The Endless Skies

by Shannon Price

  “Good morning,” I respond. “How goes the progress?”

  “Good, my lady.” He wipes his hands on a nearby rag that was already so dirt-covered, it may have made his hands worse. “The bearking’s materials arrived by boat last night. The bearking’s princess herself delivered them.” He inclines to the far end of the forge, where a pair of figures in the moss-green colors of the bearkings are instructing two other smiths. “Two of their smiths came as well. Some of the work they insist on doing themselves, but it’s no matter. The shields they are making are unmatched, my lady.”

  I try to hide my look of surprise. Freanna must have been swayed by her wiser kin. I send a silent thank-you to whoever of the bearkings got through her thick skull.

  “Thank you for all your service,” I say earnestly. “It will not be forgotten.”

  He bows his head. “Loyalty above all.”

  “Loyalty above all.”

  Heartened by the small piece of good news, I fly for the palace. I cross over the Heroes’ Path, its walkway completely deserted. We’ve lost a total of nine children so far. If we survive the next days, I’ll find a way to add their names to the Path. Each one of them deserves to be remembered for much longer than their own lifetimes.

  I find the other sentinels in one of the antechambers of the royal family’s quarters. A long wooden table stretches the length of the room. Pale light from the wall-to-wall windows eliminates the need for candles, even at this time of day. There had been talk of boarding up the windows, but the king said to save the resources for the people. He and the queen slept in the shelter of their own rooms, guarded throughout the night by both warriors and sentinels.

  A small breakfast has been prepared for us, and I help myself to a plate. I take a seat by the window, the smell of the salt water below no longer something I have to really search for. We are sinking fast, a visceral reminder of how close we are to the end.

  Still, the prince holds on, and so will I.

  The king’s doors open, and immediately, we rise, though the king waves off the formality as soon as it’s done. I pick at my food as Hammond fills him in on the night’s news.

  “No attacks at all, Your Grace,” says the Second Sentinel. “Our scouts reported activity near the humans’ fortress at the Cliffs, but nothing moving our way.”

  “Welcome news,” the king replies. “With what Sentinel Renna assured me last night about our defenses, it appears we are as ready as we can be. Thank you all for your tireless work.”

  “It’s our honor,” says Hammond.

  The king turns to me. “Sentinel Shirene,” he says. “Would you walk with me to the nursery? The queen requested to speak with you once you returned.”

  “Yes, of course,” I reply with only a small jolt of panic. The king may forgo the rules as he wishes, but I had only been the King’s Voice a matter of days. It still feels new to walk beside him, knowing I can speak my mind freely if I choose.

  It is a short distance between the living areas, but I match the king’s slower pace. His dark blue robes are a stark contrast to my own white attire—a king and a ghost.

  Our steps echo as we walk past an enormous stained glass window depicting the creation of the Heliana. At the bottom, the first king and queen lift their hands, casting light skyward. Toward the middle is the island herself, lifted by the selfless sacrifice of the king’s ancestors. At the center is a picture of the palace at its finest—a setting sun caught in the prisms of the Glass Tower, casting fiery beams of color into the sky.

  King Kharo smiles when he sees me looking at the window. “It’s one of my favorites,” he says.

  “Mine, too, Your Grace.”

  We come to a stop. Am I in some kind of trouble? It’s a silly thought, but here I am—alone with the king. It has never happened before.

  “Sentinel,” he says, “I wanted to walk with you not only because the queen wanted to see you, but for another reason as well. Late last night, as I was briefed on the plans for the city’s defenses, I was told of a missing warrior-elect.”

  “Oh,” I reply. “Missing how?”

  “Apparently, she has not been seen in days and has failed to report to her station. I’m told that members of her cohort have been questioned, but by all appearances, she’s gone.”

  I frown, the king’s words not hitting home—until they do. My jaw goes slack, and the king nods.

  “I will assume you have not heard anything of your sister.”

  “No, Your Grace,” I reply. “Skies. Gone? Has Storm’s End been checked?”

