Throne of Ash and Blood

Chapter 7 Blood and Tears

A pale dawn light spilled over the castle training yard, its warmth doing little to ease the sharp bite of the morning air. Emiko’s breath puffed in short clouds as she lunged, vanished in a shimmer, and reappeared twenty paces away—exactly at the mark she’d fixed her eyes on. Her tail flicked behind her, the white fur catching faint traces of gold from the rising sun.

Maze watched from the edge of the yard, his arms folded, the hood of his dark tunic casting his face in shadow. “Farther,” he called. “Again.”

Without a word, Emiko shifted her stance, locked her gaze on a distant post, and focused until the space between here and there folded in her mind. The world bent, her body vanished, and in the blink of an eye she stood exactly where she had imagined.

Maze’s mouth curved slightly. “You’re getting faster. And quieter. Not even the wind noticed you move.”

That earned him a small, pleased smile from Emiko. Teleporting had once drained her to the point of collapsing, but now she could cover great distances so long as she could see her target. Combined with her natural fox-born stealth, she moved more silently than even her master could.

They shifted to charm work next—quick spells meant for rogues: brief blinding flashes, muffling sound, softening a fall, and a minor heal for cuts and bruises. She conjured each with precision, the motions smooth and almost careless now. Pickpocketing, lockpicking, sleight of hand—those had long surpassed Maze’s own skill. More than once, she had lifted the dagger from his belt before he realized she was gone.

Maze finally lowered his arms. “You’ll make a fine assassin for Prince Alphonse one day. When he returns to take the throne… he’ll need you.”

Emiko’s ears twitched, and her smile softened. “I can’t wait for him to come home.”

Before Maze could respond, a pair of guards strode into the yard, armor clinking. “Master Maze,” one said with a bow, “your assistance is required immediately.”

Maze’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Keep practicing. I won’t be long.”

Emiko tilted her head as the men led him away. Left to herself, she sheathed her daggers and wandered the castle’s winding corridors, silent on the stone. Her path drifted toward the great library—a place she wasn’t supposed to enter without her master or the king’s leave.

She slipped inside anyway.

The library was vast, shelves stretching up into shadows, the air smelling of old parchment and candlewax. Her fingers trailed over spines as she walked between rows. She remembered, vividly, sitting here years ago—small, awkward with letters—while Alphonse patiently taught her to read and write. Beast people weren’t expected to know such things; servants had no need of it. But he had wanted her to understand the words he loved so much. Those afternoons had been filled with warmth and the quiet scratch of quills.

A sharp voice echoed down the hall, startling her. It was growing louder—two men arguing fiercely. She darted between shelves and found a narrow alcove, melting into its shadows.

The library doors banged open.

It was King Halvard, his face drawn with restrained fury, and beside him, Malric—his older brother, tall and sharp-eyed, his grip on a polished staff white-knuckled.

“You’re soft, Halvard,” Malric snarled. “You’re running this kingdom into ruin. Purge the beast people—keep only the strong for our armies. That’s how we dominate Oran.”

“I will not,” Halvard said firmly. “They are more than slaves. They deserve rights.”

Malric spat on the marble floor. “They are animals. And they should be treated as such. If I ruled, we would be the strongest, most feared kingdom on the continent.”

“Our father chose me to rule for a reason,” Halvard shot back. “You’re too extreme. Too hungry for power.”

Malric’s face darkened. “Then it’s time I take back what’s rightfully mine.”

Before Halvard could move, Malric raised his staff and hissed, “Gladius gelidus!”

An ice blade formed and shot forward, burying itself in Halvard’s chest. The king staggered, clutching at the wound as frost spread from the impact.

Through chattering teeth, Halvard rasped, “Alphonse… will become king… and stop you.”

Malric knelt beside him, smiling with cruel delight. “Not if he’s dead. I sent an assassin this morning.” He patted his brother’s face mockingly. “You’ll see your little brat soon enough.”

He rose, turned toward the door, and tossed over his shoulder, “Now… I have a kingdom to purge.”

The moment Malric was gone, Emiko slipped from her hiding place and ran to Halvard. Her hands trembled as she tried to press them over the wound, but the ice burned cold.

“Go… find Alphonse,” he whispered, gripping her fingers. “Keep him safe… until he’s strong enough to defeat Malric.”

