chapter twenty-two

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

"What if greatness is nothing but / a series of letters etched on a headstone / What am I striving for? / if greatness feels / just like this."

Katherine Slater, Just Like This, prod. by Nora Davis


The study at the Williams home had a wealth of books. A small dark desk with a monitor sat in the corner, a deep green chair in front of it. Bookshelves lined most of the walls all the way around, stacked to the brim with everything from what looked like romance novels to Aerianan Sign Language books. On the other side of the room, a large potted fern brought a pop of color to the already color filled room.

She booted the computer up, took a deep breath, and started simple.

Princess Driana Antonov.

It wasn't like she'd never heard of or learned about the Antonov family before. She had. They'd had enough units on the current ruling family throughout grade school and high school. She'd watched the news. But she'd never done more than learn information for the sake of a test.

The first thing that came up was a general article about Princess Driana's lineage. Who she was related to, and how she fit into the line of successors. Iris only skimmed it. Instead, she put her focus on another article two links down.

FIRST PALACE CONSUMED IN FIRE.

Something about the article had her palms sweating. She clicked it anyway.

"... late this afternoon, fire department was called out to the First Palace for an emergency. Upon arrival, witnesses say there was a loud explosion heard before flames consumed the place. Most of the staff onsite was able to get out. The royal family has not been located. At this time, the fire department has put out about 90% of the flames, and is working to clear the area. At least four are suspected dead.

Although left unconfirmed, a contact with the fire department has suggested the initial explosion was related to an issue with the boiler..."

She read through the article, unable to explain why her hands shook the further she got through it. The shaking only increased in the next article.

ROYAL FAMILY KILLED IN FIRE.

"Today, the kingdom is in mourning after the announcement that the royal family has been killed in the fire that swallowed the palace two days ago. Many Aces have already placed candles, flowers, and other trinkets outside the palace gates, where, just beyond, the wreckage has not yet been cleared. This morning was perhaps the quietest in Aerianan history as Aces all over the country watched Prince Demitri's emotional announcement of his loss.

As of posting this article, we're unable to get confirmation of any suspected foul play..."

Some articles were easier than others, but at least half of them focused on the tragedy that was the death of the royal family rather than who they were when they lived. Anything she found about Driana, it only mentioned when she passed and what happened that led to her passing.

As she read, her brain sent her murky pieces of images. A stone tunnel. A firm but slim hand holding hers. Bright white and orange flickering flames that swallowed golden threaded curtains. By her fifth article, she could almost feel the flames against her face, and the phantom choking feeling of being trapped in a room with smoke.

POLICE CONFIRM NO FOUL PLAY IN ROYAL FIRE.

... boiler room caused the explosion that spread the fire in a matter of minutes. King Aedan, 37, Queen Terra, 33, and Princess Driana, 5, were—

Iris pushed back from the desk and collapsed. 5. Driana was 5.

Sobs wracked her frame as something in her heart, in her soul, unlocked. A memory. A surety. An understanding. She bent over her knees, unable to hold her torso up, and put her face in her hands. 5.

I was 5.

How could she not know? How could her brain have eliminated such a core piece of her, of who she was?

She wiped under her eyes as the gravity of the whole thing burrowed white-hot and heavy in between her ribs. Because she knew. Now, she knew. Her mind might try to protect her, but her heart knew, and her heart understood the power of knowledge.

Her head pounded, even as she tried to go back. Back before the orphanage. Before the Daniels. Before her new name. When she tried, she hit a wall. There was still just... nothing.

Her birth parents were gone.

She wept. Not for their memories, but for what could have been. Of a life she would never remember. The people who'd been a part of her development.

"I won't ever remember," her voice was a ragged whisper. "I'm sorry." She told them, though they'd never hear her. "I'm sorry."

"Iris?"

She couldn't even lift herself up to look at Wylan as he came into the room. Instead, she sucked in a watery breath and wiped again at her eyes. Her gloves were wet with her tears. She couldn't find it in herself to care.

A heavy hand landed on her knee. At that, she looked up at him through a blurry gaze. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

Wylan stood, bringing her up out of the chair with him.

His arms came around her. "You didn't know," he said, his mouth right at her ear.

He was nothing but warm strength pressed against her. Her hands landed on his mid-back. "I'm sorry."

He said nothing, just let her hold on to him.

After a long moment, she got a hold of her emotions. Slowly, she pulled back and wiped at her eyes with the top of her gloves. "Stars, you must think I've finally lost it."

Wylan let her go, one hand partially extended toward her, as if he were waiting for her to collapse. Or break down again.

But his expression, when she could finally see him, was... soft. "I don't think that. If you did, though, that would be a valid reaction, all things considered."

Self-derision soured her throat. "You must've thought I've been a real brat."

"That's not at all what I thought," he said slowly, then he pointed at the computer, still up in front of her. "That article? It's half a lie. What they've told the kingdom was a carefully crafted portrait of an altered reality."

He reached over and clicked out of the webpage, then hit the power button on the computer. "They won't ever tell the public about the small group of assassins that invaded the palace before the fire began. Or the war that raged inside the building before the tragedy. I can understand why you wouldn't want to remember something that altered the course of your life."

Somberness and something else tinged his words.

His mom, she remembered. Oh Stars, his mom. She clasped her shaking hands together in front of her chest. "I owe you another apology, though I don't know that it would ever be enough."

Wylan's eyebrows came together.

"I'm sorry about your mom," she whispered, unable to get the courage to look at him. "I... I don't even remember what happened, though you mentioned Driana—I—was there when she died."

Wylan went still as a statue. The silence was heavy, so heavy, that she found for once she couldn't settle in it.

