We•Will•Rise

Chapter Seven

It's nearly sundown when we reach the backside of the castle. Nikolai, Barron, and I took the long way around the castle, through Thorn Row where the public execution slab sits. No one, including Sultans, hangs around that area. It's a place of bad vibes and all around tragic history. Not many people can stomach it enough to even pass around it. Which is fortunate for us because we make it to the castle with time to spare and no fighting for our lives.
I bring us directly to the bath houses of the servants that sit behind the castle. There's a row of them, shabby little things with a wooden board as a roof and clay as the walls. The servants will be coming out soon at the end of their shifts to bathe, so we have to make it quick.
We reach one of the doors and Nikolai opens it, holding it that way for Barron and I to pass through. When the door closes, our source of light disappears. But luckily, as an Imordal, we don't need it. My eyesight is vaguely good in the darkness, enough to make out what things are, but not any detail.
"The vat is in the center of the underground tunnels, I'll show you which entrance to take and you just keep going straight from there," I whisper as we take a left turn, "Remember, Nikolai, we meet at the edge of the forest and, Barron, you cause a distraction big enough to get everyone inside." I see Nikolai nod in response in the dark as Barron's teeth shine with a smile.
"Your little fire will work as one just fine." He snorts, the sound echoing off of the walls. I shoot him a glare and he mouths his apology.
We make it to the fork of the servants' hall, one way leading down into the underground system and the other into the dining hall. The dining hall is out of the way of where I need to be, but I had no choice if I wanted to get them two on the right path to the vat. It isn't ideal, but it had to be done.
I crane my head to look at them. "Go straight down there and you'll see it. Use the same passage to get out. You have about an hour before the servants start coming." They both nod in understanding and take the fork in the hall, their forms disappearing down the dark path.
I sigh, facing the old, cracked door. Here goes nothing.
I push it open into a dimly lit room. The room—like most in the castle—is massive, with a stained, oak dining table that is easily several yards long. Fancy golden chairs with vibrant red cushions line the table's length, and matching red placemats sit in front of each one. The room has the usual golden curtains on its windows and brown walls with candles and lanterns lining them. Besides the table and chairs, the room is empty.
I make my why across the marbled floor and to the opening in the room. The hall is empty, as I expected it would be. The servants as well as the other castle inhabitants would be far too busy with the wedding to be on the far eastern wing.
I quickly step out into the hallway, taking a right and nearly breaking into a sprint towards the stairs. The sun sets outside of the windows, casting my lengthy shadow across the ground as I dart through the castle. I take the winding stairs two at a time when I reach them, praying no one else comes down from the other side.
These stairs lead directly to the seventh floor, the resident hall, where the Queen's council and their families sleep, such as the Sultan Chief and Lord Commander. When I was younger, the maze of the castle would call out to my adventurous spirit and curiosity, I never thought about how odd it's actually built. The castle seems to have been thrown together in a frenzy since the Queen made her "renovations". She added rooms and staircases that aren't even used often, such as this one, or only lead to one place at a time. I guess it's fair to say design isn't her calling, but then neither is being a Queen.
I reach the seventh floor hall without a problem, but here is where it gets tricky. These halls are normally quite busy with servants, maids, and residents walking about. But tonight it's awfully quiet thanks to the wedding, which seems to be for and against us. Only two unarmed Sultans roam the floor, their voices drifting from where I stand behind the wall of the stairs. I can tell they're Sultans by their light steps and confident stride that belongs to only a warrior. I recognize one of them as Friezer Ghalhome, a newer recruit with a soft voice and boyish bounce to his walk. He had danced with me for my birthday celebration, which my father had spared no expense for. Now, that seems like a lifetime ago instead of a meger five months.
They walk past the stairs none the wiser to where I stand hidden in its shadows against the wall, their voices slowly drifting further and further down the hall until even I can no longer hear them. Only then do I move from my safe spot in the dark.
I jog quickly down the castle corridor with a purpose, my eyes catching on the door that used to be my bedroom. A feeling of loss hits me like weight, dragging me to a stop. I long to go inside the comforts of it, the place that used to be solely mine where Leria would come and bring me books from the library and we'd sit in content as I'd read them to her. But those days are long gone, and those clothes and shiny trinkets of the room belonged to another girl. One that still had the naivety of a child and hadn't killed with her own hands. It had only been days ago, but felt like a lifetime. I swallow the lump in my throat and push the feeling of longing down, way down where it's feeling can only be a memory, and start walking again.
My father's room is four doors down from mine and across the hallway. My first instinct is to knock, and I lift my hand and everything before I realize that is a ridiculous idea. The chances of him being inside on the eve of the princess's wedding is slim, but I can't push away  the ache in my heart that hopes that isn't the case. I drop my hand to the knob and turn, opening the door a crack and peaking inside. The setting light of the sun is the only light in the room, basking everything in an orange glow. Everything is how I remember it, his massive bed with bed posts that stretch high against the wall, the armoire across from it and a red oak chest against the window filled with weapons that he no longer has a use for. Other, decorative, weapons hang against the western wall, along with the Grimstone sword and dagger.
