Beside her head, her hair spread like ink in a pool of red water as her life, her legacy, leaked out of her.
You failed.
The words hurtled toward her, slamming into her and ripping the breath from her chest. Her vision turned scarlet as the shards of her shattered life destroyed what was left of her soul.
A pattern of images whipped through her mind: Smoke billowing from Azmolian’s wrecked temple, people screaming as they burned alive within their homes, her dagger slathered with black blood, a single glossy feather the color of midnight, her mother’s pendant glistening with his blood –
That last image cut out abruptly as a sharp, bitter pain sawed right through her heart. Her body was too heavy, crucified to the deck by the guilt pressing on her chest. It severed the connection between her brain and limbs, rendering her immobile. Her body was a prison. A scream clawed up her throat, trying to outrun the next onslaught of pain, and she swallowed it whole.
Dread’s iron hand seized her, and she searched the skies for large black wings, but she was alone, abandoned to Death. But oh, she could still hear them, with every heartbeat, with each eyeblink. Hundreds and hundreds of wings, everywhere. The air shifted as the ship shuddered, and the river gobbled up lifeless carpenters, soldiers, politicians, and babes.
The edge of her vision sparkled white, and each labored gasp pulled her soul farther into the void. Her strength to live was fading.
“Vishka…” whispered the wind.
Flecks of fire and debris drifted on the air. Close by, a conflagration spread toward her. The flames danced as they consumed every last remnant of life in their greed. A tremor raced through the wall of fire, and a face appeared, beautiful and cold.
With great effort, she blinked.
The face had morphed into a familiar half-smile and sharp, intelligent eyes. What little breath she had left her.
Draxonus pushed the flames aside like a curtain. The flame-curtain fell back and clothed him in a shimmering cloak of embers. His olive-colored skin shone with a subdued glow, but otherwise every feature was the same, from his unruly black hair to her mother’s pendant resting on his bare chest.
One detail was out of place. His eyes were solid black, save for the pinpoints of fire burning deep within. He closed his eyes and when he opened them the fire was gone, replaced by mirth and warmth.
Vishka stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure if she could summon enough of a voice to speak. Her throat was swollen and tasted like ash. “You’re dead,” she croaked.
“Really?” He quirked a brow and scanned his body. “It would appear I’m alive and well.”
“It’s a lie.” She choked on the last word; it hurt too much to look at him. “It’s not possible.”
“Oh, come now, Vishka. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me? Anything is possible.” He kneeled beside her and leaned so close his breath sent shivers down her cheek. “I can make all the pain disappear. Make you stronger than you’ve ever been before. I can give you the strength to avenge your people, our people, if you’ll only take my hand.”
He reached for her, but she did not move. An icy, prickling sensation crept along the back of her mind, the same one she felt when she first heard those terrible screeches the moment her life was shredded in half.
“You’re not Draxonus.”
He shrugged. “You’re right. I’m not. I’m more, more than I ever was in mortal life. I am as I should have been. I am reborn.”
The cuts along her face and arms slicked with sweat, stinging like the gettertung’s barb. Without warning, her heart thundered, and she gasped for air. Her veins didn’t seem large enough to accommodate the erratic, violent pulsing of her bloodstream.
She gritted her teeth as her blood turned to fire and ice all at once. “What’s – happening?”
He frowned and felt her wrist. “It’s time,” he murmured, standing. He extended his hand. “I offer you this, a gift, a second chance at life. Say you will trust no other, serve only me, and I can keep your soul from crossing over.”
“Serve you?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “You are my general, my advisor, and dying or not, I am still your Empress.” She barely managed enough of a voice to speak. The laceration along her shoulder blade was too hot, scorching her throat and consuming her whole.
“Think, Vishka,” he said with more urgency. “We could rebuild Stradvär, make it the pedestal of Eresea. There would be no law, no High Priestess telling us we couldn’t marry. We could be our own gods. Their gods.” He swept his hand to the side, and thousands of smiling faces of every age appeared in a haze of golden light.
