The Chronicle Page 3

  A trail ignited between them—smokeless, heatless, and silent ... only a subtle stench. But those traits meant nothing when the candlelight clearly illuminated the black mass of fire.

  “That’ll do,” Horos said. The inferno vanished. “An assassin isn’t much of an assassin if he or she can’t execute stealth tactics during daylight. That fact alone severely limits what Passion Assassins can do. Meanwhile, Dev Assassins and Adren Assassins can make use of their abilities at any time of day.”

  “Did you learn to camouflage your flames with its surroundings?” Himitsu asked.

  “That’d be impossible,” Horos replied. “We can’t change the color of our flames, just like an Intelian can’t change the color of their electricity. You’d have to be born with a rare defect for such a feat.”

  “I don’t know what else it could be,” Himitsu said.

  “It’s not about color, son—it’s density.”

  “Density?”

  “Yes,” Horos said, removing his hands from his pockets. “How dense can you weave?”

  “You mean how tight can I weave an EC chain?” An EC chain stood for an energy-current chain, or a woven strand of one’s energy with a strand of current found in nature.

  Horos shrugged. “Collectively, how tight can you weave EC chains and how dense can you make a cluster of said chains? The denser your flames get, the more useful they become in light. You’ve actually witnessed this before; I did it when you and Fane broke me out of my cell.”

  Horos opened his hand, palm up, in front of him. “Pay close attention to my hand.”

  Himitsu stared at his father’s palm from a distance, purposefully keeping himself from blinking. Eventually, light disappeared from the room, their presence swallowed by pitch black. Gazing around, he looked for the small embers atop their wicks. He could see them, but they didn’t produce light outside of the flame. They looked like a collection of fireflies against the night sky. Suddenly, the darkness vanished and everything restored to normal.

  “What was that?” Himitsu said. “I knew something was odd about those flames during the uprising.”

  “That’s the power of density,” his father said.

  “So you’re telling me that all it takes to achieve what you just showed me is to weave denser clusters.”

  Horos’s brows furrowed. “No, no, no. If that was the case, this technique would have been discovered long ago. Tell me, why is it a poor idea to wear black during summer?”

  “It makes you hot.”

  “And it absorbs light,” Horos added. “Our flames work the same way. The denser the EC clusters, the blacker the flame. It not only absorbs light, it steals and traps it. But you can’t expect the results I just showed you by simply weaving dense clusters.”

  This time when Horos conjured fire around them, the light dimmed, but not enough to hinder vision. “This is what happens if the flame is composed completely of dense clusters and chains.” He smirked. “Why do you think that is, son? Shouldn’t the light be sucked from the room—according to what I’ve said so far?”

  There was a moment of silence as Himitsu pondered the possibilities. “Take your time,” said Horos. But after another minute with no answer, he asked a different question. “What would happen if a thousand people tried squeezing through Dunami Palace’s main gate at once?”

  “That’s impossible,” Himitsu said. “A lot of people wouldn’t funnel through.”

  Horos grinned as understanding dawned on Himitsu’s face. Himitsu gazed at the floor and said, “If light simply hits a wall of dense Passion clusters, some of it might be absorbed, but most of it won’t. That’s why the light only dimmed instead of disappearing just now.”

  “Yes!” Horos exclaimed, balling his fist in triumph. “So the light must be filtered. And you do this by weaving looser chains in the flame’s exterior, slowly increasing the volume until it’s a black mass at the center—as dense as you can make it.”

  Himitsu sprouted another flame, but it had no effect on the light. Horos laughed. “It’s going to take a lot of practice.”

  “How long did it take you?”

  Horos gazed upward. “Well, let’s see ... I’ve been a prisoner for quite some time over the past few years. I think it took me a month to grasp the idea of what I was trying to accomplish, another couple months to experiment with weaving theories until I showed signs of progress, then a year to perfect it.”

  Looking back to Himitsu, Horos said, “But don’t fret. It’ll take you half that time since I’ve already done the experimentation. All you have to do is study and apply what I’ve learned. The best part is that there is no warning for the enemy. The moment I weave a dense flame, the light’s gone.”

