KGWrites

Violet

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

Once again, Violet found herself at the centre of a throng of people all brought to bear witness to Aldiron’s new ruler and, once again, she wished she could be anywhere else in the world.

The throne room was filled near to bursting. The last time Violet had seen it this filled had been the day that her father and Marius had returned to report that Draconeus had defeated the legions at the Ramm and was marching on Aldiron. The beginning of the end.

And now the end was here, sat in a throne that should never have held him.

Draconeus looked, as ever, somewhat impassive to the crowd around him and to the throne he sat on. Like his mind was distracted by something elsewhere. Violet could make a good guess at what was weighing on him.

My own abilities with alchemy pale in comparison to Draconeus’. The strained, nasal voice of the apothecary in the dungeons came to her, along with the stench of rot and waste. Violet stomach turned over in her chest and she held her breath for a minute, holding back the bile in her throat. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard and breathed deeply through her nose until the feeling passed.

When it mercifully faded, Violet opened her eyes once more. Only to find herself staring straight into the eyeless mask of an Accursed warrior. The crowd must have pushed the beast closer to her as it moved through them. Violet’s nostrils filled with the stench of dried, rotten blood and she swallowed hard again as the bile rose anew.

The monster twitched unnaturally, like a puppet someone was jerking the strings of. And it giggled to itself, a scratchy, high pitched whining sound. A sound that mixed strangled pain with blissful amusement.

Aaron Trident’s enraptured screams rose in Violet’s mind, and for a while all sound in the throne room was drowned out. The room around her faded and she felt herself swaying. The Accursed was the only thing she could see ahead of her, to either side was darkness. Blackened cells with iron bars. Violet couldn’t see inside of them, but she knew keenly what was there. To one side was the decaying mass of flesh that had once been Randall, the boy from Oakworth. And to the other was the source of the screams, Aaron Trident, twisted and corrupted, until he resembled nothing of the man he had once been and everything of the monster that had lain beneath.

And then a hand found hers, and squeezed tight.

Her vision cleared, revealing the throne room once more. Ahead, the Accursed prowled off through the crowd. Turning her head, Violet saw that Aliss had pushed past her guards and was now stood with her fingers tightly wrapped around Violet’s hand. She squeezed again and gave Violet a concerned look. Steadying herself, Violet gave a nod that she hoped was reassuring. Given that Aliss didn’t let go, she had her doubts.

Sighing, Violet returned her gaze to the centre of the throne room, to the aisle forming at the centre where the soldiers of the second legion and Trident’s militia stood side by side, barring the crowd from spilling out into the aisle. At the foot of the stairs that rose to the dais bearing the throne was an honour guard of black armoured Accursed and officers of the second legion. To Draconeus’ left, standing proud as he always seemed to, was her father. He was clad in his second legion armour, a suit of interlocking steel plates that bore a twisting serpent of aqua blue topaz gems across the breastplate. His arms were clasped behind his back in a respectful stand to attention next to Draconeus.

Iona’s old throne sat conspicuously empty on Draconeus’ other side, another reminder of the mysterious disappearance of Aaron Trident. Not that Violet was in any way upset to see him missing from the chamber.

Violet’s breath caught and her head turned, along with everyone in the room, as the double doors at the end of the throne room swung open with a deep rumble. There was no announcement from a page like there should have been, just a heavy, expectant silence.

Spyder Xeros walked in first, clad in armour far finer than a beast like him had any right to wear. Behind him were similarly clad warriors, the best and brightest of Trident’s militia. They wore the armour like it was foreign to them, clanking and scraping as they walked. In another time it would be comical. Now though, Violet found it horrifying.

Following behind the group came a collection of people, clad in all sorts of outfits, from noble finery to practical armours. Men, women, all different heights and colours and creeds. Only two things unified them as a group. The first was the disorganisation of their looks in and of itself. Violet had lived and breathed fashion of Aldiron from the moment she could order dresses from maids, only those expressly trying to be their own person in a group of similar people would dress so distinctly from their peers. In a way, it became a uniform of its own.

The second unifying factor however was far clearer. Each of them wore a short cloak that covered their left arms. The cloth was deep navy blue with white patterning at the edges, like the crests of wave in the ocean. Though each of them bore a different coat of arms in the centre of their cloak, the cloaks themselves were the symbol.

