ENDBORN CREATION SERIES

BOOK II

THE CROWN OF BLOOD

Chapter 100

Blood of Yesteryear

“It is a short history, one wrought in the unknown; I fed them tangents, and they learned. They could prove a worthwhile force.”

Fragments

Evon stood leaning against a tall, stone-cast pillar, his expression somber, the chatter of his surroundings escaping his mind. His eyes were glued to a single point in the vast room, one so majestic it held up against the vestiges of time. Right on the top, he still sat, clad in the Robes of Lumina, one of the Kingdom’s most precious Artefacts. His head was leaned slightly back, his grayed hair spilling down his shoulder, cast in red dye toward the ends.

The amber eyes, the ones that could pierce any heart they looked at, were opened, staring at the themed ceiling, the look of empty wonder in them. However, unlike just a few hours ago when Evon last saw him, they were empty, hollow, vacant, purposeless. His hands lay against the throne’s armrests, his legs faintly spread apart, his posture that of a King. Even in death, Evon mused, his mere presence exuded pressure of time, the pressure that nearly dropped Evon to his knees.

He sighed and approached, step by step, ignoring the gazes heading his way. Climbing up the cold and echoing stairs, he stopped at the top, right in front of him. Though he had little love for his Father, Evon found his heart dripping for some reason. It was as though he was staring at a reflection of his own life to come in years ahead.

He bent over and reached toward the floor, picking up a glistening object. The crown bejeweled by gems that can no longer be found elsewhere shone in resplendence even with a coat of blood over it. He tucked it amidst his fingers, feeling the rugged and aged surface. The Crown of Blood… thus they called it. Evon didn’t know why – his Father never mentioned it. Yet, for a reason unknown, he felt the name befitting. The coat of blood seemed to enhance its splendor and beauty, seemed to give it another dimension. The Artefact meant for protecting the Head of the Kingdom… had been dyed red in his blood.

Evon finally turned his eyes to the wound – there was a slit beginning on the side of his neck, and another one on the opposite end. A dagger was pierced straight through, the entire way, but was nowhere to be found. Blood trickled out of the wound and dyed the robes and his body and the throne red… so much blood, Evon noted. So much blood.

He could have fought, as he didn’t die instantaneously. For some reason, however, he didn’t. His Father, the King himself, merely glanced up in silence, like an animal expecting death, and stared at the ceiling. Or, perhaps, to the sky beyond it.

Nobody alive who knew the King would claim him a saint… yet, nary a soul deserved to end up like this. Alone, surrounded by the clawing darkness and cold, not a soul to witness the last moments of his death. How did it feel? Evon couldn’t even imagine. Feeling the death nearing with each passing second, yet being unable to do anything to change it. Was it frustrating? Painful? Fear-inducing? Terrorizing? Or… was it tranquilizing?

He clasped the Crown tightly for a moment and grit his teeth; first, it was his sister, the youngest of his blood. Now… it was his Father, the oldest. His family was being targeted, hunted like beasts, yet… he felt so powerless to change it. He didn’t know who or why or how. His Father was among the most powerful living souls, yet he died without so much as putting on a pretense of a fight. His sister had to be saved time and again, piling on scars that she shouldn’t need to endure.

The Crown of Blood… he mused again, a name befitting more and more. Yet, in less than a year, he is to cast the people loyal to him, his friends and loved ones, into a war for it. He is to set against his own blood for a chance at reigning on top of a throne built on top of the sea of bones, still being fed.

"Your Highness," a grating old voice woke Evon from his thoughts, forcing him to look to the side where he saw a hunched man clad in silver robes and a face older than the time itself. His eyes were blank, milky-white, and his face familiar – his Father’s solitary Dacent, from the day he was born… until the day he died, Ontur. As of the last full moon, this man had turned a hundred and twenty-one years old. “Is it true?” he was being helped by a younger lad whose eyes evaded the scene on top of the throne.

“I’m afraid it is, Uncle Ontur,” Evon said, walking over and grabbing the man’s shaking hands. “His Majesty, the Father… had died.”

“…” the man shook for a moment, his eyes looking about in vain. He’d lost his sight nearly fifty years ago, right about when Evon was a babe still nestling on his Mother’s milk. “He really is dead…”

“… you shouldn’t be here, Uncle,” Evon said. “You should rest.”

“I’ve rested aplenty, boy,” the man said, taking his hand away. “And I’ll rest some more soon enough. Did… did he suffer?”

“… it doesn’t appear so.”

“Good. It’s good that he didn’t suffer.”

“…”

“… I know he was hardly the best of Fathers, Your Highness,” Ontur continued in a low tone, his lips curling up into the faintest of smiles. “Both for his blood children and the others. But… I still remember him, from back when he was a babe in a cradle. He never stopped reading, thinking, trying to understand how to be the best King a man can be. Thus… his reign comes to an end.”

“… thus, it does.” Evon said, glancing back.

“Close his eyes, son,” Ontur spun around and began descending down the stairs with the young man’s help. “And lay him to his eternal rest. The Wheel… shall not grace him. Bury him in the Tombs.”

“…”

Evon’s eyes widened in shock, but he said nothing. He suspected it, for many years now, that his Father would never be graced by the Wheel again. Even in death… huh?

