KGWrites

Violet

Throne Room, Falcon’s Nest Palace, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron

Violet rubbed at her eyes and stifled a yawn. Sleep was becoming a luxury she was rarely able to take, and she was certainly paying for it. Whether kept awake pacing her room and waiting for Zephyr to return, or by the sounds of the Accursed wandering the halls outside and the terrifying worry of what she would do if they decided to break in.

And even when she did sleep, she suffered endless nightmares that tore at her mind and left her waking screaming and drenched in sweat.

She gently slapped her hand against her cheek a couple of times, the light stinging pulling her from the haze over her mind. Sweeping her hair back from her head and straightening her back, she folded her hands in front of her. The very model of a proper courtier of Aldiron.

Even if that court felt so wrong.

The throne room of Aldiron had once been a bright space, of hanging green banners and sunlight filtered in through the high windows. Now those windows were dull beneath the winter sun and no banners flew above the hall. There was barely any lighting, the iron chandeliers that had once hung over the central aisle had all been removed at her father’s insistence. Though Violet imagined that he had a good enough reason for their removal, given that Iona had nearly crushed him with one during his coup of the palace.

A shame it had only been nearly.

Violet glared at her father, stood tall at Draconeus’ left-hand side as the demon sat back in the throne, still seemingly proud of his betrayal of all he had once stood for. He, like Violet herself, was surrounded by an honour guard of the second legion’s soldiers.

On Draconeus’ right, lounging in the small secondary throne that had once been Iona’s, was the newly retitled Lord Aaron Trident. With a practiced expertise, Trident was spinning a thin stiletto knife around the fingers of his remaining hand. His missing arm was tossed up behind his head, allowing him to casually lean back against the stump. One leg was lazily thrown over the other as he watched the room. He reminded Violet of a hunting hound, picking out the prey ready to bolt from the herd. She made sure to hold his gaze when it passed over her. In place of the constant guard her father travelled with, Trident was only accompanied by one man, Spyder Xeros.

Though that mountain of a man was likely as effective alone as all the legionnaires in the room. Violet had heard plenty of stories of the effectiveness of the man that had once practically ruled the Winter District, and of the heavy mace at his side.

Draconeus himself sat forwards in the throne of Aldiron, his cold dead eyes intensely staring over the top of his steepled fingertips at the soldiers giving him a report of the battle against the rebellion. He never spoke, his face didn’t even move, he barely seemed to breathe.

“Only a few survived to be captured My Lord, and those that did… aren’t exactly talkative. Leastways not to us.” The soldier was saying. If she could be called a soldier. She was one of Trident’s militia, wearing armour made of patchy leather and wielding a gently curving blade that struck Violet as more of a butcher’s knife than a sword.

Draconeus hummed in response, sighing like he had just been told the ale keg in an inn was empty. Then he sat forwards, placing his palms on his knees.

“As disappointing as it is to see their resistance remain it is not… unexpected. Have the survivors brought to the palace dungeons. We’ll consider what the outcome of their treason will be.” He said, his voice calm and slow and echoing off the throne room’s silent, darkened walls. The soldiers before him nodded and bowed. Violet tutted and folded her arms, their bows were shaky, unrefined. They wouldn’t have been fit for the palace keepers, let alone the one sitting the throne. Even if he wasn’t meant to be there.

As the soldiers hurried from the throne room, another entered, a soldier of the second legion. He gave the leaving militia a derisive look as they passed him before reaching the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne and bowing. Properly.

“My Lord, forgive the intrusion but there are people here from outside the city. They’re requesting an audience with you.” The soldier reported quickly, keeping his eyes low and not looking at Draconeus, though out of respect or fear, Violet couldn’t say.

“Why should I entertain such an audience? I have little patience for the outer reaches of the kingdom while the city itself openly rebels.” Draconeus asked, his tone bored and disinterested.

“They claim they have information on the whereabouts of Princess Iona Ravellan.” The soldier replied quickly. Aaron Trident scoffed.

“We get a hundred such reports from within the city alone. My Lord, do not entertain this-.” He was cut off with a simple hand movement from Draconeus, falling silent instantly.

“From within the city. Very few come from without. I wish to hear what this one says. Show them in.”

The soldier nodded, turning back to the door and nodding to the other members of his unit stood by it. Turning, they opened the door and ushered in a group of five people, surrounding them and escorting them all down through the central aisle towards the throne.