The navy and white of the free city of Blueholdt and its Sea Lords’ Council.

Twenty-one people in total wore the cloaks, and Violet remembered her tedious lessons in diplomacy. The droning voice of her tutor telling her that the council held twenty-one seats. It seemed every member had decided to come see what the new ruler of Aldiron wanted from them.

Reaching the front of the hall, Spyder and his followers dipped forwards into half bows that would have seen Violet chided for impropriety in her youth. Draconeus however, simply returned the gesture with a dismissive wave of his hand, having his honour guard line part so that he could address the Sea Lords directly.

“Welcome, captains of Blueholdt, to Aldiron. I thank you for answering my summons so promptly.” Draconeus began, that unusually casual tone made even stranger by the eloquence of his words.

On the floor before him, one captain stepped forwards. A barrel chested man with bearing a thick beard and a proud expression.

“We’ve answered no summons Draconeus, because that chair you’re sat in has no rule over us. In case you have forgotten.” He proclaimed, his deep voice booming off the walls of the throne room. Murmurs started in the crowd, and Violet could see why. It may have been a stupid tactic, fuelled by pride over anything, but it certainly left her and those around her admiring the man’s tenacity.

Draconeus though, ran his hand across his jaw and cocked an eyebrow. He looked the man slowly up and down, then glanced back behind him at the other captains.

“And yet… here you are.” He said eventually with a low chuckle. Around the room, the Accursed echoed the sound, a deathly rumble that ran through the crowd, silencing all the murmurs as quickly as they had began.

The captain’s chest swelled and his cheeks reddened. For a moment, Violet wondered whether he intended to argue back again against Draconeus. But clearly some clarity found him and he instead bowed his head and stepped back amongst his peers.

Draconeus leaned forward in his throne. “My memory is not so short as to forget you all represent a people that gained independence from the rule of Aldiron. I expect you all believe that I intend to reclaim your city into my kingdom. But that is not the case.”

He sat back again as the captains all looked up to him in shock, his fingers steepled in front of his chin.

“Blueholdt will retain its independence. In an alliance with the joint kingdom of Aldiron and Shetani. The council will remain the ruling body of the city, free to govern as it sees fit. Trade will resume between our realms as was held before the war and the span bridges will be open to caravans travelling between Shetani and Aldiron.”

“However, to ensure that this relationship between us remains a positive one, I will require a representative of the Sea Lords’ Council, one of you, to join my own court here in Aldiron. To serve as my personal representative in decisions made by the council and to speak with the voice of the throne.”

Draconeus opened his arms towards the gathering before him, inviting their response, but they all remained still. They looked to each other, trying to gauge the responses of each of them.

“I hear no naysayers.” Draconeus began. “What say we start with the one who will join with me? Should any of you desire to serve in my court, let them step forward now and kneel before me.”

Again, the captains were unmoving, looking to each other. Until one of their number, a woman with a shaved head and a squared jaw, stepped forwards and dropped to her knee.

And that began it. One by one, some eight more of the sea lords stepped forwards and knelt before the throne, their heads bowed.

Finally, a man wearing teal blue leather armour stepped forward, his face grim. As he began to kneel though, the big bearded man from earlier found his voice once more.

“Crowe! You do this, then all the work your uncle ever did, all the prosperity and peace he wrought, you betray it all!” He bellowed at the armoured man. The man, Crowe, turned back to look at him with a grimace.

“Tide’s changed. If I keep my sails to the old winds, I’m sure as sunk.” He responded, though Violet believed she could detect a strain to his words. A struggle beneath the surface of his mind. Still though, Crowe’s words were enough to silence his companion and he quickly dipped into the same kneeling position of the others. Ten total of the sea lords now knelt before Draconeus, their eyes to the floor.

To Draconeus’ side, Violet saw her father wave his hand. Following this unspoken symbol, the honour guard of the second legion stepped forwards, towards the kneeling captains. A knot of dread began twisting in Violet’s chest.

“Eager number of you.” Draconeus observed with an amused grin. “That’s good. And as to the rest of you. I still require your acceptance of my terms. So then, what say you?”

