A Guiding Light Read online

  The soldiers hadn’t believed the line would break; the drawbridge over the moat was down and the gates were open. Runs Amok tore down the road at a gallop while I clung to his neck so I wouldn’t end up splattered on the asphalt.

  A pair of guards waited, lifting their rifles to take aim. Runs Amok angled towards one, lifted his head, and plowed into the man without any evidence of fear. A sickening crunch heralded screams, and Runs Amok snorted, tearing through the gates and inside the castle grounds.

  I rode a psychotic, murderous horse, and I questioned everything that had culminated in my unwise charge to hunt a king so I could take his throne. Ian’s horse caught up, and he rode beside me. “Left around the building to the gardens; it’ll be easiest to access the castle through the solarium.”

  The floor-to-ceiling windows wouldn’t stand a chance against Ian’s talent. While Runs Amok had opinions, he obeyed the reins when I guided him to the leftmost path that’d take us around the castle to the royal gardens, a place Veronica’s mother had loved more than anything else.

  I remembered spending many an hour among the hedges and roses because Veronica had wanted to spend time with her mother, who stayed outdoors as often as possible. The hedges and roses remained, but the shadow of the castle walls falling over them seemed as though the life had been snuffed out of it, as though the garden grieved for the woman who’d loved it.

  The king would pay for his betrayal, and I’d have to grudgingly thank Runs Amok for his idiocy later. The horse ensured I’d get my chance at the man who’d ruined my life, hurt Veronica, and had killed her mother.

  There was a fine line between justice and revenge, and I’d toe it without shame.

  We all deserved closure, and I’d make sure we got it.

  “Hard right around the corner and rein in hard,” Ian ordered.

  I managed the hard right, but Runs Amok refused to obey my order to stop. Without any sign of caring he charged a massive glass window, he charged. I spat curses and raised my arm to protect my face from the inevitable shards. Would the horse’s bulletproof blanket protect him from being sliced to ribbons?

  The window didn’t stand a chance against the horse, who plowed through head first.

  The bridle flashed red and the glass exploded around us, falling around us in a glittering rain.

  I escaped with a single cut across my arm, and the damned stallion showed no sign of caring he’d taken up the role of living battering ram. I’d pay dearly for the cut, which already hurt like hell and would only get worse as my body clued in I’d been slashed open.

  “Adam, you idiot!” Ian howled.

  “It’s the damned evil-possessed horse,” I howled back.

  Riding a horse through the castle broke every single rule I’d ever had shoved down my throat as a child, and if my leg and arm hadn’t been protesting the abuse and my horse wasn’t determined to steal all the glory and maybe get me killed, I might’ve enjoyed my defiance. I reined the cantankerous animal in, resisting the urge to clobber the beast between his ears. He obeyed, standing still while I fumed.

  My father reined in beside me, reached over, and took hold of Runs Amok’s bridle. “Deep breaths and steady your nerves, son.”

  “I question this animal’s training,” I stated when I could speak without my voice trembling.

  “No one has ever accused the Montana royals of sanity, and the things they teach their horses goes beyond the sane. That said, His Royal Majesty does have an affinity for horses. He might be encouraging Runs Amok. You’re doing fine. Get yourself together. We have a job to do.”

  “What happened to protecting the crowd?” I demanded.

  “The crowd is protecting itself just fine,” my mother replied. “We disabled the tanks before we left, and I wish them the best of luck firing guns with crunched or melted barrels. We only have to worry about getting in, making sure the king’s here, and leveling this damned place.”

  “Wait, if we take out the king, do we still need to level the castle?”

  “Yes,” everyone replied.

  The world had gone mad.

  I slid off Runs Amok’s back and checked the horse’s thick skull for evidence of the glass having cut the horse. While I found a few shards in his mane, which I picked out, he had escaped unscathed.

  “Crazy horse,” I muttered before swinging back onto his broad back. “Let’s get this over with. Any word from Veronica and the others?”

