Erador brushed his fingers through his neck-length black hair as he followed the garden path. Overgrown weeds invaded the garden beds that used to be cared for by the hands of his father’s followers. Stone crumbed from dull animal statues that were once vibrant with color.

  The garden degraded within months after most of the followers left, and as fast as his father’s health declined. Erador passed the fountain, missing the cool misty water on a hot day. Soggy leaves caked the bottom and the swampy smell that attracted insects repulsed him and he took another path.

  He shielded his dark brown eyes from the afternoon rays and moved into the manor’s shadow. The four-story building with black-painted windows was home. Eeriness settled in him as he tried to remember what it used to be like before ivy suffocated the brick walls and balconies. Erador couldn’t ignore his sadness when the wide steps he walked up were once used by people as a place to sit and talk. He opened the door that welcomed him with a creak.

  His footsteps fell heavy down the dark corridor. Erador pulled out a lighter and allowed the fire to guide him, but he didn’t need it to find his way when his footsteps were married to these halls. But the flickering flame was like a life source in these empty corridors, something to keep him company among doors that hadn’t been opened in decades. The crown molding, chandeliers, paintings, and embroidered carpets didn’t hold a place in anyone’s hearts like they used to. Shade kept quiet as if mourning what was lost.

  Down the hall, a stream of light stretched across the wall. Erador carefully shut the lighter as mumbles slipped through the cracked door. He squeezed out, and hid behind a pillar in the balcony’s shadow. Leaning out, he pressed his hand against the cold marble that lost its shine years ago.

  In front of the throne, Eonidas lowered a knee on the black rug and bowed with dipped lines around his full lips. Scratches on his brown muscled arms and bald head glistened red. On his forearm, a seahorse’s tail curled around a sunflower. Eonidas was defeated and it had nothing to do with his injuries.

  Erador’s heart wrenched. The healing blood that could save his father wasn’t real. Not that he believed it.

  His frail father slouched on his throne with a pillow tucked behind his back and legs dangling over the armrest. Mikra snipped scissors at his hair as long strands of gray fell to the floor. After twenty years, Erador should’ve been used to his father’s state, but an uncomfortable shiver that erupted through his body said otherwise.

  The dark iron throne sat above five steps with ruby red cushions and carved bird feet. Three rings, perched above the backrest, honored the saints of the Ring of Awakening—his father’s religion. Each ring had a symbol inside; the top a bird for Lord Judgment, a ram below it for Brother Retribution, and wings to its left for Sister Absolution.

  This throne was used to fool other countries into thinking Lucrethia operated like a kingdom. His father hadn’t used it much because he stood before his followers to greet them as an equal. Not something the kingdoms wanted to perpetuate, at least, that’s what his father told him. Now the throne that was used for appearances looked like his final resting place.

  Erador took the opportunity to judge his father like he’d done to his followers as Judgment. Mikra looked more like a servant than a caretaker as he brushed hair clippings from Judgment’s shoulders and Eonidas bowed to him like he was king. Erador knew his father was worshiped by his people, but he never wanted to see his followers treat him like this.

  “How could you fail?” Judgment’s voice echoed off the marble walls, emphasizing his anger; it was too weak to hold meaning on its own.

  His critical tone sickened Erador. He fulfilled his role like a king, expecting perfection.

  Gillian shuffled into sight. “We couldn’t get her.” She whispered as she cupped the bloody bandage around her arm. “There were too many knights.”

  Her ruffled, short hair dangled in her sad eyes. A typical display from her to avoid admitting her mistakes and hoping Judgment would feel sorry for her. Erador leaned out further from the pillar, waiting for Judgment to scold her, but he said nothing. He made a fist. How couldn’t he when this mission was for his future?

  Eonidas’s nostrils flared as he rose from his knee, his wide body towering over Gillian. Splotches of white and brown stained his red shirt. Rips in the cloth were far and few between compared to Gillian’s.

  “We had plenty of chances to get her. One motherfucker was on the balcony. Just one, and Gillian was fooling with ‘em.”

  Gillian balled her hands. “He was fighting me!”

  Erador moved around the pillar, clapping. The sound reverberated through the long room. He hoped it would pound into Gillian’s skull, ending her on the spot. When she found him, any remaining color on her pale skin drained from her cheeks. Eonidas patted his chest and gave a nod.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything better from you, Gillian,” Erador said.

