A Stolen Kiss

Published 2019 Copyright © Matthew Teague, 2019 The right of Matthew Teague to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. www.matthewjteague.com

A Stolen Kiss

Three shadows slanted across the paved courtyard; back-lit by the last rays of a dying day. The elongated figures moved quickly though not so fast as to draw attention. Their brisk steps carried them from the light into a gloomy recessed alcove. They noticed not as the darkness consumed their shadows.

Dabbing sweat from his face Riddic glanced at his dimly lit compatriots. They too were wiping away their skin’s protestations at moving so fast upon a hot summer’s night.

His fingers ran through his hair, straightening his locks while collecting his thoughts. It was a movement so instinctual he barely noticed.

“Remember,” said Riddic glancing to the ground as they looked at him, “Once we get there, we’re nothing but calm and gracious.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Lemuela, known to her friends as Lemmy, “You’re not dressed like a tent on legs.”

He smiled. She had a point; seeing her wearing a dress was a strange sight to behold. In all the time he had known her Lemmy had ever worn muted colours, no jewellery and always pants. Garbed as she was now he had never seen her look more elegant.

Her usual mess of hair was now braided into a plat of snaking copper held together with silver broaches. The fiery tone of her skin now subdued with a smearing of makeup. Hanging upon her thin neck was a silver pendant set with a brilliant orange amethyst.

A pale pink ball gown hugged her slender frame. Flowing from her waist were billows of ruched fabric; a flower in full bloom.

She was beautiful.

It unsettled Riddic like something was off with the world. He had seen her adopt many faces over the past few years, but she wore this one the best. The notion he was friends with a blank had at first unsettled him. As he'd gotten to know her he'd realised, she did not differ from him save for her magical talent.

At times Riddic had envied Lemmy’s gift. The ability to reinvent yourself with relative ease seemed wonderful. It wasn't until he'd realised not having a face of your own and needing to steal others instead was more a curse than a gift.

“I like it,” said Marnin, grinning beside her, “You look like a proper lady.”

“You don’t think I look like a lady the rest of the time?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as if to focus the intensity of her rising temper.

Marnin already shook his head, expecting her answer, “You could make a wheat sack look elegant. The summer rains and winter shine bear not the sense of reprieve that your sight lends to my eyes and gifts my heart.”

Lemmy grew still save for a single eyebrow that twitched. After a moment’s contemplation, her anger dissipated. Scoffing she punched Marnin in the arm and shook her head, “You’re full of shit.”

Uncomfortable, Riddic cleared his throat, “Are you both finished?”

Marnin shrugged and straightened his tie.

Like a dagger sliding between his ribs, Riddic felt the bite of jealousy. Marnin was as handsome as a prince. His red vest and coat and white shirt and breeches seemed to suit him.

No such colours adorned Riddic’s clothes. Black was the colour of his attire. The black of invisibility. The black of submission. The black of servitude.

“If we fail tonight…” said Riddic, as he patted road dust from his pants and tried to ignore the fear unfurling within, “…thousands of innocent people will die a horrible death.”

Marnin’s smile faltered, “Is that meant to inspire us?”

“Because it doesn’t,” finished Lemmy.

Riddic shrugged, “The truth is rarely inspiring, but if it’s any consolation, combined we’re the greatest thief in the world, who else but us can save those people?”

Lemmy swore.

With his pants immaculate once more, Riddic rose. Gathering themselves Lemmy and Marnin stepped out of the alcove. A moment later Riddic followed, head lowered in deference like a well-mannered servant.

The trio continued across a courtyard wide enough to house a small village. Surrounding the courtyard was an iron fence punctuated at regular intervals with stone pillars. Behind the fence, hedges sent questing branches between the iron bars in search of freedom.

As they approached the gate their surrounds brightened. Hanging lanterns joined their illuminating presence with one another. The result was as if the sun still shone.

Several guards stood stationed by the gate. The hard edges of their breastplates contrasting with the soft purple sleeves snaking from beneath them. Strong but refined.

Several carriages stood parked to the right. While variation existed in their design most bore the sloped lines and rich wood of the Amber Carriage Company. They'd recently established a chokehold upon the industry inundating it with their product.

Upon seeing Marnin and Lemmy, a cluster of shadows broke apart as the drivers returned to their ready position beside their carriages. Their black coats stained by road dust even as boredom stained their nights. They stood tall and proud beside their charges and deigned not to meet their eye, opting to rather stare at the ground in respect. Something hid beneath their deference. The drumming of a clasped finger, the tap of a dusty boot. Riddic felt sure the drivers were waiting for guests to stop arriving. As he noticed a game of dice laying abandoned beside a carriage he suddenly understood their impatience.

In the distance were shouts and hard tones as two guards drove off a beggar.

“You’re late,” said a short guard as they approached.

Lemmy, spearheading the trio stepped deeper into the light. The man’s face dropped like a sack of dead fish as he recognised who they were.

“Lady Horshvol,” all traces of irritation disappearing from his voice, “I’m sorry I couldn’t see it was you.”

Adopting a haughty air Lemmy fixed the man with a glare, “I should think you wouldn’t speak with such disdain if you knew it was I.”

Riddic suppressed a smirk and stared at the bottom of Lemmy’s dress.

The guard flushed a deep red, “My apologies my Lady, the feast has already begun but I’ll ensure you get a preferable seat.”

Lemmy laughed the type of laugh you would more commonly hear in a tavern than from the lips of a lady.

Riddic and Marnin winced.

Remembering herself Lemmy ignored the guard’s surprised look and dipped her head, “That would be most kind of you.”

“Who may I ask is your guest tonight?” asked the guard glancing at Marnin, “I haven’t had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

Marnin bowed, “My name’s Alderic Bal Ander.”

“Forgive me sir, but are you not a lord?”

With a smile that made wives forget their oaths and men forget their quarrels, Marnin looked at the guard, “No. But I own more land than any lord does. I run a plantation you understand.”

The guard frowned with uncertainty. He absently rubbed the pommel of his sword as if the right course of action lay hidden beneath a few layers of skin. “The King doesn’t like merchants.”

Marnin laughed, a perfect chuckle that brings a smile to the face and livens the room, “I’ve heard the same. You must understand though, I didn’t become one of the richest men in Sylv playing by all the rules. Now you and your esteemed guards here strike me as honourable men. The type of men that would never accept a bribe and I’m the type of man who would never besmirch myself by offering one. If however, I may do you the service of offering job security then perhaps we could foster a friendship between us?”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, “What do you have in mind?”

“I always need good men to work with me. Not that you’d be doing much guard work, but strong men with strong minds able to lead others. Those are traits I could use. If you ever tire of soldiering come to Thela. My house is the one that looks like a castle… You can’t miss it.”

The soldier nodded even as he tried to contain himself, “That’s kind. Most kind,” he rubbed a hand along his chin, “You seem like a well-bred gentleman and not some grasping merchant looking for favours. As a guest of Lady Horshvol, how could I turn you away?”

With a bow, he gestured toward the gate.

Riddic made sure not to make eye contact with the guards as he followed the apparent Lady Horshvol and Alderic Bal Ander into the estate.

