28 (you) can’t save them all.
SIX HOURS BEFORE THE DEATH OF DAMIAN ROSWALD
Damian woke, his body slick with sweat.
The last vestiges of his mercurial visions faded away in a blur of burning light, as though the very existence of his dream had been expunged from his memories.
As the strange not-dream slipped from his grasp, the events on the bridge rushed to fill the gap—
—Car—Tram—Apostles—Blood—Dominic—
—Dominic.
Tears spilled down Damian's cheeks. The misery he hadn't allowed himself to feel in that moment now ran free, and the plug in the dam of his motions came undone. His loyal bodyguard, the man who had protected him since his mother's passing, was gone.
I couldn't even say goodbye.
Damian squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fist until his nails dug into his flesh, drawing blood. The pain felt good. The pain reminded him he was alive—reminded him of the ones he'd allowed to die.
Father. Dominic. Please forgive me.
His chest burned.
The pain he felt came from deep inside his heart, as though his very soul wept, all his grief and sorrow bleeding to the surface. He opened his eyes, half-expecting to see blood pooling on his chest.
Blinking through a sheen of tears, he realized he was lying on a soft bed. He was naked aside from his underwear, and his left arm still bore faint traces of blood and grime. The minor wounds he'd sustained were gone—likely the work of the Aspect of Vigor.
The bedsheets were a mess, perhaps disturbed by his restless dreams. His clothes lay on the floor in a sodden, crumpled heap, stained red with blood from himself and the Apostles he'd killed.
Where am I? Is this the safe house? And how'd I get here? Where's Lynn and Tia?
The need for answers compelled him out of bed.
The room was minimally decorated, the blinds drawn tightly shut—he couldn't tell whether it was still afternoon or not.
Unsure of where to find clothes, he wrapped the bedsheet tightly around his waist. He formed a two-fingered gesture with his left hand, the Rosa Regalia still shimmering on his finger.
Carefully, Damian made his way to the door and eased it open to reveal a cold hallway beyond, lit by a Flame-blessed light overhead. To his left was a steel door reinforced with several thick, iron bars.
So this is the safe house…?
He proceeded in the other direction, coming out into a wide living room with an attached kitchenette.
"Really, Your Highness, is that appropriate attire?"
Lynn's sardonic comment sent a wave of relief through him.
The Captain of the Flameguard was sitting on the floor, her back against a small two-seater sofa. She wore a gray tank-top and black leggings, and her armor was spread out across a thick rug.
Her blue eyes traced a quick line over Damian's chest, then returned to her work.
"Damian! I mean—um—Your High—uh—"
A flustered squeak came from the kitchen, where Tia was investigating the small pantry. An array of bowls and cooking utensils covered the countertop, and through the persistent reek of the river infecting his nostrils, Damian detected the notes of something delicious cooking.
His stomach rumbled appreciatively.
"Thank the Angel you're both all right," Damian croaked, looking between the girls. "If I lost you both, I—I don't—"
He trailed off, unwilling to finish his thought.
Tia smiled brightly at him. She seemed largely unharmed, and was sporting new tights—perhaps the safe house kept an array of spare clothes for the staff?
Damian slumped on the spare sofa seat behind Lynn.
"So, how did we end up here? What happened after the bridge collapsed?"
Lynn paused, an oiled rag in her hand. She twisted around to look at Damian, her brows furrowed.
"That's the thing… I'm not entirely sure. I remember jumping into the river after you, but… When I woke up, someone had rescued all three of us. A few people had stopped by, and they said we were dragged from the river by a man with long hair. The safe house wasn't far away, so I carried you both here and healed you up."
"A mysterious savior…? A potential ally, or just an honest citizen?"
"The Apostles destroyed the entire bridge. For someone to have reached us in time, they must have been nearby—"
"—And been strong enough to carry three people in one go."
Damian finished Lynn's sentence, his brows knitted in consternation.
"But then, why rescue us and then leave without another word?"
