Page 51 of The Ballad of a Bard

W hen Altivar came around again, Crimson knew that at least a day had passed. The sun’s position over the slanted window was just visible enough for her to make out the pale rays of the moon, followed by the golden light of dawn. But the Prince had brought something with him this time, something that struck her as odd as he neared her cell.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed the flowers I’ve brought you.” He wiggled the bouquet close to the bars, the flowers too fat to enter the cage in their bundled state. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Crimson didn’t answer.

He began to mess with them, stroking the petals in soft, uneasy patterns like he would with a pet. “Do you know what they’re called?”

She didn’t respond, looking at anything but him.

“They’re called True Norths.” Altivar smiled down at them, fondly as if he loved the flowers more than anything else in the realm. She wouldn’t put it past him, considering what he’d done to his own mother .

Her mind had spun out of control as she pawed over his admission, about the terrible truth that he forced her to tell West. For his sake, for everything she was, she hoped that West would just stay away and that she wouldn’t have to tell him. But she knew the Saint, and knew that after his display when they tried to take her away, he wouldn’t stay away forever. Crimson had cried again, sobbed throughout the night as she held herself and wished that West’s strong arms were wrapped around her instead of her own. She pretended to smell his moonlight on water and stardust scent, instead of the moldy dampness that lingered in the air.

“Would you like to make a guess as to why they’re called that?” The Prince pressed on, ignoring her state of disrepair.

The sapphire blue petals held a dainty star in the middle of them, tapering down into the dark green leaves and stem. There even seemed to be a faint shimmer reflected if she looked close enough, one that mocked the night sky in all its glory.

West’s eyes, they looked like his eyes.

“No.”

“Come now, you’re smarter than this.” He tsked, letting them fall slightly as he came closer. “Don’t tell me you can’t see the very reason for that delightful name.”

“Leave me alone.” Crimson was sick of his unnerving, endless taunting. She was sick of seeing no one but him, and would have preferred the quiet and isolation to his mean taunts that he pranced around her cell with. “Either get on with my execution or fuck off.”

He laughed then, and inside the sound was nothing but the musical delight of someone far better than him. Muse’s laugh, that’s what she heard. It made her sick, to the point where whatever was left in her stomach turned to rotting morsels. The acidity crept up her throat and she struggled to keep it down.

“Oh what fun we’re going to have, Lyric.” He finished off his amusement with a chuckle. “But back to the question at hand.” Altivar held the flowers out to her again and began to pluck them off, one by one. He didn’t care in the slightest as he shoved them through the bars, forcing them in her proximity.

“Why do they call them True Norths?” Crimson bitterly asked, avoiding the petals as they fluttered to the floor in front of her. The very last thing she wanted was to look into the beautiful blue that held the very universe in the center of them. To be reminded of the man she cared deeply for and his miraculous eyes that never left her ever present thoughts.

The Prince’s lupine grin spread from ear to ear and horrified her. But not as much as his chilling words did. “Because the rumour is that they only grow in places where the Northern Star’s tears fall.”

Crimson’s world shattered as he said that.

As she understood why West might have been crying, the bone-rattling reason that she’d already suspected.

“I want to see him.” She quietly demanded.

Because if Altivar was going to make her take the blame for his mother’s murder, for his murderous acts, then she wanted to tell West everything. Wanted to tell him that she was sorry they couldn’t have been together for long, to ask him to take care of Cobalt after she was gone. She wanted to tell him that she was glad he didn’t love her, because it would have only broken his heart after she died.

But most importantly, she wanted to tell him that she loved him.

Because someone needed to know.

Someone needed to know that Crimson Bard, a nobody daughter from a bastard of a Saint, loved someone. That she trusted someone enough to let herself love them, and that in the end, that was enough for her to go into the night.

There wasn’t anything she could do about it.

Not when Altivar had her talismans and proved that they controlled her. Not when he could force her to do and say anything he wanted, required.

She might have scoffed at the fact that she’d become nothing more than a toy to be taken out and played with whenever he wanted, only to be shoved back onto the chest at whim.

The Prince plucked the last flower and rammed it in, making sure that it landed on her curled up lap. “All in good time.”

“Now.” She turned her gaze onto him, forcing all of her hatred, all of the intensity of her small bit of power into it. Her heart strained and she bit back a shudder of pain as her eyes began to burn.

It wasn’t the sort of burn that a fire produced, with tiny embers that burst into colourful light, or the flames that licked wood raw as it crackled and popped in the hearth.

