The Broken Kingdoms of Osvolta (Kingdoms of Osvolta #1)

45. Beneath the Monster

Chapter forty-five

Beneath the Monster

T he morning after returning from Luxenal, Solveig woke to a letter resting atop her desk from her mother, demanding an audience with her that same afternoon. She would expect an update, something Solveig could not give her. Her parents had no interest in the dying citizens. All they wanted was information on Elithiend, and she had garnered little to none in her time with the prince.

She stared at the files on her desk. The entire journey home from Luxenal, she’d felt as though they were burning a hole through her bag trying to reveal themselves. Taking a steadying, damp ridden breath, she reached out to flip one open.

P roject Luxenal: Subject 48: Celerin Firachen – DECEASED.

She skimmed the data, his arrest and sentencing, the length of time at Luxenal. He’d been subjected to the cube five times, all under the supervision of Leader Ezekiel. They weren’t the execution summons, as she’d hoped, but what they did contain was still useful.

The results and decisions made afterward.

Initial Testing: FAILED

Secondary Testing: FAILED

Reconditioning: FAILED

Discovery: FAILED

Final Testing: FAILED

She didn’t know their purpose, but each test ending in failure suggested that some were less susceptible than others to the cube’s effects. The next paragraph summarised Leader Ezekiel’s findings.

Subject 48: Candidate Unsuitable – Recommendation: Terminate experiment via S.A.M.

Solveig’s blood ran cold. The papers fell from her hands.

S.A.M.

That was her. Her initials. She grabbed the next file; heart racing as she scanned the pages.

Project Luxenal: Subject 49: Flotare Grepino - DECEASED .

Initial Testing: FAILED

Secondary Testing: SUCCESS

Reconditioning: FAILED

Discovery: FAILED

Final Testing: FAILED

‘Subject 49: Candidate Unsuitable – Though minimal success in secondary testing, the candidate is resistant to further rounds. Recommendation: Terminate experiment via S.A.M.’

Each file was more of the same. Failed tests all ending with termination via S.A.M. Solveig Aila Maleen. Killian had been telling the truth. They’d had her murder their test subjects, and she held the proof in her hands. Only Malik’s file was different.

Project Luxenal: Subject 51: Malik Etana – ALIVE

‘Candidate success rate is inconclusive. S.A.M interference before cessation of testing. Recommendation: Reconditioning of S.A.M to prevent future issues.’

This had been their plan all along. From the moment she had set Malik free, their aim had been to get her back to Torrelin. Back under their watchful, controlling gazes. Reconditioning her to their way of thinking. And she had walked straight into their trap.

A knock sounded at the door, causing Solveig to jump as she gathered the files and stuffed them into her desk drawer, calling, “come in.” As bright as she could manage.

Teris waltzed in, some of the princess’s garments in hand, “your mother’s asking for you, Your Highness.” She stated simply, entering the room to put away the freshly cleaned dresses. “She’s on edge this morning. Best to hurry on up, I think.”

Solveig had dressed in a simple gown, her hair swept up into a bun, face devoid of cosmetics. Taking a seat at the table in her mother’s tearoom, she sipped lightly on the warming cinnamon and apple blend that she had Teris bring up for her.

Soon the door swung open, and the queen waltzed in wearing a dress made of a heavy cream material with golden velvet accents. Her equally gold hair curled to perfection. Pinned expertly around a crown that shimmered in the midday sunlight streaking through the large arched windows.

“You know it is customary to stand when a queen or king enters the room,” she said airily, taking a seat in front of her daughter.

“I figured since we’re alone, you wouldn’t mind forgoing some of the usual formalities, mother.”

The two women sat in silence for a moment. A servant hurriedly brought in a tea tray for the queen, and a small étagère of cakes and sandwiches that neither woman touched. Asta brought her teacup to her artfully painted red lips. Blowing across the surface of the liquid before taking a small sip, her gaze never once leaving her daughter’s face.

“I have news,” she said finally, setting the cup down gently with a soft clink. “We have apprehended the citizen responsible for Duchess Xanthe’s death.”

Solveig stiffened. “I wasn’t aware you had even ordered someone else to investigate.”