"Perhaps they couldn't stay. With the way things are in the city right now, anything's possible."
Lynn's tone held a note of concern that troubled him. Right now?
"Wait, how long was I asleep?"
"About five hours. The six o'clock bells rang not long before you woke."
Five hours.
He'd lost five hours of potential time to track down his father's killer. Five hours without knowing what was going on in the city, without knowing whether Uncle Leon was safe, and whether the Palace still had a traitor lurking its halls.
Seeing his worry, Lynn pressed a handful of newspapers into Damian's lap.
"Here, you should read these. Just—well. Brace yourself."
Lynn hesitated, her hand lingering on the papers for a moment longer, her expression conflicted. Then she returned to polishing her armor, even though it was already gleaming brilliantly.
Damian murmured his thanks as he flipped open the evening papers. Almost immediately, his stomach clenched into knots.
KING XAVIER V SLAIN. CROWN PRINCE IN HIDING.
He skimmed across the headlines, each one slamming into him like a condemnation.
KING KILLED BY THE DEEP? EYE WITNESS REPORTS ON PAGE 6.
Somehow, impossibly, the media had snapped a blurry, distant photo of the king's body, impaled against the Palace windows. Bile rose in the back of Damian's throat, but he forced himself to continue reading.
CLASHES BETWEEN ORDER AND COLLECTIVE OVER KING'S DEATH.
APOSTLES AND PRIESTS DEAD IN CLASH. DOZENS INJURED.
WHERE IS OUR NEW KING?
Damian flung the papers away, disgusted. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together until his knuckles turned white. He hung his head between his knees, his dark hair falling down loosely.
"Your Highness…"
Lynn hesitated, her lips parting briefly, before swallowing down whatever she was going to say.
Slowly, Damian forced words from his parched and broken throat.
"So… my father dies and the media goes on the offensive. We get attacked by Apostles of the Deep on the way to a safe house, but we're rescued by a mysterious savior who vanishes shortly after. What the hell is going on?"
"We should move from the safe house tomorrow. I've searched the area and I can't see any signs of pursuers, but Tenebrae can cast a wide net. It's safe to assume that they're our greatest enemy right now."
Damian fell into silence. Nothing about this made any sense. After all, it wasn't just the Deep that had attacked his father. He had seen a Flame-blessed wound across the king's stomach.
The Deepshadow spears had been suspending Xavier's body—but it was the wound to his gut that had undoubtedly killed him.
Yet nothing in the papers mentioned that Flame-blessed injury.
"You saw it too, right, Lynn?" he asked, keeping his voice low. "What really killed my father?"
The Captain of the Flameguard froze. She placed her rag aside and with slow, deliberate motions, began stacking her armor into neat piles. For a moment, the room was silent, except for the gentle chink of Lynn's armor, and the noise of Tia making dinner.
"Be careful what you're suggesting, Your Highness. Right now, the Holy Order are still our most powerful allies. You understand what I'm saying, right?"
Lynn's voice was deadly quiet. She kept her gaze on the ground, one bang of red hair hiding her expression.
She saw it, too. But if the Apostles are going out of their way to attack us, then we'll need the Order's protection. To turn our backs on the Order now, when everything's in turmoil…
Even so, Damian couldn't push that image from his head, nor the thought that it wasn't just a single killer that had claimed his father's life. A single person could only wield one Blessing—either the Deep, or the Flame.
The puzzle seemed impossible to solve, and right on cue, a more mundane problem arose in the form of Damian's gurgling stomach. A second later, a chill went down his back, and he realized he'd better find something to wear—which raised another question.
"So, which one of you undressed me, then?"
Lynn finally looked up at Damian, an icy look in her eyes.
"Tia seemed to know exactly how to get your pants off, so I let her handle it."
In the kitchen, Tia dropped a bowl with a loud clatter. Damian's face turned bright red and he coughed in a pathetic attempt to cover his embarrassment.