"You must've hated me," she said to the floor. If she'd been in his spot, she would've been bitter. If her mom had died saving someone else, and that person simply disappeared... a part of her would break. "I—" She stopped herself from another apology. She could apologize until her voice went ragged. Would it do any difference? "It's not fair, what happened to her. Not to her, and not to you. And now that I know, I promise you," she looked up at him, "I will spend the rest of my life making sure that it was worth it."

Wylan's shoulders fell. He wouldn't meet her gaze as he slowly took the chair she'd been sitting in. He said nothing.

She only watched something in him shifting, or maybe disappearing.

There was no mask here in this room. She knew, right then, that right now, she was looking at Wylan. Not Wylan, the agent or bodyguard or protector. Just Wylan.

After a long, drawn-out minute that turned into two, he finally sucked in a shaking breath. "I know it hasn't sunken in yet. That it's one thing to know you're Driana, and another thing to know you're Driana. But—" his voice broke. "I appreciate the sentiment."

He ran a hand over his face. "This is not how I thought today would go."

The laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. "Same here. I thought momentous discoveries were supposed to line up with the moon cycle or, at least, come with confetti."

The corner of Wylan's mouth twitched. "Can't control the cycles of the moon, but confetti is do-able."

Iris sat down on the floor. She was tired of holding herself up. Tired of all the emotion. Time to switch to something else. She thought back to all the things Wylan had told her about Driana, his mom, and what happened. Of the pictures she'd painted that spurred a reaction from him. "If your mom was my tutor, does that mean you and I were something like childhood friends?"

"Something like that," he said. "You always annoyed me as a kid."

She chuckled. "That doesn't seem too hard to do."

Wylan's gaze went far off, staring at everything and nothing. "You used to trail after me around the First Palace."

"I did not."

"You did," he confirmed. "I used to bring you to the gardens to play because at least there I could do what I wanted while you played make-believe."

"What was it you wanted to do?" She playfully rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you liked to throw rocks and break sticks."

Wylan said nothing.

"No," she playfully gasped, then laughed. "Really?"

He crossed his arms. "There's nothing wrong with that—what Ace doesn't break sticks and throw rocks when they're little?"

"It's not that," she said, her eyes bright. "It's that you were almost a normal child."

"'Almost'?" He repeated, outraged. "I was a normal child!"

"Were you, though?" she teased.

"Compared to you? Absolutely."

"What do you mean, compared to me?" She scoffed. "I bet I was an angel."

"Yeah, right."

Iris laughed and laid herself down on the floor. The ceiling above her was a cream color, with recessed lighting dotted evenly along the edges. She traced the corner where the ceiling met the walls with her eyes. In the back of her mind, something whispered. Little pieces of conversations, flashes of things that were both unfamiliar and familiar.

"Princess Driana..! Your scarf!"

"Driana, this... beautiful painting, have you... your father?"

"Today's... is math. I know. We'll... through it."

Her chest ached. It was all nothing but splintered pieces in her head.

"What does your father do, Wylan?" She asked to distract herself. She felt the need to collect as much information as she could, as if that would help unlock something inside her.

"He's an advisor to the Crown."

Her thumb came up to trace the edge of one glove. "Wow, that's an honorable position. How did he end up there?"

"He served in the military with King Aedan. The two of them became close friends." He said.

King Aedan.

Father.

"Once King Aedan was crowned, he brought my father with him. By then he'd already been promoted to Lieutenant in the Royal Guard."

It all sounded like a different world. Like things she hadn't ever touched directly and only heard through the news. But Wylan and his family had lived it, all of it, for decades.

"Is that what you wanted to do, too?"

Wylan was quiet for so long that she lifted her head to look over at him. "I don't know," he said when she glanced at him.

She squinted at him, but dropped it. Then dropped her head to stare back up at the off-white ceiling.

Something still itched at her. "Why now?" she asked the ceiling. "Why not let Driana stay missing?"

Wylan got up and stepped over her. He stopped at the large potted plant in the corner and turned his back to it, arms crossed.

She sat up with a frown, using her palms for balance as she sat back. "Wylan?"

"There is a surveillance camera behind this plant," he told her. "No sound, but I don't want anyone reading lips."

"You could've asked me to turn the other way," she said slowly. With everything they'd talked about, why did he cover that camera now? How did he even know it was there? And didn't he trust everyone in this house? Wasn't that why they were here?

"I could've," he cleared his throat. "We've been searching for Driana—you—from the moment you went missing from a safe house after the fire at the palace." The look on his face was severe and somber. She sat up straight, her muscles tightening, as if to run away from whatever he was about to say.

What could he possibly say that would be worse than what she'd already discovered?

"There is a group out there called The Circle," he continued, "They insert themselves into the government and other power structures and use anarchy to break them down. All so that, when they fall apart, The Circle is there to pick up the pieces and rebuild them as their own."

Iris wrapped her arms around herself. How did he know so much about this group? "What does this have to do with finding Driana?"

"The Circle was responsible for the assassination of the royal family," his words felt like glass spears hitting her skin. "They've infiltrated the government all the way to the highest level."

"The King?" She asked.

Wylan shook his head. "He would never betray the kingdom. He, my father, and a very small group of advisors are Loyalists—people loyal to the Crown and what it stands for."

Her shoulders dropped. Thank the Stars.

Wylan shifted on his feet and opened his mouth. Stopped.

"It's okay," she told him. "Whatever it is."

"It's not," he said. "Iris, the King has terminal cancer. He doesn't have much longer. And we can't confirm that the next in line for the throne hasn't been compromised by the Circle."

She disconnected. Completely disconnected. Lips numb, she whispered, "so you need Driana."

"We need the true heir, Iris. Because the King doesn't have much time."


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net