Page 52 of The Ballad of a Bard

H e raced back to his part of the castle, searching for a strand of red, for bangs that stuck out, anything that would alert him to her whereabouts before everything went upside down.

Before Altivar, and the numerous guards searching the palace, could drag her away for a crime that he knew she didn’t commit. Even if Crimson had told him that she enjoyed the fighting aspect of Red Lyric, she’d sworn that she despised the killing part. And he believed her, trusted her. She’d shared with him why she’d even taken on the challengers when War took over, who they were and what they did.

West admired her for that.

They were horrible people, ones who deserved nothing but death. But Muse, she had been the complete opposite. And Crimson wouldn’t have touched a hair on her head. Someone must have stolen her daggers, wherever she’d stored them and set her up to take the blame. It was known far and wide- thanks to Rapscallion Voss- that only a Saint-made weapon could kill a Saint. Who had known that her blades were immortally forged however, was another question entirely.

West suspected Altivar, and no one else .

He turned the corner and flung his door open, stopping as he frantically scanned his rooms for any sign of her. She wasn’t in the bed, wasn’t in the bathroom, wasn’t in the living room. He angled towards his office as he quietly shut the door.

“Heartstrings?” West murmured, his gait taking him around the desk. He didn’t dare use her name. “Are you in here?” He heard a small shuffle, bending until his knee met the carpet.

“West?” She called out and his heart twisted in relief. There, crouched under, she had shoved herself into the space where his chair normally sat.

“Hey, Heartstrings.” He sat beside her, letting his back hit the opposite wall as she made room for him. Fear was bright in her hazel eyes, waterlines red as she wiped at her nose. “Thank the Saints I found you first.”

“I heard them as they passed.” Crimson whispered. “They said that I did it.” Her resonance was raw, as if she’d been crying. And he had no doubt of that. Even if Crimson was one of the best fighters he’d ever seen, she was also caring and compassionate. He’d witnessed it with her brother several times over, enjoying it even as she took care of him, putting him first.

“I know,” He uttered, sighing as his head hit the underside of his desk with a ca-thunk. “I heard the bells and raced to see what had happened. In my hundreds of years in this realm, I never…” Emotions clawed up his mouth, tearing at the remnants he still bore. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“So it’s true then.” She mumbled, dragging her knees up as her pants creased. The leather groaned with protest. “She really is dead.”

“Yes,” West responded. “And I think it was Altivar. He was the first one there, holding her as I rushed in. I’ve never seen the man cry before, but he was sobbing over her corpse. An act, it had to be.”

His mind cruelly replayed it over and over again, allowing him to see nothing but the cold golden eyes of Muse. The way her arm lay like a ragdoll, the way her neck craned at an uncomfortable angle. West was glad that Dream had taken away all the night-filled swevens, otherwise he’d be haunted in his sleeping hours as well as his waking ones by the sight of it all.

His chambers became swarmed as the doors slammed open, smacking the walls and swinging back and forth. He lurched to his feet, urging her to stay down with a quick glance.

Fourteen men entered, with Prince Altivar on their heels. His hands were tucked casually behind his back and his eyes still bore the bitter sadness from the previous event. Altivar strolled forward, clearing his throat as he approached West.

“Where is she?” He asked softly, fervently like a lover drawing pleasure from their partner. West had a sneaking suspicion that the man enjoyed every bit of this, even the parts that were wrong.

“I don’t know,” He lied as he came out from behind the desk to face him. “I was looking for her and I couldn’t find her.”

“No?” The Prince studied him, as if he would find Crimson hiding in the panels of his face, the column of his throat, the broadness of his shoulders, something. “I have a spectacularly hard time believing that she wouldn’t have gone to her brother first, or here even. There is nowhere else within this castle that Crimson would call her own, and yet she wasn’t in the healing ward.”

West pressed his lips together, swivelling around his room as he snuck a quick glance down at her. Her hand was clenched tightly around what he assumed was another damning note, one that he’d take a look at when they were alone. But she shook slightly in fear.

And it angered him.

“I suggest you leave my rooms, Prince Altivar.” He cautiously advised, shoving his hands into his pockets and setting himself on the front of his desk. One ankle kicked over the other as he leaned .

“Without Crimson here, who will take care of the little boy in the ward?” The man hummed. “It would be a shame to see something happen to him without her protection.”

A growl toyed into his words. “ I am . If you’re suggesting that you’d let any harm come to an innocent boy, then perhaps we should turn our attention towards you for your mother’s murder.”

Fury flashed in the Prince’s expression. His arms unfolded and came to his side. “Search his rooms.” His cold, dead tone rang out and the men instantly snapped to action.

West flinched, “I’m the captain of the Watch, lest you forget. These men respond to me.”

A smile appeared, cunning and cruel. “Not anymore. My mother bestowed that title on you, and now I’m taking it away from you. Perhaps if you’d done your job properly instead of galavanting on ships with little Bronze Gate rats, my mother wouldn’t be dead.”

The accusation sliced through him like a spear to his heart. He grimaced in pain as it broke a small part of his beating muscle.

“I did my job.” West said. “Protecting you, as she ordered me to do.”

The men fanned out and began to rifle through his things, through his rooms, through his life. They weren’t careful or kind either, tossing pillows this way and that, removing his portrait and dumping it on the bed, throwing his items off the surfaces and leaving them on the floor. They rifled through his dresser, pushed his supplies aside, dropped his boots.

