Erador gripped the rope and kicked off the ground. He swung forward and glimpsed red on the canvas, losing sight when he rocked back. Eli’s receded hairline crowned above the easel. His wrinkles were like a tally of his age, something to be proud of after years of hard work. Erador hoped his life would be meaningful. The marks he had from Slen, his tattoo, and the scars from his childhood would remain as he aged, and he couldn’t think of a reason to be grateful for any of them.

  Eli dipped the brush into the red paint on his palette. Within a few more strokes on the canvas, his brush was back in the murky water bucket. It was a process Erador could never strive to reach.

  He laid his temple against his hand and closed his eyes. The limb groaned as he let the rocking swing lull him. The cedar-scented wind cleansed his lungs from the suffocating air in the manor and let him escape. Each time the paint brush tapped against the metal bucket, he was forced home.

  Eli’s voice rustled him from the serene moment. “It’s ready. You want to see?”

  Erador skidded his feet against the earth and walked the swing forward until red appeared again. Vines wrapped around a human skull and the thorny tips buried into it like fangs. Blood leaked from the cracks and spiraled up the vine, breathing life into the roses’s wilted petals, partially plump with the color of wine. Brown dusted the wrinkled tips like the color of the paper keid was rolled in. A dozen drooping roses faded into the dark background.

  Eli stepped back. Hand under his chin, he looked at his work critically as if mistakes lied everywhere, but Erador saw nothing but perfection.

  “How would you interpret it?” Eli asked.

  Erador got up from the swing to look closer. “The center rose appears to be pulling life from the skull to revive itself. But the other roses are dead, never to live again.”

  “Interesting.” Eli tapped the paintbrush’s handle against his lips. “Very interesting. How do you know the skull isn’t stealing life from the flower?

  “Is it?”

  Eli’s burst of laughter sent warmth through him. “You can interpret it however you want, but I like to call it The Eternal Flower.”

  “Living forever, like in Paradise?” Erador breathed.

  “Paradise is without death,” Eli said, holding up the brush. “It,” he said pointing to the red flower, “represents what many desire. To live eternally, but they don’t realize when they obtain that wish,” he said, dragging his finger to the dead roses in the background, “those around them will grow old and perish. The eternal flower will be alone, times will change, and they will miss how it used to be.”

  Harians lived about double the age of humans. They were blessed by the Senith gods; that's what Loma believed. Much of Haria worshiped these gods. To his father, Harians were given more time to find Paradise. Erador didn’t know why they lived longer, but he wished they didn’t.

  “Eternal youth sounds like what my father wants.”

  Eli hummed in agreement. “I don’t know how anyone can be happy living forever on this dying planet.”

  “Our planet is fine.”

  “The Senith’s prophecy claims it has begun.”

  Erador moved away from the painting and tugged on a loose string on the swing’s rope. “Let’s not get into this again.”

  “It’s much easier to ignore it.” Eli dabbed the bristles on the painting. “Can’t say I don’t blame you.”

  Erador rolled his eyes and turned around. “Disasters, sickness, death... They happen all the time.”

  “Ah, but more in number are appearing.”

  “So they say...” Erador crossed his arms.

  New and old paint splotches were on Eli’s button-down shirt. Erador recalled the many times he wore that same striped fabric to retouch art in the manor, or birth something new. It was old—overused like many things in Lucrethia but it seemed more like it was something he never wanted to let go. It wasn't the only thing Eli held onto. His sleeve was rolled to his elbow. The once bright colors of the bat and sunflower tattoo faded into his light skin from age.

  “Good thing you’re old, right?”

  A smile peeked through Eli’s white bushy mustache that hung past his chin. “Guess so.”

  Erador caught the shaking in his lips before he looked away. His life might not be as good as Eli’s, worldly disasters or not. So far it wasn’t great. He swallowed those feelings every time his daily lashings returned in his sleep, and Slen lurked in the shadows of his mind. And every time he saw his father decaying in that throne, and Lucrethia following behind.

  Erador noticed how gently Eli stroked his brush to keep his shaking fingers from making a mistake. Maybe Eli’s true life was buried underneath those wrinkles, smiles, and laughter. But he wouldn’t admit it.

  Eli dipped the brush in the red paint, trying to gather what was left.

  “That's the last of the red. I don't think I'll be getting more for a while.”