  “Veronica’s done and out of the castle; she’s with His Royal Majesty of Montana already. We gave her the quickest work,” my father confessed. “It’s important structural spots in the castle, but exterior, so she was in and out. She didn’t like it, but she went with it anyway. Marshal’s still inside.”

  A chill ran through me. “Marshal’s still inside?”

  “Unfortunately. This works out well; we can take care of the king and find Marshal.”

  Why had we allowed the boy to join in on the efforts? I worried, and there was nothing I could do to stem the tide. “Marshal’s our top priority.”

  “Even if the king escapes?” my father replied.

  “Marshal’s our top priority,” I repeated. “Even if the bastard runs, he’s not worth Marshal’s life.”

  “The throne room has always been a representation of the king’s power. He’s likely there, waiting to quell the rebellion—and kill you. Let’s try there first. Marshal may be young, but he understands the importance of symbols better than anyone else, and he’d want to erase that symbol of his father from the world above all others. Unlike you, he’s still too young to understand the importance of setting aside revenge for the greater good. And unlike you, those symbols killed his mother. He’ll want them erased, even if it kills him in the process.”

  That was what I feared.

  The first mercenary posing as an RPS agent we crossed caught me flatfooted, and the single blast of gunfire woke my memories of the king turning on me and his son. I froze, Runs Amok screamed a challenge, and I learned what it was like to stare a bullet in the eye, although instead of tearing through my skull, it hung in the air.

  Runs Amok went one way, and I went the other. I sprawled on the stone, everything spinning. My father stepped over me, nudged the bullet with a metal rod, grunted, and released his talent. Everything I knew about science and physics claimed what my father did wasn’t possible. The bullet returned right where it came from, but instead of reentering the handgun, the mercenary choked out a cry and fell.

  My father stepped forward, picked up the gun, and fired several more rounds, each one punctuated with cursing.

  I was pretty sure the devil horse joined my father in making certain the mercenary wouldn’t bother anyone ever again.

  “You all right, Adam?” Ian asked, and when I came to my senses enough to locate the New Yorker, he had Runs Amok’s reins in his hands. “Do you want to switch horses? I don’t think mine’s crazy.”

  “No, that’s quite all right. I’m sure His Royal Majesty had some reason for saddling me with the devil. I’m pretty sure I’ll offend his queen if I say anything bad about her horse.” I groaned, lurched upright with a little help from my father, and scrambled onto Runs Amok’s back. If anyone wanted dignity or grace from me, I needed a new leg, a lot fewer bruises, and a few weeks to get the stiffness out of my muscles.

  Tomorrow would hurt.

  One close call with a bullet was one close call too many for Daniel, Jack, and Ian’s agents, who determined the best place for me was between them in the line with Ian riding beside me, effectively ensuring Runs Amok wouldn’t be able to run amok without going through RPS agents and their horses first.

  Runs Amok vocalized his displeasure at being thwarted by blowing air, stomping his hooves, and pinning his ears back.

  As expected, the gunfire drew attention, attention my father and mother faced with extreme prejudice. My father did his killing with his gun, and I wasn’t sure he bothered to aim with his weapon before pulling the trigger. It
didn’t matter; his bullets went exactly where he meant for them to go, no matter what the initial trajectory of the round was.

  I didn’t want to be like my father when my talent matured, as he didn’t even flinch when he took a life. Removing the mercenaries was necessity; if we didn’t kill them, they’d be more than happy to kill us.

  It didn’t change how little I liked what we did.

  My mother took a different approach, lobbing marble-sized balls of plastics at her targets and detonating them at her leisure. Sometimes, she used her weapon of choice as a deterrent.

  Others, she went for the kill with the same ruthlessness as my father.

  Ian cleared his throat to catch my attention. “Let this be an important lesson to you, Adam. This is more than justice to your parents. It’s a dose of revenge, too. Maybe the royal family needs closure for the death of the queen, but they need it, too.”

  “I’m going to need therapy,” I muttered, guiding Runs Amok so he wouldn’t step all over the remains of one of my mother’s victims. “We screwed this whole plan up. We should’ve just sent them in to take the castle.”