The sound of water lapping against stone met Riddic’s ears, and he stole a glance at his surroundings. The estate was set against Lake Frelenor. Untouched by slumbering sunlight and still waiting for the absent moon's kiss, the lake stood behind the estate, a gaping black void.

The only light in the distance was far downstream and on the opposite shore. Riddic knew this to be the glittering lights of Barren, Capital of the Kingdom of Sylv.

They stood upon a gravel path leading toward a huge building occupying the centre of the grounds. The darkness wrapping the land clung to the structure as if wanting to hide it from the world. No amount of shadow could hide such an intimidating sight however. Turrets cornered the wings of the grand establishment. Barbed crenellations running across the roof where sentries could be seen moving to and fro.

To call it a house was to not do the fortification justice, but nor was it a castle for it still possessed the twinkling beauty of a mansion at night. Riddic had no words to describe it, but the effect it had upon him was clear. He was afraid.

Ivy climbed upon several sections of the building, twisting tendrils of nature trying to claim the building for its own. These fingers of nature’s jealousy lent an exotic touch of greenery to the hard stone.

Through the multitude of windows Riddic could see the glow of torches within their sconces and the occasional sign of movement within.

The structure had a single purpose, to ensure none could doubt the supremacy of he who lived here. To that effect the builders had done a marvellous job. To lay eyes upon it was to bear your very soul to a predator.

Torches lead to the front door, casting the world in a series of brilliant yellow splashes. The gyrating flames of the torches gave their surroundings an undulating appearance as the light shifted and waved.

Beyond the path and mostly unlit was an endless expanse of trimmed grass.

Following the sounds of laughter and conversation, Riddic could see a cluster of lanterns to the right of the imposing building.

Guests sat at several long wooden tables while hovering servants sought to fulfil their every need. Behind them was an imposing wall of green hedging forming what Riddic understood to be the largest hedge maze in Sylv.

Rumour had it within the maze was a hidden tunnel that only the King knew how to find. If his estate were to ever fall under attack, he would flee into the maze and escape the grounds. Those stupid enough to follow would soon find themselves lost and would starve to death within the endless green corridors.

“What an arsehole,” said Lemmy once they were out of earshot of the guards.

Riddic fixed her with a chastising gaze, “Don’t be disrespectful. He was just doing his job.”

Lemmy rolled her eyes.

Shaking his head he growled, “You need to work on your laugh.”

“They didn’t notice,” she said; defensive.

Snorting Riddic continued his beratement, “They may not have. But do it again and another noble will ask why Horshol has developed the laugh of a harpy.”

“I’m the one who spent three months serving as this bitch’s maid,” said Lemmy, “I know how to behave.”

“Hush now, we are not alone,” said Marnin.

“Lady Horshol, sir,” said a servant to Lemmy and Marnin as he approached, “If you will please follow me, Sergeant Barvel has informed me of your dilemma and I shall see to it you sit as close to the Royal Family as I can.”

Lemmy dipped her head but otherwise didn’t deign to speak to the servant as was proper.

The gravel sounded with a satisfying crunch as the small group strode from the entrance to the feast.

To Riddic’s relief no Sergeant at Arms announced their arrival giving them the chance to enter subtley.

Still, as they approached the tables the nobles shared more curious glances and muttered whispers than he would have liked.

“Lady Horshol!” shouted a woman toward the end of the table, “Lady Horshol!”

At first, Lemmy ignored the lady but realising she was speaking to her she smiled and approached her, leaving the usher frowning. Riddic stayed back with the usher.

It was difficult making out the ladies’ voices as the nobles continued speaking in an overwhelming wave of sound. Riddic found if he concentrated he could hear most of what was being said.

“I was wondering where you were,” said the lady, still seated. A pearl neckless hung from an ancient neck as if she had poured the flawlessness of youth into her jewellery and left her skin tired and wrinkled. She twisted her narrow frame to look at Marnin, “Who is your guest?”

Lemmy looked at Marnin and tried to keep her eyes from twinkling, “This is Alderic Bal Ander.”

“At your service,” said Marnin as he lifted the lady’s hand and kissed it.

“Oh, I like him. I don’t know where you find these men Grela,” she replied without taking her eyes from Marnin.

Lemmy laughed, the passionless lilting of high society. A sense of relief drained Riddic’s anxious heart, now confident Lemmy would not reveal her low-born nature with a reflexive cackle.

Riddic's shoulders released some of their tension. Between Lemmy’s face and Marnin’s tongue, no situation could occur they couldn’t overcome.

“The Royal couple has not made their appearance yet so you’ve missed nothing of note. I tried to save you a space but…” She fixed the man next to her with a disapproving look before returning to Lemmy, “Southern Lords have no respect for such things.”

“Well Northern Ladies need to learn respect for men,” retorted the Lord, a round-faced man with a matching belly.

The two fell into bickering and Lemmy shifted, “I’ll see you after the feast,” she said to the older lady who didn’t hear her.

The usher led them to the end of the table. It looked almost like the chairs had been there the entire time but for the cramped table space and resentful looks of the other guests. Riddic deduced they’d been shuffled together to make room for Lemmy and Marnin.

So much for a subtle entrance,ii Thought Riddic, feeling his stomach drop. The key to their plan was the hopes that no one would engage Lemmy and Marnin in anything more than polite conversation. If someone who knew Lady Horshvol well spoke to Lemmy, then it threatened to jeopardise everything.

Riddic wondered whether the noose would itch around his throat.

The tables held an assortment of appetisers. Ranging from cuts of seared fish to pastry wrapped cubes of pork. Interspersing the meats was an assortment of sliced carrots, cucumbers and zucchini upon beds of lettuce.

These vibrant greens and oranges added an exotic note that wound its way around the darker cooked tones of the various meat dishes.

Riddic had to avert his eyes to prevent his mouth from salivating. He'd been to many feasts when he was younger but only as a guest. The food on these occasions never struck him as looking as good as it did tonight likely because he knew he couldn’t eat it.

Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted.

Settling into his stance Riddic resigned himself to waiting.

Impatience burned a hole in his feet. Fortunately for Riddic’s soles, he didn’t have to wait long.

A man strode down the path toward the congregation. This normally wouldn’t have garnered the nobles’ attention but at his rear were a dozen guards. Their armour clanked as they followed the man. One by one they peeled off at regular distances, lining the path.

The man stopped at the foot of the tables. What little hair left on his head danced in the breeze. In a deep voice he declared, “His Majesty King Arion Fermar and her Majesty Queen Dara Fermar,” with a bow he stepped to one side.

Emerging from behind the house strode two figures.

Arion’s steps were long and sure as if he had practised this moment many times. His head held high with the superior look all men get when you place a crown upon them. Garbed in a deep blue shirt and breeches his pure white vest stood to great contrast and gave him a harsh and pure edge.

Upon his head glittered a heavy crown set with pink diamonds around its golden base. The crown rose and fell like sharp teeth looking as if it meant to devour the world with its hunger for power.

It was this crown that would see thousands of people die in just a few days.

It was this crown that was priceless.

It was this crown Riddic was to steal.

His mouth fell and his eyes filled with longing, but not for this circlet of paltry gold and hardened stones. Riddic’s gaze was where everyone’s was; it lay upon the Queen.