I enter, slipping through the small crack I made in the door and closing it behind me. I walk towards the Grimstone sword and its matching dagger. The sword is a sight, one that always caught my attention as a beautiful weapon. The blade is Colford steel, lined and tipped at its edges with the black Grimstone gem. The hilt is solid metal, wrapped in a beautiful black cloth to match the Grimstone on its blade. The pommel is round, and at its center sits a black Grimstone gem in its pristine glory. The sheath, decorated with the words of prayer and a howling wolf at its center, is all fine leather. The dagger looks the exact same as the sword, but the sheath is solid black leather missing the sewn on words. I reach my hand up to take it from where it hands against the wall, but a voice stops me.
"Alaya," the sound of my name is gruff and warm, and utterly familiar. My hand falls and I turn, facing my father where he enters from his bathing room. I can't stop what happens next, even if any part of me wanted to.
"Father," my voice is a hoarse whisper as I run to his open arms. His embrace is like it always is, strong and reassuring, as his arms wrap around my waist. The tears start to fall then, and an ugly cry escapes from my mouth. He soothes me, brushing down my hair with a large, calloused hand.
"There, there, my little lion," he says, his voice forced in his effort not to join my tears. We stay in an embrace for longer than I should allow, but I find it hard to pull away, harder than anything I've done before. But I finally manage to step back and out of his comforting grip, my hand reaching out for his as I hold it in a stern grip. I take in the droop of his mouth and how his weight leans heavily against the cane. I feel my gift stirring heavily in my stomach, its warmth flowing into my hands, searching for his source of pain. But there is none, no hot searing feeling or even a warm one.
"You don't hurt?" I ask, releasing his hand and cupping his face. My warmth moves across his cheeks, down through his muscle and bone, only to find nothing.
"No, my little lion, I don't hurt." He gently pulls my hands away, holding them in his own. "I know what you're thinking, this isn't Queen Lavina's doing. It is a side effect from that night, the Healer says."
"That—that doesn't make sense," I say, shaking my head. "I healed you."
"It's okay, darling, truly. I've grown to manage it. You saved my life and that is enough. Something you shouldn't have done." His tone grows impatient. "You knew better, I taught you better. Why didn't you just let me die?"
"Let you die?" My voice comes out louder than I intended and I take in a deep breath, speaking lower, "How could you ask me to do that?"
"Because your safety is far more important than mine, daughter."
"Not to me, it isn't. You are all I have, I wasn't going to lose you, no matter the cost." My grip on his hand tightens and I change the subject to something we can actually do something about, the reason that I'm here. "Father, they're coming. Tonight we suspect."
He curses, "Are you sure about this, Alaya? Are you sure someone hasn't fed you false information?"
"I suppose we will find out shortly," I release his hands, mine going to my hips. "But as Lord Commander I think you of all people understand the saying of better safe than sorry."
"That I do," he nods, his eyes going to something behind me. I follow his gaze to the Grimstone sword. "I suppose you came here tonight for that."
I nod my head. "I did. What are you doing up here anyway?"
"After my disagreement with the Sultan earlier during your escape, she had me put on room arrest. I'm surprised no one was guarding my door. She no longer trusts me, and I can assure you she will be placing the title of Lord Commander on someone more fit than I."
"You are the most fitting of that title, Father," I assure him, though it pains me to say it. I don't enjoy thinking of my father as a conqueror, especially since I've been out long enough to meet people it directly affected. But there's nothing I can do about it now, and I won't turn my back on my father for following the Queen's commands. Like Nikolai said, it's the thought behind the actions, not just the actions. "Regardless, it turns out to be a good thing. I don't want you out of this room tonight. At all. When—or if—they do come, you need to be safe."
"My days of fighting aren't over because of this, Alaya," he says, giving a ruthless smile, "I have fought what some would call losing battles and still come out on top."
"Well, if it comes to that then," I say, not wanting to think about that scenario. "Either way, stay here. I will come for you when it's safe and we can leave the castle together." I pause, Barron's face coming to mind at my words. "Why didn't you tell me I have a brother?"
His smile disappears and his eyes start to get glossy. "You've met him?" He asks after a moment.
"I have. He is wonderful, Father," I boast, "A brave man, stubborn like the both of us. He has a beautiful, albeit mean, wife and a precious daughter named Isabel. You're a grandfather," I say excitedly. He takes in a sharp breath at my words, a tear falling down his cheek. It quickly swipes it away with the back of his hand.
"So many times I wanted to tell you, so many things I wish I could have done differently. But you must understand, he was out of wedlock, I would have been shamed from my position had anyone known."
"It's not me you have to explain this to, Father, and you will get the chance. I promise." I interlock our hands and give his a squeeze before dropping them. "He looks just like you."
He sniffles quietly and swipes his eyes again with his fingers. My eyes go to the window where the sun sits far down in the west. The light in his room has dimmed drastically, enough to make it difficult to see the details of his features.
An ache settles into my bones, but I plaster a smile on my face. "I must leave now. I swear it, I will be back."
"Go, my little lion. Your people need you." He says as I walk back to the sword and take it from the wall. It's strangely light unlike the heavy weapons of the Sultans, and I quickly sheath it, swinging it over my shoulder. I grab the dagger next, sheathing that as well and knotting it against my thigh. "Alaya," he calls as I start to leave the room. I turn to face him and a wicked smile forms on his lips, "Destroy them all."