The Princess and the Blood of Eternity

Chapter 21: An Execution

Cleo woke to the sound of feet. His body hurt. Every inch felt bruised and beaten, like he'd gone swimming in the surf along a rocky, coastal cliff.

Moving his tongue, he tasted blood, metallic and thick, and his head rang like a gong dropped on a stone floor. The pain he could deal with. It was slowly becoming a common theme in his uncommon life. The real problem came from the lingering anticipation, the chronic sense of dread, and it had nothing to do with a dream or terrible memory from his childhood.

He opened his eyes to the view of green plant growth. The smell of plants and earth filled his nostrils. Both were pointedly foreign to what his life living on the ocean.

His body slid of its own volition as a pair of rough hands dragged him across an open expanse of manicured grass. Grass, a preposterous idea. Most islands lacked the space for their people, let along enough for soil and ground to cultivate for the necessary food of a burgeoning population. And for someone to grow an inedible plant, the idea should be ridiculous. And yet the lack of land was why traders like Cleo existed, in so far, that they brought food and supplies from one place to another.

Slowly, his blurry vision cleared enough to orientate himself. A powerful gust of wind hit the grass, bristling the individual blades. Beyond that sat a stone tiled balcony, railings, decorative vases, and incremental steps that led to the multiple levels of balcony that disappeared from his field of view. And past that, far in the distance, sat the wide expanse of ocean. Hundreds of feet up, the blue surface looked solid and peaceful, an unending field of liquid.

The sound of wind left him with a lingering sense of exposure that bordered on the edge of vertigo. He'd never been good with heights. The setting suggested he was still on Mont Qerath, outside and behind the palace.

Trying to move revealed his arms and hands were bound, and they had a rope wrapped around his chest, squeezing his arms against his sides. A second line held his wrists together. The rope was tight enough to leave his fingers numb and swollen.

"I think he's waking up," said a scratchy voice that Cleo didn't recognize.

Rough hands turned him over, revealing a blue sky, and a man dressed in a blue uniform. The stranger leaned over to fill Cleo's vision. Sweaty sunburned face, splotchy, fat cheeks, and light blonde hair. His clothes marked him as a palace guard. The hard look in his eyes said he wasn't there to cut Cleo's bonds and release him.

Cleo tried to remember events as they'd happened. An hour after Lilith and the others had escaped the docks and headed to the palace, a group of guards had showed up to arrest him. Led by a short fella, bald, and dressed in black clothes and white stockings, they claimed, under the authority of the Matriarch, that they were detaining Cleo for injuring the princess and threatening her life.

How they had come to that conclusion was anyone's guess. The possibility seemed absurd because Quinn and the others couldn't have reached the palace yet, and if they had—it had only happened within the last few minutes. Not to mention the assurance from Cassandra that she would protect their secret. The whole scenario seemed beyond absurd.

Marius hadn't interfered with his detention, choosing to remain mute and disconnected on the ship. Ural and Agis had shouted their objections, demanding an explanation for his arrest. Their questions had remained unanswered. The stoic look and palace livery of the guards seemed to mask their feelings on the matter. They were there to do a job and follow orders and nothing else.

The guards warned the crew that they would remain on their ship and wait for further details. Failure to do so would cause their arrest as well, and if they tried to flee, they would destroy their craft before they could reach the mouth of the harbor. An array of fixed nine-foot cannons had them in focus.