She shook her head, remembering all the ways Valkyra had helped her, all the times she’d patiently taught her how to use her magic, the nights she’d sung her to sleep and chased away her nightmares, the gentle reassurances she’d offered that kept her going when her doubts were strongest. Valkyra cared about her, and Tyrus. She always had. In many ways, she’d been like a mother to them.
“You’re lying,” she growled, glaring at Jameson across the fire. “You’re trying to turn us against each other, like she said you would. You don’t know anything about her. She’s done nothing but help me.”
“Have you ever asked yourself why? What does she get out of trying to save your brother?”
“Nothing,” Aleida shot back. “But she’s not doing it for herself. She wants to help us.”
“Forgive me,” the man said, and there was something genuinely kind in his voice. “But from an outsider’s perspective, that doesn’t make sense. She’s a powerful Spirit Tarja. She could have formed a Bond with anyone, and she chose you. You’re telling me she did that merely out of the goodness of her heart? Do you honestly believe that?”
“She’s not Nandini. It doesn’t make sense.”
The more she thought about it, though, the more it did make sense.
If Nandini had become a Spirit Tarja after her death at the river, she wouldn’t have had more than a few days to form a Bond with a living partner. Chatanda would have been the closest settlement, but much of its population consisted of displaced Visan refugees who wouldn’t have welcomed a Bond with anyone responsible for invading their home. Of course she’d have had to lie about her name, and it would have been smart for her to find someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. Someone desperate enough to take the opportunity she was offering without thinking too much about it.
Someone as desperate as Aleida had been.
More pieces shifted into place. In Valmandi, Valkyra said she’d broken Aleida out of prison with the help of Magistrate Ashaya, a man known to have been a friend of Nandini Kumar. Aleida had even asked her if she’d known Nandini.
I knew her. But we weren’t friends.
Technically true, if Valkyra was Nandini. But it had bothered Aleida that Valkyra hadn’t mentioned this piece of information to her before.
And then, of course, there was the fact that Nandini was said to have been one of the most powerful Tarja to ever live. In death, she would have been exactly the kind of Spirit Tarja capable of taking on a more complex form. A talking dragon, for instance.
Aleida clenched her fists and tried to slow her racing thoughts. Even her breaths had become shaky and shallow. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t true.
But…what if it was?
She grabbed her pack and riffled through it until she found the letter Feros had delivered last night. Clutching it in stiff fingers, she stood and marched to Jameson, where she thrust the paper into his face. “Read it,” she said through clenched teeth.
He took the letter calmly and smoothed out the wrinkles where she had crushed the paper. In a low, steady voice, he began to read.
“Dear Aleida, I am very sorry to tell you that your brother passed away last night.”
The ground gave way beneath her feet. She sank down, chest heaving, a single word reverberating in her mind again and again.
No.
“His condition has declined rapidly ever since you left,” Jameson continued, “and there has been a sickness going around the village this past week. I took every precaution to prevent him from being exposed, but he became ill, and there was little I could do but ease his suffering. He spent his last hours looking through your drawings. I know they brought him comfort in the end.”
Tears welled up in Aleida’s eyes, burning trails into her skin as they ran down her cheeks. “You’re lying,” she said hoarsely. “You’re making things up. It’s not true.”
“I’m sorry,” Jameson said softly.
“No!” She lurched for him, grabbed him by the front of his robes, and yanked him forward so his face was mere centimeters away from hers. “He’s not dead!” she screamed. “Say it—tell me you’re lying!”
“I didn’t know. I was only reading—”
She cut him off with a cry, wild and animalistic, and channeled her altma. Jameson cringed, and she barely stopped herself from unleashing it against him. Instead, she shoved him away and bent over. Her palms pressed against the dirt, and she redirected her magic downward until the ground rumbled beneath her. The stone statue at the end of the bridge wobbled and fell, narrowly missing Jameson. Aleida pressed her hands against her head, her entire body shaking with sobs.
Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath layers and layers of obstinate hope, she knew it was true. Hasan had warned her this would happen. He’d wanted her to stay so she could be with Tyrus at the end. She’d refused, foolishly believing she could still save him, asking him to hold on for just a little while longer. An unfair, selfish request made by a weak little girl who couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in the world.
All her efforts, all her stubborn hope and steadfast determination—it had all been for nothing. Tyrus was gone, and she hadn’t been there to comfort him when his spirit left this world for the afterlife. Instead, all he’d had were her stupid drawings.
She had failed him, in every sense of the word.
“Aleida!” Valkyra’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and cold. “Are you all right, dear? I heard a scream and came as fast as I could.”
Feathers brushed against her knees as Valkyra alighted on the ground in front of her. A sudden surge of hatred filled Aleida’s veins, throbbing painfully against the back of her eyes as she stared at the Spirit Tarja through tears.
“Oh, sweet child, what’s wrong?” Gentle worry laced the dragon's soft voice, and she cast a backward glance at Jameson. “Did he do something?”
“You lied to me,” Aleida said in a barely controlled whisper. “You told me Tyrus was sick, but he…he’s dead, isn’t he?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You let him read the letter?”
“You’ve been lying to me all this time.”
“It’s him that’s lying. You’re really going to trust him over me? I told you he would try to manipulate us if we weren’t careful.”
“Stop!” Aleida screamed. She swiped at Valkyra with her hand, but the Spirit Tarja jumped back at the last moment, and her fingers raked through empty air. “You’re the one who’s been manipulating me.”