  “And you can do this with sunlight, too?” Himitsu asked.

  “I haven’t gotten that good yet,” Horos admitted. “But I can do it with candles and Intelights. In direct sunlight, I can’t do much of anything. I can soften moonlight, however.”

  Himitsu studied the ring of fire around them. “Then it’s possible.” He smiled at his dad. “This is game-changing.”

  * * *

  In Dunami Palace’s main library, a group of Jestivan congregated in a study area. Bryson, Olivia, and Vuilni occupied chairs at one table, while Himitsu and Toshik sat on another table nearby. None of them were avid readers, so the library may have seemed like an odd place for them to gather. However, considering tonight’s topic of discussion, they needed seclusion.

  “We finally have a mission,” Bryson said, following a period of friendly conversation.

  “Is it an actual mission or just something to waste our time?” Toshik said.

  “It’s important,” Bryson said. “I’d say dangerous, too, but with the team that Vitio has proposed to carry it out, things should run smoothly.”

  “And we’re the team?” Himitsu guessed.

  Bryson nodded. “Including your dad and Fane.” Himitsu grinned. “I thought that’d please you,” Bryson said.

  “I’ve never carried out a mission with my dad,” Himitsu said. “At least not from start to finish ... the uprising doesn’t count.”

  “Well, here’s your chance.”

  “What’s our objective?” Olivia asked.

  “To infiltrate the Dev Kingdom, locate a secret cluster of teleplatforms, and then return as soon as possible. We shouldn’t be there for more than a few hours,” Bryson said.

  “If they’re ‘secret,’ how do we know about them?” Toshik asked.

  Bryson started to answer, but Himitsu raised his hand, requesting silence. Himitsu pulled out a folded parchment from his pocket and handed it to Toshik. “The information was in a letter from my mom. I received a falcon last night.” As the swordsman read through it, Himitsu said to Bryson, “I’m guessing you also got a letter.”

  “No, but Vitio did. We must protect Flen so he can complete his own objective,” Bryson said, wanting to make this meeting quick. Shelly was waiting for him, and it would be a lengthy trek through the palace to get to her.

  “Flen?” Himitsu repeated, a bewildered smile forming on his face. “What use is Flen, and why are we risking our lives for his safety? The guy doesn’t care about anything.”

  “I don’t know much of him,” said Olivia, “but I must agree with Himitsu. He’s aloof and doesn’t seem well-versed in any particular skill—outside of wooing women.”

  “Not much of a skill,” Vuilni stated, crossing her arms.

  Bryson leaned forward. “I had the same reaction, but apparently the man is a more skilled weaver than either of his brothers. His personality can be underwhelming, but Vistas says his talent with Dev Energy is second to only a few.”

  They all fell silent as Toshik handed the parchment back to Himitsu. “Well, if Vistas says so, then it must be true,” Himitsu said, stuffing the note back into his pocket.

  “We need to protect him long enough for him to record the teleplatforms’ weaving pattern,” Bryson explained. “Flen’s objective
is crucial to True Light’s success in this war. I can’t make this clear enough.”

  “Where do these secret teleplatforms lead to?” Vuilni asked.

  “Different locations scattered throughout Phelos.”

  “That explains the uprising,” she muttered.

  “And once Flen can build his own teleplatforms here matching those patterns, we’ll have a way of traveling into the heart of enemy territory undetected.”

  Toshik shook his head. “So our purpose is to act as security guards for a hapless, unappreciative man?”

  “I’m sure he appreciates it,” said Himitsu as he hopped off the table. “He’s the kind of guy who values his life more than anything in the world.”

  Bryson gazed around the group. “Vitio will fill you in on how exactly we’ll enter the Dev Kingdom, but that’ll have to wait until he returns from the summit. I need to ...” Bryson trailed off as Toshik slipped off the table and left the library without a word.

  “He’ll never be the same,” Vuilni said.