  ***

  Erador placed his feet and hands in the grooves of the crumbling stone and pulled himself up the wall. He reached the top and dangled his legs over the side as he caught his breath. The sun dipped near the trees, basking the leaves in a fiery glow. Euphoria rose in his chest, but he shot it down. The beauty of the wilderness tricked him into believing he could run away, but the worn houses reminded him that his life was in this horrid town.

  A bellowing horn sounded at the watchtower; the first time it was used in twenty years. Erador lowered himself behind a house, and the long drop sent a shock into his ankles. He moved briskly through the empty streets, his feet crunching on the sunflower shells. His ears led him to the chattering. Dozens of people gathered along the main road.

  The ground rumbled. Hooves clopped and footsteps stomped in unison. Armor clinked as rows of knights marched on the road. Erador squeezed through the people and moved up the street. Three white horses led the front and behind them a knight held Odinaty’s flag; the royal blue and gold strips on a white background raced Erador’s heart.

  Lucrethia would be in danger if Odinaty found the Paradins that breached their castle. Erador darted down the back streets and slipped one some of the shells. Buildings obscured the last rays of light. He rounded a corner and froze at the alley. The sunflower paintings awaited him. The bright yellows promised safety like in the tales about paradise, but it was a ruse to trick him in and he wouldn’t realize until it was too late. A hanging lantern creaked on a porch, mimicking a lurker’s screech. He dug his fingers into his wrist.

  Shade eased from his shadow and gently told him to move.

  “I know it’s safe, dammit.” With the snap in Erador’s voice, the shadow quieted.

  If he didn’t take this route, he might not make it in time. He bounced on his heels and shook his wrists. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a step and stopped. His feet felt like they were adhered to the ground.

  Cursing, he turned around and took another route. Loose cobblestones and shells kicked up under Erador’s feet. He stuck to the back streets, his legs working harder as he continued uphill. Knights entered the manor's black gates, their marching echoed in the courtyard.

  Erador hurried along the gate, and pushed a loose pole aside. Sucking in his gut he squeezed through but his shirt snagged on the metal. He pulled the fabric, tearing it and hurried around the front buildings to the main one as knights proceeded around the fountain.

  He sped up the steps to the round tower and went inside and passed the circular staircase to the long corridor. It seemed to go on forever before he burst into the throne room. Pia jumped, dropping a pitcher. The ceramic shattered as water spilled across Erador’s boots.

  “Odinaty is coming,” he said, panic in his voice. “Where’s Eonidas?”

  “Eonidas is gone.” Sescina grabbed a rag and soaked up the liquid. “He warned the Paradins as soon as Odinaty marched in.”

  “Haven too?”

  “I haven’t seen her, but I’m sure she knows better to hide.” Sescina’s gaze trailed over his torn shirt. “You can’t wear that. Pia, get him clothes. Nice clothes.”

  Erador lifted the ripped fabric of the black shirt as Pia rushed to his father’s room. Mikra stood on a ladder, tugging down the banners from the Paradins on that mission.

  “Where’s my father?” Erador said, removing his shirt.

  Sescina stood. “We took him to bed. He can’t represent Lucrethia in this state. You need to.”

  Erador pressed his forehead. “What?”

  “Get in the throne. We don’t have time.” Sescina pulled him to the seat and forced him down.

  Erador shifted on the red cushion that felt raw. Footsteps marched outside the double doors. He nervously looked at everyone scrambling to get everything in order. Sescina made a motion of a broom and Mikra rushed to get one. She dragged the fallen banners into Judgment’s room and shut the door

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The doors groaned open. Dethil jogged down the rug. He stopped in front of the throne, cocking his head in confusion. His gaze riveted to Sescina, who moved beside a pillar and pointed a stiff finger at the ground.

  “M...Master.” Dethil bowed with a smirk pulling at his lips. “Oziah Oleander, arch knight of—”

  “I got it Dethil,” Erador said through clenched teeth. “Where’s Ha—”

  Pia popped between them and pulled a shirt over Erador’s head. As he worked into the frilly arms, she retied his boots and wiped the dirt off with her sleeve. The silken black shirt had a pattern of wine red sunflowers and leaves. The fabric clenched around Erador’s ribs. Pia slid a circlet, studded with fourteen different colored jewels, off her arm.

  “Oh no, not that,” Erador said.

  “Are you sure?” Pia whispered. “Sescina said it would be more convincing, since you’re young.”

  “I think I got this. The shirt is enough.”

  Pia wished him luck and moved next to Sescina as Mikra dumped the dust pan over a pail and took his place beside them.