  “It wasn’t me.” Gillian’s pleading gaze shifted to Judgment.

  Erador moved to the throne, tripping on the top step. Gillian laughed. Glaring, he whipped his head around and her lips flattened. He wished he could’ve blamed his mishap on the cracks in the stone floor.

  Flames flickered in the iron sconces attached to the pillars, leading to the entrance doors at the end of the hall. Darkness thrived where light couldn’t reach, gifting Erador places to hide when he wanted to be alone. Above the surrounding balcony, the four-story skylight was painted black and burgundy walls further darkened the room. Candles on the table brightened the throne. Erador didn’t want to be exposed but he needed to remind his father that Gillian failed.

  Judgment shut his eyes as a hum rumbled in his throat. “She wasn’t the only one on the assignment. Where are the other three?”

  “But Gillian made the plan.” Eonidas glimpsed at Erador.

  “She already didn’t deserve a chance,” Erador said. “Look at what she did to the New Akthelian Queen.”

  Judgment’s breaths escaped as wheezes, and his chest moved too slowly, as if it would stop. It pained Erador to see his father in this condition.

  “You need this father.” Words lingered on Erador’s tongue. He was afraid saying it would confirm his father’s end. “You’re going to die.”

  Erador couldn’t remember what his father looked like when he was young. The scarlet color of Judgment’s eyes were hardly visible through the cataracts that consumed his vision. His large nose and ears, age spots on his wrinkled skin, and his long beard became too common; it made Erador shiver knowing this is how he would remember him when he died. He had aged rapidly twenty years ago, after his pendant was destroyed.

  Judgment could only use it. He claimed it allowed him to see the truths of his followers, so he can better judge them. While Erador wanted to believe it was a lie, somehow his father knew things Erador never told him. No matter its true purpose, Judgment wouldn’t be in this condition if he hadn’t used it and Lucrethia wouldn’t be deteriorating. The Paradins looked like they hadn’t aged much since that time, because as Harians, they lived almost twice that of humans.

  “I’m fine.” Judgment shooed Mikra away as he took a few gasping breaths. “I’ll decide her fate. Not you, not anyone!” He pointed his finger around the room, his eyes shifting.

  Mikra gave Judgment a glass. Water sloshed as his hand shook, and the caretaker steadied it to his mouth. Judgment’s long-sleeved blouse and black pants concealed his condition. Shivers ran down Erador’s back when a bandage peeked from Judgment’s sleeve but he shut down any empathy toward him. The sores appeared not long after he began to age rapidly and he deserved every one of them. They were like a reflection of the wounds Erador’s father gave him.

  Erador glared at Gillian. Her nervous gaze wandered to fourteen banners hanging below the balcony. Each banner had a silhouette of an animal painted in black and gold to honor the remaining Paradins. The fifteenth and largest one was Judgment’s bird above the archway behind the throne.

  Gillian had no place with the Paradins. She didn’t deserve a mark. A lump formed in Erador’s throat as he looked at the moth banner and stroked the silky fabric over his right forearm. The obscured tattoo, that was forced onto him, was no different from his scars. He couldn’t hide them. Everyone knew they were there.

  “Gillian will get another chance,” Judgment said.

  Erador blinked. “What if she doesn’t succeed?”

  “Then I’ll decide her fate.”

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  Eonidas shook his head, and wandered to a marble bench near a pillar. A smile tugged at Gillian’s lips, and for the first time she looked at Erador with confidence. A growl rumbled in his throat. Why did his father always take her side? She had done nothing but harm Lucrethia.

  “Her fate should be decided now.” Erador’s jaw tensed as black liquid bled across his eyes, causing his vision to darken. Shade twitched on the floor. Gillian took a step back.

  Small cuts in her shirt revealed freshly scabbed wounds. “Why did you report late? Didn’t you leave last night?”

  Gillian didn’t answer. She licked the gap where her tooth was missing. It had been extracted by Retribution as punishment for killing the New Akthelians. Erador wanted to feel that she deserved it, but it changed nothing. Gillian hadn’t learned.

  Eonidas shifted on the bench and licked his full lips. “We... had to walk. Had a problem getting out of there.”

  Erador cocked his head at Eonidas. The brown stains on his clothing were dried blood, but with the few holes in his shirt, why did he bleed so much? Was one of the other three injured and needed to be carried?