  The king inclines his head toward the queen’s rooms, and we resume walking. His gaze goes to the ground. “Yes, and Matron Talla was just as shocked as you. I have not shared this knowledge with anyone else, but you understand how serious desertion is in an hour like this.”

  “I do,” I reply instantly, because it’s true. The last time I saw Ro, we fought. But that alone wouldn’t make her leave. I can’t think of anything that would. She’s talked for years about being a warrior. She’s endured the same training as I have, broken in body and mind only to be rebuilt a stronger fighter. A stronger person.

  I realize suddenly that I have been quiet for too long. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but Rowan would never desert.” As I say the words, they ring truer in my heart, like the high celebration bells.

  “I don’t mean to burden you further,” the king says. “I ordered news of her absence to be kept as quiet as possible, so you shouldn’t hear of it again. Still,” he says. He stops, and when I look up, I realize we’ve made it all the way to the Queen’s Tower. “I felt you would want to know. I apologize if I misjudged.”

  I shake my head as I gather my thoughts. “You didn’t misjudge, Your Grace, but I don’t believe I have misjudged my sister, either. Whenever she is found, I know she will have a reason for her absence.”

  At this, the king smiles. “You are very sure of her.”

  “I haven’t always been,” I reply honestly. “But her heart is true.”

  “I trust your judgment, Lady Shirene. You are my voice, after all.”

  He knocks twice on the door before entering. The prince’s room has changed a little day by day. First, a bed was brought in for Prena, then another for the queen herself, who refused to be even a room’s distance from the prince. Both are there when we enter.

  “How is he?” the king asks, walking directly over to his son. When Prena hesitates to answer, I know it’s not good. As the healer and king talk, the queen stands and comes over to me. Like the king, she is dressed in midnight blue: a color to catch the mood of our past days.

  “Did you get a good night’s rest, Sentinel?” she asks.

  “I did, Your Grace,” I reply. “Though I am sorry to have not been around when you asked for me.”

  “I am glad you got some sleep” is her reply. “Skies know we need it. Follow me, please.”

  The queen leads me back into her chambers and toward a large chest at her bedside. Reverently, she kneels and lifts the lid with a quiet determination. Inside, a lightly tarnished set of silver armor sits nestled on heavy blankets. The queen picks up the helm, its color distinctly different from the rest. Light reflects off the rainbow patina of the metal.

  “This set was gifted to me when I became queen. Skies knows how old it is, but it fits better over a gown during military ceremonies. Just for show, of course, but this helm is my own from when I was a warrior,” she says. “What is your custom piece?”

  “My shield,” I reply. “My father was a warrior, and that was the piece made for him as well.”

  Queen Laianna stands, still holding the helm firmly in her grasp. “I know I cannot,” she says, voice trembling with a rage I know I can’t fully understand. The rage of a mother’s heart. “But if I could, I would fight.”

  My own heart clenches. “I know you would, Your Grace.”

  She straightens as she looks to the windows. “You remind me of myself,” she says. “I was scared to accept the
king’s hand, but I accepted, anyway. I’ve seen you grow in these past days.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” I say with a nod. “It is my duty. Loyalty above all.”

  “Above all,” she echoes. “Sentinel, I would ask something of you.”

  “Anything, Your Grace.”

  “Will you stay with me?” Her warm brown eyes meet mine. “Skies keep me, but I know my son will not see another sunrise. I just know. It will help me to have another warrior here.”

  I glance at the nursery. “The teams may yet return.”

  “I know,” she replies. “And I hope they do. But if they don’t, warrior Shirene, will you stay?”

  I look back at my queen and bow my head low. “Yes, Your Grace. I will stay with you until the end.”

  40

  ROWAN

  Sleep never used to come easily to me, but with Callen on watch and his hand resting idly on my side, I’m out the moment my eyes close. I stir when Callen gives watch to Jai, then drift back off.

