At least that works. I can’t be out here losing fingers.
She found a better place to sit and rest farther down the path in the first cavern she had seen. She quickly went inside, hoping for a moment of respite—just one moment.
Inside, she found three dead Andinna, all looking as if they had gone to sleep and never woken. That was how most of the Andinna on the mountain died. She had already slept near their dead bodies. Forever trapped, stopped before they reached the top.
If I warm up successfully, I won’t have the problem they did, and…
Inside the cavern, there was less snow. She didn’t want to defile the dead, but she took some of their outerwear and piled it up. She would not strip them naked, not when they looked like people she could have known.
She grabbed the flint she had in her bag and tried to spark them. There was nothing living on this mountain, only rocks and snow this far up, but she prayed she could light their clothing on fire. When that didn’t work, she reached back into her pack, where she was able to keep everything dry, and tried to find something else.
She had nearly a dozen medical bandages in case she took a nasty spill. She grabbed one, feeling the gauze fabric. This could get something started.
For the first time since she left the temple, Mave had fire. She kept feeding her tiny flame with more gauze. It was slow work, but the clothes eventually dried, and she threw them on the fire. It would burn hot and fast, but she was okay with that. It would be enough for her to rest a little more comfortably. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to fall asleep.
When she woke up, she was cold, and the fire had gone out, but she had woken up. She had to continue.
No other options. This is my path now, and I have to see it through.
She gathered her things, looked at the dead one last time, giving them a moment of silence, then left the cavern. The storm was a little calmer than when she fell asleep, so she took advantage. Moving quickly, she found a place where she could go up a steep but safe-looking incline.
She was halfway up it when the snow shifted.
“No!” she snapped, trying to grab for something. The snow slid, and it took her to the bottom, making her crash into a boulder at the bottom of the incline. Groaning, she pushed herself back her feet and looked up the incline. Baring her teeth, she started walking again. While her back would be bruised from the hit, she wasn’t sent off the mountain, and that was all she could think about—the positives. She had to remain focused on the positives.
Time passed as Mave was battered.
Over and over, she slipped, cut herself, climbed, and fell. All she could do through it all was keep her pace, steady, and unstoppable.
What did Leshaun tell me?
“Ala non lerani eni vorha.” She could remember his voice, and it brought tears to her eyes.
“There is no sprinting up a mountain.”
I wonder if he ever would have seen me here, taking his advice literally.
The mountain, in a weird way, cleared her mind. It didn’t care who she was or who she had been. The mountain didn’t care about the slave, the gladiator, the Champion. It didn’t care that she was a warrior, fighting for the Andinna. It didn’t care about what she had done or didn’t do or who her parents were.
It only wanted her to prove her worth right then. None of those things mattered to it because it was in the present, and it was deadly. Without trying, the mountain could take her to her knees. And it was beginning to gain ground on her.
Every time she slept, it got harder to get up. Every endless walk and another cliff to climb threatened to break her spirit. Every time she found a safe place to take a moment to herself, out of the storm, she cried, the tears leaving ice crystals on her face.
She was done with yet another cliff when her foot slipped, and she felt something pop. The sound and the sensation that went with it made her scream. She crawled away from the edge, hoping that nothing was terribly broken.
Please be a sprain. Please!
She pulled off her boot, then several thin layers of protection around her foot.
Her foot was bloody from wear and tear, something she never had a problem with before.
The pop was two of her toes, frozen solid, finally coming off. She shook her boot, her heart pounding as those toes fell out, and her stomach flipped.
She broke. That broke her. She struggled to get her foot protected again and pulled her knees to her face and screamed in fury and regret. Her body was going to fail her before she could reach the top and her mind was tired of fighting it.
So tired.
A wave of exhaustion hit her, consuming her, and her eyes drifted closed. She couldn’t do this if her body was going to fall to pieces. Her body wasn’t strong enough.
Something whooshed by her face, and her eyes flew open. A bird? She needed real food and would eat the damn thing raw if she had to.
But she saw no bird. She saw nothing.
Standing, she looked around, only seeing snow and rock, as she had for what seemed like an eternity now.
Until she thought she saw someone else further down the path, obscured by the low visibility. She stumbled, wondering which of her stupid husbands dared to follow her up the mountain.
No, not one of mine. Mat, Zayden, and Bryn would respect my decision. It’s probably Emerian because he thinks he needs to protect me for K—
Her thoughts stopped dead as she fell in the snow, seeing there was no person there, but a specter like she saw on Al Moro Nat.
Is it Al Moro Nat? Has so much time really passed?
“Hello?” she asked softly, her heart racing faster than it had a right to. She didn’t know whether to be afraid.
The specter took a step closer and looked down at her.
Her heart broke.
“Kian,” she cried, bowing low. “I’m sorry. I failed as your daughter. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t want to move, but she couldn’t see him like that, so she forced herself to look up at his face again.