  “Are the others injured?” Erador asked.

  “Not as bad, if at all,” Eonidas said, tugging his shirt. “I don’t think they got hurt.”

  “Why are you?”

  “Birds,” Eonidas said. “And glass.”

  Gillian’s signature attack that killed New Akthelian’s pregnant queen and her soldiers twenty years ago. He bit down his tongue to prevent himself from yelling at her for making another mistake.

  “Did you kill anyone?” Erador’s voice strained to break from a whisper.

  Gillian shook her head.

  Erador looked at Eonidas for confirmation, but he didn’t note that anything occurred. Whether they killed someone or not didn’t change what could happen to them again. They went during Odinaty’s Harvest Ball. A day they were supposed to avoid and instead, try and discretely steal the princess. This disastrous mission could repeat what happened twenty years ago, when New Akthelia’s soldiers marched to Lucrethia’s gates.

  Lucrethian’s were threatened, many beaten, some killed, and their identities documented. The king left Erador unharmed to claim he wasn’t a senseless murderer like the Lucrethians, who killed his pregnant wife. That meant nothing, when he ordered the Lucrethians who revolted dead. They took the others involved but Judgment lied that Gillian escaped. They didn’t need a repeat of that from Odinaty.

  “Yesterday was the tenth.” Erador paused and stared at the dried mud on Gillian’s boots. “The day of the Harvest Ball. Why did you lead your assignment on that day?”

  Gillian swallowed. “I didn’t...”

  “You didn’t what?” Erador cocked his head, building ink retracted behind his eyelids before it could fully blur his vision. “You’re telling me you didn’t know it was yesterday?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re a fucking liar.” Erador pointed left of the archway at the shredded banner of the black raven painted over with a red ‘X’. “We’re reminded of the Raven’s atrocities every year to avoid following his path.” He turned his finger at Gillian and her shoulders curled in. “You’ve only reminded Odinaty of that violent day when he slaughtered the royal family. They don’t know the Raven is our enemy.” Erador walked in front of the throne and stopped. “You’ve almost outdone him.”

  Judgment shoved his cup out of Mikra’s hands. Glass shattered, sliding across the floor as he pounded the armrest. “You do not compare him to anyone!”

  Chills ran down Erador’s spine. His father’s voice replicated the furious tone that caused Erador’s heart to race when he was a child. Shade shot from his shadow and panicked emotions fed into Erador as the shadow tried to coax him to the library. Erador wanted to escape like he used to, but his father’s wrinkled skin and wheezing caused his heart to twist. Judgment gasped and held his chest, his fingers clutching the air.

  Mikra grabbed a broom and swept the glass, like his monotonous cleaning routine. His dark brown curls dangled in his eyes. The caretaker was unfazed by Judgment’s gasping that sounded like it would be his final breath, though Erador had heard it too many times.

  Erador ran to his father and sat him up. “Mikra, get Sescina.” He waited for the caretaker to move, but he gave no response. “Mikra!” His voice boomed through the room.

  Mikra looked up.

  “Get Sescina now!”

  Mikra’s face paled when he saw Judgment and the broom hit the floor. He darted past the throne, and Judgment snatched his arm as his wheezing settled.

  “No need.”

  Air expelled from Erador’s lungs as he carefully lowered his father on the pillow, afraid he would break his brittle bones. Eonidas rubbed the sheen of sweat from his face and Gillian closed her eyes. It was a small relief at best, but at least he was fine.

  Judgment lifted a shaky finger. “It’s been decades since the Raven murdered Odinaty’s royal family. Decades. Yes, Gillian chose the wrong day. It was a mistake.”

  “People don’t forget something like that. You think the New Akthelian king forgot about his wife and unborn child?” Erador pointed at Gillian. “She got us in this mess.”

  Judgment’s lips pressed together. “Gillian didn’t do it. The exiled followers framed her.”

  “Stop defending her mistakes,” Erador said. “Almost everyone turned against you and left because of that one incident. Your pendant was destroyed because of it. You wouldn’t be in this condition.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his scalp. “Now, we have to contend with Odinaty.”

  “We don’t have much to lose, only to gain,” Judgment said. “She’ll continue her assignment.”

  Erador mumbled an insult through his teeth and wandered away from the throne. “Why would you leave your life in her hands? What are you thinking?”