All the pain in the world couldn’t ruin the tremendous joy that overwhelmed her. She wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. “My people.” Guilt stabbed her, ugly and deep, and she tore her eyes off them. “It’s my fault. I’m to blame for everything. I don’t deserve their smiles.”
Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Maybe this was justice, though death seemed too great a mercy for what she had done. She glanced back; they were still smiling as if nothing were amiss. How could they stand to look at her?
Draxonus kneeled beside her once more, hand still extended. “You can make it up to them,” he said gently. “Avenge them, avenge me, and your debt will be paid in full. You have only to take my hand.”
The sun’s first rays streaked the sky in ribbons of gold and red. The glow in his skin intensified, hurting her eyes as she looked from his face to his outstretched hand.
“Trust me…”
The pain slowly gave way to numbness. The world turned black, and the sound of the increasing gale faded to a whisper. Her eyes rolled back, surrendering to sweet death. If she fell asleep, she knew she would never wake up.
I trust you.
With the last of her strength, she clasped his hand as the sun broke the horizon and dusted everything in a brilliant yellow light.
His grasp hurt, but she was powerless to break free. His fingers turned to daggers of fire that pierced her skin and scorched her blood. She screamed as the shadow of her soul, her essence, tore from her, and she saw the image of a pale, young woman with golden hair surrounded by white light in her mind. Every detail was sharp, as if the woman actually stood there. Her clothes looked odd, like she was from another century. Vishka opened her mouth to ask her name when the image abruptly vanished a few seconds before darkness claimed everything she knew.
CHAPTER 1
Pariah
1500 years later, Age of Knights – The Kingdom of Asilee
IN ACCALIA, EVERYTHING WAS dark, from the sky that never lifted its blanket of smoky clouds to the black walls surrounding her like a cage. They were dense and thick, absorbing what feeble light the torches offered.
Behind her loomed the Fortress of the Night, darkness made tangible, its pointed turrets like knives held to the sun’s throat. Maybe it was afraid to shine; Lian could not remember the last time she had seen true sunlight.
From the wall, her reflection looked back at her, muscles taut, brow furrowed, as she adjusted her aim. The bowstring fought her, and though her arms ached, she gritted her teeth and kept the bow steady, pushing her fatigue to the back of her mind.
Gabriel, her archery instructor and a White Knight of Asilee, stroked the stubble along his jaw line as he circled her. “It’s good. I think you’re getting used to this. Ready to try again, my Lady?”
She narrowed her eyes, never removing her gaze from the target. “Stop calling me that. We’re on a first name basis, remember?”
Tension spread into her shoulder blades, and she winced as her arms began trembling. She was so focused on not dropping the bow that she almost missed the first eager whispers and the rustle of silk skirts. She didn’t need to look to know who they were. “Gods, do they never give up?” she muttered.
Flashes of color flickered from the corner of her eye – white, black, cream – as the courtiers whispered to each other behind handkerchiefs, their noblemen escorts standing
close behind them. She imagined the identical bemused expressions each of them wore as they pointed and commented to one another.
I wish they’d mind their own business. Who cares how I spend my free time?
There was a deep rumble, a man’s voice, and a moment later a woman shrieked with obnoxious laughter. Her cackling slithered under Lian’s skin, and she ground her teeth harder together. Her fingers pulsed, swollen and blistered. She tried loosening them, and her aim faltered.
Gabriel studied her face. “Ignore them,” he whispered. “They’re nothing. Besides, you never miss.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Gifted by the gods” he’d called her once. It had made her heart take wing, hearing the pride in those simple, elegant words. “Take a deep breath like I’ve taught you,” he continued, “and take the shot. Wait.”
He clasped her hand, his fingers fitting perfectly over hers, and squeezed her fingers closed. For a moment, she met his eyes. Her trembling eased, and the courtiers faded away, leaving only the two of them.
