Page 7 of Hearts Lost

ALOSERIN

MORE THAN I EXPECTED

And I’m about to die.

Great. My fingers tighten around the useless prince’s arm, and for a moment I let myself imagine how delightful it would be to throw his body onto the waiting blades of his own soldiers and then just step back through the portal to the Lands Below.

And to everlasting dishonor. Lovely. Death before dishonor is one of my family’s dozen or so heartwarming ancestral slogans. I never thought it would apply quite so literally.

The tall, scowling son of a bitch with the crown is the first to pull himself back together. For just a moment, as I dragged this prince through the fire of the portal, I thought the man with the crown was watching us with an expression of disgust. Which would be odd, considering that the captive I’m escorting is supposed to be his heir. But now the man in the crown stands up tall and offers a smile that is somehow even more terrifying than his earlier scowl.

“Our prince has returned,” he says.

His voice booms through the chamber. Everyone turns to watch him, giving me yet another chance to slip away from all those damned swords. A chance which I don’t take.

Crown, booming voice, the deference of the many men carrying weapons. Got it. This must be King Grathgore. The realization makes me feel cold; King Grathgore is a name that was used to frighten children into good behavior in the Lands Below. Back when there were children, before we realized the void saps whatever magic it takes for us to reproduce. King Grathgore turns to me with cold, hard eyes, and the points of the many blades in the room follow his gaze.

“And our prince has brought a prisoner,” the king says.

I smile politely. Several of those swords are within lunging distance. I can almost taste their cold steel in the back of my throat. My life hinges on what I say next and, for just a heartbeat, I want to punch King Galan in the face.

Thanks for sending me here, my king. Thank you so much for rewarding my years of service with this death sentence.

I release the prince’s arm and push him forward slightly, just to show he’s moving of his own free will. The prince gasps and staggers forward. He still smells vaguely like the many bottles of red wine he’d polished off last night, which I guess just goes to show how cruel we’ve been to him.

“This man murdered three unarmed citizens of the Kingdom of the Fall,” I say.

Hard, hard eyes follow me. I turn slightly, moving my gaze away from the blades, and notice a bed tucked to the side of this strange room. And beside the bed, a woman. Two women.

A strange and unexpected flutter of hope stirs inside my chest. I haven’t seen Princess Elanerill in an age, but here she is, looking just as weak and disoriented as Orryen had when I’d left the Lands Below. The magic worked. Of course, it worked on both ends. I nod slightly to the ladies and then turn back to King Grathgore. He looks like he’s going to kill me. Painfully.

“As this prince is a member of your royal family,” I continue, keeping my voice level, “we are returning him to the Kingdom of the Summer. To face your justice.”

The king gives me a smile that makes me feel colder than the Outer Ring.

“How generous,” the king sneers. “And Prince Folwynn’s broken arm? His bandages? Are those signs of the justice of the Lands Below?”

I open my mouth to respond, but there’s a gasp and a flurry of movement to my side. I turn, and Princess Elanerill practically crashes into my chest.

“Orryen?” she asks, staring up at me with wide, dark eyes.

“He’s fine,” I assure her.

And now King Grathgore is giving me a look that suggests he’s trying to murder me with his mind. The soldiers are shuffling in place, glancing first at their king and then back to each other.

Ah. Of course. The princess is standing beside me, almost covering my right side. I remember my vision of throwing the prince onto the waiting blades and realize that’s exactly what Elanerill has done. Whether it’s intentional or not, Princess Elanerill has made herself my shield. She’s either brave, or she’s a complete idiot. I don’t know her well enough to say, but I fully intend to press the situation to my advantage.

“Our citizens protect themselves,” I say, trying to smile like this is just a friendly conversation we’re having with two dozen unsheathed weapons pointed at my heart. “As I expect your citizens would do if subjected to an unprovoked attack. Nonetheless, the prince’s injuries have been healed to the best of our abilities, and we have returned him to you.”

The room falls silent. Every soldier is watching the king, but subtly, with their bodies tense. The way they keep their eyes on him speaks volumes about the way King Grathgore runs his kingdom, and none of it is good. Something deep inside my gut shifts in a way that makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.

Well, if I am, I’ll just have to swallow it. I’ll be damned if I’m going to break first. Death before dishonor, and all that. King Grathgore turns to the prince, who’d been backing away from me and the portal.

“Folwynn,” the king says, in a tone that holds no warmth at all. “Report.”

The prince sniffs, then pulls himself up straight and tosses his golden hair back. He probably has a charming smile, although the effect is ruined somewhat by the bandage across his broken nose.

“I did kill three of their warriors,” Folwynn declares.