There was a degree of expectation in his tone, like he was waiting for something. It took a second for the remaining captains to realise what. Violet felt her blood run cold, though she couldn’t say precisely what was wrong.

It dawned first on an old man with cropped hair the colour of salt. Slowly, he too dropped to one knee, mirroring the captains before him.

In the exact second he touched the ground, Draconeus spoke a command in his own language. And then everything happened at once.

Like hungry dogs let off the leash, the Accursed honour guards sprang forwards onto the sea lords unfortunate enough to still be standing. Screams of terror and torment echoed across the throne room as the monsters tore the remaining captains apart.

They didn’t touch the kneeling old man though, nor the ten kneeling captains that had stepped forwards. In fact, the old man was now being towered over by Spyder Xeros, acting as a bulwark against the slaughter around them. At one point an overexcited Accursed turned its attention towards the cowering prey, but before it could even step close, Spyder split its skull with his iron mace.

Soldiers of the second legion surged forwards too, grabbing the ten volunteer captains and pushing them to the ground with shocked cries. The captains fell forwards, splashing into the spilled blood of their one time associates as the legionnaires slapped iron cuffs around their wrists.

Screams of panic rose up from the crowd around the room and people began shoving past one another, looking for an exit.

Violet stayed still though, staring dispassionately at the massacre in the heart of Aldiron. It hadn’t shocked her like it had the others, she’d seen what Draconeus was capable of enough these past months to still be surprised. A small part of her wondered exactly when she had hardened to that, when the deaths had stopped being horrific and become just another fact of life. Another part didn’t care to know the answer.

Her gaze moved across the captured sea lords, landing on the armoured one, Crowe, and lingering for a second. His jaw was set and he shifted and struggled against the hold the legionnaires on his arms. His sandy hair was sticking to his face with the blood from the floor. But his eyes held the same lack of surprise and cold detachment that Violet felt in her own. She couldn’t tell whether to fear or respect him for it.

Draconeus rose from the throne, his fingertips still steepled together like a curled spider. He approached the bloody scene slowly.

“I should explain.” He said conversationally. “I find that a council of twenty-one voices serves only to muddy the waters. And that true efficiency is best achieved through as few as possible. And thus, the new Sea Lords’ Council shall only bear two seats. The seat of Blueholdt, and the seat of my representative.”

The captains in chains now turned to each other, as much as they could. They were realising what Draconeus truly meant. If there was to be only one seat for them, and ten of them had stepped forwards. Violet clenched her jaw.

“However, my rule rewards ambition and strength. And we have a crucible through which you can prove your devotion to those causes ready and waiting here in the city.” Draconeus finished before raising his voice to silence the din of panic within the crowd.

“Tomorrow we shall hold a great games at our arena! First it shall begin with the ascension of our new Sea Lord, as one of these ten brave volunteers rises high above the rest. And afterwards, the traitors that the efforts of Lords Trident and Hills have brought to justice shall face justice for their crimes.”

Haster. Violet’s memory flashed with the image of the Lord Captain, beaten and bruised, being dragged away to the dungeons to await a special games in the arena. It seemed the time had come for those games after all.

Draconeus’ attention returned to her father. “Grand Marshall Hills, see to it that our Sea Lords are shown to proper accommodations within the arena. And prepare your legion for tomorrow, it is a celebration of your success after all.”

Martyn Hills snapped to attention, his fist banging on his breastplate in salute. Violet sneered at him. Beneath her cloak, her fingertips rolled the stolen bottle of The Drowner poison between them as she eyed her father as he dragged the chained captains from the hall to their fates.

Conviction hardened in her chest.

Enough. This is enough now. This has to end.

Autumn District, Fallen Kingdom of Aldiron – Six Hours Later

Rain fell hard on Aldiron that night, the shadowy clouds of a storm twisting and roiling out over the sea to the west.

Violet barely noticed it as she glanced around the deserted streets, chewing nervously at the inside of her cheek.

She hadn’t dared venture out from the palace since the siege. Even before Draconeus’ occupation, Violet wouldn’t have considered entering the lower districts without at least some sort of escort. Iona had snuck out so often and while Violet had covered for her and gotten in trouble for her, joining her had never been a consideration. Iona was always braver than me.

