Seventeen years ago, the love of Candra's life had refused her presence at his side upon the culmination of the great endeavor they'd pursued together. As the rolling tide of the Awakening had reached its peak, she'd been relegated to the Scholar's quarters to watch it unfold from afar as merely another of the ignorant, clueless rabble. Then, after regaining her senses, she'd found her hands mangled and blood-soaked, a jagged furrow torn down the side of her face, and warm, sticky copper coating her lips and teeth. Twitching his last on the ground had been a fellow Scholar who'd joined her to observe the eclipse.
Candra stared sightlessly at the dying embers of her fire, caught in a strange, fitful trance. How cruel the twist of fate that'd again relegated her to that same position on the sidelines, helplessly awaiting another world-spanning cataclysm.
Perhaps Cedric's resolve would fail at the moment of truth. Perhaps Adrian would intercept him. Perhaps Asha or Ayo would blast him to pieces before he even reached the Vault. Regardless, the outcome was beyond Candra's control, just as it'd been on the night of the Madness. It galled her more than she would ever admit.
It's all in those foolish boys' hands now, Goddess save us.
She'd spent the past two days doing little of consequence, eating sparingly whenever she felt the inclination, sleeping in shallow, fitful bursts. She'd patched the one dress she owned--the one she was wearing--with her small sewing kit, and rearranged what little remained of their supplies in the wagon with painstaking precision.
Strictly speaking, she'd served her use to Cedric and Adrian and had no further reason to keep the vial in her pocket waiting. Still, she had to see what her efforts would amount to. The poison could wait one more night.
A steadily-growing cloud of mingled shouts and exclamations prompted her to straighten from her deep hunch before the campfire and unclasp her knees, releasing a burst of pain from stiffened muscles. Candra braced both hands against her back while casting her eyes about for the source of the commotion.
She found it within moments, as the near-total darkness of the evening was no match for a beast made of pure fire. It soared, banked, and twisted over the skies of the capital as if in furious pursuit of something far smaller and more agile. Even from the distance that Candra and the rest of camp observed, the firebird was markedly enormous, a fearsome monster.
Candra couldn't hope to discern Cedric's form against the dark fabric of the night sky; he might as well have been invisible. The wave of icy dread that swept through her body surprised her, as did the fingers she forced to unclench before they could draw blood.
Then, just as the Red King's elemental form disappeared up into the clouds, a coarse canvas shroud enclosed Candra's head, plunging her world into true darkness.
*
No one paid mind to the ragged procession of children scurrying down the packed capital streets; the city-folk's attentions were entirely occupied by the night's far-more sensational happenings. Adrian had been right, in spirit if not in specificity. It wasn't every day that the Divine Heirs engaged each other in vicious aerial combat.
Adrian fought down the surge of dread and worry that threatened to overwhelm him. Cedric could well be dead, ripped to pieces by that monstrous flaming creature they called the Red King. But no one had spotted either of them for several minutes now, which allowed Adrian one last, solitary spark of hope to clasp stubbornly to his heart. He would cherish it until nothing less than indisputable visual proof was laid out before his eyes.
Lila, who doggedly shadowed Adrian's steps, tugged at the hem of his tunic. He turned but didn't stop walking. "What is it?"
"You knew this would happen?" she said in low tones. The younger children tagged closely behind her--though not close enough to hear them--while the other older boy, Edrin, brought up their party's rear.
"Not… exactly," Adrian said evasively. He hoisted Adelaide further up his back, as she was beginning to drowse.
"It's King Rava, isn't it? He's come for his throne, for his brother and sisters." Lila shivered, despite the balmy air, and hugged herself. "Our village wiseman always said he'd return one day, but I thought him a raving old loon."
He's not King Rava. That's not his name, Adrian thought bitterly.
The Nightingale's patrons were steadily trickling back in, now that the spectacle in the sky had ended. Excited chatter, speculation, and no small amount of fear infused the air. Adrian led his twelve charges across the tavern, between bustling bodies and animated gestures, and up the stairs without attracting undue notice.
He finally allowed himself a full, free breath--his first since entering the Silk Lotus--once he shut the door to his chambers. He carried Adelaide to the bed and gently laid her down, then stretched out his sore back and rolled his shoulders. She turned to her side and popped her thumb into her mouth, but didn't wake.
"Help yourselves," Adrian said to the others, indicating the impressive collection of covered silver platters occupying every available flat surface. "I had them sent up for you."
