Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 11

C HAPTER 11

GAbrIEL

A PHELION —T HE S UN P ALACE

I stare around the empty cell in disbelief. At the neatly folded clothes sitting on the floor like they’re mocking me. I can almost smell Atlas and the taint he’s left behind.

I avoid looking too closely at the worst horror in this dungeon, but there’s no shying away from it. The drip of blood fills the silence, hitting the stones and echoing off the cell’s damp corners, which means Atlas can’t have gone far.

I should do something. Call for help. Summon every guard in Aphelion to hunt him down. But I can’t seem to make myself move. I’m frozen to the floor, stuck in the churning darkness of time. The load I’ve been carrying for a century finally catches up with me. My chest tightens and my limbs ache, becoming physical manifestations of every hurt my king— former king—has inflicted upon me, Tyr, and my brothers.

Finally, I coax my gaze up, bearing witness to the warders’ lifeless bodies and their sagging wings. I stare at Drex’s fingertips, watching a line of blood slide down his hand and land on the floor. It makes almost no sound, but I flinch like someone set off a cannon.

How did Atlas overpower them? Warders have special protection against Aphelion magic. We aren’t completely immune to it, but its effects are limited. Atlas’s magic isn’t the destructive sort, anyway. That’s what so much of this has been about.

He must have caught them by surprise. Used his intimate knowledge of their weaknesses to trick them. Or he had help. Which means I’ll have to add rooting out anyone loyal to him to my growing list of chores.

Blood stains the front of the warders’ armor, and I force myself to acknowledge the wound sliced through the shimmering tattoo on Syran’s throat—that binding mark imprinted on our skin that made us all prisoners.

One of the few rules governing the kings and queens of Aphelion is their oath to protect their warders. Given the complicated nature of our relationship, they are sworn to never lay a hand on our bodies. Atlas has already broken that rule many times, but murder goes beyond anything I thought him capable of.

How could Atlas do this? After the decades that they’ve served him. Lied for him and kept his secrets. How could Atlas do this? I’ve long questioned Atlas’s weak moral compass, but I shake my head, wondering why I had any faith left in him at all.

I still bear the scars of his torture. We all do. Why do I keep giving him the benefit of the doubt? Because I never wanted any of this to be true .

Finally, I look around, searching for clues about how he escaped or where he might have fled. Or maybe I’m stalling because the longer I stand here, the longer until I have to make the decision that’s squatting on my chest like a stone.

I bend down and pick up a feather that’s floated to the ground, one side smeared with golden blood. I haven’t cried in years, but tears press the back of my throat.

With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and attempt to sift the pieces of myself into something that resembles a man who has any idea what to do next.

My feet carry me back up the stairs, an unwilling passenger on this ride, where I emerge to find Jareth and Rhyle, two more of my brothers. Their eyes widen as I emerge from the dungeon, clearly sensing my distress.

“What’s wrong?” Jareth asks, looking beyond me into the darkness of the stairwell.

“He’s gone,” I say. “He killed Drex and Syran, and then he fucking ran.” The words bruise my ears with the sagging weight of their impossibility.

Immediately, they both head for the stairs, but I call out. “Don’t. There’s nothing to be gained by seeing them. What he did was . . . unforgivable. We must focus on finding him and bringing him to justice. I’ll send someone down and remove the bodies and give them their due, but I can’t face it right now. I need a moment.”

My brothers exchange a wary glance, and I push between them, marching down the hall. I didn’t even realize my sword was still in my hand. Suddenly, it feels like it’s welded to the floor, and I toss it to the side with an abrupt clatter.

Jareth and Rhyle shuffle quietly behind me, probably wondering if I’m losing my mind.

“Where are the others?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

“They’re with Tyr in Atlas’s study—I mean . . . Tyr’s study.”

I hear the uncertainty in his voice.

None of us were prepared to navigate this new reality.

Looking forward, I nearly halt at the presence of two figures now directly in my path. A low, impatient grumble rattles in my throat at the sight of Mael and that brother of Lor’s. Trevor?

“Get out of my way,” I say, already knowing I don’t have the patience for whatever this is. They attempt to stand their ground, but my stride never wavers, and they’re forced to step out of my way.

“Where are you going?” Mael asks as I brush past. “We have to do something about Nadir and Lor.”

I ignore him as I continue down the hall. I have no idea what happened to Nadir and Lor, and it’s not that I’m not worried about them, but I have bigger problems to deal with right now.

“Gabriel!” Mael calls, but I still don’t stop. A moment later, I hear two more sets of footsteps join alongside my brothers’. Storming through the palace, everyone leaps out of my way. I’m like a thundercloud rolling through a picnic on a sunny day, scattering food and lemonade.

When we reach the king’s study, I slam open the door with enough force to crack it. This room is Tyr’s now. A sharp breath pierces my chest because everything is different.

Inside the room, I find the other warders along with Erevan, Amya, Hylene, and the lady’s maid who’s actually Lor’s sister Willow. Apricia sits sniffling in a chair, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. I’d almost forgotten she existed.

“Rion took Nadir and Lor,” Mael says to me at the same moment I declare, “Atlas is gone.”

Everyone in the room goes still, our gazes meeting.

“We need soldiers to go after them,” Mael says.

“The abduction of your prince and his girlfriend are matters for The Aurora, not Aphelion,” I bark and spin around, pointing to my brothers.

“Atlas killed Drex and Syran and has escaped. We have to find him.”

“We’ll leave immediately,” Jareth says.