She wore a gown of blue so dark it conjured an air of mystery about her. The silver trimming shone so brilliantly it sliced through the night as if it possessed a light of its own. Like a veil of mist clinging to the garment, a fine silk crepeline enshrouded the dress giving it an air of lightness. The gown was a beautiful garment made by master seamstresses yet for all its splendour it paled to the beauty contained within.

Cut off the shoulder the neckline revealed a delicate décolletage. This small glimpse at the body beneath caused Riddic’s blood to thicken. His tongue grew heavy like all the blood had rushed from his brain to areas unspoken.

Her skin; soft and delicate with a subtle rosiness giving proof this graceful being was alive. Her slender arms; covered with thin sleeves of lace decorated with leaves making it look as if vines of blue trickled across her.

Braided at the front was a single row of her brunette hair. Curving around her head it re-joined the rest of her hair and fell across her back and shoulders. Pinned across the braid was a fine netting adorned with diamonds. When it caught the lantern light, they cast their own glittering renditions which brightened and dazzled the world.

Her expression was set in a pleasant yet passive look like she were being forced to endure so much attention.

Realising he had stared too long Riddic looked at his feet.

The guests retook their seats as the Royal Couple reached their table.

Riddic glanced at the Queen once more. Heat filled his cheeks as their eyes connected. Not a muscle twitched upon her face yet a warm radiance of recognition entered the look. The rhythmic beating of Riddic’s heart quickened as he glanced away.

“No,” said the King, “Absolutely not.”

Frowning the Queen looked at her husband as did all the guests and the servants.

To his butler, the King said, “This isn’t right, Hargon, I wish to look upon the lake, not the hedges.”

The elderly butler’s eyes widened, “This is what we agreed upon your Majesty.”

The King fixed him with such a glare the elderly man dwindled before it. Without another word of protest, he said, “Allow me to fix the situation.” The man showed no signs of resentment as he set about spurring the gathered servants to their work.

A cruel smile lifted the King’s features, “You do that,” gazing out at the assembled Lords and Ladies he said, “This will just take a moment.”

His gaze hooked on one of the assembled guests, a Lord who sat on the second table, “Lord Tenbon, help the servants move the tables.”

Lord Tenbon laughed, his loud voice booming. The sound stopped a moment later as he realised the King was not joking, “Me your majesty?”

The King raised an eyebrow along with a single accusing finger, “You.”

Lord Tenbon’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed and nodded. Trying to preserve his dignity he said to the congregation in a light voice, “You heard the King, make way so I may flex my muscles and prove my prowess.”

The nobility; unsure whether to laugh or remain silent, opted for awkward murmurs. Lord Tenbon blushed which added to the King’s delight.

Riddic was sure the King didn’t care which way the tables were; he merely wanted to assert his dominance over the proceedings.

Over the next while the servants, Lord Tenbon and to his own disgust and Marnin’s pleasure; Riddic, helped shift the tables. It was with relief when the last table now pointed in a direction the King was happier with.

Riddic’s arms protested at shifting the heavy oak tables and it frayed his temper trying not to spill any food. The nobles more to sate their thirst than assist the servants held their drinks.

Somewhat sweaty Riddic retired several steps behind where Marnin and Lemmy sat. Pushing his sweaty hair back into place he noticed the pair attempted to keep to themselves. The nobles seated beside them, however, seemed intent on learning everything about them.

As the guests retook their seats Riddic noticed a small blur of motion beneath a table. A plump looking mouse scurried from between the tables with a scrap of fallen food in its mouth. Opening his mouth to say something Riddic stopped himself. Not wishing to draw attention to himself he opted for observing the creature in silence.

Its girth was an obvious indicator of a successful career scrounging scraps and avoiding the kitchen's feline guards. Such was its success Riddic couldn’t help think its extra weight would make it easier for the cats to catch it.

As it waddled beneath a chair and weighed up the danger of fleeing back to the hedge Riddic realised perhaps the creature was pregnant. In its desire to feed its unborn young it had adopted such a brash approach to life knowing that living afraid would only hinder its offspring.

Watching the brazen courage of motherhood Riddic wondered at the choices of his own life. There had been a maid who he had cared for, Littany with long black hair. At the time the prospect of settling down scared him. It seemed more frightening than his vendetta to steal from the corrupt nobles he broke bread with. He had chosen a life of crime and danger instead of love and comfort.

A sadness coloured his thoughts. Had he chosen to settle down with Littany would he be a parent now? Would he be worried about feeding his children and protecting them from harm?

He had cared for Littany, but it had not been enough. The sadness abated as he thought of how he had grown since those days. Marriage no longer seemed as daunting. He would cast aside his vendetta if it meant marrying the woman who, since they first met, he dreamt of every night.

In desperation, the mouse fled across the field darting back into the maze. No one noticed.

With the guests back in their seats and the King smiling the feast adopted a more natural progression.

Riddic tried to remain calm but a foreboding sense of uneasiness was creeping through him. He glanced at the King and swore to himself. The King still wore his crown even though it was customary to remove it before dining.

A group of musicians provided the party with the soft and elegant sounds of their strings. It livened mood and sucked the poisonous memory of the King’s outburst from the minds of the guests. With notable exclamations of wonder and delight, the first course arrived.

Riddic noted how Lord Tenbon made a loud show of enjoying himself. It was as if he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness to the other nobles. Despite his efforts, his smile looked strained and his laugh loitered upon the edge of insincerity.

Lord Tenbon, Riddic decided, reminded him of a wine merchant in Salaheim. A noisy and disgusting man Riddic suspected the merchant was diluting his wines with cheaper stock. He confronted the man about it but he had two brutish cousins who forcibly removed Riddic. That night in a desire for vengeance Riddic broke into the merchant’s cellar. He stole his most prized possession; a case of one-hundred-year-old Red River wine.

The effect was twofold, Riddic sated his need for justice while learning the joy of robbing someone of what they love most in the world.

Glancing at the Queen, Riddic noticed how she was draining her glass of wine while her face filled with a look of boredom. Beside her, the King engaged in a lively conversation with two of his generals.

Riddic shifted, uneasy. They were running out of time. His plan hinged upon separating the King from the symbol of his regal authority. The crown was an inconvenient piece to wear for any length of time and was usually only for official ceremonies or announcements. Like waves clambering up the shore, an icy cold fear swept over him and soaked into his bones.

After they finished the first course the King stood and waited for a hush to suck the sound from his audience. Once the last noble speaking had fallen silent did the King begin, “My Lords and Ladies. I must first thank you all for accepting my invitation to dine with me tonight. I must profess your invitation isn’t without purpose.”

The King stared into each noble’s eyes as he spoke, the passion of his words seizing his audience. “Our nation has always suffered under the blight of division. While we, the noble few, work hard to better our standing amongst the realms. There are those in the lower classes who resent our success. They throw down their tools and instead opt for a life of homelessness and dependency.”

He nodded toward one of his guards who scurried out of sight, “Those wretched capitalists who form our middle-class wish to see themselves as generous doers of good and so they feed these homeless miscreants and sometimes house them.”

An angry voice rose from the crowd as one of the Lords shouted his disgust.

