Page 57 of The Ballad of a Bard

Fifty Si x

W hen Altivar came to see her again, he smirked like the cat that caught the canary as he saw them both together, nearly asleep against the cell wall that they shared. That is, until Crimson opened her eyes after hearing the click of his boots and rose to greet him.

Sleep hadn’t come, as it hadn’t any of the other nights that she’d been stuck down here. She’d spent most of the hours speaking with Connor and running over every small thing that he’d done in the last eight years. He’d willingly shared everything with her, truthfully answered any of her questions and offered up some of his own that she responded to.

It helped heal those deep wounds inside of her, and she assumed that time would heal them over completely.

The Prince’s feline smirk disappeared almost instantly as he took her in, immediately noticing the glimmer of immortality as it shimmered over her skin, the blaze that she felt behind her gaze, the way her hair even seemed to shine like freshly spilt blood. There was no way to hide it and she didn’t want to. The anticipation of having West see her like this, it was a spider crawling up and down her skin constantly.

She pondered over what he would say, what he would do, what he would look like when he examined her newfound gifts.

“What have you done?” He was aghast as he threw himself closer, gripping the bars and scanning her from head to toe.

Then he saw the vial on the ground, the smile that her father let loose as he chuckled roughly.

“I threw a kink into your plan, little boy.” Connor pushed off the ground, angling closer until he was only a couple of inches away. “You couldn’t have consumed your mother’s heart, but my daughter could. And she did, last night. So thank you for reuniting us, because it was truly a memorable occasion.”

“You can’t control me anymore, Altivar.” She took pride in that, in the fact that she wouldn’t have to tell West that she killed Muse. “Not with my knives, since I’m a full Saint now and you are not .”

West’s very first lesson had come back to her in the middle of the night, glory filling her until she felt as though she might shatter into a thousand pieces.

Little lesson there, Heartstrings. Lesser Saints can’t affect full Saints. I suggest you do some research before attempting to change the emotions of just anyone.

Altivar’s face contorted into a mask of fury, of confusion, of frustration and she watched each shift with delight. Until it fell into another cunning, savage smirk that made her doublethink everything that they’d done.

“I have your father in the cell next to you. I have your precious captain locked in his rooms upstairs, guards on his door for all hours. I have your brother in the healing ward, under my command. One wrong move, one attempt at anything, Heartrage and I’ll make sure that you never see any of them again.” He glanced at Connor. “Make any show of power, either of you, and two out of the three most important people in your lives are gone.”

Her heart sank.

“But don’t worry.” He sank a hand to his chest in false consideration. “I’ve changed my plan up now that you’ve gained the full immortality of my mother.”

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to continue. Whatever it was, whatever he had up his sleeve, it wouldn’t be good.

“You’ll still fight War at the end just like I originally planned. But Red Lyric has been gone for quite some time now, enough that your fans have found other fighters to show their love and devotion to.” Altivar explained as he paced back and forth between the two cells. “So since I can no longer control you with the blades, I’ll use your lover and your brother instead.”

Her throat burned with the acidity of the hatred she felt for him. Her blood began to boil, acid rising there too. Her fingers curled into fists, her knuckles cracking with the taut skin.

Altivar groaned, his face turning unnaturally white as she stared daggers into him. “What are you doing?”

“Boiling you alive.” Crimson seethed, steam rising from his golden-brown flesh. He reached for the knife at his side, whipping out one of her daggers and moving faster than a bolt of ivory lightning.

Connor’s shirt was in his grasp and he plunged the tip of her smoked blade into his chest. Her father winced but bared his teeth at the Prince instead, refusing to back down.

“Continue and I kill him here and now, rip his heart out before you and eat it. Then you and I can go toe to toe, Crimson.” He warned with a gasp of pain as she tracked him with her gaze. His skin had turned near orange with the amount of pressure she applied with her power.

“Do it,” Connor barked. “Do it, Crimson. If you boil him alive, then he won’t be able to hurt any of you anymore. My life isn’t worth yours.”

For years, Crimson hated the man who sired her.

The one that left her mother on her deathbed before she turned cold, the one that abandoned her and her brother to a life of misery and poverty. That tendril of that life came to spiral through her, digging deep in her core and rooting there as it told her to listen to him. To let Altivar run him through and for it all to be over.

To let Connor pay for his mistakes.

But the young girl inside of her, begged her not to do it. To let him live, to let him have that chance to prove himself and work his way back into her life. For so long, she’d been alone, and that would return if she let Altivar kill him now.

Crimson called her magic back and the Prince let out a breath of relief as she stopped trying to boil his blood. He released his hold on her father, sending Connor flying back. His shoulder hit the wall as he growled in annoyance, brushing the excess dirt off the fabric and standing upright as he glanced towards her.

“You shouldn’t have let him win,” He commented, but she saw the pride that flickered in his aquamarine eyes. And that small dash of dignity turned her heart into a feather-light thing.

“I already lost you once.” She responded without a hint of regret to be found, because she didn’t have any. “I’m not losing you again.”

One way or another, Altivar would die.

