king?”

“Won’t you do something?”

“What happened to the Heartless Ones?”

“Will you let us be murdered when he comes
back?”

They pressed in, until someone reached out
and touched David’s arm, begging him, “What will you do to save my
children?”

“Hey!” Prince Giles unsheathed his sword,
which he’d strapped beneath Didda’s surcoat. It shimmered in the
sunlight, sharply contrasting with the dullness of Giles’ clothes.
A hush passed over the crowd as they stepped back, out of the
diameter of his reach. “This is not how you address your
leaders.”

Carine pulled his sleeve and whispered,
“Let’s go.” Now was the moment. The crowd had been paused just long
enough to warrant an escape.

David glanced from Carine to Giles, who
hesitated, eyebrows furled as he glared over his subjects.

“His Royal Highness is a lazy coward!” yelled
someone, who like a coward didn’t show his face over the crowd. The
ones nearest the princes looked back to find the speaker, but he
did not reveal himself.

Giles’ fingers twitched on his hilt. Carine
pulled his sleeve. “Let’s go, Giles.”

David frowned. “You don’t know who you’re
talking about. His Majesty King Marcel and my brother know that
serving you—yes, even the coward who dares denounce them—isn’t just
a job. It is their life.” When David spoke, unlike Giles who wore
even Didda’s rags as fine garments, he looked more like a baker or
shepherd than a king. But his words trembled with a loyalty that
Carine had never witnessed before. “Honor to the Great Marcels!” he
shouted, lifting his fist. “Honor to the Great Marcels!”

No one joined his chant, so David did not
shout again, but his reverence settled over the crowd.

Carine met his eyes. He had made his point.
It was time. “Let’s go.”

Prince David stood with the same puffed chest
and tall neck as Giles, who kept his sword drawn as the princes
moved through the hushed, parting crowd.

Suddenly, someone among the sea of people
grasped Carine’s shoulder and swirled her around. “And who are
you?” The woman had beady eyes and a sweaty forehead, like she’d
been out here a long time. Anger boiled in her gaze.

“I’m…” Her voice trailed off, not from nerves
but from the ugliness of the woman’s attitude and claim.

Before Carine was forced to finish, David
wrapped his arm around Carine’s shoulder. His flat, dispassionate
expression made the woman step back. He did not smile or even
twitch his mouth, the Bastion growing larger before them as the
crowd observed and calculated their next move, and the people
disappeared into a whispering throng behind them.

The Bastion’s shadow enveloped them.

The knights at the gate concealed their
surprise at the princes’ strange arrival and their guest, so Carine
passed through the entryway into the crown jewel of Esten
architecture and under the warm arm of Prince David, her
friend.

“I thought you agreed with them,” Carine said
softly to David, following Giles through a maze of narrow brick
hallways past elaborate paintings, stationary knights, and the rich
tapestries and furniture of the elite.

“I do,” said David. He took his arm away and
breathed until his face relaxed into that characteristic lopsided
expression. “But they’re still my family.”

Just then, Giles opened two double doors and
walked into a great hall, which despite its floor-to-ceiling
windows still felt dim, illuminated by lit candles on silver
candlesticks next to mirrors and potted plants. In the center of
the room was a single chair, a throne of curling dark wood, indigo
velvet, and silver glistening threads. Beside the throne shivered
Limly in wet clothes, tripping over rapid words to the one seated
in the throne.

Honor to the Great Marcels.

King Marcel was thin and bald with wrinkled
skin like a toad, but his crown and posture made him regal.

“I thought we were going to look for my
parents!” Carine hissed, but Giles ignored her. He stepped forward
in boots that Didda had carved and sewn, as though the shoes had
finally found their rightful place on the feet of a prince, on the
floor of a castle.

“Are you going senile?” Giles asked.

King Marcel rolled his eyes and dismissed
them with a wave of his hand. Limly must have already informed the
king of what happened at sea. ”Get them out of here,” the king said
to no one in particular. Limly calculated if he should carry out
the task, being the only servant present.

“If you don’t get a hold of your people, our
reign will fall to the centaurs,” Giles snapped.

King Marcel inhaled. “I have delivered my son
to safety. That is all I can do.”

David’s face contorted. Prince Marcel wasn’t
the king’s son but his grandson, and David and Giles belonged as
much to that title as Marcel did. They hadn’t been kidding about
King Marcel’s favoritism toward their oldest brother.

“Grandfather, the people are scared out
there. They think the Heartless One will slaughter them. They think
there’s nothing we can do. They think you’re not even trying.”

The king pulled himself from the arms of the
throne with pale, wiry arms. “They’re right.”

“How can you say that?” asked David.

“What about my parents?” Carine hadn’t meant
to speak aloud, let alone to the king.

His gaze flickered over her for a moment, but
did not stay there. “I shall die a hero to my kingdom,” the king
said.

“But, sir, Your Majesty, sir,” said Limly.
Whether his dripping clothes or the subject made him shiver, Carine
couldn’t tell. Her clothes were dry, yet she joined the servant’s
trembling. “Remaining here without fighting is a death sentence.
You can’t submit to death, Your Majesty, sir.”

“As a mortal, it is all I can do.”

“What about everyone else?” David asked.
“What about us?” He caught his breath, meeting Carine’s eyes.

“You came back on your own, against my
orders. This is your own doing.” He waved them away, this time
settling back in his chair.

“What about Kavariel?” David said.

“I am dismissing you,” the king said.

“What about the dragon?”