Soon enough, they were close enough that Violet could make out details of them. A pair of well-toned but still wrinkled old men flanked a middle-aged couple. The man was equally broad shouldered, with a long black beard. The woman meanwhile was plain and unremarkable compared with the beauties that Violet had grown up around in court.  She had a freckled face, with reddened cheeks from working outside all her life. Her hair was ginger, though less bright and flaming like Iona’s, more of a dull orange.

The man walked with his hand on the shoulder of a young boy, barely into his teenage years. The boy kept his wide, terrified eyes on the crowd around them, not looking at Draconeus. He had the same strong bearing of the man, but the dull red hair of the woman. A family, Iona realised, at least, the three at the front.

They reached the bottom of the dais, the family all dropped to one knee before Draconeus. Though, even from her distance at the side of the hall, Violet could see the flexing of the man’s arm as he pushed the boy down too.

He doesn’t want to be here. She realised.

Draconeus smiled, steepling his fingers again.

“Your reverence does you credit. Tell me, who are you? Where do you come from?” He asked. The two old men and the father raised their heads as the whole family straightened back up. The boy kept his eyes on the crowd, the mother remained looking at the floor.

“My name’s Owyn Marsh My Lord.” The father began, his voice strong and proud, even in the face of Draconeus. “My family and I come from Oakworth, to the north, at the edge of the Hunter’s Haven Forest.”

“I’m familiar with your town, you provide the lumber on which this great kingdom was built. Important work.” Draconeus replied, making Owyn swell with pride, his barrel chest rising. Then Draconeus’ mirth faded again as he refocussed on Owyn. “You say you saw the Princess? That you know where she is going?”

“Aye My Lord, we did.” Owyn replied with a nod.

“How can you be sure it was her?” Draconeus asked.

“She spoke all noble like. She had all the right looks too, the red hair and the beauty. And she had guards, a woman with a curved sword, an archer with three fingers on his hand and another that looked to be his sister.”

Goosebumps rose on Violet’s arms as she recognised the descriptions of Meghan, James and Alyx. Clearly Trident did too, judging by the way his hand suddenly stabbed the dagger he held down into the arm of his chair. Apparently, he hadn’t quite let go of his rage with the Cobalts.

“Plenty of beautiful women can be on the move in the countryside with some bodyguards.” Draconeus said dismissively, not turning to look at Trident. “What proof do you have that it was, beyond any doubt, the Princess?”

At this, Owyn’s hand tightened on the boy’s shoulder, and he gave him a soft shake.

“My lad, Randall, saw her up close.” He said, proudly announcing his son’s name for all the court to hear. Randall meanwhile, turned his eyes to his father, silently begging him not to make him tell whatever he knew.

But a muscle in Owyn’s jaw flexed beneath his beard and he subtly tightened his grip on his son’s shoulder.

“Go on now, tell his Lordship what you told us. There’s a good lad.” Owyn said, his tone reassuring. But Violet felt the menace beneath it. Her fingertips tightened on her arms as her body began to itch, screaming at her to move to the boy’s defence.

Randall lowered his eyes from his father, but did not raise them to look at Draconeus. “I met her before… at a festival outside the city. I was small then, and she was a teenager, but I remembered her eyes. Pretty… and kind.”

That last part was said with a glare in his father’s direction. Violet smirked, glad the kid could get licks in. She knew the rage he felt, all too well.

Draconeus’ head tilted to the side as he examined the boy. A grey tongue, as colourless and dead as the rest of his flesh, ran across his teeth.

“If that is true, would you mind helping us a little further? See I have a friend, who can verify what you say to be true. If you allow them to work with you?” Draconeus said after a moment.  Violet narrowed her eyes, she wasn’t aware of any others that had arrived with Draconeus, just his Accursed warriors.

Randall looked to his parents again, unsure. But his mother didn’t so much as look in their direction, instead battling her own private demons as she stared at the floor. His father though, nodded encouragement. And so, the boy lifted his gaze towards Draconeus and nodded slowly, his face unsure.

Draconeus sat back and smiled. Then, without warning, he made an odd sound. The best Violet could describe it was as a sound halfway between the hiss of a serpent and the bark of a dog. But even the sound of the words felt wrong, like pins and needles spread across her ears just from hearing it, it pressed at Violet’s temples like the worst migraine.

Across the hall, a figure stepped out from the crowd, causing a ripple of surprised murmurs to spread. Violet’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw the well-groomed blonde goatee and styled hair of Lord Kristophe Savoie, one of the inner-city courtiers that had been in the palace since she’d been born.

Another traitor? Just like father.

But that didn’t make any sense. During the fighting within the palace, Violet had specifically seen Lord Savoie leading a charge against the arriving Accursed. He’d bought time for another group to flee. Surely that couldn’t have been a ploy?