"There's nothing to be ashamed about," Lynn said blandly, shrugging as if she couldn't care less. "I'm sure you had a reason for insisting the new maid accompany us into hiding, Your Highness. A reason aside from needing a convenient sex toy, of course."
"That—that's completely out of line, Lynn! Tia is an essential member of the royal household, and as prince I need all types of help—"
"Oh yes, I know exactly what type of 'help' you need, Your Highness. Well, at least I can rest easy knowing I won't be called upon in the middle of the night to oil your sword."
She spat the last words at Damian with unusual venom. In the kitchen, Tia was fussing to-and-fro, making a blubbering noise that wasn't quite speech as she tried to interject. Her cheeks were puffed up and turning scarlet with indignation.
"I—I—I swear I'm a very loyal retainer to H-His Highness! What happened l-last night was just—"
"—It was just enough to earn you a spot in our safe house, hm? I know the 'playboy prince' gets around a bit, so you really must have impressed him Tia. Is that why you've never moved on me, Your Highness? You need someone dumber with bigger tits—"
"Captain Brightwell, that is enough!!"
Damian shot to his feet, standing over Lynn, his hands clenched into fists. Furious, he bore down on her, but she refused to move an inch, and didn't even flinch at the anger in his voice.
"I will not stand to have you sully the good names of my staff. You will apologize to Tia this instant!"
"Oh I'll apologize, all right," Lynn seethed. She jutted her chin towards the maid. "I'm sorry she wasn't sitting in the front seat, because then Dominic might still be alive, someone we could actually use—"
Slap.
Tia gasped.
Damian's hand marked Lynn's cheek, a mirror copy of the slap her brother had sustained just that very morning. Lynn's eyes went wide, and her jaw tightened until a muscle tensed in her cheek.
"You're no better than your filthy brother. Get out of my sight, and don't return unless you actually want to serve the Crown."
Lynn glared at Damian a moment longer, her cheek red. She leaped to her feet and stalked down the hallway. There was a rattling of chains and locks, and the heavy steel door swung open, permitting a band of streetlight into the corridor.
Lynn turned, her face hidden in shadow. She opened her mouth to say something, then slammed the door shut behind her as she stepped out into the night.
Damian let out a shaky breath and rubbed his temples.
Great. Just great. I'm losing everyone around me…
Tia hesitated on the threshold of the kitchen, her face downcast.
"I—I'm sorry. Lynn… She's right. I can't help protect you the way she can. It should have been me who died…"
"Don't you dare say that! Don't ever say that again… Too many people have died for me already. Nobody deserves to live or die more than anybody else."
Tia made a small, mouse-like noise.
Damian returned to his room, anger raging in the pit of his stomach. He truly believed his words from the bottom of his stomach.
Who am I to be the arbiter of life and death?
That's not true, a small voice whispered to him. You killed those Apostles like they were nothing. You took two lives today, and you didn't even hesitate.
Damian's hands trembled as opened the closet.
That was different. I killed them to save Tia.
A life for a life, is that so? the voice replied. Yet you killed two. One life unpaid. Is that fair?
Damian had no answer for his doubts. He couldn't refute the truth of what he'd done, yet he didn't feel guilty. He'd done what was necessary—and he'd do it again if his friends and loved ones were in danger.
I am not the judge, but if I must, I will be the executioner.
Damian dressed in a gray jumper and a pair of durable tracksuit pants. The safe house was well-stocked with spare clothes, towels, and underwear in various bland shades—perhaps chosen to increase the anonymity of its residents.
There came a soft knocking at the door, and Tia poked her head into the room.
"Um, dinner's ready… It's not much, all we had was canned meat and beans, but I made something like breakfast for dinner…"
Damian forced a gentle smile onto his lips.
"I'll be there in a moment."
Tia nodded and retreated wordlessly, an empty, hollow silence following in her wake. Damian looked down at the ring on his finger, at the Cinder pulsing inside the depths of the ruby crystal.
What am I supposed to do now, Father? Please… tell me.