Now though, Violet figured the lower city couldn’t be any worse than the dangers that surrounded her in the palace. Still though, she was grateful for the weight of the sword at her side. Even if she had very little idea on how to use it.

After the Sea Lords had been dragged away, Violet, along with most of the court, had fled the massacre they’d just witnessed. Once she’d returned to her apartment, Violet had wasted no time in writing and sending a letter to Marius and the rebels.

She’d written of the goings on in the palace, of the arrival, recruitment and massacre of the Sea Lords Councillors. She’d written of Draconeus’ decree, that the great games in the arena were being held the next day and that they would include the planned execution of Lord Captain Haster. She’d written that she would ensure a gate to the upper city was unlocked for a number of rebels to slip through. Most importantly to Violet herself though, she’d written that she would venture to a house where she, Marius and Iona had been sent as children to meet a tutor and that she wanted Marius to meet her there that night.

After Zephyr had taken flight into the sky bearing her message, Violet had started her preparations.

Firstly, she’d laid out her outfit for the games tomorrow. A tunic in her house’s sky blue, it was intended for days of travel spent riding horseback, and was far from the ostentatious dresses she usually prided herself on. She would bind it with a dark leather corset that perfectly concealed the long, thin bladed dagger that she would conceal beneath it. Her deep blue cloak would complete the look, complete with the secret pockets Aliss had sewn that would hide The Drowner within.

It would be a far cry from her usual level of beauty and adornments, a practical outfit that did not exhibit the daughter of the Grand Marshall in the expected light. And yet, given the events that would be taking place in the arena, Violet considered the fashion that she would be wearing should likely be far from anyone’s cares. It was simple and utilitarian, which was what she needed.

Tonight though, her outfit was very different. It was something kept deep in the closets of Violet’s chambers. A dark tunic made of scratchy wool was layered beneath a suit of cold steel plates that closed around Violet’s chest, arms and legs. A deep, muddy brown cloak was pulled tight around her, and a steel helmet managed to both hide her face and protect her from the lashing, freezing rain.

It was the armour of the second legion, a suit given to Violet from her father for any time he needed to showcase the Hills family dedication to their given legion. However, Violet had grown a lot in the time since the armour had been given to her and she lacked the luxury of getting the armour resized as Alyx Cobalt had done with her mother’s old suit. Which meant the steel plates had a habit of squeezing and chafing uncomfortably as she moved.

But the armour had served its purpose brilliantly. Once Aliss and Sara had bought her enough time to slip out from her rooms and into the greater parts of the palace, no one questioned a member of the legion walking the halls. Violet had been able to simply leave the palace by walking out the door.

She’d marched from the palace to one of the smaller gates that ran between the Spring and Autumn Districts. Little more than an iron barred door set into the wall, this was one of several such gates that allowed messengers to avoid being delayed by crowds as they moved through the city. And predictably, it had only had a single soldier of the second legion guarding it.

He’d been leaning on his spear, at the edge of falling asleep, when Violet had approached him from behind. She’d only spent a few seconds around him, and yet his face would be one she knew she’d recall in her memory for the rest of her days.

It was the face of the first life she’d taken.

It had been simpler than she’d expected. A swift stab of her sword through the back and he’d fallen back without a sound. She’d quickly moved the body into the alley between some nearby buildings and taken the keys from his belt before stripping him of his armour and bundling it all in a sack she slung over her shoulder.

Violet had swallowed the horror at what she’d done with a small amount of gratitude. If the first had been easy, then maybe it would make the lives she planned to end easier too.

Slipping through the gates, Violet had hurried down a switchback staircase into the lower districts and moved quickly away from the dead man. Towards the home of her former tutor.

Which was the building she now found herself outside of.

It stood as a silent, dark sentinel in the rainy night. Clearly it had been abandoned since the siege as no light flickered behind the shutters of its windows. Violet didn’t let herself wonder what had happened to the kindly old man that had taught her arithmetic that had lived here. She saw enough atrocities without imagining new ones.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forwards and pushed at the door. At first, it didn’t budge, and Violet was faced with the sudden thought that perhaps she was about to be stopped in her tracks by a simple lock. But then the door slowly scraped open, its hinges wailing in protest.

The air inside was musty and a puff of dust greeted her as she stepped inside and closed the door. But it was at least dry, and quiet.