“You believed we would leave it to a couple of incompetent children? A murder this prominent needed to be resolved quickly.”

“Where is this perpetrator now?” A messenger scurried into the room, placing a brown folder on the table between the two of them. Solveig’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

“He’s languishing in the dungeons below our feet.” She gestured to the folder, “all the information is there.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I think you know why, dear.” The queen smirked, sipping her tea. “Open the folder.”

Solveig swallowed noisily, hand shaking as she lifted the cover. Immediately, her eyes zeroed in on the heading.

EXECUTION SUMMONS:

Erick Connall of House Kano

Charged on this day, the twenty-fifth of the Harvest Season,

with the murder of Her Grace Duchess Xanthe Enya Whitlock, via poisoning.

His Majesty King Emerson Gunnar of House Maleen decrees for Mr Kano to be executed the following afternoon. The twenty-sixth day of the Harvest Season by Her Royal Highness Princess Solveig Aila of House Maleen.

Dread roused a sickness in the princess’ stomach. All Marrelin City was about to see her monstrous magic for themselves for the first time.

“You have a team of executioners on hand, why me?” Solveig seethed, hands fisting beneath the table.

“Who else?” the queen shrugged. “You were a daughter to her. You who held the duchess through her dying moments. Who better than you to exact justice?”

“Don’t make me do this.”

“Your king has commanded this of you. You may refuse, but if you do.” Asta paused. “We’ll have you in Luxenal at the earliest opportunity, under charges of dereliction of duty.” This was it, Solveig realised, the choice that lay before her, toe the line, or be sent to Luxenal. What did they need her around for staining their reputation if she was no longer useful as their chief executioner?

Solveig stared in resigned silence as the queen continued. “Believe me, Solveig, he will drag out the investigation into your crimes for as long as possible.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You once prayed to The Oracle for the opportunity to be of use to the family.” The queen said simply, “and The Oracle blessed you with a power never seen. You would throw that back in their face now?”

“This is no blessing but a curse,” she seethed, her hand fisting atop the discarded folder.

Asta’s face darkened as she spoke in a low tone. “If you were anyone else,” she punctuated her words, “I’d have you in the dungeons for blasphemy.” She slammed a delicate ringed hand on the table, china plates and cups rattled in her wake. “You will present yourself at dawn for The Oracles’ blessing. After which we will all go to the city square where you will carry out the sentence as commanded by your king, using your Oracle blessed gifts. Then we shall host a ball in celebration of the duchess’s life. Prince Emmerich will announce his return to his kingdom, never to darken our doors again.”

“What happened to getting information from him?”

“Do you think me blind, child? I have eyes everywhere. The more distance between you and that boy, the better. You are to be married, Solveig, and that marriage will go ahead whether you like it or not. You made the choice to throw away your freedom at Luxenal. Now you will pay the price. You’ll marry Gabriel and join the temple as an honorary acolyte heading up the department of investigations.”

“You call being a glorified executioner freedom?” Solveig scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “No, Your Majesty, I merely swapped one cage for a significantly more gilded one.”

“You played the game and lost, Solveig. Now you must live with the consequences.”

Neither woman uttered another word as the queen finished her tea, waving a hand in Solveig’s direction. A silent dismissal. With the folder a heavy weight in her hands, Solveig left the tearoom, wandering through the dark, dank, echoing hallways of High Tower Castle. Her thoughts were a million miles away.

Lost in the dark recesses of her mind, she hadn’t thought of the direction she was heading. Yet somehow, she found herself outside the door to the prince’s quarters. She should leave, walk away now. They weren’t even friends. Who was she to turn to him now?

Still, her hand hovered in front of the door, hesitating. Before she could gather the courage to knock, or the good sense to run, it swung open before her. Leaving her staring into the fathomless blue warmth of the prince’s eyes that swiftly grew alight with concern.

“What is it? What are you doing here?” he rushed.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.” She shrugged, clutching the locket with one hand and the folder with the other.

“What’s going on?” He took a step toward her, but Solveig stepped back, shock crossing her face as she swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes staring blankly through him.