  My hunger wakes me. Sitting up, I count our numbers—Io is gone. She must be on watch somewhere out of sight. Since Callen’s now holds the cure, I borrow Ox’s waterskin and take a hearty drink. At the horizon, the midnight blue mantle of night has turned the faintest bit lighter. It is probably two hours until dawn. The forest rustles with early signs of life as mist curls around the base of the trees.

  I walk the circle around where we’ve sheltered and head back for the trees, stretching my legs. My stomach growls again, and I reach into my pocket for the last of my share of our scrounged meal from last night. Warriors are trained for hunger during the second year of training. Our instructors kept food back, giving us nothing but water while keeping drills the same. At the end of the day, we all got a half of a dry loaf of bread. As the trainers feasted on seasoned fish and all sorts of rich fare, we were given the choice to eat the whole thing, or save parts of it. It was a lesson in discipline, and the need to think ahead. Do you eat it immediately, not knowing when your next meal will be? Or do you save it for when you’re at your wits’ end?

  I do as I did in my training, and eat. An aching belly is an aching belly, and the way I see it, strength found right away can carry you until you find more.

  “Good morning, Warrior-Elect.” Io nods as she comes up to me. She motions to Sethran’s waterskin, and I hand it to her. After she takes a drink, she sighs and looks out on the land. “I respect that you told us the truth,” she says. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  I stiffen. “It would have come to light, anyway, ma’am.”

  “Still,” Io replies. “I’m not surprised. If you’re anything like your sister, I know your heart was in the right place.”

  “I’m not like Shirene. She wouldn’t have left,” I reply. Quickly, I count up the years that Shirene has been a warrior. “You were in the same cohort, weren’t you?”

  “We shared a room first year,” she replies. “You are more like your sister than you think.”

  “How?”

  “Because you’re learning,” she says calmly. “There are plenty of warriors—sentinels, too—who only obey, only follow. The Heliana needs those warriors, but it also needs the ones who doubt and ask questions. If you hadn’t left, we would never have known how the humans learned our language. We wouldn’t have found the cure. And that ass of a human wouldn’t have a knife wound in his hand.”

  The last of her words gets me, and I stifle a laugh. Still, I feel every ounce of shame pressing down on me like I am twenty feet below the sea’s surface.

  “If obedience was the only thing that mattered, you might never become the best warrior. Not second best or anywhere near the top,” Io says. “But what makes you a great warrior is knowing where to draw your lines and how you act on them.” She puts her hand on my shoulder in respect. “When it comes time to defend your choice to the king, you can count on my help. And it’s not just because you’re Shirene’s little sister.”

  “Thank you,” I reply. “That means a lot to me.”

  She trudges back over to the others, rousing them with not-so-gentle shoves with her foot. She gives the order, and we move out.

  * * *

  Every ridge we climb over seems higher. Every hillside steeper. The terrain goes from grassy to muddy to thick with trees. Overhead, an overcast sky makes it nearly impossible to judge the angle of the sun.

  Up ahead, Io holds up her arm, and we come to a tense stop. Jai swears under his breath, and when I catch his eye, he shakes his head with a smile. I’m tired, he mouths to me, and I nod in agreement. But with Prince Tabrol’s life in our hands, we have to push harder than we ever have before.

  We are shadows against a bleak horizon, and we are running out of time.

  We hear the first hoofbeats about an hour after sunrise. When we come to a moment’s rest at the top of a large hill, Jai pulls his quiver forward, taking stock of the arrows he has left.

  “Commander,” he says, addressing Io. “Permission to stay behind.”

  Her large eyes take in his determined gaze and the bow in his hands. Without a word, we all understand what he’s decided—he’ll stay back and buy us valuable time.

  Io gives him a firm nod. “Loyalty above all.”

  “Loyalty above all.”

  I don’t know Jai well enough to give him more than a thank-you and a quick hug, but the other warriors share a longer goodbye. Rivers build canyons, and being of the same cohort is a bond that runs just as deep. If this were Vera or one of my friends, I’m not sure I’d ever be able to let go.

