She was never truly wrong.
If only Father could see you now, Cal. See what you’ve become, and what you’ve done to his kingdom.
Of all my many wishes and regrets, that one cuts deepest. My father is dead, but he died loving Cal, trusting Cal, believing in Cal’s greatness and perfection. I wonder if I should have let things run their course. If somehow I could have simply made him see how flawed the perfect son was.
But Mother had her reasons. She knew best.
And that is simply another path untaken. A dead future, as Jon would say.
Another missile explodes nearby, and as before, I use the resulting explosion to my advantage. It breaks around me, harmless, allowing me to escape through a bloom of smoke and fire. I can’t return to the Treasury tunnels, not with those Red rats still crawling around. But there are other ways down to the tracks, other ways to get out of Archeon undetected. The ways I know best are in Whitefire itself, and I beat a path to the palace as quickly as I can.
That damn train. I curse whoever stole it, whatever sniveling weasel is now riding along, safe and sound. At least I can still walk the track. I’m well accustomed to darkness by now. What’s a few more miles?
Nothing at all. I’ve always felt darkness all over me, stubborn as a stain. It follows wherever I go.
And where will I go? Where can I go?
I’m a fallen king, a murderer, a betrayer. A monster to anyone with eyes and a modicum of sense. They’ll kill me in the Lakelands, in Montfort, in my own country. I deserve it, I think as I run. I should be dead a thousand times, executed in a hundred different ways, each one more painful than the last.
I think of Mare behind me, sprawled across the tiles of the Square. Picking herself up again, ready to give chase. My brother too, leading some stupidly valiant effort to defend the city and his ill-gotten throne. I scoff at the thought as I vault up the steps of Whitefire, flying over familiar stone. The flame in my palm gutters, reducing to a flicker before I push it back to life, letting it envelop my hand.
The interior is just as empty as the Square is full. Whatever nobles and courtiers aren’t out fighting must be deep within the palace, barricaded in their rooms, or perhaps they’ve fled too. Either way, my footsteps are the only sound as I cross the entrance hall, my path familiar as my own heartbeat.
Even though it’s midday, the halls are dark and cold, with the windows clouded by fog and smoke. Electricity flickers as the power grid reacts to the battle outside, turning the lights on and off in patternless bursts. Good, I think. In my gray clothing, I can blend into the shadows of Whitefire. I used to do it as a boy, hide in alcoves or behind curtains. Spying and listening, not for my mother then, but for my own curiosity.
Cal used to spy with me, when he had the time. Or cover for me at Lessons, telling tutors I was sick or otherwise detained. Odd, that I can remember all that, but that the emotion behind it, the connection we must have had, is almost entirely gone. Severed or surgically removed by my mother. And no one can ever make it grow back.
Even though he tried. He searched. He wanted to save you. The thought almost makes me vomit, and I push it away.
The doors of the throne room are heavier than I expected. Funny to think I’ve never opened them myself. There’s always been a guard or a Sentinel, usually a telky. I feel weak as I drive my shoulder into one, pushing it ajar enough to slip through.
My throne is gone, the Silent Stone dragged away to only Cal knows where. Our father’s seat is returned, the inferno carved from diamondglass. I sneer at the sparkling monstrosity, a symbol of our father, his crown, and everything he lacked. Other chairs flank Cal’s throne, one for Julian Jacos and one for our grandmother. The thought of both makes my lip curl. Without them, Cal would never have made it this far. And that snake Iris would have never handed me over.
I hope she drowns on the river, suffocated by her own ability.
No, better yet, I hope she burns. Isn’t that the punishment of her gods, to suffer forever beneath an opposing