Page 43 of A Reign of Roses
It wasme.
11
Kane
Returning to Solaris after halfa century away was not dissimilar to revisiting a childhood classroom as an adult. I couldn’t deny the comfort, the familiarity—the soles of my feet knew the pebble-dashed streets of the walled city better than they’d ever know Shadowhold. I’d been raised here. Had played my first game of chess with my brother under that awning outside the noisy toy shop. Had broken my first bone climbing those still-mismatched stairs to the southern tower—the guard who’d allowed me such freedom was whipped the next morning in the city center until his back peeled like a late-summer peach.
These paved stone avenues only served to remind me that I’d never be that boy again. I could sail or fly or run anywhere—the highest peaks of the Pearl Mountains, the lowest depths of the Mineral Sea—but I could never truly go home. Not to the walls that had sheltered me in boyhood. Not to the life I’d built in Shadowhold. I was a nomad, with no destination, and everything still to lose.
Think on the bright side, I told myself. You’ll be dead soon.
And it was true. Soon I’d spare the greater good from the monster that was my father, and in doing so, find my home there. Perhaps my coffin might serve as some new foyer. A mantel of graveyard soil. A roof of inching worms.
The brassy twangs and pitchy strums of an orchestra plucked me from my gruesome fantasies. I craned my neck up toward the looming palace flickering with glowy red light and the shadows of exultant bodies.
He was celebrating. Hosting a ball of some kind.
My father experiencing joy should have sent my dragon hackles straight up. The vacant ridges only served as a reminder of how egregiously underprepared I was to stalk inside those walls.
As I neared, the palace entry became visible, and I could just narrowly make out revelers wandering in and out amid the merriment, donned in elaborate masks.
The Lumerian Solstice. I’d been gone so long, I’d forgotten what had once been my favorite day of the year. More memories of Yale and Griffin, not even ten years old—unwilling to dress as anything other than stately guards. We’d fight my mother, who’d handcrafted brilliant masks of rich leather and real lion’s fur to turn my brother and me into decorative, regal beasts.
This was good, actually.
A mortal in the palace of Solaris hunting for the Blade of the Sun? My full week in Pearl traveling across pillowy, silken clouds and endless snow had not offered me a single intelligent idea on how to accomplish that without dying. And swiftly.
But the masquerade was a godsend. Perhaps literally—I’d never know.
Once inside, finding a mask couldn’t be too difficult. Knowing the Solstice, there would be fewer sober patrons than I could counton two hands. The real obstacle would be slipping inside in the first place.
Crouching behind a stationed carriage, I appraised the palace entrance.
Rows upon rows of those bone-white gates with their red-and-black filagree stretched on. Hordes of silver-clad Fae guards milled between every layer. And beyond them, deep inside the heart of the castle walls, I knew each invitee was being checked against an elongated scroll with at least a thousand names scribbled down its face. An infestation of thick silver armor would monitor that, too.
Perhaps…perhaps I wouldn’t need a mask at all.
That silver Fae armor—molded carefully to each guard, sealing off everything but their face under a red visor—was as powerful a disguise as any headpiece or costume. One on one, I couldn’t physically best a Fae soldier with my new mortality, but with a bit of creativity and the element of surprise on my side…I’d at least have a shot.
But I’d never get my hands on one of those men at the castle’s entrance.
I hurried from the bustling gates toward the back of the palace. Around carts selling masks of monsters and dragons and exotic birds—I fought the trivial ache that stirred in my chest at the wings and scales—and through cobblestone alleys with decorative garlands of Fae lighte strung high between buildings.
It wouldn’t be spare of guards, but I’d have far fewer to contend with. And I’d have the gardens—tall, strict hedges and precisely cut grass—as meager cover.
I kept my face buried in my cloak. I knew it was an unnecessary precaution—no mere citizen would recognize me after all these years. And even if they did, the fallen prince would have to be mad toreturn to Solaris without an army, and in his human form no less. They’d assume their mind had been playing tricks on them—nobody could be that foolish, right?
Wrong. So very wrong.
I was as foolish as the night was dark.
The dry, clipped gardens surrounding the back entrance were closer to the rich Solaris neighborhoods that hugged the city’s walls. Those nearest to the palace were the most noticeably grand and stately. If I found myself outrunning Fae soldiers—or trying to—I’d at least have a chance of hiding in some noble’s courtyard or lofty agate doorway.
I slipped behind a crisp, sheared hedge. Back here, only one spear-tipped gate stood between the gardens and the palace. Heart beginning to ratchet, I pulled my sword from its scabbard and threaded it under my arm and through the fabric of my tunic. From afar it made for a convincing stab wound. And my clothes were dark enough that they’d be unable to discern whether I was bleeding or not. I lifted my cloak’s hood over my head.
Kneeling to the sharp blades of grass, I sucked in a mouthful of muggy Solaris air.
“Help,” I called out with an exhale, crawling out from the hedge into clear view of the castle. Moving toward the suburban, pebbled streets, I writhed back behind another row of low, dehydrated bushes. I slid across the dirt, cautious not to actually slice the tucked blade right through my rib cage. “Dear Gods!”