Limly answered, “He isn’t coming, Your
Majesties. Sirs, he’s over in Wyre, bleeding to death.”

“I knew something was wrong.” Ute, a Wyrian
centaur, hadn’t brushed down her hide or flicked the dried mud off
her headscarf. Her purple eyes widened as she spoke, as though she
saw everything over again. She was trembling in the Rosette Room,
where Limly told the princes they would find her.

In the room’s corner, a faun garden servant
strummed a lute. The result was spectacular: thorny roses bloomed
over each wall, stems interlacing in a web of fragrant reds,
yellows, and whites. Despite the anarchy outside these walls, the
castle seemed to operate as normal, as though death weren’t a mere
scratch away.

Carine sat between David and Giles at the
large oak table. Her fingertips drummed the table. The dragon, as
much as she hated him, had been their only hope. Only the dragon
could bring the flame to defeat the Heartless Ones in Navafort.

“Clouds blocked the sun. The wind raged. My
pitcher plants screamed like children.” Ute broke her trance and
met Carine’s eyes. “I do internal patrols as part of Wyre’s
Heartless Defense Program. Our initiative hasn’t been successful,
but most of our members have avoided enslavement to the Heartless
Ones that plague our land.”

“What happened?” David asked, tone brimming
with impatience, eyes wide and shiny.

“I saw your dragon first. Sometimes you hear
of people seeing the ash dragon, the dragon you call Kavariel, but
never close up, only far when it had just touched into this realm.
But this time it was close. I could count its claws, feel its heat.
It knocked me over, that’s how near it was. I was in the hills,
where we don’t have much by way of trees. I could see that, even as
far as the capital, boulders spun in midair.

“My instinct was to run, of course, but there
was blood on the dragon’s underside, so I stayed to see. That was
my mistake. Luzhiv, the snow dragon, hurtled from the clouds and
stuck Kavariel. I’d never seen Luzhiv before, and his beauty
startled me. I’d always thought that with such evil work that he
does that he’d look equally ugly, but he was white as snow. He had
scales that glittered in the sunlight. It was frightening.

“It must have been the second or third
attack, because the ash dragon didn’t seem surprised. It thudded to
earth, and was so huge I thought the boundary between the other
realm and this must have torn. I thought all was ending.

“Your dragon was in pain. It screamed in
fire, lying upside down while the snow dragon ripped at its belly.
The ash dragon rose a couple times with its magic. The ground I
stood on became like thick film on a pond. A wave coursed through
the hill. The ash dragon turned over, blasted the snow dragon, and
tried to fly off. But the snow dragon caused a worse storm. He tore
wing with teeth. After that, I lost track. They were at each
other’s throats, tearing and calling nature to swarm. The snow
dragon had blackbirds peck at the ash dragon’s eyes. Flies swarmed
up his nostrils. I could tell the ash dragon tried to call the
things away, but he was weak. The wind died down. I was sobbing,
thinking I was already dead.”

Ute got quiet for a minute, so the only sound
was the faun’s melody.

“Where?” Giles asked.

“In the healing pool at the border between my
kingdom and Fletchkey. I thought you should know. I thought
Navafort should know.” Her voice broke.

“Is he suffering?” David asked.

Ute nodded. “Yes. I imagine so.”

David trembled. “Luzhiv has attacked dragons
before. The healing process takes years, and it’s painful.” He
shook his head. “There’s no hope then.”

Carine stood. “Giles, let me find my
parents.”

Giles’ room was four times the size of
Carine’s family’s house. A giant four-poster bed was perfectly made
in the precise center of the main room. He had drapes tied back on
each of the posts. They would keep out cold in the winter and heat
in the summer. He had five bookshelves, all lined neatly with
scrolls and bound books. Off to the side was another room with a
desk and perfectly-placed quill and inkwell. Hand-drawn maps
plastered the wall of his study, and still more bookshelves took
their place there.

A manservant bowed when Giles and she
entered. On the ship, David’s easy manner had enabled Carine to
mostly forget the princes’ status. Standing in this castle, on
these rugs and with ancient paintings and statues lining the wall ,
there was no question.

“What you see as decor, I see as incompetence
in disguise. Go take a look at any of the Marcels’ rooms; I’m the
only one with books. I’m the only one who has an inkling of what’s
going on and where Navafort needs to go to have a future. Now, for
instance, accepting defeat is not wisdom.”

“Where’s the telescope?”

Giles led her into the study, where three
large windows showed the scene below. The silenced crowd had taken
up arms again, and even from three stories up, Carine could still
sense their anger. She felt her own desperation joining theirs.

Giles tilted the lens of a silver telescope
in her direction. “It is my slow hell in this world that I am the
one most fit to rule, but will never inherit the throne.”

Through the telescope, Carine scanned the
North and South Esteners’ faces. Their signs filled the view when
she passed over them:
Where is the king?
Our army does
nothing.
Honor to the great cowards!
Across them fell a
long shadow, the shadow of the empty torch. The flameless tower
that left them vulnerable to any Heartless One that deigned to
enter.

“Any luck?” David’s voice carried a sadness
that hadn’t been present on the ship.

“I don’t see them,” Carine said, but she kept
her eye on the glass, nudging the telescope inch by inch as she
examined every face in the crowd.

David slumped to the ground behind her. “I
can’t believe it. Kavariel is dying.”

“Can dragons die?” Giles asked.

“I don’t know,” David said. “Where’s Alviar
when you need him?”

A man, a woman, children, bakers, candle
makers, weavers—some people Carine recognized. But none of them
were her parents.