Resolutely, Atikus swung the blade toward his throat, but the metal never touched his neck. Everything froze. The familiar ball of light descended onto his hand again and took the shape of the miniature fairy.
“You can’t do that, poor General,” the messenger of the gods said. “No one can escape their fate. I gave you a choice that day. You chose your path. You have to follow it. It is you who will destroy the last King and the most beautiful Queen.”
“Let me go, fiend,” Atikus growled, unable to even move a finger. “Let me die with honor!”
“Honor is for mortals alone. The Gods don’t know about honor. Only Fate. Yours is already written in the Book of Thousands. You’ll take part in the uprising. It’ll be a success. Haver will die. Elizabeth will die.”
Atikus heard her words and horrible scenes flashed before his eyes: the Palace drenched in blood; a sword chopping the King’s head off; Primus ripping the heart out of Elizabeth’s chest.
“What will happen to the Prince?”
“I can’t tell you that, poor General. Remember that you will only be able to tell this story once. When someone who is not a man and not a dragon comes to you. Not a prince and not a commoner. Not a wanderer and not a general. As changeable as the wind, following the call of his dreams. He will come to you. He’ll learn the truth. You will fight him. The snowmen will judge you both. One of you will die.”
Chapter 240
They sat in silence for a while. Hadjar looked at Atikus, who in turn was staring into the depths of his own mind.
“I’m not trying to absolve myself, my Prince,” the former General said at last. “But I won’t ask for forgiveness, either. Haver would’ve destroyed this country. Maybe that same year, maybe a century later, his policies would‘ve led to our demise.”
“Was that a good reason to kill him? Betray your best friend? Cause my mother’s death and doom me to the life of a cripple and slave?”
Atikus sighed and drained a jug of wine in one gulp.
“I didn’t kill my friend and your mother that day, but the King and Queen. Despite everything, Primus had made our country stronger.”
“Millions of people are working in the mine for the benefit of the Empire.”
“That’s still better than tens of millions dying in wars.”
“I don’t need to hear about wars!” Hadjar slapped his hand on the table, resembling his uncle. “I’ve seen many of them with my own eyes! I know what war is like.”
The regret and sorrow disappeared from Atikus’ eyes. Arrogance and mockery replaced them.
“How many times have you sent people into battle, great General? How many wars have you lived through? Two, three, four? I’ve been fighting for a century and a half! I’ve shed more blood than there is water in the royal garden! For what? To make the enemy shed twice as much in turn? You haven’t seen anything, my Prince. Only a shadow of war’s true shadow. The kind of war Primus saved us from!”
“By selling our country to the Empire.”
“And yet we’re still alive and the flag of Lidus still flies over the Palace.”
“And is used like a doormat by the Darnassians.”
The atmosphere grew tense. Whirlwinds of white energy sometimes flashed around Atikus while deep cuts spread across the table from Hadjar’s palms. Hadjar rose. He took Moon Beam and secured its sheath on his belt. Approaching the exit, Hadjar, without turning around, asked: “If he’s such a good ruler, why are you fighting Primus?”
Behind him, he heard a heavy sigh and a rustle. Soon, Atikus stood next to the man whom he’d once loved as much as the son he could never have.
“So that you’d know where to find me, my Prince, for our fight.”
They went outside. Large flakes of snow fell from the sky. Atikus’ tent stood in the middle of a large, militarized camp. The rebel army must’ve numbered at least half a million people. And all these people who were dressed in the same (Where did Atikus even find so much armor?) snow-white armor now stood fully armed and looking at their General and the man standing next to him. Then they fell to their right knee in unison and put their fists against their breastplates. Hadjar heard something quite different from what he’d expected.
“The King is dead!” They shouted. “Long live the King!”
“The King is dead! Long live the King!”
The thousands of people weren’t saluting Atikus, but... Hadjar. He didn’t understand what was going on.
“I’m not fighting against Primus, my Prince,” Atikus’ voice was once again filled with pain and fatigue. “I’m fighting for you.”
“Long live Prince Hadjar!” The chanting of half a million voices boomed. These people were ready to put their lives on the line to liberate their country. “Long live Prince Hadjar!”
Hadjar turned to Atikus and suddenly understood why the whole country had been full of rumors that an army led by the Prince was gathering in the north. And why this army had never made any serious attempts to invade the capital. Atikus had never intended to fight Primus. He’d just been waiting for the Prince to finally come to him. He had been calling out to him through the years and across hundreds of miles. He’d let out a battle cry in the country and had hoped that said cry would reach the ears of the legitimate royal heir. Atikus didn’t believe that he had any right to decide the fate of the kingdom. He didn’t believe that any fate could be decided. His heart had been wounded by the dagger that hadn’t been able to cut his own life short. The fairy’s words had killed the resolute and powerful General he’d once been. They’d left only an unfortunate warrior behind, devoid