He’d seen enough. Reaching for her hand this time, Emmerich pulled her into the room, away from prying eyes and once the door was closed, he wrapped her tightly against him.

His arms leached the cold from her skin as she buried her face in his chest, one hand running up and down her back in soothing strokes. The prince was warm and strong and safe, and she clutched his shirt as though desperate to get closer to him. Vaguely, she heard the voice of Commander Bleeker whispering, “I’ll give you some space.” Before she left the room, closing the door softly behind herself.

Solveig didn’t move from her place in the prince’s arms. Savouring the warm honeyed amber of his skin. She felt his hand lift from her back as he utilised his Aire Wending powers to shield the doors and windows from intrusions. Leaving them utterly alone.

Taking her hand in his, Emmerich led her to the sofa next to the fire. Never once relinquishing his hold on her, as though she may vanish. Afraid he would lose the intoxicating feel of the sparks thrumming in his blood from her proximity alone.

“Now tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered, his voice strong, sure that he could fix whatever it was.

“I’ll never be free.” She whispered, “I’ll always be a monster.” A shudder wracked her body.

“You aren’t a monster, Solveig,” he insisted, drawing her tighter into his side.

“But I am, because I’m about to take a life to save my neck.”

Emmerich stiffened beside her. “What are you talking about?”

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, revealing the folder that had stayed crumpled between them. He took it from her, eyes widening as he read the contents.

“What is this?” he demanded; voice harsher than he intended.

“They say he killed her.” She sighed. “If I don’t execute him tomorrow, they’ll send me to Luxenal, and you will go home, your task complete.” Her eyes were cold, as he looked her over, completely devoid of emotion as though this was the only way she could protect herself, to feel nothing.

Emmerich threw the folder on the floor at his feet, the papers scattering. Papers she would have to read that night to familiarise herself with whatever historic charges he had.

“You believe this?” he implored. “That this, this, I don’t even know what to call him. Low rung anti-magicist murdered a duchess?”

“They have witnesses stating he gave her food. What other explanation is there than poisoning?”

The prince’s eyes darkened as he beheld her. “You know the other explanation.”

“No,” she said firmly, stiffening under his touch, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t make outlandish theories. I’ve been warned once already today about my blasphemous ways. I can’t risk going there again, not when you have no proof beyond speculation.”

“Then help me find it,” he whispered.

“I need to show you something first,” she said, taking his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“Beyond reason.”

Dressed in matching cloaks to disguise their faces, Solveig led Emmerich out of the castle. They wandered down the hill to the higher city, past Lord Wautin’s now boarded up home, and through the gates to the other side of The Wall. In the middle of the afternoon, there were few mourners allowing them a small degree of privacy.

“What is this?” Emmerich asked as they walked the length of the wall, taking in the endless list of names, from the freshly carved to the weather worn barely legible ones.

“This is The Wall.” Solveig said. “It’s the memorial for the dead amongst the common folk. They can’t afford burial chambers and remembrance stones, so instead, the names of their loved ones are carved into this wall to allow them somewhere to mourn their dead.”

They stopped in front of the most recently carved names. “They’re organised by year,” Solveig whispered. “Do you see anything missing?”

Emmerich studied the names, tracing them back. None of them stood out to him until he realised that at least two should have. Renit Teria’s parents weren’t on the list.

“Why aren’t Renit’s parents here?”

“Because I executed them. I condemned them, Torrelinian law states that no criminal is allowed a public memorial. Not one of my executions at Luxenal is on this wall. I ripped families apart in my parent’s name, stole loved ones, and in doing so I stole their right to remember them too. One of those names should be Connall Kano. He was my last kill at Luxenal, before—” she hesitated.

“Before you freed Malik?” Emmerich finished, and Solveig nodded. “Why is he important to you now?”

“Because tomorrow I’ll be killing his son.” She gasped, fighting back the tears that fought to resurface at the reality of her situation. “I’ll be taking away another member of that family, condemning them to be forgotten by history, and—”

“And?” Emmerich whispered. Stepping closer, he placed two fingers under Solveig’s chin, raising her face to meet his gaze. She almost collapsed at the kindness in his eyes, the openness, how he refused to shy away from the horror of who she was. He stood there and listened, and he didn’t hate her for it.