She was going to die right here for him. She deserved it—for him, for Leshaun, for Dave. For the hundreds who tried to escape the Elvasi and died. For the hundreds who died in a war she and Alchan started without listening to anyone else.
This was her fault. She got them killed. She had helped pick the path that led to their deaths.
Kian extended a hand. She tried to grab it and went through. She felt the pain cut her again and the dismay on Kian’s face.
“What are you trying…” She couldn’t put it together. Her mind was foggy, her body in pain constantly now. She didn’t understand.
He stepped back and frowned.
Then his hands began to move, unsure.
But she watched them and knew.
“Come. I’ll walk with you.”
The dead didn’t have a voice, but neither did Varon. Somehow, that turned all the way to Kian being able to relay a simple message after he was long gone.
Mave got to her feet and followed him. Every step hurt. Every single one was a reminder of what toll the mountain took on her, and how her body was giving up.
She made it to his side and staggered, but he slowed for her, watching with pain in his eyes.
“You can do it,” he signed slowly.
No one in the Company signed unless it was during a mission. None of them had Varon’s speed.
She was so grateful he was there. So fucking grateful.
“I can’t,” she said, leaning on a rock. “My body is falling apart, Kian! I want to so bad, but…”
“I believe in you. Always.”
She sobbed harder, but the message got her feet moving again.
Together, they walked.
Kian didn’t leave her side—as she struggled to overcome boulders and inclines and when she fell. He stayed. He stayed by her side the entire time after that. He was unconcerned by the snow, unconcerned by the cold, the wind, or the terrain.
He jogged ahead of her and looked ov
er a rock beyond her. She practically crawled to get to him. The storm was so strong, growing stronger with every bit of ground she covered now, but she reached his side and pulled herself to stand.
He went first, gesturing for her to keep going, a smile on his face.
She limped after him, desperate to stay with him.
His smile was beaming as she made it to him and fell on her knees again.
“I love you, daughter,” he signed.
“I love you, baba,” she whispered, staring at his face.
Then he faded away, leaving her at the peak of the mountain in the calm eye of the deadly storm.
44
Alchan
Alchan didn’t know how long he sat there. He tried not to think about the room he was in or what was sitting on the throne behind him. He had picked a spot in the center of the throne room to meditate.
The Hall of Queens, as his family called it, was just a throne room to everyone else. They didn’t understand what happened in this room when no one was watching.
Then it hit him. His eyes opened, and he stared down the long hall.
He was ready. It was time. He knew it. He could feel it in his bones. The room was charged, and he didn’t understand why.
Alchan stood up and turned toward the throne, his heart pounding, loud and steady. On the throne was a pile of bones. Someone had died on the seat and was left to rot and fade away. Only their bones remained, not even a scrap of clothing.
He walked to it slowly. He had to remove those bones if he wanted to sit down and begin this. As he reached out to them, a specter appeared, sitting where Alchan needed to be.
Alchan looked up and saw his father’s face with a furious expression.
“Ah, so this is how you died,” Alchan whispered, straightening. “I guess it’s Al Moro Nat. A strange day to be here doing this, yet I see why it wanted me to open my eyes now. Are you here to warn me?” Alchan tilted his head to the side, unfeeling. His father had no power. He was long dead, still obviously paying for his last fatal mistake. “I don’t need it. I know the punishment, but there are other things I fear more. I must risk it.”
His father didn’t move or disappear, just sat there, arrogantly leaning back and stretching his legs, his furious expression unchanging.
“Ah…you couldn’t have it in life, so you want to keep it in death?” Alchan laughed. “I can sit through you, old man. Move on if you can because I’m not going to fear you. Years and years, I wondered if I would ever see your face, and you were here—power-hungry and refusing to let go. You had to control everyone and everything because our station in life was never enough for you. Why am I not surprised?” Alchan snorted. Of all the times and all the places to find his father’s soul, lingering long past its expiration date, it had to be in a room neither of them had a right to rule.
Alchan stepped closer and leaned into his furious father’s face.
“Mother is alive,” he whispered. “She came to see me after all these years. I was so angry with her, but seeing you? I think I might give her a chance…just to piss you off. Now begone, spirit of Behron Andini. You are no longer wanted here in the land of the living!” Alchan reached through his father and swept the bones off the throne. His father looked like he was screaming as he disappeared.
Alchan didn’t think twice. He turned, adjusted his armor, and sat down.
The real power entered the room.
His life flashed before his eyes. Pain tore through his back. He was struck by lightning and had no way to stop it. His back arched as he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as the memories and images assaulted him.
Every mistake and every victory. Every struggle and every easy day. Every time he made love, and every time he felt like his heart was broken.
All of it.
His parents. His grandmother. His brother. His friends. His lovers. His warriors.
His living and his dead.
There were so many dead because he was the king, and they were all his dead.
When it was over, he was sweating, feeling like the life had been sucked out of him.
“That killed your father,” a female said. “He could not endure.”
Alchan, hunched over and panting, recognized the voice he had never heard before. Knew it as he knew his own mind, for it resonated with his blood like no other ever could.