“Just us,” I say. “Any more, and he’ll sense us coming.”

“You can’t leave,” Erevan says to me. “We need you here.” His gaze slides to Tyr, who sits in a chair staring straight ahead into nothing. Gods, he’s right. I can’t leave him alone like this after what I’ve done. I run a hand down my face.

“Then you go,” I say to my brothers. The more of us there are together, the less effective Atlas’s magic is against us. They’ll be only seven without Drex and Syran, but it will have to be enough .

“What about the king?” Rhyle asks, and it takes me several seconds to realize he’s talking about Tyr.

“I’ll protect him.” There’s a certainty in my words, and I know they don’t doubt me, but these are perilous times.

“Okay,” Jareth says, though I can tell he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Tyr’s side. We exchange another look and then they turn to leave, but I call out. “Wait.”

Approaching Tyr, I drop to one knee. He stares at me, his ashen hair hanging in his eyes as I carefully lift one of his hands, touching the arcturite cuff that circles his brittle wrist. Reaching under my collar, I pull out a thin gold chain dangling with a small pin. Inserting it into a small hole on the side of the cuff, I press down, and it pops off. Then I open the second cuff, followed by the one around his throat. As I stare at Tyr’s pale, bared skin, my ribs expand with relief from this burden I’ve been carrying for a century.

His eyes widen as I pull the chain from around my neck and gather the cuffs in my hands.

“Never again,” I declare. “I will never let these things touch you again.”

He nods, his expression vacant, and I hope that’s a promise I can keep. I walk over to Jareth and hand him the cuffs and the key.

“Put these on Atlas when you find him.”

Our gazes lock together. This breaks every vow we ever swore to protect the Sun King. It goes against everything we were bred and trained to do. But Atlas has never been the Sun King, and we’ve all been living nothing but a lie .

It was Atlas who first broke the king’s vow to protect us, and the old rules have no meaning here anymore.

“Go,” I say. “Before he gets any further.”

Jareth tips his head, and the remaining warders leave the room. A moment later, a knock comes at the door and a palace guard enters, carrying a bag in his hand.

“We found this in the throne room, Captain,” he says, handing it to me. “I thought you’d want to take a look.”

I open it, staring at the contents in disbelief.

“What is it?” Amya asks as I reach in and pull out a glittering silver crown with a blood-red stone set into the center.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, looking up.

“The Heart Crown,” Amya breathes.

“Lor must have dropped it,” Willow says, bringing a trembling hand to her throat.

Lor’s brother snatches it from my hand. “We have to go after her!”

“Go ahead,” I say.

“We need your help.”

“Then find someone else. I need my soldiers here.”

“Gabriel,” Amya says, standing up. “You have to understand this is about something bigger. We need your help, and so does Ouranos.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Amya exchanges a look with Mael and then tells me everything about Lor. About who she is. What she is. I knew she was the heir of Heart, but I was definitely missing some key details.

“So you see,” Amya says, “my father wants her for something, but we don’t know what, and given his ambitions, I’m afraid that if he gets his hands on her, it will have consequences for everyone. This is not just The Aurora’s problem anymore.”

I let out a weary sigh, looking at Tyr, but he doesn’t answer. I’m not sure he’s even listening.

“Lor is a queen?” comes a voice from the corner. Apricia has stopped crying and is now staring at everyone. “ Lor is the Heart Queen? That’s who I was competing with? What chance did any of us have!”

Everyone in the room stares at her like she’s sprouted weeds from her ears, and she at least has the sense to look abashed at her narcissistic outburst. I’ll also have to figure out what to do with her. She cannot remain here.

I open my mouth and shake my head. “Is that really relevant right now?”

“What happens to me?” she demands. “I was supposed to be queen of Aphelion until she ruined it for me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Willow says, and the look on Apricia’s face is almost worth everything that’s happened. “I have never met anyone so utterly childish and self-absorbed. Do you honestly think any of this is about you right now?”

Apricia’s mouth gapes like a fish, and I almost start laughing in spite of everything.

“How dare you!” Apricia says, finally finding her tongue. “What are you even doing in here? You’re supposed to be tending to my bonding suite!”

“What bonding?” Willow snaps, and now she might be my favorite person in the room.

“Willow,” Amya says before lifting her hands. “Actually . . . never mind. Keep going. I’m enjoying this. ”

Willow smiles. “I think my point has been made.”

“Everyone stop,” Mael says, holding out his hands. “Please. We need to go after them, but we can’t do it alone.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I say. “I need my soldiers here. We’re in the middle of a riot, our traitor king is on the loose, and our forces were already stretched thin before all of this.”

Mael is a soldier, too, and I know he understands what I’m saying.

“Then we’re going alone,” says the brother. Thomas?

“Us against the Aurora King? He’s going to tear us apart.”

“I’m gaining better control of my magic,” he says, but Mael remains unconvinced. I don’t blame him. Rion is a formidable foe, and these four are hardly a match.

“I’m coming too,” Amya says.

“Do you think we can actually stop him?” Mael asks.

“No, but we have to try. For Nadir.”

Nadir might be a bit of an ass sometimes, but it’s obvious from Amya and Mael’s pained expressions that these two love him.

“We’ll try to pick up their trail,” Lor’s brother says. Timothy? “We have to go after them.”

Everyone looks to me again, and I want to help. I do. But my hands are tied.

“Then let’s go,” Mael says. He claps me on the shoulder and squeezes it gently in what I understand is a gesture of forgiveness.

“Good luck,” I say, meaning it.