  “And miss you riding a queen’s horse through a window?”

  “I hate you, Ian.”

  “You like me. You especially like that I helped prevent a tank from blasting you to confetti.”

  “There’s that,” I admitted.

  “I do second your opinion that we could just let them take the castle and watch. I’ll be backup. You just sit there, look pretty, and stay out of trouble. I’m already going to have a lot of explaining to do when Veronica sees that cut on your arm and your new bruises.”

  “I figured I’d blame Montana’s king. He made me ride the devil horse.”

  “We’ll have to ask about that later. Runs Amok has a reputation, but it’s not for being a psychotic war horse out for blood. He’s definitely smart; Her Royal Majesty of Montana’s alive because that horse dove down a cliff and plunged into a river to pull her out after she was shot by my asshole sister’s goons.”

  I patted Runs Amok’s neck and was rewarded with a glass shard to the finger, although the horse escaped injury. I sighed, pulled the fragment out, and tossed it near the wall so one of the horses wouldn’t step on it. “Veronica’s going to look at me and murder me for being covered in blood, most of it mine.”

  “You do look rather mussed.”

  “Mussed, Ian? Really?”

  My mother took particular offense to one of the mercenaries dumb enough to approach us, and I, along with everyone else, grimaced when she and her supply of plastic explosives tore him to pieces. Every time she detonated part of her stash, a shimmering field absorbed the shockwave. Instead of a deafening boom, we were subjected to a pop and a crackle.

  Runs Amok liked stomping on the bodies whenever I let him get too close to one.

  To the king, the throne room was the seat of his power, but it was also the heart of the castle, and we waged a brutal, quick war reaching it. Daniel’s descriptions of the mercenaries proved accurate; without my father’s talent, we might’ve been riddled with bullets long before reaching the king, but without their guns, they were unable to fight against four RPS agents, Ian, and my parents, all of whom wanted a piece of the action.

  I watched, and for the first time since I’d gotten onto his back, Runs Amok stood with regal pride, watching without acting. What the horse waited for, I had no idea, but it unnerved me that my job was to observe and remember.

  While I had a gun, I didn’t trust in my skills to use it, nor did I trust my talent to ensure the bullet went where I needed it to go.

  How had it gone from my fight to theirs?

  It took a frighteningly short time to reach the throne room and break our way inside.

  The king sat on his throne, and his son was sprawled at his feet.

  I slid off Runs Amok’s feet and handed the reins to Ian, who hissed curses under his breath. Fury ignited my blood, boiling it within my veins, and my world narrowed to the king who’d dared to lay his hands on a child, who dared to kill his own wife, all because he wanted to sit on his throne until his dying day.

  Death was too good of a fate for him, but I’d settle.

  “I see more traitors have arrived,” the king murmured, watching us with narrowed eyes. “Damned traitors. How many of you are there? How dare you infest my castle like termites?”

  I didn’t mind being compared to a termite; termites were ruthless, stubborn, and left permanent marks in their wake, often requiring entire buildings to be rebuilt when they swarmed. No, I liked it.

  I’d be worse than a termite. When I finished, I wouldn’t force the rebuild of the castle, I’d rebuild the entire kingdom.

  “However many are needed to make certain you see justice.” No longer would I address Veronica’s father as a king. There was nothing majestic about a man who’d kill for the sake of his greed.

  There was nothing noble about murder, but I’d lower myself to it if necessary.

  “You will address me properly.”

  “I will not. Respect is earned, and you have done nothing to earn mine. Surrender,” I ordered.

  I would give him one chance to do so. If he didn’t cooperate, I’d do as I’d feared I’d have to. To keep Veronica safe, to buy desperate seconds hoping Marshal still lived, I’d kill another man.

  “Why would I surrender? It is my duty and privilege to kill traitors.”