The King nodded, “We must forgive them for their ignorance for they think what they do is right and just. The middle-class has not the experience we of ancient lineages can claim. They do not understand by supporting the problem the disease spreads. I say they are creating a new lower class, one more wretched and insidious than before,” the King held up his finger, “Barren has long been overrun by this beggar class. Long have they marred our streets with the stain of their bodies and the news of their sins. I say no longer. The crown provided the barges that remain docked in our ports to house these wretched creatures. Many of you I know doubted me when I first proposed we do this kind deed.”

The King nodded to a servant who lifting a torch from a sconce waved it, signalling someone. A moment later several torches illuminated a barge upon the lake. Even as Riddic watched the men upon the barge scurried to a smaller rowboat with nervous energy.

A trickle of conversation swept through the nobles as the barge revealed itself. The conversation fell silent as the King said, “What you didn’t know was these barges were the first in a series of steps to rid us of this blight once and for all. Even as we speak more homeless cram the barges looking for a safe night’s sleep.”

On cue, the soldier returned with several others pushing a large ballista around the corner of the house. The nobles exclaimed as the giant weapon came into view. Its trundling wheels creaked and protested as it forged across the lawn stopping by the shore of the lake.

Riddic noticed the bolt loaded into the weapon was unlike any he had seen before. Upon the front where the arrowhead should be was instead a ceramic ball.

“In one week my men will purge the city of this disease,” nodding to the men at the ballista they adjusted the angle of the weapon and once satisfied let loose the bolt. It shot forth from the weapon and disappeared into the night sky.

Everyone waited.

They didn’t wait in vain. The bolt landed upon the deck of the barge and the ceramic pot shattered. Liquid spewed onto the deck and contacting the air it erupted into a rippling explosion. As if made of wafer, the barge broke in two. The remains of the vessel, and the water itself, shimmered with blue flames as anything the liquid touched erupted into fire.

“Flames will consume the barges and rid us of this vermin. Next, I will declare an edict that none will offer food or shelter to those not willing to work for a living.”

The King had to strain himself to be heard over the clapping, cheering guests, “My advisors tell me within a month all of Sylv will be free of beggars. The homeless and the lower class will once again understand they must work to earn their place in this world.”

Riddic’s stomach tightened, he had known of the King’s plan when Elrad had explained why overthrowing Arion was necessary. Elrad had not needed to explain the need for a new monarch as Riddic had lived in Sylv since he was seven. In that time he had seen the countless crimes the King inflicted upon his subjects.

Hearing the nobles’ clapping, watching the barge burn and seeing the King’s pride in his cruelty cemented Riddic’s need to fulfil his mission.

After the applause and the cheers had lessened the King said, “Without your support, I wouldn’t be able to take this historic step. So to you, my gathered friends, I toast you.”

With a flurry of movement, the nobles stood, including a reluctant Lemmy and Marnin. Cups rose in the air, their golden sides glittering in the lantern light.

“Varvishi,” said the King before drinking.

“Varvishi,” repeated the assembled guests and joining in the toast.

Like soldiers marching to battle, a stream of servants appeared from the house. Silver platters held by their gloved hands beheld the exotic contents of the main course. The variety was almost as impressive as the dishes themselves. Everything from peacocks, with their plumage still on display, to roasted boar, sitting defeated upon a bed of roast vegetables.

To Riddic’s torment even his favourite dish was there; Medean venison. The large buck still beheld its renowned antlers which reached into the sky a full six feet. There wasn’t a thief in all of Arenmyre who could rob it of its majesty, not even death.

The King’s chest puffed outward as the Lords and Ladies expressed wonder at such a fine delicacy. Despite the nobles words and adulation, they held no comparison to the reverence that twinkled in their eyes when they looked at the deer. To Riddic’s observations, it only highlighted that the nobles didn’t respect the King but feared him.

Looking at the Medean deer, the painful claws of a forgotten memory tore at his focus. It drew him from the present, like a siren to a sailor. Within his mind he heard the ancient strings of his memory. The chords to When I Plant My Lily, a favourite song of the Medean people, echoed inside his head.

In the illuminating vision of his mind, he could see the Royal Gardens of Westford. Small box hedges surrounded flower beds themed to different areas of Arenmyre. The beds separated by huge expanses of grass where lovers would often meet to woo.

Homesickness swept through him.

Closing his eyes he clenched his hands and summoning his will he released the memory along with his grip.

Taking a steadying breath Riddic returned his focus to the present. Out on the water the flames dulled as the darkness consumed them. He surveyed the hungry eyes of the nobles. If any of them held any reservations about the King’s proposed mass murder, no one showed it. It appeared their largest concerns were getting the most prime cuts of meat.

Marnin gestured to Riddic who stepping forward. Lifting the amphora of wine upon the table he poured the contents into Marnin's cup.

Marnin said, “Why is the King still wearing his crown?”

Riddic shrugged, “I’m not sure, if he doesn’t take it off then this whole night is wasted.”

“Not the whole night,” he said lifting his cup of wine with a wry smile.

Riddic bowed his head, his heart too filled with homesickness to think of a reply.

Returning to his idle position behind his masters Riddic stole another glance at the King. He'd finished filling his plate and had finally noticed his wife’s slurred words and clumsy movements.

“You silly woman,” he exclaimed as she went to take another draught of her cup, “You’re drunk again!”

The nobles continued their conversations. Beneath their hollow words was an undercurrent of mutual understanding. Their ears were listening to the royal couple.

“No,” said the Queen, shaking her head, “No, I’m not.”

The King’s eyes narrowed, “You’re useless,” he turned to the three ladies maids standing behind their Queen, “See she takes a walk and clears her head.”

The maids nodded and helped their Queen out of her seat. As they escorted the Queen into the hedge maze, she allowed her head to loll upon her shoulders. For less than a heartbeat, her eyes locked upon Riddic.

The King returned to his discussion with the generals.

Riddic leant forward so he could whisper in Lemmy’s ear, “I’m going to talk to Dara.”

Lemmy smiled, “Don’t get distracted.”

Riddic replied, “I’ll try to keep the waxing eloquence to a minimum.”

Then, readopting his air of servitude he straightened as if given an instruction. He slunk away from the party.

It was a test of his will to resist the urge to dash into the maze after her. Instead, he kept his pace even and his face locked in a passionless expression.

“Where are you going?” asked Hargon, the butler.

Riddic froze. His mind turned blank as he faced the approaching man.

“I…”

Hargon’s bushy eyebrows rose, stretching folded sags of skin from around his eyes, “You?”

“Alton!” Called Marnin as he approached ignoring Hargon, “Lady Horshol said it must be a pink rose if it’s to match her dress.”

Riddic frowned and nodded as if he understood what Marnin was talking about.

Only now did Marnin turn to the butler, “She’s lost without her hairpiece; the poor woman is going mad.”

Hargon nodded and said to Riddic, “The flower garden is three lefts in the maze and then a right,” The butler fixed him with a suspicious eye, “Don’t get lost in there, if you do, you’ll never find your way back.”

Riddic nodded and turning upon his heel headed for the entrance of the maze. As he walked he heard Marnin ask the elderly butler what the chances of looking at the King’s cellar were. Riddic smiled as the old butler’s voice grew outraged at such a prospect.

