Page 53 of The Ballad of a Bard

H e’ d taken it.

It’s how Altivar found him, even if he’d barely come out of the healing ward. When the Prince stopped dead in his tracks, studied him from head to toe and asked why he’d been in the healing rooms, Connor answered truthfully.

“To see my son.”

He’d spent five days hiding through multiple parts of the castle, evading anyone until his guilt pulled him to Cobalt. The boy deserved to know the truth from someone he could trust. Because that had been the original intent of his visit. To see Cobalt and connect with him, even if the blood that ran through the young boy wasn’t his. Cobalt hadn’t known what happened, only that his sister had been accused of a crime that terrified him. Connor held him as he wept, shaking so hard that he thought the skin might fall from his bones. He held him through it all, whispering that he’d find Crimson and wouldn’t let anything happen to her. It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Cobalt had softened towards him. He’d helped him back into the bed and covered him with two wool blankets, handed him the apple as he carved it and made sure the child drank the water that the healer ordered him to consume.

Cobalt had fallen asleep before too long.

And then Leysa had ushered him over to his fellow Saint, a ripple of pain charging through him as his gaze fell over Muse’s corpse. Even in death, she was beautiful. She always had been. His own work of art, part of the original family that he’d created for himself, for them all and it grieved him to see her unmoving, unglowing.

But there, in her chest, right over her heart, a thin slice lay with stitches along the length of it. Leysa had solemnly reached for a small jar behind her and pressed it into her hands before anyone else could see.

“Take it,” She whispered to him. “I don’t know what Altivar intended to do with it, but I don’t want it to fall into anyone’s hands but another Saint’s. And West is locked in his apartments, so I don’t have any other option. I don’t know where Imp or Dream are and War isn’t someone that I would trust with anything this powerful.”

Within the small jar, Connor felt the massive power that seeped from it. And he’d known almost instantly what remained inside. The red, glittering components were the leftover shards of Muse’s heart, a powerful weapon in the wrong hands.

“It belonged to you, if the legends are true.” Leysa added, warily glancing around the curtain that blocked them off from sight. “I’m only returning it to its rightful owner.”

He’d tucked it into his pocket, thanking her before striding for the exit. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with it yet, but his heart told him that it wasn’t enough to save the boy, let alone cure him of his illnesses. That would solely rest on killing the man responsible for hurting the woman he loved and erasing the curse from the world. At least, without knowing for sure, it wasn’t a risk that he was willing to take.

He hadn’t even known it had been possible for his powers to curse someone like that, but his anger and despair had taken over so furiously, that he’d seen nothing but red at that moment. And so the curse was born, alongside Cobalt who should have been his but wasn’t.

As Connor cast one last glance at the small child sleeping in the cot, he silently vowed to never give up on his hunt for the man. Before that however, he still needed to find his daughter. He knew that guards had taken her to the cells for a crime that she could not have committed, even if her talismans were said to be the object of the Empress’s murder. He’d raised Crimson for eighteen years, known the girl for nearly two decades and even with the missing eight years that he desperately longed to have with her, it wasn’t something that he could ever see her doing.

She was fierce, even then, but not a cold-blooded killer.

Connor had done a good job of avoiding Altivar for the last few days, but he knew that the servants gossiped and that the Prince would inevitably know that he was here. Leysa had done a wonderful job of hiding him in the sick beds everytime the guards came looking. His red hair was a dead give away, especially with his daughter’s presence. Not to mention that Muse had strung up several tapestries, had floors painted and pictures hung with his exact features all over the palace.

She loved them all, each of the five Saints.

And now she was the one that had paid the price.

Connor didn’t know who had killed her, but he hated them just as much as he hated the man that sired Cobalt. But he’d learned from his previous mistakes and calmed himself down before another curse erupted from his thrumming magic and pulled another innocent down with it. That was the very last thing he wanted.

But as he’d exited the healing ward, he’d halted in his tracks as the golden-brown skin, the dark chestnut hair of Prince Altivar Talon appeared before him. The man paused as well, lined eyes narrowing as he took Connor in, hands tucked behind his back in a way that arched his spine splendidly.

“I know you,” Altivar drawled, angling his head like a serpent about to strike. “Heartache.” His teeth showed as his lips pulled back. “At last, we meet.”

There was a shaking sensation in his bones, one that rattled him to no end. One that charged into his veins like new lightning and shook him with a wild force that belonged only to earthquakes, hurricanes and tornadoes. It was a warning, one that he would never be able to ignore. And it was the answer to a question that he’d spent eight years searching for.

Connor felt as though he couldn’t breathe as everything turned to air inside of him. His stomach churned in anger and violence. His head pounded with a furious fist that wanted to kill him. His heart burned with the force of a thousand suns and fires all wrapped into one.

“You,” He pushed out through clenched teeth,

Because this, was Cobalt’s true father.

Altivar Talon, son of Muse and the new Emperor of Tazali.

“I’ve been looking for you, you know.” Altivar inched closer, long fingers delicately plucking at Connor’s scarlet jacket that had seen better days. There were some loose threads hanging from the fat collar, around the buttons on the pockets and at the ends of his sleeves. He flicked at one, seemingly disgusted at the way he presented himself .

“I’ve been looking for you ,” He responded, still frozen in horror as those eight years came slamming down on him like an avalanche of horror and hatred.