  Knights marched down the rug in rows of three. Erador tried to swallow but the little moisture on his tongue was like drinking dirt. The knights stopped abruptly before the step, feet planted apart and shields centered at their chests. He tried to humor himself with their armor. They were probably sweating, with achy muscles and for what? But no amount of humor could relax him.

  Erador clenched the armrests. Dethil fidgeted with his pinky ring behind his back. The knight in the center stepped forward. His silver armor was decorated the same as the others, except for the gold and blue banner tucked in his belt. He removed his helmet, his pearl white ponytail falling over his shoulders. This must have been Oziah. He had white skin and defined features too pretty for a knight. He was exactly what he imagined an Odinatin to look like, including his piercing crystal blue eyes; rumors said no pure Odinatins had eyes of red, brown, or black.

  Haven kept popping in Erador’s head. What if they found her? What if he couldn’t convince Odinaty to leave? He tried to recall what his father would say to visitors, but the last time they came was too long ago.

  “Welcome to Lucrethia,” Dethil said, stepping forward. His voice strained to break from the formality. “I would like to introduce you to Master... Erador Lucasta.” He ducked his head and stepped aside.

  Erador tapped the armrest trying to seem bored of their presence, but his fingers moved too fast. “What brings you to Lucrethia?”

  “Why do you think we’re here?” Oziah’s voice came out authoritative, with a steady tone.

  “To brag about your wealth.” Erador looked him over. “Intimidate what little people are left in this town?”

  “There are dozens of men armed before you and you would dare insult us,” Oziah said.

  Erador sat up. “You came to our doorstep. You tell me why you’re here.”

  Satisfaction jolted through Erador at his advantage. It irritated the knight based on how he clenched his defined jaw.

  “On May tenth at approximately nineteen hundred hours, five Lucrethians breached Odinaty’s walls. They caused extensive damage costing thousands, and traumatized the guests.”

  “You’re certain they were Lucrethians?” Erador asked.

  “Yes.” Oziah snapped his fingers and a knight unrolled a scroll, facing it toward Erador.

  An illustration of a seahorse and sunflower marked the page. It didn’t match the design of Eonidas’s exactly but it was enough to identify him.

  “Is this one of Lucrethia's markings?”

  Erador tightened his legs, afraid sudden movement would give the answer away. He fought to keep his eyes off the echelon banners, though Eonidas’s was taken down.

  “The sunflower is. Why did you come here unannounced?”

  “Are you misinformed?” Oziah said. “I sent a letter to Lucrethia and received a confirmation to come today. Had I not, I would have invaded your doorstep the night of the ball.”

  A letter. He looked at Dethil who was as confused as Sescina. Could his father have done it without their knowledge? It sounded like a lie.

  Oziah took another scroll from the knight and handed it to Dethil. “We have descriptions of the intruders. Can you confirm that any of these people are your citizens?”

  Dethil unrolled the scroll and held it in front of Erador. A different section was labeled for each of the five Lucrethians. His eyes drew to Haven’s description: long black braided hair, copper skin, golden eyes, Native Harian. Her fox mark wasn’t drawn and neither was there one for Gillian but she didn’t have one. Next to each person was a sketch of their faces, but none looked close to them.

  “No... they aren’t.” Erador waved Dethil away. “Do you have names?”

  “One—Eonidas,” Oziah said.

  Erador’s heart skipped and he tried to keep his lips from trembling. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

  Oziah’s face stiffened. “Why not?”

  “He left, like most of our people.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Oziah plopped his helmet in another knight’s hands and took the scroll from Dethil. “What about the girl with the missing tooth and the woman with the lightning element? You’re telling me they’re gone?”

  Erador stiffened his neck, allowing the heavy saliva to linger on his tongue. “Yes.”

  “Give me a valid reason or I will search Lucrethia now.”

  “Not without my permission,” Erador said with a snap. He cleared his throat to compose himself. “Haven’t you seen the town? Most people left. Lucrethia has been degrading for decades. Our crops are dying, animals are sick, people are starving. No one wants to live here.”

  “I need more evidence to support why these five people,” Oziah said, shaking the scroll. “Aren’t here.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Dethil said, fist tense. “How is that not enough?”

  “That doesn’t prove they aren’t here,” Oziah said. “Dozens of people were in the streets. Despite the conditions, why are so many here?”