The younger ones looked to Lila or Edrin for approval, and upon their nods scurried over to the delicious bounties awaiting them beneath the platter covers.
Adrian joined in, but only managed to pick fitfully at the food. It had finally sunken in that, despite his impressively romantic declaration on the day of the Victor's Parade, he could not afford to abandon everyone now and risk not coming back. If Cedric succeeded in thwarting the White Queen, Adrian would need to be here, unscathed and uncaught, to escort them back to their families; otherwise, Lady Salus would inevitably scoop her precious young jewels right back up.
A boy of seven offered Adrian a particularly plump morsel of tender white fish. He smiled faintly and accepted it.
With him and Cedric, there'd always been something more important to attend to.
What a fine pair of heroic fools we make.
*
Virolan strained against the balcony railing until he nearly tipped over the edge. Cedric and the Red King had vanished from sight, though the former was admittedly indiscernible in the darkness.
His mind whirled with the absurd events he'd so recently borne witness to. The Heir of Darkness and the Heir of Fire had clashed right here in his chambers, and the disgraced Dark King had risked his mission and his life just to save Virolan's. He hadn't the faintest idea what to make of any of it.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
What he did have to admit was that the revelation of "Sir Noxus'" true identity had thrown their time together into a new, mortifying light. To think that Virolan had addressed a Divine Heir so haughtily upon their first meeting, held him hostage to his endless stream of petty gripes and complaints, even presumed to educate him on the pleasures of the flesh--No, best not to think on that any further, lest I fling himself off the balcony in shame.
Virolan's wildly darting eyes were finally rewarded with the sight of a human-shaped figure soaring toward him on heavy, labored wingbeats. Cedric's white garments were the only reason he was even remotely visible, though they were now tattered and mottled with dark stains. He flew unsteadily, often canting to one side or the other, but largely kept to his intended path.
It then became clear that Virolan was standing directly in the way of that intended path. He scrambled back from the railing and off to the side, right before Cedric barreled heavily past him to collapse in a ragged heap on the marble. A second later, his shadow-woven wings dispelled into nothingness like windblown smoke.
"Cedric--er, Your Grace!" Virolan briefly hesitated before grasping his shoulder to haul him onto his back. "Are you all right?"
Cedric groaned, perhaps at the stupidity of the question as much as the pain. Bloody blotches had soaked through the white silk across his chest, shoulder, and upper leg. Every inch of him was coated in fine, ashy dust, as if he'd bathed in it.
"He's dead," Cedric said faintly. "Asha's dead."
The heady wave of relief that flooded Virolan's chest was swiftly followed by an equally potent wave of shame. To rejoice in the premature death of a Divine Heir was inconceivable, even heretical, but this night had already made intimate bedfellows with such concepts.
Virolan helped Cedric to sit up with a robust heave against his upper back. The latter then clutched his chest, where the bleeding was heaviest, and spent the next few minutes simply gathering himself. Virolan kneeled beside him and waited; he was bursting with questions, but this was obviously not the time. Perhaps it never would be.
"The Vault," Cedric finally croaked. A rivulet of blood ran down his nose. He wiped it away with his forearm, smearing blood and dust together, and attempted to rise to his feet. Virolan caught him when he pitched too far in any direction, eventually slinging Cedric's arm across his own shoulders.
"No, Virolan," Cedric objected, though his weight pressed heavily against him. "Leave the Citadel while you can."
"You can't even stand on your own," he shot back, then out of sheepish habit added, "Your Grace." A pause. "Surely you won't confront the White Queen in this state?"
"She acts at dawn," he said numbly. "Tonight is all I have."
It struck him again how young Cedric was. For all his power he was still barely more than a boy, shouldering an impossible burden.
Virolan huffed. "To the top level, then?"
Unable to muster any further energy to argue, Cedric merely nodded sullenly.
"We'll be seen, you know."
His mouth quirked. "Leave that to me."
*
Cloaking them both was a simple affair, and fortunately the least taxing on what remained of the black diamond's reserves. Cedric and Virolan made graceless but steady progress up two dizzying sets of curved stairs, past dozens of scrambling staff, advisors, and guards. News had already reached them from the city below, from those who'd witnessed the battle of Heirs with their own eyes. Cedric and Virolan caught snatches of panicked conversation, most of which revolved around the calamitous return of the disgraced Dark King, as they passed by unseen.