He carried her bloodline, after all.
“Goddess,” he greeted, straightening, but not looking her in the eye. She didn’t want him to, so he didn’t. It was that simple. For the first time in Alchan’s life, he was the submissive. He wasn’t in charge or in control of this conversation. She was and always would be.
Lariana, the white dragon, the most dominant of all things. Known for her leadership and her domain as the goddess of light and life. She ruled all of them—dragon, wyvern, and Andinna.
“Alchan Andini,” she said, sounding unimpressed. “Prince of Anden.”
“King of the Andinna,” he corrected, moving his eyes up, but the sheer force of her will kept him from reaching her face.
“But still a Prince of Anden,” she hissed.
The distinction was clear, and he knew it, but he had worked too long for the Andinna to have it be disregarded in a moment.
“You are trying to change that now, aren’t you?” Lariana said, walking closer. “Look up, Prince, and see who you must face.”
He felt the weight lift, and his breathing nearly stopped. Before him wasn’t just the goddess Lariana. No, as they waited, the Hall of Queens filled with every previous ruler who had been her Avatar. She lifted her hands and turned to the queens of old.
“My daughters!” she called out. “This is Alchan Andini, son of Behron, and grandson of Queen Tayanna! He possesses my true bloodline, strong and untainted. He is here to become my Avatar, and like all those who make it past the first test, he is worthy of your judgment.” She turned back to him. “Which is the only reason I haven’t killed you where you sit, boy.” She smiled viciously, reminding him of his brother with the same expression, with her white tatua, horns, wings, and tail. Now, he understood his brother, the mutt of Lariana herself. Her son in coloring, if not by pure blood. “Make your case. Do it well.”
Alchan blinked as the goddess stepped to the side. He looked out over the rows and rows of those who had come before him. He recognized some of their faces. Paintings faded over the ages, but descriptions were always available in the old tomes that were once well maintained. He recognized queens who had died too young, others who ruled until their dying breath, some who made great mistakes, and others who led times of prosperity.
And in the front, right before him, he saw his grandmother.
She had led during great times and bad. She had made good choices, bold choices, necessary choices, but also made many mistakes. By the time the war happened, she was known as the queen with the broken family. Behron had been the initial poison, but it continued to fall apart after him. Luykas never truly fit in, and when it was revealed that Shadra led the invasion, Alchan had stood beside his brother, instead of giving in to the paranoia of his aunts and cousins.
That was the day he had left and never returned to the palace. He had promised his grandmother they would return when the war was won.
Then the Andinna lost because his grandmother had let mistakes happen to protect another family from being more broken—the Lorrens. His grandmother had loved Javon like her own son because he succeeded in every way Behron had failed.
“One thousand years ago, a tragedy struck our people,” Alchan began softly. “But we can go back further if you like and start this tale and my plea somewhere else. To the beginning of the Hundred Year War? That would work, but the beginning of this story was well before that. I can take it back to the birth of a bedru named Behron. Or I can take it back to the birth of an Elvasi noblewoman who later became Empress. I could take it back to the birth of my grandmother, possibly.” He would not give her a name in this place in front of
these females. “But since I am the one being judged here, we will begin with me. You look at me and see an upstart. A male of royal blood has no real place in our world. I had two options in life. I could serve and die for queen and country, or I could become an outcast to be ignored. I chose the former…every time without exception. Even when my queen sent my mother away and left me with none. Even when my father tried to kill me. Even when my queen couldn’t bring herself to truly punish him for it. He tried to murder a boy and walked away with his life, but I still chose time and time again to serve my queen.
“I agonized and hated myself because that was the lesson all of you left behind for males like me. I accepted the criticism, learned control, learned patience, learned how to live in a world I wasn’t made for. An aberration of blood line and sex. Yet I still picked all of you over myself time and time again. Because that was my duty as a male, not just of the royal bloodline but any blood line. I served.”
He looked over them, wondering what they were thinking. He hadn’t been prepared to give the dead queens a speech. He’d known they would show, but this wasn’t what he had prepared for. This was why it was called the Hall of Queens.
“Then tragedy struck one thousand years ago, and I, not even nine hundred years old, was left the last member of this bloodline. No longer did I have to serve—I had to rule. I had to save as many of my people as I could and get them somewhere safe. I had to step up. I picked the best warriors, worked for centuries, and kept our people alive. I learned a very valuable lesson in the midst of it all. Ruling is just another word for serving.
“To rule well is to serve the people. My duty, what I was raised to do and to be wasn’t over, only changed. I like to believe I served well, but no one is perfect. Another thing I learned from all of you. Not even Avatars are perfect. Mortal failings catch up with us all, and when I die and Kristanya reads my life in the language of dragons, written on my skin…I hope I have done more good than ill. I hope I served well enough to overcome my faults of birth. Which brings me to now. For a thousand years, I have struggled to keep our people alive. I have done what I can where I can.
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