  Erador looked at the circlet tucked under Pia’s arm. They had faith Judgment would be cured. They believed him. They believed in a better place—Paradise. But this arch knight wouldn’t buy it. They needed a better excuse. Erador glimpsed at the empty spaces on the walls, remembering when they were full of banners.

  “Two decades ago New Akthelia came here.”

  Dethil gave a stiff, assuring nod.

  “What about it?” Oziah said.

  “The girl with a missing tooth...” Erador swallowed. “Does she have an element that can manipulate glass?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Without orders, she killed their queen and several others. We captured her, and...” Erador dropped his head. He envisioned his hands wrinkling in his lap. The next day his father began to age after his pendant was destroyed, and the culprits were hanged. Those involved in the queen’s death were given to New Akthelia in hopes they would forgive them, but not Gillian. She stayed. Erador’s chest weighed with guilt for the lie he would spill to cover for Gillian like his father. “We wanted to relinquish her to New Akthelia, but she escaped.”

  Oziah rubbed his hairless chin. “How?”

  “She was helped by others who left.” Erador tensed a fist, anger in his tone. “She has caused us nothing but pain.”

  “And lots more,” Dethil added. “Couldn’t control her element, hardly got along with anyone. We had no problem turning her over, but because she escaped...” Dethil pressed a fist to his lips and dropped his head.

  “New Akthelia took action,” Erador finished. “We lost many that day.”

  “You were ruling at the time?” Oziah asked.

  “No,” Erador said, shaking his head.

  “Who was?”

  “My father.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead.” The words rolled off Erador’s tongue without hesitation. It already felt true, but he forced away the heartbreaking thought to keep his firm demeanor.

  “Do you know where they are?” Oziah said.

  Erador shook his head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t help more.” He forced the apology in the nicest tone he could muster, hoping it would get rid of him.

  Oziah's eyes broke contact. They were not disappointed, only filled with disbelief. It dug into the depths of Erador’s stomach, anchoring there as another burden he would have to face.

  A person in armor squeezed out from between the knights. His shoulders sagged from the armor’s weight and he didn’t carry a weapon. He pushed the heavy helmet from his worried eyes and tapped Oziah’s shoulder.

  Erador didn’t have time to worry about their inaudible conversation. He sat forward and tapped the cushion below his back. Shade separated from his shadow and drifted across the fabric, shrinking to blacken the red area. He envisioned a fox and Shade shifted into a silhouette of one.

  The small man’s face turned red, teeth bared under his mustache as Oziah bent over him. The man’s stance widened and though his head reached the top of Oziah’s chest, it appeared he would shove him over. Erador scratched the seat, making a scuffing sound as his gaze shifted to Dethil. He coughed and Dethil glanced over. He placed his hand behind his back and lifted two fingers into a “V” singling she was fine.

  Erador relieved a breath. It felt like the shirt seam ripped, allowing him to expand his chest for more air. Shade slipped back to his shadow.

  “Gentlemen,” Erador said. “Is that all?”

  Oziah turned as his gaze brushed over the banners and locked onto Erador. “For now.” He took his helmet from the knight and placed it over his head.

  As Oziah turned around, the small man’s body shook. He darted toward Erador and Dethil jumped between them.

  “I’m begging you,” the man said, dropping to his knees. “Those people took my son, Iviel.” He removed his helmet with shaking fingers. “His hair...” He touched his honey blond locks plastered to his sweaty forehead. “It’s like mine and curly. His eyes are blue.” Knights grabbed the small man and dragged him away. His desperate eyes locked with Erador’s. “If you see him, contact me. My name is Saldrine Naal!”

  The knight’s turned and marched out the throne room. Pia and Mikra shut the doors. Erador slid down, arms dangling over the sides as he unknowingly imitated his father’s slumped position. A firm hand rubbed his shoulder.

  “You did well,” Sescina said.

  Dethil’s relieved laughter carried around the room. “He did more than well. I about fucking lost it.”

  “At least New Akthelia can confirm Gillian isn’t here.” Sescina’s bright gaze glossed over his clothing. “You look handsome in that. The circlet would’ve suited you.”

  Erador lifted the frilly lace on the shirt. “I’m glad everyone hid in time.” He stroked his chin, the few hairs scratching his skin. “Why was that man pleading for his son?”

  Sescina shook her head. “Not a clue. You’d have to ask them. At least we’re off the hook for now.”

  Erador couldn’t settle with that. It wasn’t time to celebrate. They would return.

  “Dethil, summon the Paradins that were on that mission. I need to talk to them now.”