To his surprise, the air was dense within the maze and the sound, overwhelming. The slightest stir of wind caused the walls to hum with the noise of leaves rubbing against one another. A tight sense of claustrophobia gripped Riddic. He thought of how one could lose themselves in the endless turns of the dense green leafy walls.

The darkness hung about Riddic and twice he almost missed his turn. Becoming convinced he'd gone the wrong way and would spend the rest of his life within the maze he walked into a small clearing.

Several rows of roses ran the length of the clearing. A back to back wooden bench occupied the centre.

Upon the bench sat Queen Dara.

She stared up at the twinkling night sky with an almost scientific level of fascination.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked, without looking away from the stars.

“There is more beauty in this place than on any distant planet my lady,” replied Riddic, tucking his hair behind his ears as he walked closer.

Dara smiled, “They’re not planets. They’re stars circling our land, too distant to provide us with heat for our bodies nor light for our crops, but close enough to give a sense of wonder and calm.”

“I didn’t realise astronomy was an interest of yours,” said Riddic as he sat beside her. A quick glance about the clearing told him the maids were no with her.

She laughed the soft intelligent laugh of someone entirely sober, “Didn’t you? I suppose no one knows. My husband does not encourage such passions. He believes my sole purpose is to bear him heirs.”

Before his courage deserted him Riddic placed a tentative hand upon her knee, “I think it’s charming.”

She tore her gaze from the sky to Riddic’s eyes. Her look was so hungry, so filled with lust Riddic had trouble not falling into her gaze. Her words spilled forth from unsure lips, “You assume too much.”

“Perhaps,” he said, without moving his hand, “But we both know that kiss was more than an idle peck.”

Dara blushed, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m married; the Gods will punish us both.”

Looking down at her lips he said, “I would bear their retribution. What pleasure can their afterlife grant me that is greater than the touch of your lips?”

Her tongue darted across her lips as she wet them, “You’re using me to get to my husband,” her eyes pleading for him to deny it.

“If you knew me, you would know that isn’t true.”

“But I don’t know you,” she said clasping her hands in her lap, “I know who I want you to be but… I’ve fallen in love with the idea of someone before…”

“I would spend a lifetime getting to know you. When you caught me breaking in you had the chance at turning me over, but you didn’t, you felt what I feel, what we both feel right now. We’re drawn to each other, there is no denying it.”

“Like two ships we will destroy each other if we collide. I do not want that,” She stood and took several steps before turning back, her expression sad, “There is no way this could end well for us.”

“We could run away together,” said Riddic standing also, “We could sail down to Barashi or Medea. Somewhere Arion could never find us.”

“You would steal both his crown and his wife?” asked Dara with a flash of her eyes, “You play the role of hero well but how can I not question your motives?”

“My motives?” recoiled Riddic, he searched wordlessly for the right thing to say, “I’ve stolen many things-”

Dara interrupted, “How many?”

The mixed emotions of both pride and guilt twisted within him as he pondered how to best answer her, “The number isn’t important. What matters is it was only ever from corrupt nobles who needed humbling. I crept into your home to steal your husband’s crown for such a reason but it was I who was robbed that night. Robbed of my heart for you stole it from me.”

Riddic looked into her eyes pleading for her to see the contents of his soul, “If you knew what my family lost when Queen Vrayler gave Songkeep to the rebel lords and we fled Medea you wouldn’t question me as you do… Vrayler is dead and Songkeep is long lost. I don’t care for my claim to nobility, not as my father did. I’ve seen the corruption of the upper class and I know that I cannot stand by and allow it to continue.”

Riddic’s hand retreated from her leg as he tucked a stray hair behind his ear, “I don’t want to be like those I steal from. Plotting, corrupt and immoral. Yet not being with you seems wrong. I would sacrifice everything for you including values which I’ve upheld since I was a child. Dara my motives are not pure for you belong to another, but my love for you is as untainted as a glacial stream. Even if loving you would mean forsaking my plans upon stealing the crown, then I would. Ask and I will make it so.”

For a moment she looked like she would, then her desire abated, “No, you cannot. You may be a thief but I know you are good at heart. You know what my husband intends on doing to the barges… We cannot let those people die while we run away to live happily together.”

“So you will run away with me?”

She shook her head, “Riddic, I have met you just once before. How can you ask me to throw my life away for something so unknown?”

“That’s love,” said Riddic growing impassioned, “Love is unknown. You take a chance two hearts can join without destroying each other. It doesn’t always work but I can think of no better cause to destroy myself than taking the largest gamble of all.”

She closed her eyes as she thought for a moment, “Your words are gilded and sweet but I’m a Queen and cannot allow myself to be so dictated by my passions. I said I would help you steal my husband’s crown and save the wretched people living in the port… Show me the colour of your character by what you do with that crown and I will be yours forever. When it’s in your hands, you’ll have a claim to the throne for a man who cannot keep his crown isn’t fit to rule. Resist temptation and you will prove you are more man than any I have known before.”

With a heavy sigh, Riddic gathered himself. His heart longing to make her his own yet the set of her face and colour of her words told him she had decided. “I will do this for you, as a testament to my love. But…” Riddic reached out and grabbed her hand, “I need you to do something for me, something dangerous…”

Riddic returned to the party with a bright pink fuchsia in hand. The gentle petals of the flower tickled the palm of his hand. He noted with despair the butler Hargon watched him with interest.

The tables were clear and the guests now stood before the musicians. In the torchelight they gossiped, laughed and enjoyed themselves. In the shadows, they whispered, conspired and conducted the business of running a nation. Riddic doubted any deal struck in shadow could bode well for those who lived in the light.

Lemmy and Marnin were standing removed from the main throng of people. They looked as if they argued.

Clearing the frown from his face Riddic approached the pair.

“…Like that with everyone. You don’t mean-” said Lemmy before Marnin cut her off.

“But I do sweet lady. Yes, I charm and woo for a living but there is only one who I want to give my heart, and that’s you.”

Lemmy shook her head and held out her hands, “Why would you love… Someone like me. People with my affliction we don’t fall in love. We live in secret and hope for nothing more than a quiet life away from anyone who would do us harm.”

“You need not be afraid,” said Marnin looking into her eyes, “I care not for your face but the contents of your heart. I…”

Riddic shifted as Marnin noticed him. Gathering himself he said in a mock voice of superiority, “You’ve finally returned.”

Lemmy turned to Riddic. For a brief moment her face looked stricken. Then Riddic blinked and it was gone disappearing behind a mask of inscrutable passive aggression. “Oh,” Gathering herself she said loud enough for others to hear, “Did you go all the way to Medea to find that flower?”

The nobles within earshot chuckled to themselves.

Biting back his reply but remembering it for when they were alone Riddic apologised. As he handed the flower to Lemmy she asked in an undertone, “Any news?”

Riddic nodded, “A plan is in place.”

“The sooner the better,” said Marnin, “We’ve been trying to avoid the other nobles as they keep asking questions we’re not sure how to answer. It’s only a matter of time before we can’t sidestep our way out of a-”

“And who might this be?” asked a familiar voice.