The door at the top landing of the tower's highest stair was made of the same white stone as the Citadel walls, and notable for its complete absence of latch, hinges, or any other visible mechanism of entry. It could have been mistaken for a dead end if not for the quartet of small, glistening diamonds--red, white, blue, and black--embedded in round wells in the stone, bordered by intricately carved patterns that swirled and entwined with each other. Just as Candra had described.
Cedric dropped his arm from Virolan's shoulders; he'd recovered enough to at least bear his own weight.
"I've always wondered about this," Virolan said quietly.
Cedric reached up, touched two fingers to the black diamond, and drew a single spark of dark energy from within. The door promptly slid aside with a dry, heavy scrape of stone, vanishing seamlessly into a recess in the wall.
The top level of the Citadel was a circular chamber encompassing the entire width of the tower. Above their heads loomed a magnificent dome of clear crystal through which the cold, muted light of the stars and moon shone. At the center of this chamber, which could comfortably hold Jana and Alvir's cottage fifty times over, stood an expansive round pedestal table and four elaborately-crafted, high-backed marble seats.
Seventeen years ago, Ayo, Asha, and Rhea had killed their brother here. A shiver of uncanny familiarity swept through Cedric, though the physical remnants of that battle were long cleared away.
He limped gingerly toward the table, followed closely by Virolan. Their steps echoed loudly in the unfathomable stillness of the vast space.
"This place… what is it for?"
"I wouldn't know," Cedric said. He trailed his fingertips along the table's smooth surface, upon which an extraordinarily detailed inlay depicting the Goddess surrounded by four Heirs--the original founders of Iridesca--had been lovingly crafted. Each marble seat stood directly adjacent to the image of its respective Heir, and near the top of each high back was embedded its respective diamond.
How long had it been since the four Heirs had gathered here together as a unified whole, to whom the wellbeing of their kingdom's people still mattered? Decades? Centuries? Now, this place was no more than a hollow monument to grander, nobler times long past.
Cedric approached the Heir of Darkness' designated seat, reached up to touch its black diamond, and drew out another spark of power.
The table's wide central pedestal began to descend into the ground, stopping when the tabletop met the floor to create a half-foot high dais. Then, via the same mysterious mechanism built into the chamber door, a circular section at the center slid away to reveal an empty cavity the width of three men. With a muted protest from his battered body, Cedric stepped onto the dais and toward the pit.
Candra had told him that the entrance to the Vault lay at the topmost level of the Citadel and extended all the way back down, far past its foundations and into a deep underground cavern. There was something rather poetic--or at least amusingly ironic--about it all.
"This is my fault," Virolan blurted in a wavering voice. "You should have come here hours ago. Whole, unhurt."
"You couldn't have known," Cedric said with a weak smile, which quickly faded. "But you're far beyond feigning ignorance now. If I have my way, the Heirs' rule will end. Tonight."
Virolan touched his cheek where Asha had branded him. "I know. But this doesn't feel… wrong. Helping you, I mean." His eyes glistened. "What the Red King said about Rhea… it's true, isn't it? She's…"
Cedric nodded grimly. "It was her time."
Virolan sniffed hard and roughly dragged a forearm across his nose. "How will you do it? Defeat the White Queen? She'll have the entire Vault at her fingertips."
"So will I," Cedric said. It no longer mattered that his black diamond had finally crumbled to dust; down there, he'd have all the power he could ever need. Depleting the gemstone hoard through battle with Ayo was as viable a strategy as any. The last scions of the Divine Heirs' long reign, burning out together in one final clash.
A narrow spiral staircase wound down from the edge of the pit and into murky oblivion. But Cedric wouldn't have to fear even the slightest stumble; he had his darkness sense to guide him.
Cedric looked out into the night, past the confines of the dome. Whether he succeeded or failed, this would be his last look at the surface world. Adrian wouldn't join him after all, but Cedric hadn't expected him to. Better that he stayed where he was, where he could still do good. Better that Cedric wouldn't have to fight him over making this descent alone.
Another flight of madness nearly seized him, one that would shatter the dome with his explosive ascent and spend the last spark of dark energy fleeing as far as his wings would carry him. Away from certain death, and back into Adrian's arms. The choice that any sane man would make.
Cedric swallowed against a dry, swollen throat and turned back to the staircase before him, the yawning mouth of an unfathomably long serpent. "Promise me, Virolan…" he said huskily. "That you'll find some new purpose to live for. Even if you must leave the capital to pursue it."
Virolan blinked in surprise, then dipped into an awkward half-bow. "As you command, Your Grace."
"It's a request, not a command. And I'm no one's king."
Cedric took the first of many steps down toward the Vault.