  * * *

  Bryson stood at the center of a circular room, taking a moment to observe the paintings lining the wall. His gaze landed on Shelly’s likeness—the next in line for the throne, and the only one painted with a smile. He smirked. The princess wasn’t coy with her smugness. She knew what kind of person she was, and she owned it. Bryson admired her for it.

  A section of marble gave way underneath the pressure of his foot, initiating the platform he stood on to rise toward the ceiling. He looked up as the ceiling made way for his entry. As the platform connected with the floor of the room above, Shelly sat up in bed.

  Wasting no time, Bryson sunk into the bedding and kissed her forehead.

  “Give me the rundown from today,” she said.

  “Ophala contacted a few people last night, and now we have a mission because of it.” Shelly’s eyes fell to her stomach, and Bryson added, “Nothing to worry about. I’ll have lots of support, and we’re not venturing into extreme depths.”

  “I’m not worried about your support group or skill.”

  Bryson’s face fell. “Oh.”

  “I’m worried that this—” she gestured toward her stomach— “will be a distraction and cost you your life.”

  Bryson paused, a hint of disgust creeping within. “My future child isn’t a distraction, Shelly. If anything, it’s motivation.”

  “So you won’t be thinking about what’s happening here when you’re away?” she asked. As his face fell, she added, “Because I have news for you, Bryson; it’s likely you’re not going to be around a lot. You can’t visit me on a whim during your weekends off from school anymore. This past year we spent all of our time together, but that’s because you had no choice. If I or my father had allowed you freedom to do as you chose, you would’ve been out chasing Rhyparia and Olivia the moment you had the chance.”

  She gazed into his eyes, deep enough to make his soul feel exposed. “How will you handle your uncertainty of happenings here?”

  Bryson didn’t answer. He’d been ecstatic to see Shelly tonight after a long day of work. But she was raising disheartening truths that he had stifled until now.

  “We know each other well, Bryson. While you know that I’m thinking I’ll be okay and you shouldn’t worry, I know that it’s all you’re going to do.”

  His eyes fell to Shelly’s belly, the dread of anything bad happening to her or the baby crashing over him like a tidal wave.

  “I love you,” she said softly. “And I just want to make sure that when you think of us, you let motivation consume the distraction, like you said.”

  3

  Torchtop

  Still Queen Apoleia pushed a wheelchair down a hall in Kindoliya Palace’s residential wing. Since acquiring her rightful position as queen of the Still Kingdom a year ago, Apoleia had spent an hour at the end of every night with her father, Gennaio Still. She had yet to miss a day for both of their sakes.

  Despite the cruel reality of Gennaio’s complete paralysis, she cherished every moment spent with him. He was her hero. His hair had thinned and grayed, his muscles atrophied, but his heart was still capable of melting the palace’s frozen corridors with its warmth. He had done more for Apoleia in his life than her mother ever could.

  Apoleia pushed open a door and guided Gennaio through. After undressing him down to his underwear, she gingerly removed him from his chair and placed him into a crystal tub, her hand behind his head as cushion. She smiled at her father, who could do nothing but stare straight ahead. Occasionally, she’d spot a slight muscle twitch around the eyes.

  Walking to the side of the room, Apoleia collected a few buckets of water that had been placed there earlier by her younger sister, Ropinia. She set them near the tub, then dipped her hand into its warmth. The liquid was room temperature—plenty hot enough for a Stillian. The Still Kingdom’s frigid temperatures rendered pipe systems useless—not even kilns could fully do the trick. Water would freeze long before it reached its destination, so they were forced to heat buckets of water via flame close by.

  She plunged a rag into the bucket, and then pulled it back out and pressed it against Gennaio’s shoulder. Without the ability to counter her force, his body jostled as she scrubbed. Her reflection in the tub’s crystal surface caught her eye. Her neck was as naked as it had ever been. Granted, a couple fresh cuts still hid beneath her chin, but most had become scars. She dragged the fingers of her free hand down her neck, each bump a coping mechanism to distract her mind from her past.