Riddic turned and trying to hide his look of horror stared into the face of the King. He went to reply but before he did, he realised he was not the subject of the question. The King didn’t even seem to see him at all; the invisibility of servitude.

“My King,” said Lemmy as she curtsied.

“Your Majesty,” said Marnin bowing.

The King dipped his head smoothly, “I don’t remember sending an invitation to you?”

Marnin looked uneasy as he replied, “No my King, you didn’t. My… friend, Lady Horshol invited me.”

The King glanced at Lemmy then fixed his gaze back upon Marnin, “Friend? Or a lover? It looked like quite the quarrel you were having.”

Marnin’s smile twitched, “The affairs of the heart are never simple.”

The King was silent for a long moment as he stared at Marnin.

Turning his charm on Marnin beamed his most glorious smile at the King as he said, “This is a wonderful pa-”

“What is your name?” asked the King cutting him off.

“Alderic Bal Ander if it pleases my King.”

The King’s mouth tightened, “I’m not familiar with that name. You are not of noble birth are you?”

“My husband!” shouted Dara as she ran from the maze. Her maids followed trying in vain to usher her back into the shroud of greenery.

The King’s face hardened as he turned away from Marnin and toward his wife. She giggled as she ran, hitching her skirt to move faster. Plucking a glass of wine from a servant she raised the glass into the sky.

“To my faithful and generous husband,” she toasted, “Varvishi.”

She drained the cup.

Scowling, the King closed in on her.

“We need to leave,” said Marnin, a bead of sweat running from his forehead.

“The plan is already underway. If we can get the timing right, we’ll be gone in the next hour and the King won’t have any time to ask further questions.”

“It was our job to get you in the front door,” said Lemmy, a touch of nervousness colouring her voice, “You’re the world famous thief; it’s time to do your job.”

“I never said I was famous,” said Riddic feeling a swirling of despair that Lemmy held such high expectations of him. It reminded him of when his parents had discovered his skill at horse riding. How they had bragged about him and made him compete in races. The pressure had become so immense he couldn’t hold the reins of a horse without his hand quaking as if from palsy.

Lemmy smirked, “I hear the rumours; I know it was you who stole the Vraasi Golden Pelt. No matter what that awful Grenton-whatever claims...”

Upon hearing Grenton’s name Riddic felt the desire to break something.

Lemmy continued, “…I can’t say I know why you don’t set the record straight but I know you. You like stealing the impossible from pricks like the King. I don’t care for vendettas and I don’t want to die for any so if you-”

A roar from the King cut off her voice as she glanced toward where the primal sound had occurred. The Queen lay kneeling looking as if she had tripped. Her cup lay upon the ground several feet away. The contents having landed upon the King’s white vest staining it red as if spattered with blood from the lives he wished to take.

“You stupid bitch,” he exclaimed as he hit her across the face with the back of his hand.

Riddic flinched. His face flushing red and his jaw tightening. The effort from restraining himself was visible.

Behind him, he could hear gasps from the nobles and the invasive sound of a hundred people falling silent.

Frowning the King unbuttoned his vest as he said to the ladies maids, “I told you not to let her back until she was sober.”

The maids cowered their heads and looked repentant.

Deciding the crown upon his head was too precariously perched he lifted it and held it extended. One of his guards rushed forward and accepted the item.

“Take that to the treasury,” he said still staring down at his wife. Once unbuttoned he removed the vest and handed it to Hargon.

“Gods be damned,” he muttered as he saw the wine had also stained his shirt, “Guards!”

Within moments guards flooded toward the King from everywhere.

“Take the Queen to her chambers, if she resists, hit her,” hands outstretched dramatically he said to his guests, “Entertain yourselves while I change.”

With that he strode toward the door, his anger crushing the ground with every step.

The guards ignored the cruelty of their King and lifted the Queen to her feet with relative softness. Knowing better than to resist she allowed them to guide her back into the house.

“Now I must beg my leave,” said Riddic with a hard set to his mouth.

Lemmy nodded as she stared into her cup, the skin on her fingers turning white as she squeezed it, “Good luck.”

Entering through the servants' entrance Riddic made his way through the cramped scullery. Servants rushed around him trying to fulfil their duties. When questioned by a portly woman he feigned a need to use the servant’s privy.

Once out of sight he removed his servants clothing, so he wore nothing but the black padded robes of a thief. The robes helped to soften any movement his body made making it far easier to sneak upon the stone floors of the building.

Their dark colouring also allowed him to hide in shadows. He pulled his black hood over his head to cast his face in shadow so none may see his identity.

He stuffed the servant’s clothes into a cupboard and returned to the working corridors of the house. As he moved he extinguished the torches, plunging the corridors into darkness and giving him somewhere to hide should he need to make a quick disappearance.

Climbing a narrow servant’s staircase he navigated through the tight corridors the servants used to access the bedrooms and so avoid interrupting the Royal Household with their movements.

Relying upon Lemmy’s reconnaissance as a housemaid he followed her directions and emerged in a darkened empty guest bedroom. Closing the door behind him he noticed it looked as if it was part of the wall.

He shook his head as he thought of the nobles and their desire to make their servants invisible.

Creeping through the room he opened the window. With practised feet, he climbed out onto the small decorative ledge.

This side of the house was open to the lake and had the smallest chance of someone spotting his night climbing.

With confident hands and careful feet, he climbed across from the window. After several moments manoeuvring he arrived at a small window on the third floor. Peering in he watched a guard deposit the crown in a wooden box. The box sat upon a stone pedestal in the centre of the room. Four more guards at attention surrounding it.

Once it was secure, the guard marched out of the room leaving the four men to protect the King’s most valuable possession.

Placing a thin flat blade under the window Riddic loosened the window pane from its fittings. He worked as swiftly as he dared without making too much sound. Feeling his hands cramp and his feet tire from their precarious footing it was with relief when the window pane threatened to fall from its fittings.

With careful fingers, he pulled the pane free of the frame.

The guards continued to stare at the door. They didn’t expect and so didn’t see the black shadow of a man drop through the narrow space where the only window had been. Without a sound, Riddic landed upon his feet.

A slight stir of wind made one guard rub his face, subconsciously realising the air pressure in the room had changed.

Shelves lined the room filled with various items and chests. The room looked more like a storage room in a kitchen than the King’s treasury. Cloth wrapped any loose items upon the shelves to protect them from damage. This gave the room a common feeling as if it were a farmer's treasury and not a King's.

“Gentlemen,” said Riddic standing straight.

The four guards whirled about in panic.

With exclamations and raised voices, they drew their weapons.

Doren, Nurim, Harrod and... Riddic’s grin faltered. He recognised three of the guards, having spent a month watching them practice upon the sparring fields. Listening as their sergeant worked with them to perfect their form, highlighting their weaknesses and showing how to overcome them. The fourth guard he didn’t know. Realising he must be new the unexpected complication heightened the risk and Riddic found himself panicked by it.

As expected Harrod charged first, he was always the brashest of the guards prone to allowing his emotions to rule him. Stabbing toward Riddic with an angry snarl who'd expected the move and sidestepped the lunge. Pulling the dagger from his belt he drove the blade under the man’s chin. He lowered the body to the ground, so it didn’t make too much unnecessary sound.