Violet quickly moved through the little space, ensuring that no-one was hidden in the shadows prepared to pounce upon her. Once she was satisfied, Violet returned to the front room of the home. The room in which she had once taken lessons stood silent as a graveyard, with only shadows of the abandoned furniture left in the dark. Luckily though, Violet soon found a candle and a miraculously dry box of matches nearby.

Lighting the wick filled the room with a faint yellow light, revealing a pair of bookshelves, a small side table and a pair of armchairs before a fireplace. The wooden floor was mostly covered with a simple rug. Violet recalled sitting cross legged on that rug, frustrating herself over sums that refused to co-operate with her. She banished the image of the little girl. This was no place for nostalgia, not anymore.

Reaching up, she unclasped the strap of her helmet and lifted it from her head, shaking her golden hair out behind her. Just as she placed it down on the side table, the sound of the door’s hinges squealing open once again echoed through the empty house.

Violet’s hand went straight to the hilt of her sword, and she stood straight, her feet wide in what she hoped was a strong fighting stance. A towering figure filled the doorway to the room, armoured and mirroring her own posture, one hand resting on the hilt of a sheathed sword.

“Violet?” Came a voice from the shadow and Violet’s heart leapt in her chest. Marius Fridolf stepped into the candlelight, his expression wary.

He looks exhausted, Violet thought as he stepped forwards. Marius’s face was drawn and pale, a short but thick beard covered his chin and his long brown hair was tangled and pulled back into a tail at the back of his head. He was thinner than she remembered, but still taller than her by a head.

And yet, despite all that, Marius still looked like the most handsome man Violet had seen.

“Marius.” She greeted him, her voice strained as she fought the urge to run to her friend. But she flexed her hand on her sword hilt, jutting her chin towards the door behind him. “You come alone?”

Marius looked her slowly up and down, taking in the second legion armour that she wore with a sour expression. Steadily, his eyes rose to meet hers.

“Did you?” He asked simply, his jaw squared.

That hurt. Violet understood exactly why he’d asked, and yet it still hurt.

“You think I’d lure you into a trap here of all places? That I’d even come myself if it was?” She asked him back, gesturing to the abandoned room around them. “You think for even a second, that I’d be with them?”

Marius regarded her carefully and then sighed and lifted his hand from his sword.

“No. No I don’t.” He said. Then he gestured over his shoulder towards the doors. “I’m not alone, there are others outside, ready to move if it is a trap.”

“Good.” Violet responded with a cold smile. She was glad she’d been right about Marius being pragmatic enough to bring backup. She lifted the sack and tossed it across the room where it landed in front of Marius with a dull thud.

“See if that fits one of them and send them to the west messenger gate. The guard’s armour and keys are inside. That’ll let your men through tomorrow. Then you can send the others away, I told you I wanted to see you alone.”

Cautiously, Marius crouched down over the sack, pulling open the strings and peering inside. Once he’d confirmed the contents, he smiled up at Violet and lifted it, turning and disappearing from the room. Once he left, Violet let out a long breath of relief and folded her arms across her chest.

A minute went by.

Another.

Violet began to pace back and forth in the room, drumming her fingertips on the metal of her vambraces.

After what seemed an eternity had passed, the door creaked again, and Marius re-entered the house.

“Alright,” He began as he stepped into the room. “We’re alone.”

Violet moved immediately.

She darted across the room and collided with Marius, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and her fingertips tangling in his hair as she pulled his lips to hers. Marius let out a strangled sound of surprise and Violet braced herself for him to push her away. But instead, she felt his hands grip her waist and hold her as he returned her kiss.

Finally, he pulled his head back from her, breathing heavily, his eyes half closed in desire.

“Vi, I…”

“Shut up.” Violet interrupted him, striking forwards again to capture his lips. Her hands quickly busied themselves once more, pulling at the strings that tied her vambraces to her wrists.

Marius pulled back again as the metal clattered to the floor, concern in his face. “Are you sure?”

Violet didn’t even pause in her movements, stepping back from Marius and undoing the clasp of her cloak before moving her fingers over the binding of her armour.

“One of us is likely dead tomorrow. Even if it all goes well.” She explained grimly, focusing on her work rather than looking to see the pain in his reaction. “So I plan on living tonight.”