He turned around and walked back to the throne, leaning over the King’s head and perching his fingers against the unmoving eyes, closing the lids slowly. He appeared so peaceful; so much so that Evon envied him. He'd laid all his troubles to rest right with his life… leaving them all behind to be inherited. There would be no new King or Queen for almost a year, yet… the Kingdom would have to continue moving. It will be hell, Evon knew. Fangs will spring from the shadows and vultures will be dipping from the skies to feast upon the carcass of the Kingdom.

Everyone would reach after the wealth and after the power, and the O’vorell family will have to quench its rage and give it all away. Nobody in this family can contend against others any longer, and Evon knew it won’t be long before the Palace is rocked from top to bottom.

“Fulster.” He called out softly as he descended the stairs. One of the men lining the sides quickly approached him; the man looked to be in his late forties, clad in an ordinary-looking black robe, a pair of dazzling green eyes glancing at the throne momentarily before drawing back onto Evon.

“Your Highness?”

“Have Onya arrange everything,” Evon said, taking a deep breath and fracturing his heart. The part that felt the pain and the loss… was vanquished to ash. He seemed to age at that moment, the look in his eyes growing slightly duller. "We'll bury him in the Tombs."

“… was it worth it?” the man asked.

“It was clouding me.”

“… this is clouding all of us, Your Highness,” the man said with the sigh as the two drew toward the front door of the Throne Room. “It makes no sense.”

“… what do you think?”

“… it’s definitely one of the Blooded,” Fulster said. “The markings are all there – a dagger through the side of the neck, the person postured in a way that reflects how they lived, the head leaned back, eyes open, blood pooled beneath his feet.”

“… those bastards.” Evon growled.

“It is queer, though, Your Highness. Why now? What has changed?”

“… perhaps Father had finally grown too weak to retaliate?”

“No,” Fulster shook his head. “His Majesty may not have been in the prime of his life, but he could still blaze out a few more times.”

“Why didn’t he? Could he have been surprised?” Evon asked.

“Impossible. No soul could have approached His Majesty within two hundred feet unnoticed.”

“… your implications are disturbing, Fulster.”

"I am well aware," the man said as the two left the room, leaving behind the cold and heavy atmosphere. "But… everything I say is speculative. The truth is… we have no idea what happened, Your Highness. Two people alone do, as a matter of fact."

“… and one of them is lying dead in his chair, while the other is most likely headed for the Kingdom’s borders. What about attempts at Olivia’s life? Are they connected?”

“Hard to say,” Fulster shook his head. “I’ve already determined that the Blooded weren’t responsible for the attempts. They were locals, as far as I could tell. Guards, mostly, on the surface loyal to the House, but in reality to the coin.”

“What about the North?” Evon probed with faint expectations.

“It was as you suspected,” the man said. “One of the children was sent south, one was stationed in the castle, and one was elusively probing toward the west. However…”

“… however?”

“They will not interfere,” Fulster said. “Not in this… not in anything. It looks like they’ll simply wait for the next Sovereign to hoist the Crown.”

“… none of this makes any sense,” Evon sighed dispiritedly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This past year… was bizarre. Everything about it is clouded in the layers of mystery. The other two Kingdoms descending into even greater chaos than their usual one, the Kindled, the appearance of a new group, that Skyler character, Sylene’s death, Olivia’s behavior, my other Brothers are vying for figures best left alone, Draths withdrawing, Fyrosts engaging… and now… this. And that was only what I’ve seen on the surface. Gods know what else had transpired without us ever being privy to it.”

“…”

“Olivia should soon return home,” Evon said. “Ensure she returns safely; whoever tries to take her life, bring them to me. Once she’s here, barricade her home.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Also, discretely invite that jester to meet me in a week’s time,” Evon said, his eyebrows twitching at his own words. “He knows more than he’s letting on. Perchance, it might be time to stop playing games and making jokes.”

“… will do.” Fulster looked queerly at him for a moment, though Evon ignored it.

“Also, invite Duke Advell for a personal visit.”

“Your Highness—”

“I know, but I need to feel him out further,” Evon said. “What do you really think, Fulster? Will he of all people step aside and let others gobble up all the power?”

“… no.”

"I think so too," he nodded. "The months until the Holy War… might be more important than the War itself. Also, look into the strange activities following Olivia's departure. I've heard whispers of another new player, Amber Bank, or something. Supposedly, they are headed by some merchant, Flint Fyllun, and there are traces of Duke Godwind’s hand in it. From the sounds of it, they've accepted plenty of donations for the purposes of war against the Kindled."

“… I’ve already tried looking into it, Your Highness,” Fulster said. “It is… strange.”

“Strange?”

"Hm," the man nodded. "This group hadn't existed until just recently and is linked to the early onset of wealth development in the Lower Reaches. It is a strange system; they would lend some Crowns to anyone asking and would seek a payment back with what they called 'an interest'. If one borrowed ten Crowns, then they had a month to repay fifteen."

“…” Evon frowned for a moment as a glint flashed in his eyes, realizing the sheer ramifications of this. “That is…”

“… dangerously brilliant,” Fulster nodded. “Whoever is behind it…”

“… probe, but don’t directly confront them,” Evon said. “If possible, see if you can locate this Flint fella. If he’s behind the whole thing, I’d like to meet with him.”

“Will do, Your Highness.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Yes.”

The man suddenly vanished as they reached the Palace’s courtyard. The fresh air revitalized Evon as he took a deep breath and looked at the dawning sky. Amber Bank… if I play my cards right, this might be the key to ensuring my Family suffers the least damage possible. Flint Fyllun… just who the hell are you?