For a moment Ivar perked up. “Does that mean?” Then Ivar’s expression fell. “We’ll arrange for that after you’ve been to the palace… There’s a small problem...” Ivar leaned in, whispering the last part.
They couldn’t have found him this quickly. He’d been careful to make sure he wasn’t followed…
“Ambassador Gunderson, what is the delay?” said a guard in palace livery. Not a Midnight Guard as he’d feared, but no more reassuring.
“Nothing, we were getting ready to go.” Ivar glanced down at Erich’s bare feet. “His majesty was about to put on his boots and join you. If you’ll give us but a moment.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Erich asked, taking on a hardly-used tone of royal impatience.
“It’s been reported that someone is impersonating the lost Prince of Sundland.”
“According to who?” Erich asked.
“The King of Sundland.” The man held up a document, imprinted with the three-headed dragon, the Sundland royal seal.
The document looked real enough, but Father couldn’t have known he was here in the city. There was no way a message could have gotten there and back in time. Erich looked to Ivar. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Duke Mattison arrived in the city earlier than expected. I wanted to tell you, but you’ve been missing for days,” Ivar said under his breath.
His uncle, who’d be the next king if Erich were to disappear, permanently. He doubted he’d vouch for his identity if he were brought into questioning. Or at the least, leave him locked in a dungeon long enough for his identity to be exposed. Whatever the outcome, going with these guards was out of the question.
“You’ll need to come with us until everything is sorted.” The guard reached for him.
Instincts kicked in, and he rolled his shoulder to avoid his reach before swinging up and catching him in the jaw. The guard stumbled back as Erich drew his dagger and slashed at the man behind the first, clearing a path down the stairs. Bare feet slapping on the wood floors, he ran through the foyer. Two more guards were waiting outside with a carriage, presumably meant to transport him to the palace. Erich feinted toward them, before turning and running down the street.
“Stop that man, in the name of Empress Eveline Starweber!”
But the pedestrians on the street simply jumped out of the way, perhaps more fearful of the crazed look in his eyes. He’d known he shouldn’t have claimed his identity again; he just never expected it to catch up with him so soon. Swerving, he headed down a nearby alleyway, leaping over refuse to scale a fence. The dragon stirred, flapping leathery wings, close to the surface as the full moon approached and emboldened by the taste of freedom from the night before. But Erich resisted the call of that power. He wouldn’t kill unless he had to, and he already felt its hunger stirring.
For now, the palace guards simply thought he was a fraud, but if they made the connection between him and the corrupted from the temple, he’d be sent to the Midnight Tower, never to escape. Erich ran down a narrow alley and onto a busy street, where he slowed his pace, as to not draw attention along the crowded market street. He dared not look over his shoulder to check if he was being followed but marched forward despite the odd looks from passersby, who noticed his bare feet. They gave him a wide berth, probably assuming he was insane, and it left him exposed. And when a trio of palace guards rounded the street corner, they spotted him straight away.
Reverting his course, he ran in the other direction. This time the crowds worked against him and slowed his progress as the guards shouted for him to stop. Fear burned in his chest. Was this the end? Did all his struggle and sacrifice lead to this moment, where he would be executed as a fraud? After all this time, would his uncle’s damned meddling be his undoing? A gap between buildings appeared on his right, too small to be considered an alley. He squeezed into it and discovered it ended as a sheer solid wall. No more running; it was either fight or die.
Spinning around, he faced the guards as they approached, weapons drawn. Erich grasped a hold of the chains binding the dragon. If he unleashed him, he’d survive, but there would be blood. Could he live with that on his conscience? Did he want to live, having chosen corruption over humanity? The thought made him hesitate, and they closed in.
“Psst.”
Despite his better judgment, Erich’s eyes flicked in the direction of the sound.
Impossibly, Fritz’s head poked out from the shadows, one hand held out to Erich. Without thinking, he took it, and Fritz yanked, pulling him in. Instead of colliding with a solid wall, he was tumbling, falling through a void of darkness. Stars reeled around him, flashing by like comets, spinning, and spinning, until his eyes danced with flickering lights. Then he landed hard on cold rubble, blue sky reeling overhead, and broken marble pillars towered over him. It took him a moment to let his brain catch up with his eyes.
Meanwhile, Fritz lay panting beside him, beads of sweat plastered his dark hair to his forehead.
“That was a close one,” Fritz said.
Erich sat up, grabbed his dagger, and stood, turning in a slow circle expecting to find the guards upon them and the city around them. But they were somewhere he’d never seen before but felt the faint prickle of magic.
“Where are we?” Erich asked and kicked a rock to make sure it was real.
“A forgotten place,” Fritz said, sitting up. His dark eyes skimmed the surrounding ruins.
“How did you do that?”
“Elf secrets.”
Erich stared at him, not sure if he’d gone mad or should be grateful he saved him.
“What was that place?” If Erich closed his eyes, he thought he could still see the stars reeling, the suns burning out and dying.