Two pushed past him and he fought back, refusing to let them behind his desk. They all turned their attention towards his office at his refusal, as another two came forward, gripping his arms and pulling him away as his feet dragged on the carpet in any attempt to hold back.

Altivar tsked in feigned disappointment, “Be more obvious, Westley.”

Crimson scrambled back as far as she could as one of the sentries grabbed her leg, dragging her out of the hiding spot. She hissed like a wild cat, scratching and clawing and his pride glimmered as she fought to survive. Something she’d never stop doing.

Altivar rounded the corner and waited as they hoisted her up. “Crimson Bard, you’re being arrested for your horrendous crimes against Tazali. You’ll be sent to the cells until a trial can be arranged.”

“Let go of me!” She seethed, struggling to break free.

West did the same, grunting and pulling at the men that tried to restrain him. They only held on tighter, dragging him back against the wall and forcing him to his knees.

“Crimson-” He began to warn but she slammed her eyes shut as he began to glow. His skin turned and burned into a brilliant white as his power flowed through him. He felt the sting of magic as it tore into his system, allowing him to access it to its full might.

“Do that and I’ll toss the boy out on the streets without so much as a concoction to help ease his passing.” Altivar threatened and West immediately halted.

Crimson looked as though she might break on the spot, her mouth falling open. “Please don’t hurt Cobalt, he had nothing to do with any of this!” She pleaded as she stopped fighting. “I’ll go with you, just don’t touch him.”

He spun to face the captain with a lifted eyebrow. “And you, West? Am I going to have any more issues from you?”

“Westley, please.” She begged him, tears lining her beautiful green eyes. His full name, even if it wasn’t his Saint-blessed one, sounded wrong on her tongue. It was that that halted his actions, turning to look at her as she whispered, “Just let them take me. Take care of Cobalt, please. For me.”

He nodded slowly, hating the feeling that rose and fell within him like a crashing wave.

“Fine,” He sourly agreed.

“Good, take her away.” The Prince ushered with a flick of his fingers in the air and she let out a shuddering exhale as they marched her out of his rooms and down the hall. “And lock his doors. I want men stationed in front of them at all times.”

They’d locked him in his apartment like some kind of rabid hound, sending someone in twice a day with a tray of food. He supposed it was for the best because there was no way that Crimson Bard, out of anyone, had murdered Muse. He refused to believe it.

He’d read the note she’d dropped and it only fueled his wrath even more. Even his powers sizzled in rage, light flickering in and out of his fingers like a toy ribbon as it wove in between them.

The note nearly burned in his grasp.

West had paced around his room relentlessly the first day, kicked and broken everything the second day, yelled at the door and whoever was keeping guard of him the third and then slept the entirety of the fourth. Yesterday had been nothing but trying to figure out a way to unlock his windows- which they’d somehow locked from the outside just in case he turned to them for an escape measure, and today was the last day he could take before his mind took a turn for the worse.

He hadn’t seen Cobalt, and it worried him because Altivar was the sort of male to go back on his word. Was he being taken care of? Helped? Fed and clothed?

“I swear to god, if you don’t open up this door at once , then I’m going to blast this room full of light so bright that the entire castle will explode !” West roared at the door, adding a kick of his boot for extra measure. It hurt him more than it did the wood, but he heard an exasperated sigh from the other side .

“Captain, we have our orders from the Prince himself.” Rook informed him, as if he didn’t already know who held him here. “I’m sorry.”

There was only one reason that Altivar kept him away too, and they both knew it. Crimson was innocent and Altivar didn’t want anyone to figure that out.

“Where is Satori?” He demanded in return, wanting to kick the damned thing down and storm across the parapets until he found the heir and tossed him off the highest tower. He didn’t care who he was, half Saint or not, he was dead for this.

“With the Prince.” Rook swiftly answered. “She’s taken over your role as his guard dog and refuses to leave his side after-” He didn’t complete the sentence, falling short.

“Where is Muse?” West asked quietly. “What did they do with her body?”

Because the body of a Saint, even if the soul was no longer attached, was a dangerous thing. It could be sold for a high fee, pieces of her hair cut off and woven into stunning bracelets for additional luck and profit. Not to mention her heart, which was a mighty power in itself. If anyone ate it, they could gain newfound powers of their own.

Altivar wouldn’t have eaten it, because Saints could not eat the heart of anyone they shared blood with. Instead of gaining more powers, more strength, it would take them away.

But Altivar would have done something with it.

Rook didn’t respond, so West sent his foot flying into it once more.

“Muse is going to be… cremated and her ashes will be spread along the wind like her final request that she left in her will.”

West let out a shaking breath. He sank to the floor at the information that had come to light, sadness falling over him like a dripping, miserable rain. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye to her, not when he’d briefly fallen to his knees at the sight of her bloodied corpse.

“But... but Captain Saint?” Rook’s voice was muffled, as if he shuffled closer to the door in order to keep whatever he was about to say between them.

“Yes?” He sighed, dropping his arms over his bent knees and letting his hands dangle as he spread his legs slightly, stress aching heavy in his broad shoulders.

“Before they took the Empress away, before she was even moved from the room, someone snuck in and cut out the remainder of her heart.”

His neck jolted up, his eyes flying open.

“Who?”

“They don’t know. But when the Prince came back to say goodbye to his mother, her heart was missing.”

His skin prickled, and not in a pleasant way.