Nurim ran for the door while Doren attacked; his blade slashing through the air. Riddic rolled beneath the swinging steel and throwing his dagger struck Nurim in the back of the knee. The man staggered as he fell to the ground.

Spinning Riddic kicked Doren’s feet from under him. Before he had time to recover, he drove his own sword through the thick vein running through his thigh.

Nurim staggered to his feet as he continued to hobble toward the door.

The fourth guard closed toward him, his sword moving in small circles as it sought the right moment to strike at Riddic’s flesh.

Unsure how best to engage this new guard Riddic instead opted for stopping Nurim. With a swift arm, he threw his sword, hilt spinning over blade. The fourth guard dropped into a crouch as he lifted his blade ready to fend off the attack.

The sword continued its deadly arc past the stranger and embedded itself in the back of Nurim’s neck. The guard collapsed to the ground; dead.

Doren was trying to stop the bleeding from his leg but the wound was too deep and long to stop. Within a few heartbeats, Doren’s face paled, and he passed out, his head thudding upon the ground.

Without a weapon, Riddic was at the guard’s mercy. The guard forced him backward with several swift stabs.

That this stranger had been on duty without Riddic’s knowledge was disturbing to him. Fourteen guards protected the King’s treasury and Riddic knew all of them. Their names, their weaknesses and even where they lived and who they bedded. For the first time in his career as a thief, Riddic feared for his life.

The guard’s blade bit into Riddic’s forearm as he attempted to outflank the man. Jumping back with a yelp Riddic clutched his bleeding arm.

In desperation, Riddic grabbed one of the King’s nearby trophies and threw it at the man. The guard sidestepped it but Riddic used the distraction to throw his weight upon the guard.

They fell to the ground together. The guard tried to stab Riddic through the side but Riddic held his sword arm pinned down with his left hand. With his right, he grasped the guard's helmet and rammed it into the ground.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Riddic rammed the helm into the wooden floor. At first, the impacts had no effect. The ferocity of Riddic's hammering wasn't to be denied. The repeated attack pulped the inside of the guard’s head. The skull and steel meant to protect the man became his undoing as the force reverberated, again and again.

Even after the man sagged and his face settled into the panicked snarl of certain death Riddic kept pounding.

When he stopped, his chest heaved, and he rolled onto the ground where he stared up at the ceiling. His lungs clawed oxygen into them as his body cried out in terror at its own asphyxiating hatred.

When his pulse calmed and his thoughts became more coherent, Riddic lifted himself onto his elbows and surveyed his handiwork.

Murder, pure and simple,ii he thought.

A heaviness set into his heart as he thought of the lives he had ended. Four men killed for a piece of circular gold. He closed his eyes as he lamented his actions. With a wavering resolve, he stood.

His hands trembling he reached out to the wooden box and lifted the lid.

Four deaths to deliver this to a more merciful King, he tried to comfort himself, I did this to end Arion’s tyranny.

He stared into the crown’s jewels, “A claim to the throne,” he said to himself thinking upon Dara’s words.

The temptation to place the crown upon his head reared within him. He wondered whether he would feel powerful with such responsibility weighing upon him.

The corner of his lips lifted as he recalled Dara sitting in the garden. She stared up at the stars; a pure look of wonder on her face. Or Dara when he had first seen her; nightgown spilling over her soft feminine curves as she paused in the corridor, seeing his shadowy figure trying to open the door to the treasury.

He felt a stirring in his heart. She had been beautiful in the garden, surrounded by beautiful things. But in the corridor that night she had not screamed nor run but drawn a dagger from her gown and tried to plant it between his ribs. The fearlessness in her eyes had been what first transfixed him. She was a woman not only in appearance but in spirit, as free and as fiery as the blazing sun.

The door to the treasury flung open behind him. Riddic’s eyes bulged as he spun, his mouth agape.

He blinked several times as the figure emerged through the doorway and resolved into Lemmy.

“What-” began Riddic.

“He knows,” said Lemmy, “He knows we’re not who we say we are and we’re here to steal the crown.”

Riddic’s was speechless as Lemmy closed the distance and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Riddic stood unmoving.

“Marnin’s dead,” she whispered as a sob racked her body.

A sense of cold flooded Riddic’s being as if the news had relegated his spirit to a snowy landscape of despair. “What happened?”

“The King returned, he came straight to us and started asking Marnin questions, he-” her voice broke as she stepped out of the embrace and fixed her tearful eyes upon Riddic, “Marnin said he’d hold them off for as long as he could but… He’s no swordsman, there was too many. I’m sure he’s…”

Riddic remained motionless as he thought of his friend. One of the first people he’d met when his family had fled Medea.

“I never got to tell him I loved him,” she said sobbing.

Riddic tightened his embrace upon her, allowing himself a moment to mourn his friend.

“We have to leave,” said Riddic, pulling away from Lemmy, “We have to escape now.”

With a monumental effort, Lemmy straightened her back and gathered herself.

Snatching the crown from its box he paused as Lemmy looked at him, “He’ll never stop chasing us,” said Lemmy, “If you take that he’ll hunt us until we’re dead or-”

“Or Elrad usurps him. If we don’t give this crown to Elrad so he can overthrow his brother than Arion will kill every man, woman and child that calls those barges homes. Marnin wouldn’t want that.”

She frowned but nodded, “Let’s go”

The pair ran out into the corridor and with little care who heard or saw dashed back toward the central section of the house. The corridors were wider and ornate compared to those the servants used. The wooden floor had long red carpets running along it framed with golden thread.

Riddic allowed Lemmy to lead him, knowing she knew better than he how to get to the grand staircase that would lead them back to the ground floor.

“Any ideas on how we escape?” asked Lemmy as she ran, “Your clothing isn’t exactly servant’s wear.”

“We’ll never get past the guards,” said Riddic as he ran, “We must take our chances in the maze.”

“The maze?” shrieked Lemmy, “No one but the King knows where the tunnel is that leads out of the maze.”

“Well, we will be the first to discover it.”

Lemmy looked unconvinced.

As they rounded the corner toward the main staircase Riddic paused.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Dara, I can’t leave her.”

Lemmy’s face twisted, grabbing Riddic by the sleeve she pulled him toward the stairs, “We don’t have time.”

Riddic shook his head and removed her grip. He lifted the crown and offered it to her, “Take the crown, I’ll meet you in the maze.”

The sound of a closing door in the distance caused them to jump.

“She’s not your problem Riddic. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said as if he was breaking her heart and her hopes, “I have to do this.”

Her eyes darted about the features of his face before she understood, “You love her?”

Riddic’s smile stiffened then he nodded.

Lemmy appeared like a raging ball of emotion. She went to say something then stopped herself. With a breath she allowed her shoulders to sink before saying “Keep the crown, I can change my face and escape with ease but not with that thing in my hand. Where will I meet you?”

“The rose gardens. It’s the first three lefts in the maze, I’ll meet you there.”

Her face flushed with an expression that said a thousand different things within a single second.

A sadness touched Riddic’s eyes as he nodded, “Go.”

Lemmy turned and two at a time descended the stairs.