Savoie looked briefly to Draconeus as he emerged, and a toothy grin split his features as they exchanged a quick nod. It was too wide, like someone smiling if they had only ever been told what a smile looked like. Then Savoie turned his gaze to Randall and the family, moving towards them at a leisurely stroll. The hairs on Violet’s neck stood on end, something was different with him. Something was wrong.

Randall backed up, eyes watching the approaching figure like a wounded prey animal watches the approach of a predator. His father clearly sensed something too, tightening his grip on the boy and pulling him closer as he locked eyes with Savoie.

Savoie came to a stop, then tilted his head to the side, eyes unblinking as he stared at Owyn, then past him to Randall. He made a humming sound.

And then he changed.

The sound was the first indicator. The sound of ripping and tearing as Savoie’s skin split apart at the seams. It tore away from the sides of his mouth, splitting around the head and sinking away. The fingertips broke open as longer fingers pushed through their ends. The broken skin and clothes seemed to sink back into the body of… whatever was now emerging from within the cocoon that Savoie’s skin had become.

Then came the sound of bones snapping and cracking, echoing off the walls of the throne room as Savoie’s arms stretched and twisted. They hung down now past his waist, the long fingertips, each ending in sharpened nails like claws, reached his knees. His whole body swelled and stretched as the skin beneath boiled and bubbled. He… it stood taller now than even Spyder Xeros, at least seven feet.

The creature stretched out its arms, like someone awakening from a long sleep. Its skin was a sickly golden colour, like a half-healed bruise, and mottled with dark veins running across its body. The surface was not smooth like the skin of any creature that Violet had ever seen but instead rose and fell in bumps and droplets and valleys, like the wax of a half-melted candle. It shone in the faint, flickering torchlight, the sheen of sweat.

It turned its gaze across the hall as it stretched, allowing Violet a chance to see its face. Gods, how she wished she hadn’t.

It was completely bald, with its head simply a continuation of that horrific skin that covered the rest of its body. The nose was simply another bump, but one pierced by two knifelike slits that opened and closed with its breathing. It had no mouth, not even a thin line split the skin of its lower face. In fact, it had no chin or jawline at all, the neck simply carried on up and, at some point, became the head.

The eyes though, the eyes were worst.

Twin dark pits, as wide as Violet’s palm, looked out from the muddled flesh of its head. They were like someone had reversed the normal colours of anyone’s eyes. The outside was the deep black void, matching the pupils. The pupils themselves were not the normal round dots either, but rather long wavy lines that crossed the eyes horizontally. The irises held the pale white colour of a normal person’s corneas, splashed across with the spiderwebbing scarlet of terribly bloodshot eyes.

Someone screamed, Violet wasn’t sure if it was her.

She knew this thing though, anyone from Aldiron that had been raised on stories of Draconeus and his demonic armies from Shetani would. It had haunted them since the earliest days. The Shapechanger, the Life Thief, the Assassin Demon.

The Other Face.

The Other Face turned its attention away from the crowd, turning back to Randall and his family. The boy was actively weeping now, cowering amongst his fellows. The two old men had taken a step back, faces pale. Randall’s mother now stood over her son, holding him to her chest. His father stood between them and The Other Face, glaring up at the monster, fists clenched.

The creature reached a long arm forward, as if to reach past Owyn and take hold of Randall, but Owyn batted it away. The limb fell limply back to its side, as if it put no effort into holding it up and it tilted its head again, regarding Owyn. Behind it, Draconeus sighed in exasperation.

“Do not worry, they mean the boy no harm. They possess the power to look through his memories, they will find the memories of the times with the princess and verify what he says is true. If it is, then you will be rewarded as befits the service you have provided our fine kingdom. If not, then I’m afraid you came a long way for nothing. Either way, no-one will harm you, nor your son, here.” He explained, the mention of the reward causing Owyn’s head to snap back to him. But Draconeus held up a hand, pointing it at Owyn.

“That being said, should you continue to resist, or attack my courtier again, then I will have to consider you treasonous. And the Accursed warriors will be forced to seize you. I must warn you, they are… poor with taking prisoners gently. I trust we understand each other.”

Owyn looked up at The Other Face again, his gaze sceptical.

“It won’t hurt him?” He asked.

“They won’t hurt anyone. They are simply going to ascertain whether you did indeed meet the Princess. Once done, you will be rewarded.” Draconeus replied, his voice comforting and calm. Though Violet detected an edge to it when Owyn again referred to The Other Face as “it”.