  I stepped forward, hands in my pockets, breaking up the block of plastic explosives I carried and worried it into a ball, considering if I wanted to make the bastard choke on it before I detonated it and performed a brutal but swift execution. If I jammed the barrel of Peter’s gun down the asshole’s throat, would it help? I could use both of the talents the king had so desired against him.

  And require even more therapy afterwards. I expected the first few months of my rule would be punctuated with therapy sessions so I wouldn’t end up just like him, a threat to everyone around me.

  I wanted to stop and check Marshal, but I stepped around the boy. After seeing the bloody aftermath of my parents’ slaughter, I was relieved I spotted no blood around the young prince. The lack of obvious injury offered hope.

  It wouldn’t change how I dealt with the king, but Marshal wouldn’t have to witness what I meant to do. He’d seen enough death already.

  “I demand you stop this instant. You have—”

  Maybe I held plastics, but instead of shoving them down the king’s throat like I wanted, I connected my fist with his jaw so hard his head snapped to the side. “That’s for Her Royal Majesty,” I announced, my tone coldly neutral. He spluttered, blood dripping from where I’d split his lip open. I grabbed hold of his suit jacket, not caring I bled from my gashed arm, and hauled the man off his throne, lifting him so I could look him in the eyes.

  “Listen up, asshole. I’ve the authorization of the Royal States to challenge you to a duel. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck if you put up a fight or not. You had the queen murdered because she wanted to leave your abusive ass. You’ll either die with pride in a duel against me, or you’ll die after facing a jury for the murder of your wife. Either way, you face your death for what you’ve done. Will you fight me, or will you prove you’re a coward unfit for that crown you cling to so desperately?” I released him, taking several steps back until I stood over Marshal.

  I wasn’t earning any points for my oratory skills, but I got the point across. The king’s eyes hardened, and fury twisted his expression.

  We stared at each other in silence, and I waited, squelching my rage.

  When I killed the man who’d ruined my life, who’d hurt his family, I’d do so with solemn regard. There’d be no fits of passion or anger.

  Only regret.

  Killing him wouldn’t bring the queen back from the dead or undo the damage he’d done to his family. I couldn’t change that. All I could do was ensure he’d never hurt anyone ever again.

  “When I’m finished wi
th you, boy, you will lick my shoes before you’re executed for treason,” he snarled.

  I gestured for the king to descend from his gaudy dais and take the floor. “Then take your position.”

  As I refused to leave Marshal, the king was forced to walk around me, and as he strolled across his great hall, he drew a gun from his belt. I recognized it as the one he’d tried to kill me with.

  He made it hard to keep my temper from flaring.

  “Well, boy? How do you plan to beat a gun?”

  Honor dictated my father stay out of the duel, although I suspected I’d entered the castle with a bunch of cheaters willing to bend the rules to ensure he died and I didn’t. I opened my fingers and revealed the lumpy ball of explosive. “I’m my mother’s son. That must be so disappointing for you. And however much it irks me to admit it, I’m my father’s son, too.”

  I got a double dose of the eye from my parents, and I expected they’d make me pay for my commentary after the duel.

  “Liar. I ask you again, boy. How do you plan on beating a gun?”

  “Shoot and find out.”

  He did, choosing to take his own life rather than face defeat or justice for his crimes.

  I had no time for a coward, so I turned away, crouching beside Marshal and pressing my fingers to his throat. His pulse beat strong beneath my fingers, and I rolled him over to discover he’d been shot dead center in the chest. Shaking my head, I stripped the young prince of his jacket and shirt to expose the bulletproof vest beneath. The bullet had lodged in the thick material without penetrating, and I stripped him of the inflexible material, setting it aside before scooping him up, wincing at the pain in my arm and leg. “We’re done here,” I announced. “Vest stopped the round. Let’s get out of here in case he needs medical attention. Tell Dr. Stanton to be ready to treat Marshal.”

  Daniel got on his phone, and when Jack moved his horse forward to approach the king’s body, I narrowed my eyes, but realized it was probably wise to remove the man’s body before we leveled the castle. “Don’t let Marshal see his father’s body.”