  We press forward. Jai watches us go, surveying the nearby trees for a vantage point. My last look at the warrior is him scaling a pine that’s thick with needles. Leaving yet another one of her own seems to light a fire in Io, and the sparks carry to the rest of us. Jai is willing to die for this cause—surely I can run a little longer.

  Mist swirls between the hills and valleys. Clouds heavy with rain move in from the north. Io pauses to look at them, her breath labored.

  “Just one day left,” she says. “With that storm and no food.”

  My shoulders drop. We won’t make it.

  Droplets of rain pelt a collection of boulders nearby. The water rolls over us, making tiny sounds as it hits our armor. On any other day, I probably would have cried seeing and feeling the weather snuff out whatever hope we have left, but I’m empty and exhausted. We all are.

  A sound cuts through the rain. A sound that, as of a few days ago, I know well.

  “The train,” Seth says. He jogs in the direction it’s coming from. A minute later, he returns, waving his hand like, Come on. “There are tracks close by. There’s an outpost a half-mile away. The train will stop as it passes.”

  Io shakes her head slowly, cursing under her breath. “Skies keep us. We take the damned train.”

  Our commanders go first, staying low as the forest starts to thin. Io gives a hold signal, and I crouch, the ferns brushing against my cheeks as the smell of mud and half-rotted plants meets my nose. Ox kneels down, too, close enough that I reach out and put a hand on his arm. He gives me a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t believe you kept that from me,” he says quietly. “That you deserted.”

  “If I’d told you, then you’d be complicit in the secret,” I whisper back.

  “You told Callen.”

  “It just slipped out,” I say. “I promise.”

  “We’re moving.” He puts some distance between us, and I don’t try to close it.

  Focus, I remind myself. There will be plenty of time to try to make it right with Ox later.

  Up ahead, I see a straight line of earth that’s been tilled and made into a road. Near it, a human settlement bustles with activity, illuminated by lanterns hanging on either side of the doors. Shadows move from inside, and when the door swings open, the sound of laughter carries from within.

  I look out onto the plains. The inky black of the rails spills into the distance, cutting a straighter
path than I remember seeing last time. This isn’t the same train, but it is headed the right way. Next to the outpost is another building left open to the air. I breathe in deeply, and recognize the smell. Hay and dust. Another barn, but this one is massive. We must be on the edge of a farmer’s property, one with animals to till the land.

  The whistle of the approaching train sounds again, much louder this time. A group of humans exits the outpost and shouts at one another, rallying one another. A line of donkeys bray and protest as they’re pulled from the shelter of the barn.

  The train comes into view. Smoke screams out from the front as the machine resists breaking, squeaking and wheezing with effort. Finally, the machine stops, and the humans on board hop off, greeting the others. Unlike the first train, the metal of this one still shines. It’s either new or at least better maintained than the other. One of the humans steps into the light, and I see the same silver sigil that General Marchess wore back in Ramsgate. It seems all the humans on this train are under his spell, or at least under his coin. This train is his, which tells me that wherever it’s headed must be part of his strategy.

  The train cars open, and the line of animals is moved forward.

  “We move when the last of the animals is loaded on,” Io says. “Stay low, and don’t take any chances.”

  When the line of donkeys dwindles and fresh smoke starts billowing from the front of the train, Io signals us to move. I follow the others, and we run as quietly as we can down the rocky bluff, the sound of stones tumbling masked by the sound of the train whistle.

  Sethran lifts Io onto a short platform jutting out on the car behind the one the donkeys were loaded into. The animals’ smell permeates the air, earthy and thick. I start at the sound of Io jamming her sword hilt into the door of the car, the Leonodai metal scraping against the lock. After a couple of pushes comes a resounding clang of the lock breaking.

  “Got it,” she says. Sethran steps back and motions with his hand for us to get on.

  Being back on the train is surreal. This car is filled to the brim with supplies—crates of grain, bolts of cloth, rope, and boxes upon boxes of metal nails line the walls. The five of us squeeze together. Seth closes the door behind us, pushing a crate up against the door to keep it from rattling open again.