She would see to that.

“How utterly beautiful.” The Prince grumbled and fixed his regal clothes back into place. There were a few holes singed into his emerald tunic from where his skin had become so hot, it tore straight through the chiffon. Smoke wafted from his lean arms, enough that she could make out the snake tattoo that wound around his bicep, the scarab beetle on his opposite side.

A realisation struck her hard.

“You can transform into any animal.” Crimson stated, startled that she hadn’t figured it out sooner. She’d been so angry with herself for leaving her weapons in an easy-to-locate spot, for not finding a more clever way to hide them.

“I can. It’s my lesser Saint power.” He confirmed, confusion spreading over his gorgeous features. Dark green lined his eyes with a shimmering powder that made the ochre colour even more vibrant. Rouge danced along his high cheekbones and even his lips seemed to hold a tint of rose to them.

As if he wanted to steal Muse’s beauty and claim it for his own, to remind them all that he was her son and just as ethereal as she had been. He could never gain a single drop of the loveliness that his mother oozed. No matter how hard he tried.

“You spied on me. On us.” Crimson accused him.

There had been a spider in her room as she’d hidden her weapons in West’s desk drawer, watching her whilst weaving a silken web in the corner. A fly, when Muse entered with the gowns and praised her for being beautiful, helping her become a Saintly icon. A scorpion had scuttled across the limestone bricks as West helped her select a dagger.

His lips curled upwards and to the side. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out, smart thing.” He traced the serpent that curled around his bicep almost tenderly, fervently.

“Longer than it should have.” She admitted. “Considering you literally have a snake tattooed onto you, I should have suspected that you were one from the start.”

He neared the cage and she didn’t back away.

“What did the ‘C’ stand for, Altivar? On your notes, you never signed it with your true name. Always that one initial. Why?”

Altivar looked as though he might not tell her. As if he relished in the delicious thought of not satiating her curiosity. But then his lips moved. “ Creature. My Saint’s name, like all the lesser Saints are allowed to choose. ”

She hated herself for not seeing it sooner.

“Was the timid serving wench all an act then?” He asked curiously, perusing over her firm face. “The one that blushed and fumbled and had to have the darling Westley Saint come to her rescue?”

“Does it matter?” Crimson said quietly, but no less fiery. “You have me. You have Heartache, your end goal all along. You have ways to control me, even without my talismans. You’ve won.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes as Connor propped himself against the wall. “Soon, yes but not yet. I won’t have actually won until I’ve consumed his heart and gained the full-blooded immortality of a Saint.”

Crimson didn’t dare to tell him that Connor would have rather given his heart to Cobalt. Because within that small tidbit of information, a key fact would have been revealed. And if Altivar knew that he had a son out there, a threat to his line, there was no doubt in her mind that he would kill Cobalt.

“I suggest you sleep well tonight, Heartrage. Tomorrow I’m taking you to the Pits and you’ll be reappearing as Red Lyric. And when you’ve defeated all the champions who want their fair shot at glory and fame, when you’ve regained your own glory and fame, I’ll unmask you to the world. I’ll let all three of the gates see just who’s been defeating everyone else.”

Dread punched directly through her as he went on.

“And when they call for your head, for breaking the very rules of the Blades of Blood, then the Warrior will come crawling out of the depths of darkness as your next and final opponent. You’ll be able to watch as those fans who adored you so much call for your death, scream it at you. And you’ll give it to them.” Altivar’s promise made her shake. A tremble that she tried to hide from him, to not let him see that his threat had cast her in a shell of fear.

He pulled away at last.

Crimson lifted her chin up high, as high as it would go with the tremor that plagued her. “I might win.” She said hoarsely. “One Saint against another. You can’t control those odds.”

“Oh?” He questioned in a way that made her certainty wave.

“I served in the Bronzed Goblet, in the Pits for years before I stepped in the ring. I watched those other fighters, War himself as he trained them and I learned from their moves and failures as I observed from the shadows.” Her confidence was nothing but a farce as she tried to get him to leave for the night so she could succumb to her terror. “Why do you think I managed to stay as a top competitor for so long?”

Altivar tilted his head to the side. “Luck, little Saint.”

“Not luck.” She disagreed wholeheartedly, brazenly. “Talent. I took on men that were thrice my size with a fraction of the power that I have now. I’ll easily take them down if you decide to throw them in the ring with me. Their deaths will be on your conscience, their blood staining your hands, not mine.”

Because she saw right through his plan.

He wanted to break her before shoving her in the ring with the biggest, baddest opponent of all. He wanted her to kill and murder and drown in the scarlet that she’d have to spill in order to even have a chance at living.

“Is that so?” He asked softly and she knew that she was making progress at chipping away at his surety. There, in the corner of his golden eyes, doubt swirled like pale wine.

Crimson latched onto it like opium, letting it surge into her soul until she could make another bold statement. “You can throw me in the ring, toss competitor after competitor at me and I will fight them. Because I’m a survivor. I’ve been fighting all my life.”

Altivar hummed a small sound that sounded like contemplation. “We’ll see.”