No, this was the force of the sun.

And she felt every inch of it.

Crimson endured the rapid heat that rose to the surface of her skin, the pulse of light as she shifted her magic into fury, her own emotions as wild as the way she felt with how intense she felt it all.

“Fascinating,” Altivar muttered as he squinted his golden eyes at her, not a lick of fear to be found in his overly attractive face. “You wear your powers beautifully, Heartrage.”

Heartrage.

No.

Heart strings .

The bastard didn’t get to give her her Saint name, no one did. Not even herself, because West had already named her. Unintentionally, but it was the one she chose to take on, wear proudly if she had to have one at all.

No one else had guessed where she’d come from, or if she were a lesser Saint. But there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that Altivar would unveil her and announce her new name to the world once he got the chance.

“Let me see West.” Crimson shoved his title off, not caring about anything but him at the moment. She didn’t care if she died tomorrow, as long as she got to see him one more time.

“Oh, when the day loved the night.” He softly sang down to her as he swept the remainder of petals into her cage, making sure that every single blue leaf followed. “It was as if the world would end.”

“I don’t know what that means.” She seethed and tried to kick the petals back out, only to have him send a scalding look in her direction that indicated he would use her knives again if she didn’t stop now.

She would rather have her free will.

Altivar finished with a final quick. “The moon and stars and midnight sky, all to save the wonderful sun that lit up his life. I guess we’ll just have to see how far Captain Westley Saint goes for you, won’t we?”

“Get out.” She shook with rage.

“No.”

“Get out!” Crimson threw herself at the bars, screaming at him as her blood boiled. There wasn’t anything she could do to calm it, to soothe the nerves that ran rampant through her. Everything hurt beyond comparison. Her head, thrumming to the point of agony. Her body, convulsing with fear at her determined future that she wouldn’t even get the chance to fight for .

Her heart, for the man she loved.

“Might I remind you, that it isn’t you who controls me.” He pointed out, delicately fingering the gut-wrenching blade at his svelte hip. Where the other one was, she didn’t know. “But I who controls you .”

“I don’t care. I’m bound for the axe no matter what.” She raged like a water’s tide, crashing and thrashing against the pit of despair that was slowly inching over her in waves of darkness and despair.

“Not as soon as you might think.”

Her sight snapped up to him. “What do you mean?”

Altivar dusted the bench off across from her and took a seat, still handling her knife at his side. As if he were afraid that another wrong thing sent in her direction would cause her to rip the steel bars off the cage and be flung at him.

She wanted to.

“Grimm announced that Red Lyric would be making a return to the Blades of Blood.”

Her skin was too tight as he went on.

“But he added a little fact at the bottom that had hundreds in an uproar. Because you see, Lyric, he might have mentioned that you would be revealing your identity in your next round, after you faced off with another legend.”

“No,” She whispered.

“Oh yes,” He chuckled gleefully. “Your death won’t come by the hands of an executioner with an axe. Nor will it come by the swing of a rope with a short drop. You turned Red Lyric into a spectacle, one that is too fabulous to die so quickly.”

“Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you in order to make you hate me this way?” Crimson questioned, having to know what brought her death even faster than it ever should have been .

“I told you to find Heartache for me. I gave you several opportunities and you failed, flat out refusing to do so. I even threatened your brother in hopes that you would take heed of the notes and find him. But no. Then you had the audacity to flaunt him in my face when you did find him.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Her chin came up as she looked at him for confirmation. “My father, he’s in the castle.”

Altivar gave it to her, nodding carefully as he crossed one leg over the other. “Yes. And soon, you’ll have a familiar cellmate.” He leaned forward. “So you won’t only have West watching your ultimate demise, but your father too.”

“You can’t do this.” She argued, because nothing else seemed to pop up in her head, no logic or answer or way out of whatever he had planned for her.

“Yes, I can. In eight days time, Red Lyric will appear in the pits for his very last fight, against the Warrior himself. And just before the end, before War decides to slit your throat for breaking the rules, he’ll unmask you to your adoring public.”

A tear slid down her face, followed by several more.

Altivar watched the destruction as it settled into her, finding divine enjoyment out of her predicament. “I’ll make Heartache watch. I’ll make him see as you die and his heart will thrive in every single emotion that crawls into it. It’ll be far more powerful than it’s ever been before. Then, when it’s glowing with sheer strength and magic, I’ll cut it out and eat it.”