Riddic passed the staircase and entered the East wing of the house. Housing the living quarters for both King and Queen this wing was even better furnished than the last. Riddic’s thundering pace carried him past paintings of heroes, sculptures of gods and leather seats. The seats seemed the most appealing as they yawned out from the wall begging for him to sate his exhaustion upon them.

He ignored them as he reached for the door handle to the Queen’s room.

Locked.

He jiggled the silver knob several times before he summoned his strength and kicked through the latch. The door swung inward and the Queen and her maids flinched.

“Riddic?” she stammered.

Sweeping toward the Queen the maids stepped between the two, “An assassin my Queen!” said one, “We’ll not let him harm you,” said another.

Riddic stopped as they produced daggers from their sleeves.

“Temyra, Klarth this is no assassin,” she said as she swept passed her would-be protectors.

“He’s the man from the garden,” said the third maid after a moment.

Temyra and Klarth blushed.

In a harsher tone than he intended Riddic said simply, “He knows.”

The Queen’s face turned from confusion to a wide-eyed horror as she grasped his meaning, “Oh,” was all she said.

“We’re escaping. I want you to come with me.”

“Me?”

“If you don’t and he discovers you helped me, he will kill you,” said Riddic who after a moment stepped forward and took Dara’s hands. The maids gasped and averted their eyes. “Dara, please do this for me. I cannot go on knowing you forced me to live without you.”

She was about to say something when Temyra surprised everyone with her words, “Go my lady.”

Dara turned to look at the maid, “What?”

“I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn but… The King is a vicious man, and I’d sooner see you a fugitive than the subject of his torture.”

Dara looked at the other maids, “Is this how you all feel?”

They nodded.

She spun back to Riddic with her hands outstretched, “Has everyone lost all sense they would so offer me this counsel? He’s still my husband. Does that mean so little to you all?”

Riddic stepped toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder, “It means the world to me. I would put a ring upon your hand tonight if I could.”

“How can you say that when you would spirit me away from my husband?”

“Because I also believe we do not have to suffer our mistakes for the rest of our lives. Please, Dara, you must decide for the longer you delay the more likely the King will find me.”

Dara fell into a long moment’s pause. Her mind chewed upon each facet of the proposed problem. Like her eyes when they scanned the night sky for constellations did her mind now scan through a galaxy of possibilities searching for the brightest star of hope.

She drew a deep breath and without a word nodded.

Riddic’s heart pulsed joy, but it was short-lived for the needs of the moment pressed upon him, “Then you must come with me.”

Turning to her maids Dara said, “I want you all to leave the household tonight, I fear you may have to flee the city to escape Arion’s wrath.”

“It’s been a pleasure serving you my Queen,” said Tamyra.

“After tonight I’m no longer your Queen,” she smiled, “Call me Dara.”

The maids nodded with wry smiles.

“Come,” said Riddic extending his hand.

With a flicker of hesitation, Dara lifted her delicate hand and placed it within Riddic’s grip. Together the two of them left her chambers and made their way back to the staircase.

With as much speed as Dara’s dress would allow they descended the stairs. As they declined toward the ground Riddic tried not to think about Marnin. He had been the first Sylvian to befriend him when he had arrived. He soon found he shared more in common with him than with the other Medean nobles who had fled with his family.

The pain from losing him was overwhelming.

Riddic pushed it away knowing if he allowed himself to dwell then it would crush his resolve and he would share the same fate.

They stopped as the large oval-shaped atrium came into view. Skirting the room were white pillars lancing up from a marble floor giving the room a sense of grandeur.

Twenty archers with drawn bows and twenty swordsmen with gleaming steel stood between Riddic, Dara and the main doors. Leading the procession was Arion himself.

His eyes burnt with cruel delight as he lifted a dark object and flung it toward them. The object rolled, a streak of red upon the white marble floor, before it finally stopped.

Lemmy’s head.

Riddic’s throat caught and for a silent moment, he thought he might be sick.

“So Dara, it turns out you are the treacherous-” Arion’s words fell silent as he saw the crown in Riddic’s hand. Raising a finger to point at him he said, “Drop that now.”

Riddic’s hand tightened upon the crown and upon Dara.

“Drop it!” shouted Arion. When Riddic didn’t move, he said in a softer voice, “Give me the crown and I will let you live.”

Dara’s hand tightened upon Riddic’s and he understood her signal. Nodding Riddic held out his hand as if to throw the crown toward the King. Just before it left his grasp, his fingers caught and he snatched it back as he pushed Dara up the stairs.

Several arrows buzzed behind them and buried themselves in the wall.

Arion’s curse rang out behind them before the sound of steel boots thundering upon the floorboards devoured it.

“Where do we go?” asked Dara, her voice constricted with panic and barely audible but her eyes alight with fierce determination.

“We have to make it to the far western wall,” said Riddic through desperate breaths, “Then we still have a chance.”

They raced onto the second story and turned sharply. They stood in a long corridor which ended upon the western wall. A single window framed the black expanse of Lake Frelenor pressed against this side of the house.

Without stopping, they dashed up the corridor toward the window.

A gasp emnated from beside Riddic and then a weight pulled upon his hand. Dara’s fingers slipped from his.

Turning back to her he watched as she fell to the ground, an arrow protruding from her calf.

“No,” said Riddic as if he meant to reshape the world the Gods had made.

Reaching beneath her arms he lifted her back to her feet. Lending her his support they staggered toward the window. Behind him, he heard several other footsteps as more archers flooded onto this level.

Quarrels buzzed past him and Dara.

Another cry of pain.

One had buried itself in her back.

Unable to continue she crumpled to the floor less than a handful of steps from the window.

“We’re almost there,” said Riddic as he tried to carry her.

She shook her head, “I can’t,” she said.

Reaching out she placed a hand behind his head and drew him into a long kiss. Riddic felt his eyes sting with tears. Shaking his head he pleaded, “You have to get up, come on we can still do this.”

“Run Riddic, please I don’t want to see you die.”

Looking up the archers were reloading their bows as the ominous form of Arion came striding toward them. Sword drawn and ready.

Riddic looked back to Dara, “I love you, do you know that?”

She smiled, “I love you too. Now run.”

His throat dried even as his cheeks moistened. Like an arrow driven into his heart, he watched as Dara’s eyes closed and her lungs faltered before they drew no further breath.

Laying her upon the ground he felt the sudden desire to kill the King and his men or at least die trying. He almost charged them but the crown in his hand kept him at bay.

They all had died for this crown. Marnin, Lemuela and Dara each believed getting it from the King and preventing the destruction of the barges was a worthier cause than a satisfied life.

Riddic knew he couldn’t place his satisfaction before his duty lest he became the very thing he was fighting to destroy.

With a vicious snarl, he stood and ran toward the window.

A shock of pain ran through his body as an arrow buried itself in his thigh. He stumbled as his right foot refused to take his weight.

The window was so close; a hole through which hope could shine. Just beyond the reach of an outstretched arm.

He wouldn’t be denied.

The pain was terrible, but he ignored it.

He ignored the sensation of the arrowhead as it rubbed against the bone of his leg.

With a tremendous effort, he hefted himself against the window. In a shattering of glass and a splintering of wood, he leapt from the window and fell to the icy water below.