She lifted her breastplate over her head and tossed the armour aside. And before Marius could object again, she reached down and lifted the dark tunic over her head. The cold air instantly bit at her exposed skin and she felt goosebumps rising across her body. But she didn’t care.

“I… I’d be lying to say I haven’t thought about this.” Marius stuttered, his concentration pulled between looking at Violet’s exposed chest and into her eyes. She chuckled at how easily she’d unravelled the valiant leader of the rebellion.

“That I haven’t longed for it. For you.” Marius continued, flexing his hands as he struggled to keep them at his sides. “But like this? I didn’t want it to be this way.”

His words made a blush grow across Violet’s face and she smiled softly, her heart suddenly full. Moving slowly, she stepped forward and brushed some of Marius’ hair out of his face before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. This time the kiss was far more tender, filled with all the love she could muster, rather than hungry and desperate.

“I’m very happy to know that Marius. Truly.” She said to him as she parted from him. “But this way, is what we’ve got. And I really don’t want to waste it.” She gently took one of his hands and lifted it to her chest, busying her own hands with the buckle of his sword belt as she kissed him again, pulling herself close to his ear.

“Do you?”

Afterwards, they lay on the warm rug on the floor, wrapped in blankets Marius had found for them. Violet lay with her head resting on the skin of Marius’ chest, listening to his heartbeat. Steady, calm and resolute. She envied his control, her own heart still hammered like a drum.

A gentle tickle rose on her shoulder blade as Marius absently traced his fingers across her skin, his touch gentle as a morning breeze. She turned her head up to him and smiled.

Marius was staring at the ceiling, his expression distant. One hand rested behind his head while the other softly ran across her body. He didn’t seem to notice that she was looking at him. Violet pushed up off his chest, rising to kiss him gently and press her forehead to his.

“You still here?” She asked him softly. He nodded against her and gave her another quick kiss.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He affirmed and Violet beamed. Her heart had never settled since taking flight when he’d stated his desire for her. They may have grown up as friends, but Violet had found herself pining for Marius for years, since she’d been able to look at any man that way. It brought joy enough to make her forget the world outside to know he felt the same.

“Something’s got you thinking.” She observed and Marius hummed an agreement.

“You could come with us today. During the games, when we strike, we could get you out too. Away from the palace, with us.”

With me. Violet could hear the unspoken plea in his voice. The desperation not to lose her, not after finally finding her. And her heart ached, desire to accept and stay like this with him forever taking root deep in her soul. But she knew the truth, and she knew Marius did too.

“You’d lose your spy.” She started, and Marius smiled.

“We’d survive. I doubt it’d be safe for you to carry on after today is done anyway.” He objected and Violet sighed. Marius was right of course, today’s actions were likely to mean any hope of getting out messages would be dashed from her as Draconeus responded, if she even survived it all in the first place. But something else also pulled at her, a deeper, darker duty she had to keep to.

“I can’t. Not while Trident’s still out there leading his militia. While my father…” She trailed off, unwilling to put effort into the thought of Martyn Hills right now.

Marius’ hand found her cheek and carefully, yet firmly, lifted her eyes to his.

“Their time will come. It doesn’t need to be today. It doesn’t need to be you.” He told her. Violet stared at him for a while, looking into his jade green eyes. This could be it, the future. All she’d ever need or want was within those eyes.

And yet, other eyes haunted her. Dead, pale white eyes, and eyes the same silver-blue as her own greeting those dead eyes with a salute.

She wouldn’t find rest while they stayed open. She knew that.

“Trident can wait.” She agreed to Marius after a while, her jaw set and her voice thick with determination. “But my father needs to end. And that can’t be anyone else.”

Marius opened his mouth to object, but she reached up to place her finger over his lips, silencing him.

“I have The Drowner. A few drops in his wine after the games, and then it’s done. And after…” She searched for the words.

“After we come and get you, bring you out of that hell. And we won’t need a falcon to talk anymore.” Marius concluded with a soft smile, running his thumb across her cheek. Violet leaned up again to kiss him.

“Alright.” She whispered.

But even as she said the word, Violet knew she was lying. There was a cold certainty in her chest. One she’d love to be proved false, but that some part of her knew to be true.

This was to be the last day of her life.