The man had been right in front of his face the entire time, on the one place that he’d left because he thought he’d searched high and low, combing through every inch of the continent before setting off to the other islands. Before he left his only daughter and his newborn son to fend for themselves. He could have burst into the palace, found him within a month and returned home to take care of his small family instead of wasting so long searching for him.

Connor was on the verge of tears. Angry ones, heartbroken ones, sad ones. Ones of relief, too. All he had to do was kill Altivar, and Cobalt’s curse would be lifted. He stepped forward a single step.

Altivar clapped his hands twice and the sound pulled him from his own mind, his own revenge. “How perfect then, Heartache. Let’s get this over with, shall we? Family reunions and all that.”

A hand grabbed at his arm and he wrenched it back, peering over his shoulder to see an armoured guard reaching for him once again. Connor backed away from the Prince, towards the exit once again as the Prince asked him why he was in the healing ward. He answered, trying to stay out of the reach of the guards who doubled, and still aimed for him.

When that number nearly tripled, he couldn’t stay away for long enough. Five men held him, pulling him along as Altivar told them where to take him.

The cells.

Connor called his magic, seeking and searching for each vein in a desperate attempt to stop them. But even as the most powerful Saint of all, he had limits. There was no controlling their emotions, no working his way into their minds and commanding them to let him go. His power resided in love, lust and heartbreak. In making them fall in love, in losing it and then turning to despair and depression. He could alter the chemistry of their brains and make them fall head over heels for someone they did not care for in the slightest, but that was the full extent that his magic allowed.

His blood spiked, chilled and then rose again with each level of the castle that they descended to. His heart was a wild beast that thrashed against the bones of his ribcage, aching to be let out and destroy the man that led them all down the stairs. He wanted to listen to it and his power radiated off of him in sharp waves of pain and pleasure as he let it go.

There wasn’t much he could do with the half Saint either, other than make his myocardium falter. Muse’s blood ran through him, making Heartache’s power not as effective as it would have been on a full mortal. He hated it, wanted to reach into the man’s chest and rip it out himself, only to break it in front of him.

Altivar paused before an empty cell, peering at the one next to it as a sleeping figure inhaled softly, her breathing laboured.

“Hmm, tomorrow then.” He commented before gesturing for the men to toss him inside. They obeyed and he grunted as they let go of him, only for his feet to stumble.

The bars were thick and cold by the feel of them and there was dirt that lined the floor from previous prisoners. There was no hay for him to lay on, no bed for him to sleep on if the person next to him was any indication. There wasn’t even a bench for him to sit on or a chair to rest on. Only a bucket to relieve his needs, and nothing more. At least there were no chains that kept him confined to the wall, restricting his actions.

The small things were what mattered.

Connor approached the front of the cell and growled, “Let me out of here, Altivar. You have no idea what or who you’re messing with. ”

A guard’s hand found his sword at his hip, ready to whip it out to protect the male if needed. Connor almost laughed, that wouldn’t stop him. The only two things that could kill him were a Saints-made weapon or if someone broke his heart. Even if he created the other five Saints- four now, they wouldn’t die if he did. He’d only gifted them a bit of his power, his immortality, created them from himself. Those pieces, they were already gone. They had detached and become their own things, which would live on far after he died.

“Oh, I know precisely who you are, as I stated near the healing ward.” The Prince snorted, rolling his citrine eyes and crossing one lean arm over the other. He folded one leg back, the crimson pants moving with him like a ripple on water at night. “And it’s you, who has no idea what’s happening.”

He clicked his fingers and the nearest sentry swung the lock into place, making sure that no one could mess with it before handing the key to Altivar. He pocketed it after fingering it and turned around on his sandal.

“Enjoy your company.” The Prince waved at him from behind and strolled out with a cruel laugh that bounced off the stone walls. “I think you’ll find her to be fascinating.”

The guards followed with swift gaits, leaving Connor alone with the one other person that remained in the dungeons. And as the laugh finished bouncing off the stone, she stirred at last. He watched her from his spot against the cell door, hands gripping the bars.

The girl couldn’t have been much older than twenty-eight, but dirt and muck smeared her pale face. Her hair was dark, filthy from her position on the ground as she pushed off of it and wiped at her cheek. She sniffed as her back straightened towards him, her legs shuffling as she tucked them under her .

He couldn’t see much of her, since she faced away from him but as she turned, his breath whoosed from his lungs.

The girl angled herself to get a better look at her surroundings, as if she’d forgotten where she was or what she did to deserve being tossed in a terrible place like this. And as she slowly spun around, he saw it all.

Hazel eyes, with green and gold spun together.

Pale skin, with a blue tint.

Crimson red hair and a long face that he knew.

Connor sank down, his knees buckling as he took her entire being in. “Saints…” He whispered, finding the floor as she glanced towards him.

She didn’t recognize him.

His own daughter.

“Crimson…” He murmured and felt the onslaught of tears as his waterlines burned. “Is that you?”

The girl locked up, her mouth popping open as she studied him right back. Her hands shook as she swallowed, a small gasp falling from her lips.

“Connor?” Her voice was small, meek, unbelieving. He didn’t know what he expected, but hearing his name, the one he’d given to her mother, broke a little part of him. She’d always called him father, looked at him with such joy in her eyes that he’d burst with pride and happiness that she’d been his child.

But now, as Crimson Bard looked at him, he saw none of that.

He saw nothing but hate.

And it turned him to stone. His insides curdled to the point where they felt like soured milk.

Connor nodded slowly, “Yes.”