Bailey Baz's Arc

Chapter 24 of 44

Tyrek led Bailey through the palace halls to the throne room doors. Cora waited there with a handful of rebels, her cracked wand raised, her potion-stained robe torn at one shoulder. "The gate held," she told Bailey. "We're inside." Behind her stood Bram, iron manacles still on his wrists, a hammer in one huge fist. Marshal Crane guarded the far corridor in his officer's coat. Bailey gripped the empty locket in his pocket. He had broken the King's power. He had not thought past this door. They pushed the doors open. The King sat on the throne alone. He looked nothing like the tyrant Bailey had imagined. His skin hung loose. His hair had gone white in patches. His hands shook on the armrests. A thousand stolen years had left him, and every one of them showed. "You," the King said. His voice cracked. "The dead boy." He tried to stand and failed. "Kill me, then. Get it over with." Bailey stepped forward. Cora moved to follow. He lifted a hand and she stopped. He crossed the marble floor until he stood at the foot of the throne. The King flinched. Bailey saw a frightened old man, mortal now, with nothing left to steal. He had come here ready to end the King. He found he could not do it. "I broke your locket," Bailey said. "The years you took are gone. You can't kill another heir. You can't feed on anyone." He drew the enchanted sword Bram had given him and set the point against the stone floor, not the man. "You don't get to die quick. You'll answer for the children you killed." The King laughed, thin and wet. "You think I'll live to answer? Look at me." He was right. His breath rattled. The years had aged him past mending. Bailey saw the truth. This man would die within days no matter what anyone did. There would be no trial, no justice earned by his own hand. Bram stepped up beside Bailey and set the hammer down. "He's finished," the blacksmith said. "Take the seat, lad. That's what all this was for." Cora came forward, her eyes wet. "Colton," she said, using his true name. "Sit." Bailey did not sit. He turned to the rebels crowding the doors. "I never asked to be a prince," he said. "I was a warden longer than I was anything. I don't know how to rule." He looked at Cora, at Bram, at Crane. "But I know these people. And I know I have to learn what I am before I can lead anyone." Guards dragged the failing King from the throne. He offered no fight. Bailey stood in the empty throne room, the sword loose in his hand, the crown untouched on the armrest. The King was beaten. The seat was his. And he had no idea who he truly was to fill it.