  Erador blinked, realizing his father wasn’t thinking. He’d been unwell for years. Erador could recall countless of his father’s irrational decisions. He shouldn’t be making them. Without Brother Retribution and Sister Absolution to take Judgment’s place, it should be up to Erador, but no one wanted him in control.

  Judgment’s chest moved rapidly. He hacked, blood spilling from his mouth. Droplets sprayed on Mikra’s already stained apron. The caretaker wiped the red from Judgment’s chin without complaint, not something Erador could do easily. At least others were willing to take care of him. Though Erador wished the worst on his father, seeing him suffer made him regret it.

  “My apologies, father.” Erador lowered his head. “Is getting the princess’s blood worth it? How do you know it heals?”

  Judgment grunted. “Don’t get into this again.”

  Eonidas lifted his hand. “It does. I cut her.”

  Erador’s jaw tensed. “It doesn’t mean her blood heals others.”

  “That is one of the signs,” Judgment said. “The rumor is true.”

  “Does that matter when Odinaty knows we were there? They will come.” Erador’s eyes flashed to the banners. “All of us will be dead.”

  “Let them come.” Judgment sucked in a whistling breath. “If they kill us—”

  “Haria will cheer,” Erador said. “They would be more than happy if we were wiped from the map.”

  “No.” Judgment lifted his hand. “The north will see their slaughter as an attempt to spread their narrow views. No one will believe we attacked them. Odinaty won’t touch us.”

  “But we went after their princess. I’m sure they’ll cover up our extinction. They’ve done it before.”

  “But if we don’t do anything our fate will be the same. I’m dying,” Judgment said, “as you said.”

  Erador’s stomach rolled as his father used his words against him.

  “We can’t take her now.” Eonidas’s fearful eyes reflected memories of the past.

  Erador shivered. Mikra wiped the floor and water bled into the rag. A glistening streak of liquid remained on the stone. Though their soldiers were laid to rest twenty years ago, grief would never evaporate from their minds. Trying to save his father could lead to Lucrethia’s end.

  “Eonidas is right. We can’t face an uprising with a kingdom again.” Erador’s irritated gaze moved to Gillian. “Let’s hope we don’t have to face a second slaughter after your poor decisions.”

  She shifted, touching her pant’s pocket. Glass clinked inside. Cuts on her body mirrored injuries on the murdered New Akthelians. Erador dug his tense fingers through his scalp, wishing he could use them to hit her. Gillian had lost control of her element countless times in the past, nearly killing people in Lucrethia. Someone as unstable as her shouldn’t be carrying glass.

  “They might have learned about our access point.” Eonidas grunted in pain as he rose from the bench. “Security is high. I never thought the rumors were true. That princess’s hair is black as yours.”

  Though Erador didn’t believe in healing blood, he couldn’t deny how strange it was that an impure Harian was Odinaty’s princess. That kingdom only valued light skin and hair, which they considered pure.

  Erador sat on the step below the throne and held his chin, rubbing across the few bristly hairs on his medium-olive skin. The broom scuffed against the floor and glass clinked as Mikra pushed the shards into a dustpan. He couldn’t think of why they should try again. There was no cure for his father, no magical blood that could return him to a younger age.

  If they got a hold of that princess, it could prove to his father that healing blood wasn’t real. His father would lose hope, and finally leave this world. For once, Erador could be free from this cult and from his father; it was the only way he could let go.

  “We need to work around this,” Erador said.

  “I don’t know what else I can do,” Gillian whined.

  “Not much you can do?” Erador raised a brow. He stomped up to Gillian and she flinched. “Look at my father!” Gillian glimpsed at Judgment with fear rather than shame as she should have. “My father saved you twice, and you’re saying this is too much? You don’t deserve to be a Paradin. You don’t deserve to stand with us! Get on the ground.”

  Gillian dropped on her knees and lowered her head. Her shaking fingers pressed into the rug. When Judgment went to defend her, Erador shushed him.

  “Now, tell me you’re going to get the blood,” Erador said.

  “I will.” Gillian’s voice was muffled into the rug.

  “Louder!”

  “I’ll get the blood.”

  “That’s the mindset of a Paradin. You don’t tell me you can’t. You don’t make excuses,” Erador said. “When you have an assignment, you complete it. You need to come up with a better plan to get that blood.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gillian said.

  Her shaky words weren't reassuring, but Erador didn’t expect more. He was tired of her getting away with everything.