  Whenever Apoleia was around her father, her inability to control her facial expressions disappeared. She’d relax, and the tension from her anger or glee would be replaced by tranquility more akin to her daughter, Olivia, than the placidness of her Stillian predecessors.

  Gennaio had fought for Apoleia, not only throughout her life, but immediately following that dreadful incident in her hideout. He had gone toe-to-toe with Mendac LeAnce—a fight he never had a chance to win—ultimately being stripped of bodily control for the rest of his life.

  A knock sounded on the door, wrenching her from her memories. She turned, sliding her glasses up her nose with the back of her hand. “Who is it?”

  “Ropinia.”

  Apoleia looked back to her father. “Come in.”

  She heard the door open and close, followed by a short pause. Apoleia wrung the rag above Gennaio’s chest as her sister finally approached and sat on the edge of the tub.

  “Hello, Father,” Ropinia said with a smile.

  Apoleia sighed. Of course, there was no response. She understood what kind of emotion being called “father” brought forth from the man, even if he couldn’t show it. Once a Stillian female experienced her first cleanse—the official transition from girl to woman—she was no longer allowed to use such a term. This meant that men around the city would never hear their daughters call them “daddy,” usually, after the age of thirteen. The two royal sisters had decided to end that law the moment Apoleia entered power.

  “I’ve received word that Garlo has been helpful in Phelos,” Ropinia said. “The uprising was a success, and he played a role.”

  Apoleia moved the rag down Gennaio’s leg and asked, “Do they request any more assistance?”

  “They made it seem as if everything is under control.”

  “Thank you for the update.”

  Silence swept through the room, interrupted by an occasional splash of water. Noticing her sister’s discomfort, she asked, “What’s bothering you?”

  Ropinia hesitated, then said, “I question the sense of this alliance.”

  “Just because we’re Still-born doesn’t mean we must literally embody our cold feet,” Apoleia stated. “Besides, we’re not as invested in this war as others. It’s not like our kingdom is a target. The Archaic and Dev Kingdoms are the ones who True Light cares about—possibly the Power Kingdom, too.”

  “I don’t fear for the safety of our land,” Ropinia explained, “but the preservation
of our bloodline. Bryson and Olivia fight for True Light. If either of them dies, our royal family would lose the ability to possess a Bewahr.”

  Apoleia leaned back, her jaw clenching. “I know what I’m doing, Ropinia. Toono has made Olivia off limits to our alliance. Nobody would harm her.”

  During a pause, Ropinia’s gaze fell to her lap. “Bryson cannot die. They’re twins; we don’t know which one of them has the trait.”

  After tossing the wet rag into the bucket, Apoleia reached for a towel and began drying off her father. She hadn’t informed Ropinia of Bryson’s Branian—mainly because it would have alarmed her. After all, it was odd that Bryson hadn’t received a Bewahr.

  “We have a person on the inside,” Apoleia reminded her. “Just remember that.”

  “And you trust Titus?”

  As the Still Queen lifted Gennaio’s arm and dried his side, she said, “With all of my frozen heart.”

  * * *

  Major Peter led Bryson and Olivia out the back of the palace and into the northern grounds. As they strolled between training pens, Bryson kept his eyes peeled for a young redheaded boy whom he hadn’t seen in a little over a year.

  “So there are separate barracks for infantry and archers?” Olivia asked.

  “Yes, but those aren’t the only separations,” Peter explained. “Infantry is also divided into two smaller barracks: intrinsic and specialty.”

  “Specialty is comprised of the soldiers skilled with their energies,” Olivia said.

  Peter nodded. “And intrinsic is close-quarters combat.” He glanced back and waved a hand. “You know ... rush in with a sword and try to take someone down that way.”

  “Why call them intrinsic?” Bryson asked.

  “Because what is the very nature of battle?”

  “Typically, chaos,” Olivia said. “While war is tactical and sluggish, a battle tends to be a chaotic mass of swinging swords and falling bodies.”

  They broke free from the barracks and approached an open field stretching thousands of feet across—a giant expanse of grass slapped in the middle of one of the most congested cities in the Light Realm. Major Peter stopped just before stepping off the gravel.