Twang.
A jolt rippled through her, from her arms down to her feet, and the crowd exploded into laughter. She blinked. “What happened?” she asked, looking around. Where was her arrow? She did not remember firing it.
Gabriel cleared his throat and pointed in front of her. If she was not already pale as snow, she would have turned even whiter. Her arrow lay splintered along the base of the wall. The straw target was unscathed; her arrow was nowhere near it.
“Thank you for saving us from that dangerous wall!”
Lian cringed. She hated that voice the most. Spoiled, selfish pig!
Wevern’s round face was flushed and shiny with sweat. He snorted and reached to loosen his collar. “Orris should draft you into the palace guard. Gods, maybe I’ll hire you. I could use a bodyguard of your skill.”
The women clucked and whinnied even louder.
Lian blushed and glared at them. She wondered if Wevern would comment on her skill with an arrow sticking out of his body. That was definitely a target she wouldn’t miss; there was certainly enough of him. Greed had kept him well fed over the years.
More taunts followed, filling her head until there was no room left for her own thoughts. Flustered, she dropped the bow and all but ran from the training yard. Gabriel called after her, but she could barely hear him past the cawing of the courtiers.
Her body was sore from the many hours she spent before the target, but she did not want to stop running because the longer she ran, the more her head cleared. She darted through the armory and staggered into the guard’s wing. Cool air rushed to greet her, and she inhaled deeply, relishing the subtle drop in temperature against her balmy skin. It stank of sweat and mold.
Walls of black glass rose on both sides, and dots of torchlight flecked the floor. Taking a few steps east, she stumbled on a set of stairs hidden along the shadow of the wall. She fell, as did her reflection, crushing her knee against the stone. With her knee smarting, she bit back a curse as strong hands helped her up. The shards of pain slicing through her leg took all her attention, and she never heard Gabriel approach. “Why do you always run away?” he asked.
“Isn’t that what prey does? Run from the predator?” She didn’t look at him, staring instead at her foggy reflection. Her breeches and blouse were in dire need of a wash.
“That’s not good enough, not with this type of predator. They’re more like the Trewsard. They give chase.”
She shuddered at the mention of the tiny, thorny serpents. “Vile creatures. The courtiers have one thing in common with them: they both have the soul-sucking part down.”
No sooner had she said it, laughter echoed toward them.
“Quick!” Lian took his hand and felt along the wall until she grasped a rickety wrought-iron handle. Before Gabriel could protest, she opened the broom closet and shoved him inside, pulling the door closed quietly as the courtiers rounded the corner.
Tendrils of easy conversation floated through the cracks of the door. “I blame the mother. It probably would have been better if the girl had never been born.”
“Oh, Lord Wevern! Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”
“Don’t misunderstand, my dear. She’s good fun to watch… in more than one way.”
Lian shuddered as the women gasped and giggled.
“It’s not harsh at all,” said a cool voice. “It certainly would have saved the poor Duchess some grief.”
“Lies, all of it. I’d never believe it. Why, when she was younger, Feron would take out little Ana-Elise for carriage rides along the river. And don’t you know he took Lianora as well, despite all the rumors? He’s a good man, I tell you. She has to be orphaned. Orphaned and adopted by our magnanimous lord…”
Lian’s hand brushed Gabriel’s, sending a wave of goose bumps up her arm. What would it feel like to hold his hand? Would it be as rough and calloused as her own?
Neither of them breathed as the crowd bustled past, and Lian’s face grew hotter. At last, the hall fell silent, and Lian let out the breath she had been holding. Streaks of torchlight wavered on Gabriel’s tense face. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She ignored him and started opening the door when he caught her wrist. “Stop. You need to stand up to them, or they’ll only keep at it.”
“And if I don’t care what they think?”
“Tch. I don’t believe it.”
“Well, maybe you should. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for dinner.”