“And I’m not sure he’s even guilty.”

Emmerich launched forward, encasing her in his arms, protecting her from view. To the outside world, they appeared as two ordinary mourners; he hid the truth, the horror.

“Then help me.” He whispered after a moment, “Help me, help you.”

“There’s no time.”

“This isn’t you,” he implored, stepping back, holding her at an arms' length, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t give up. We can still stop this.”

“No, we can’t.” Dread filled Solveig’s stomach. “If it’s not him, there will be someone else, and another after that, there always is until they get what they want. I have to accept my fate at some point.”

“Where is Ezekiel’s library?”

“I can’t,” she pleaded. Her neck arching as she gazed at the cloud drenched sky where rain threatened to fall and soak them, like the blood that drenched her black soul.

“You can,” Emmerich said, taking one of her hands in his again. “This is the only way.” He entwined their fingers as gooseflesh ran up her arm in their wake.

“You know where it is. I know you do. You’re engaged to his son.” Her skin paled at that, and she tried to pull away again, but the prince refused to let her go. Taking her face in his hands, drawing her gaze back to him as he stroked the soft skin of her temples.

“Let me help you,” he whispered. “You’ve taken care of yourself for so long. Let someone else shoulder the burden.”

“You can’t help me.” She sighed; a sad smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She twisted her fingers against his, marvelling at their strength, his warm brown skin against her pallid white. “Just promise me…”

“Anything,” he interjected, rubbing circles along her jaw with his thumb.

“You don’t even know what I’ll ask of you.”

“Name it, Princess, and it’s yours,” he insisted. “You have me by the damn throat, regardless.” Her eyes widened at the impossibility of his words.

“Promise me that when tomorrow is over, you won’t hate me. Promise you’ll remember the person beneath the monster.”

“You aren’t a monster,” he repeated.

She smiled despite herself. “No false platitudes, remember? Surely, you’ve seen how the people view me,” she whispered, glancing around at the few people milling nearby. “You’ve seen me kill with your own two eyes. How can you see me as anything but?”

“I’m not trying to placate you,” he insisted, dropping her hand to frame her face entirely, forcing her to look him in the eye as he punctuated every word. “You. Are. Not. A. Monster. Your past does not define you. The things they have forced you to do are not your burden to carry. You have killed, there is no denying that. It’s likely you will be forced to kill again before this is over, so long as you never lose yourself to this nightmare.”

Solveig closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. When was the last time she’d been touched with such aching tenderness, handled as though she were precious? It made her long for things that couldn’t be hers, but she wanted to fight for them. She opened her eyes and stared past him to the towering spires of the Grand Library.

“It’s high above, beneath the central spire, glass floor, entirely open. You’ll never get in and out without being seen. It’s a suicide mission.”

Emmerich turned. Following her gaze. “Don’t underestimate my determination to save you from yourself, Princess,” he joked. “After all, they don’t call me the Dark Prince of Elithiend for nothing.” He turned, pulling her into his chest once more, holding her tight, and she did not fight him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her breath skating across the skin at his neck as she felt the stubble of his chin graze her forehead with his reply.

“For what?”

“For seeing beneath the mask, even when I fought against you. For not turning me away when you had every right to.” Her voice broke, and he held her tighter still. “For not hating me after all I have done.”

“You aren’t responsible for the things your family forced you into, and you don’t have to thank me for anything. It’s what friends do.”

She lifted her face from his chest, his scent, his warmth, his very presence invading all her senses as she spoke. “Is that what we are, Prince?”

“We could be.”

“Even when you’re a world away by next week.”

“I have a multitude of ships at my disposal, Princess. You want to see me again after this? Say the word and I’ll be here.” She allowed herself to revel in his hold for a moment, the calming sensation he wrought over her soul.

“Let me help chase away your demons,” he whispered into her hair, “and then, when you’re ready, I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”

Hours later, the prince kept to his word. Once she could breathe easier, he escorted her back to the castle and up the six flights of stairs to her rooms, but did not linger with her.

The Prince of Elithiend had a book to steal.