Chapter 14: Maverick

Palace of the Equinox Throne: Kingdom of Delos

"I think you should wear the green," Valencia said, looking over all of the options the servants had brought in for them to choose from. "You always do look so wonderful in green."

Valencia plucked the emerald doublet from the bed, running her fingers along the fabric as she held it up to her son, smiling.

"Who is Kael?" Maverick asked suddenly. Valencia's smile fell to a frown and she turned away from him, strolling to the dressing area of his room to hang his doublet there. "The duke, mother. Who is he?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said with a shrug.

"I could tell you knew him," Maverick told her. He wasn't going to let this go. "I could tell by your expression. You looked... worried for him. Helios hates him. Why?"

"He's just an old friend, dear. He and Helios had a falling out. It isn't anything to worry yourself about," she answered easily, regaining her smile as she turned to face him, caressing his cheek with a hand. "Now, get yourself ready. We can't have you late to your own brother's wedding."

Maverick frowned. She was avoiding the question. He wasn't going to get an answer. Not from her anyway.

Without another word, Valencia gracefully let herself out of her son's rooms and Maverick was alone. He did as he was told, dressing himself and going through the motions of finding his way toward the grand hall. The ceremony would be in the throne room but he didn't particularly feel like attending. Besides, his presence would only be noted at the reception anyway. So he sat himself in the back of the hall and watched as the nobility filed in one after another, chattering excitedly in the way they always did around a wedding.

Maverick was just trying to determine who would be best to approach with questions about the Duke when the man himself sat down next to him.

"Skipped the ceremony?" the Duke asked, his voice low and his eyes casting about the room in a way that ensured no one would know they were speaking.

"Couldn't stomach it," Maverick confessed and the corner of the strange man's lips curled up into a smile.

"Not a fan of your new half-sister?"

"Not a fan of war."

"Ah. And you believe this will cause one?"

"You do not?"

"I have learned better than to try to predict the future, young prince. I am almost always proven wrong when I do. Instead, I like to focus on the things I know now. Karil has no king. Idoria is a mess of religious zealots without a clear religion. Delos is strongest. Delos is the most stable. That is why I am here and not there."

"Is that why?"

The Duke cast a glance in Maverick's direction and smiled broader.

"You are a shrewd observer," the Duke said. "As I've been told."

"You have a history here," Maverick replied. "I am clearly too young to remember it but everyone else seems to. King Helios does."

"King Helios is not likely to ever forget."

Something in his tone was sad now, almost as if the admission of the king's hatred depressed him more than Maverick could possibly understand.

"Who told you?" Maverick spat then, processing what the Duke had said for the first time. "That I was a shrewd observer?"

The Duke rose then, buttoning his overcoat and smiling.

"Your mother loves you very much, young prince. She does not hide me from you for any other reason," he said and started to walk away. He was only a few feet away when he stopped suddenly and turned back to face Maverick. "I can tell that you are the type to pick a side and stick to it. I admire that. Just make sure it's the right one."

With that, he turned and vanished into the crowd. Maverick stared after him for a moment, blinking in surprise at the contents of the conversation they had just had. He had set out to determine who this man was and what sort of relationship seemed to exist between him and the royal family, his family. But instead he found himself faced with a warning and a hint to stop digging.

He had no time to think about the strange duke any further. The reception festivities were beginning and he was required at the head table to drink with the nobles and bat away their insinuations that he would be next at the marriage alter. He doubted that. Second sons were often married off to nobility or other royalty to secure peace or trade. But not bastards. If there were a war, he would be sent off to it like all the other Delosian soldiers. Perhaps he would be given a command but it would be war all the same.

Valencia doted on him all evening. It was clear that she felt bad for ignoring his question earlier. There wasn't much that his mother had ever hidden from him and Mavrerick knew there must be a good reason why she was doing so now. But still, his curiosity was a difficult thing to leave unsated.

By the end of the night, when the last of the nobility stumbled off to bed, Maverick excused himself, pulling away from his mother's clutches, and retired to his own room. Once there, he sent for Delphi. He may not know who this Duke was but he was curious to see if she had seen him in any of her visions, if he were to play a part in the coming war.

While he waited for Delphi, he sat by the fire and popped open a book. He hadn't drunk very much at the party tonight, so lost in thought that he'd kept one glass of scotch and nursed it all evening. He was clear headed and wide awake.

That was how he noticed the shadow.

A brief flicker of movement cast upon the far wall by the fire. Maverick's lips parted in surprise just before a cord was wrapped around his neck and someone was pulling him back.

He sputtered and coughed, choking, gasping for air. His fingers clawed at the rope to no avail. He was dying, he realized. Truly dying.

How quick it had come and how unexpected. Was this what death was like? One moment you're reading a book by the fire, exhausted from a long night of entertaining the nobility, and the next you were dead, sprawled out on the ancient rug of Delosian royalty in your own bedchamber. His vision spotted until all he saw was black. A gurgling sound was escaping his throat. This was it. This was the end.

He kicked out and felt something firm in front of him. In one final act of desperation, he placed a foot on the coffee table and kicked backwards. The armchair he sat in fell back, slamming into his assailant and knocking them to the floor. He had a moment's respite to gulp in as much air as he could, crawling away on hands and knees as color returned to his cheeks and oxygen returned to his lungs. Then the attacker was on him again. This time with a knife.

They plunged the dagger forward, toward his chest, but he stumbled away, knocking into a shelf and sending its contents crashing to the ground. Still gasping for air, blinking rapidly to clear his spotted vision, he reached back for the candelabra and swung it upward wildly.

His assailant paused for a moment, assessing him. He noticed the feminine form then. The close, cropped hair that swayed when she cocked her head in examination of him. His mind reeled to find a name, any woman he might know who had reason to kill him, even as his body screamed to defend itself.

She raised her hand again, ready to strike, and then fell to the floor. Maverick blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness in this corner of his room, away from the fire. Another shape was on top of his assailant now. The two of them rolled around on the ground and Maverick watched, desperately trying to determine which was his hero in the darkness so that he might help them. The fight was relatively silent, only a few grunts and the pang of metal missing its mark and striking wood. Then, suddenly, one of the shadows leapt up and sprinted for the window, effortlessly hurtling the windowsill and fading into the dark night beyond.

The other figure turned to him and approached. He held the candelabra aloft, uncertain if the individual who had fled was his attacker or a hero that had decided he wasn't worth it.

"It's me," a familiar voice said quickly, quietly. "It's me, Mav. Neva."

Maverick lowered his weapon. His shoulders sagged.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

He rubbed his throat but shook his head.

"No," he answered.

She took the candelabra gently from his hands and set it back on the dresser behind him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and stared at the upturned armchair. He rubbed a hand absentmindedly against his throat, remembering what it had felt like, what dying had felt like.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Jyn Olegavna," Neva answered and Maverick was surprised that she had a name. "She's the Chaos' personal minion."

"The Chaos," he repeated, slowly. "You're supposed to be watching him."

"I was. Until I heard someone had put out a hit on you."

He stared at her, too stunned to respond. Neva began picking up everything that had fallen, putting it back into its rightful place, while Maverick tried to catch up.

"You– he–"

"Maverick, we need to leave," she said. "Now. Tonight. You need to get out of this palace. As long as you're here, she's going to try again."

"I can't just leave, Neva. My father–"

"If you don't leave, you'll die. And then who will be here to stand up for Delos then?"

Maverick tried to argue with her but couldn't. So he simply nodded and allowed Neva to create a makeshift disguise from what he already had in his room. Once he was thoroughly hidden, she took him through underground servants' passages and out of a long forgotten entrance to the city beyond.