She pushed back a stray curl and reached for the door right as it swung open. Orris, Captain of the Royal Guard and leader of Asilee’s armies, stood in the doorway. “Well, well. Isn’t this interesting?” came his grating voice. “Am I interrupting one of your lessons, Gabriel?”
Gabriel bristled. “Meaning?”
Orris’s dark hair was pulled back into a crisp knot, making his disfigured face look more grotesque. The scar that smeared his lips turned up at the corners into a vicious smile. “Nothing.” He gave the frame of the closet a pointed look. “I was only curious.”
Gabriel nudged Lian, and she snapped out of her trance. Putting on the haughtiest air she could, she shoved past Orris into the hall. “Always a pleasure, Captain. Gabriel, thank you for the archery lesson.” She emphasized archery and turned on her heel, only to be stopped by Orris’s next words.
“The duke assigned me as your escort this evening.”
Lian froze. She had not expected this. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and slowly turned around. Shadows flickered on Orris’s face as he studied her, bouncing in odd ways off the long scar running from his temple to his jaw. She shivered. He belonged in a nightmare, body and soul.
She heard stories growing up of evil spirits that could incinerate a person’s soul, easily slipping its own being into the vacant body. Staring at Orris, she almost would have believed it possible, had it not been such a silly notion.
She pursed her lips and looked him head-on. “Is that so? Well, you can tell my father that –”
“Actually, sir, it would be my honor to escort the lady to dinner,” Gabriel said quickly, stepping between them. “As captain, I’m sure you have far more important matters to attend to.”
“How chivalrous of you. But unless I’m mistaken, you have a squadron to train, White Knight.”
White was the next to highest rank, under gold and equal to black. At a remarkable show at last month’s trials, Gabriel had achieved the status shortly before he turned eighteen.
Orris didn’t wait for her reply. He shoved Gabriel aside, gripped her forearm so tight she thought it would snap in half, and hooked it under his arm. It took every ounce of willpower she had to keep from gagging. He reeked of vern, a potent hallucinogen, and a few other foul odors she couldn’t place. “How dare you!” she cried. “Release me this –”
“It’s fine, my Lady,” Gabriel said,
catching her eyes and slightly shaking his head in warning. “I shall see you soon.” He bowed stiffly and disappeared back the direction they had come.
Orris watched him go, black eyes glittering. Without warning, he jerked her around the corner so violently that she slipped and nearly fell. He gripped her arm tighter, which she hadn’t thought possible, as he took to a brisk pace that left her practically sprinting to keep up with his long strides.
Within seconds, they cleared the hall and bounded up the stairs to the second story. He dragged her along like a doll the entire way. Her chambers were close, for which she was grateful because her arm was beginning to lose circulation. She squirmed, trying to wriggle free. “I think I can find my way from here. There’s no need for you –”
“What use does a lady have for archery?”
“What use does a captain have for cruelty?”
He came to a jolting halt. Her heart skipped a beat as he yanked her arm to his chest so his face was only a few inches from hers. His eyes looked strange, almost like the pupils were tinged with fire. Not wanting to be the first to break eye contact, she resisted the urge to shake her head. It’s the torchlight playing tricks with my mind.
He leaned close, eyes black as night. “What gives you the right to judge me, captain of the strongest army in Asilee? You’re just a bastard child birthed in a gutter by some nameless whore.”
A sharp pain twisted at her heart, but she refused to acknowledge it. It seemed like minutes passed before she spoke, voice cold as ice. “Release my arm. Now.”
Dim light gleamed off the armor resting on his skin, skin so scarred it looked more like scales. She let her eyes slide over the layers of steel until they rested on the Accalian Crest, a sword framed by large wings, adorning the chest plate over his heart. It was meant to symbolize honor and bravery. “You don’t deserve to wear it.”
She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud until he sucked in a tight breath. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and for a moment she feared he would skewer her right there. Anger flaring, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with him. “I dare you. Show the world what a monster you really are.”
A White So Red Page 40