Owyn looked from Draconeus, to the looming monster, to his son, and back. Then he sighed, stepped up to his wife and lifted her by the shoulders, pulling her away from Randall. She began to fight and scream out her son’s name as he was pulled from her grasp, but her husband held fast, speaking quickly and softly into her ear. Violet couldn’t hear what was said, but she continued to struggle even as Owyn held her tight.

Randall looked up at The Other Face as the monster stepped forward. He seemed rooted to the ground with fear as its long fingered hands took his head between them with a surprising gentleness.

“Do not resist boy. This will soon be nothing but a hazy memory.” Draconeus called out, with a half chuckle, as if there was some joke in that statement. Violet didn’t see the funny side.

All was silent for a while, besides the grunts of Owyn and his wife as she fought to reach her son. The Other Face looked into Randall’s eyes, its dark orbs unblinking. Randall’s own eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and his mouth fell limply open.

A second later, it released him. Randall collapsed like a ragdoll, tumbling to the floor. Unconscious or dead, Violet couldn’t tell. But the sound of snapping and twisting bones and flesh came again and Violet watched as The Other Face twisted and shifted and shrank until there was a second Randall standing above the limp one, his hands clasped behind his back and his back straight as he stood at attention, looking towards Draconeus.

Randall’s parents scrambled to their limp son, the mother screaming his name while the father whirled to Draconeus, fists clenched and face scarlet with rage as he prepared to scream out his anger.

But Draconeus simply held up a finger. “I believe you will find your boy is simply sleeping. He will likely be thirsty when he wakes, perhaps have a headache but he is otherwise undamaged. I’m afraid those lovely memories of his encounters with the beautiful princess will be lost to him forever though. The cost of giving us the truth.”

Owyn looked ready to leap at Draconeus, to tear his throat out with his teeth. But something still held him as he looked to his wife, who gave him a half nod, confirming Draconeus’ words. Slowly he lowered his fists.

Draconeus turned his attention to the second Randall. The Other Randall.

“It was her.” Randall confirmed, his voice prim and proper, crisply accented with no trace of the countryside accent he had spoken with earlier. “She left in a cart with her guardians, headed northwards, towards Blueholdt.”

Draconeus smiled. “Good. Thank you.” The Other Randall nodded in response. He still hadn’t blinked.

Draconeus returned his attention to Owyn and the villagers. “Thank you, for bringing this to my attention. You may have just helped our kingdom become much safer. My men will escort you to somewhere where you can wait for Randall to wake, we will provide any services you need in the meantime. Afterwards, they will take you to the treasury, to receive your payment.” His voice was reasonable, with no hint of deception or cruelty. And yet, Violet was certain that as the family was led from the throne room, they would never return home to Oakworth.

Draconeus looked to The Other Face again. “Go north, pick up the trail and find them. You may finish the others in whatever way pleases you most, but the Princess comes back alive and undamaged. You may wear whatever forms you please.” He ordered and The Other Face bowed stiffly. Then it looked down at its hands, at Randall’s hands.

“I think perhaps, I will keep this one for a time. It has been a while since I wore a flesh so young.” It replied. Draconeus tilted his head in a shrug of indifference.

“As you please. Now go.” He ordered and Randall obliged, turning and striding with a strange, almost mechanical gait from the throne room.

Violet’s heart hammered in her chest. Draconeus had just set a creature that haunted the children’s stories of all Aldiron, one of the only other remaining demons, out after Iona and the others. And they would have no way to see it coming. She needed to reach out to Marius, to update the rebellion on what had happened.

She was just about to leave the throne room, to flee from the nightmares, when Draconeus spoke again, addressing her father and Trident.

“When they find the princess, when she is returned to her home, the city must be calm. Obedient. You two must pacify it, do whatever you need to.” He told them. Her father saluted, and Trident grinned, pulling the knife from the arm of his throne and playing with it again.

A steely certainty settled into Violet’s chest as she glared at them both. Draconeus may be sitting the throne, but his power over the city was not of his making. If the rebellion was to survive, if they were to be successful, then these two heads must be cut from the dragon.

Marius and Haster couldn’t do it though. They would be too busy fighting their guerilla war against the second legion and the militia. No, this was a mission someone else would need to undertake. Someone closer at hand.

Violet clenched her jaw and strode from the room, looking down at the striking cobra sewn into the wrists of her dress’ sleeves. The symbol of the Hills family, like Meghan Whiteoak’s tree, or the Cobalts cats, or the Ravellan falcon.

Her father may have cowed to the dragon, but there was still one snake left in the Nest with enough venom on her fangs to bite.