Her eyes blurred with tears, but she nodded. She held him until the last breath left his body.

Her ears twitched—chaos echoed through the halls. Screams. Steel clashing.

Malric’s men were cutting down everyone loyal to Halvard and Alphonse… and slaughtering the “weak” beast people.

Emiko’s daggers flashed into her hands. She moved like a shadow through the corridors, teleporting in short bursts, slicing through soldiers with precise strikes, casting blinding flares, and darting past heavy swings. But they kept coming—too many to kill.

Then Maze appeared in the melee, blades whirling, cutting down two men in a heartbeat. He grabbed her arm. “Go! Find the prince! Keep him alive!”

She didn’t want to leave him—not with blood already staining his tunic—but she knew the choice was no choice at all. She teleported past the next wave of soldiers, heart pounding, and vanished into the chaos to begin the hunt for Alphonse.

Emiko didn’t stop.

Her boots pounded against the dirt roads, her lungs burned, and her tail flicked with each desperate stride. She moved through the days and nights without care for her own rest, stopping only when her body demanded food or water. Every time she slowed, the image of Alphonse alone in danger pushed her forward again.

Her limbs trembled from fatigue, but she ignored it. Sleep meant losing time. Time she didn’t have.

The further she traveled, the more dangerous the roads became. Malric’s influence was spreading fast — soldiers loyal to him patrolled in greater numbers, and some villages already whispered his name as “King.” Whenever a patrol spotted her, Emiko slipped into shadow, or when there was no other choice, her daggers flashed and bodies fell. She kept moving.

By the time she reached the docks of Celverra, the great port city, the salty air filled her lungs, bringing the promise of ships that could take her to The Spheres. But that promise shattered when she reached the docks.

The sea raged. Waves slammed against the stone piers, and masts swayed like brittle branches in the wind. Rain sheeted sideways, and the storm’s roar drowned out the merchants’ shouts. No captain would dare sail until it passed.

Her heart twisted. She didn’t have the luxury to wait. But forcing herself onto a ship in this storm meant certain death. Gritting her teeth, she ducked into the shadow of a warehouse and found a dry corner. She’d wait until the worst passed, then steal her way onto the first vessel heading toward the island.

Night fell, but she didn’t sleep deeply. She couldn’t. The storm’s howl was nothing compared to the restless tension in her chest. Somewhere in her bones, in her blood, she knew something was wrong.

Then it struck her.

A white-hot spike of pain lanced through her chest, stealing her breath. Her eyes flew open, her body curling instinctively as she pressed a hand to her heart. The pain was sharp, exact — as if a dagger had been driven through her.

“No…” she whispered.

Her instincts screamed what her mind struggled to accept. She was feeling him. Alphonse. Her imprint. The bond she had buried and denied for years had just flared in agony.

The storm outside seemed to fade. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

Somewhere, Alphonse was hurt. Badly.

By morning, the rain had slowed to a heavy drizzle. The city began to stir, merchants dragging open their shutters and sailors checking the damage to their ships. Emiko rose, sore and cold, ready to slip into the crowd and disappear toward the docks. She had no plan — only the desperate need to get to him.

She was just about to move when voices drifted from the other side of a stack of barrels. Two men, dockworkers by the sound of them, were chatting as they unloaded crates.

“Did you hear about The Spheres?” one asked.

Emiko froze.

The other man grunted. “Aye. Terrible business. The young prince, Alphonse of Norwic… dead. Assassinated.”

Her breath caught.

“They’re sayin’ it was his uncle, Malric,” the man continued, lowering his voice like the name itself was dangerous. “Killed King Halvard, took the throne for himself. And sent someone after the boy. Poor lad just graduated to Master Mage, too. Shame. Would’ve made a fine king.”

The words hit her like another blade to the heart.

Her knees gave way, and she sank to the cold, wet stone. The men kept talking, their voices fading into the background hum of the city.

She couldn’t hear them anymore.

She couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her own ragged breathing.

Her mind screamed No. No. NO.

Her heart — that bond she hadn’t wanted to admit existed — felt hollow.

She had failed.

Hot tears blurred her vision, dripping down her cheeks and mixing with the rain. She didn’t care if anyone saw. The world could burn for all she cared.

She had been too late.

And the boy she had sworn to protect… the man she loved… was gone.