She stood, and Valkyra rose with her, her wings fluttering in the air to keep herself aloft. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “What lies did he tell you?”
“I know who you really are.”
Her stern expression faltered, and Aleida waited for the denial that would surely follow. She wanted her to deny it. If she denied it, if she could offer up a reasonable explanation for everything, Aleida might be able to believe her. Maybe Valkyra wasn’t really Nandini Kumar. Maybe she hadn’t been manipulating her all this time.
Maybe Tyrus was still alive.
Seconds passed, no longer than the space of a few heartbeats. Then Valkyra looked back at Jameson. “You are far too clever for your own good, aren’t you?” Her voice was no longer soft and silk. Instead, it carried something hard and threatening. This wasn’t the denial Aleida had been hoping for.
“Nandini Kumar,” the Tarja said. “You’ve fallen a long way since your days at the empress’ side.”
“A temporary setback, I assure you,” Valkyra replied. She shifted her attention back to Aleida. “Now then, what to do about you?”
“It’s true then. But Tyrus—you said we could save him.” A new rage filled her, and she struggled to keep her emotions in check as she reached for her altma. “You swore to me!”
“I have sworn a great many things to a great many people, dear. Only the naïve are foolish enough to believe everything they’re promised.”
With a sweep of her arm, Aleida hurled
a crackling bolt of lightning at the Spirit Tarja. It struck her directly in the face and flashed around her for an instant, but she remained unharmed. She attacked again, but Valkyra didn’t even flinch. Instead she laughed, the sound loud and harsh in the night’s stillness.
A sudden burning surged from the center of Aleida’s chest and through the rest of her body to her extremities. There was a sharp yank on her altma, something she wasn’t doing herself and couldn’t control. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Her insides felt as if they were being ripped from her body. The agony was worse than anything she’d ever felt, a burning, tearing sensation that made her wish to die just so the pain would end. She screamed.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation ended. Aleida collapsed onto the ground, her body weak, drained, and trembling. She lay on her side, hugging her knees. Through blurred vision, she watched as a glowing blue light took shape—a woman’s shape.
She recognized it as the Spirit Tarja who had come to her three years ago in Chatanda, offering power in exchange for half of what was left of her natural lifespan. She was less vibrant than Aleida remembered her being before, a little more translucent and ghostly. Her physical dragon form was gone. Now, she was only a spirit
Horror filled Aleida at the realization of what that meant. Valkyra had severed their Bond.
That explained her sudden weakness. She had shared her life with Valkyra. Separated like this, did half of her life force stay with the Spirit Tarja? Or perhaps even more? Maybe she was going to die, right here, right now.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, but a new cry prompted her to force them back open. Valkyra floated toward Jameson, who had backed himself up against the fallen stone statue. “Madness!” he shrieked. “You can’t do this! We’re both Tarja. If you force a Bond, you could kill us.”
“My magic is stronger than yours,” Valkyra said evenly. “Do not tell me what I cannot do.”
She wrapped her ghostly arms around his body, which stiffened instantly. His eyes rolled back in his head, and after a few seconds, his spine arched farther than it should have been capable of, as if the bones within were being pulled apart. He let out a scream, which was abruptly cut off as his body snapped back into a more natural position. There he stood, arms limp, eyes blank, an empty shell of the panicked man he’d been seconds before.
Valkyra’s glowing spirit form morphed into something smaller, solidifying as it lost its shine. She looked exactly as she had before, a silky white dragon with soft feathered wings and liquid silver eyes. She fluttered around Jameson like a bird, examining her handiwork from all angles with a cruel smile.
“Excellent,” she mused to herself. “I wasn’t entirely sure that would work. But if I can overpower a great Tarja like you, the immortal will be easy prey.” She settled onto the man’s shoulder and stared ahead. “Come. Let us leave this place.”
Jameson began to walk with a mechanical rigidity, heading back in the direction they’d come from earlier that night. Aleida willed herself to reach for him as he passed, to grab him by the ankle and tell him to stop. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Valkyra didn’t so much as glance down at her, and soon, they had disappeared into the dark spaces between the trees.
The last embers of the fire were dying, and darkness began to creep into the edges of Aleida’s vision. The initial rush from all the action was beginning to wear off, and the searing pain in her body intensified as she struggled to move. With great effort, she clawed her way to the letter Jameson had dropped, lying on the ground a few paces away. Her muscles clenched, and her lungs burned from the effort. She felt gutted, like something vital had been ripped out of her and she was bleeding out, though there was no blood or any other visible sign of injury.
She’d been so foolish. She should have been able to see through Valkyra’s lies from the start. She shouldn’t have been so trusting. Now Tyrus was dead, and she hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. With a cry of rage and self-loathing, she managed to pull herself forward the last little bit and grabbed at Hasan’s letter.
Her hands shook as she clutched the paper, and she closed her eyes, one cheek pressed against the ground. Fallen leaves tickled her nose. Her throat was dry. She wanted water, but the effort it would take to retrieve her canteen from her pack was beyond her right now. Perhaps if she slept first, she’d get some of her strength back.
Or perhaps she would drift off into an eternal slumber and die. It didn’t really matter either way.
Nothing mattered anymore.
46
Amar
Amar followed Ranjan through the halls of the palace, which were illuminated only by the moonlight and the ghostly blue orbs drifting through the empty air. They passed by several more animated skeletons and walking statues, who acknowledged Amar with nods and bows but remained ever silent. Ranjan took him past the painting of his father and down another long hall to a door that opened to the rear of the palace.
Outside, the night was cool and silent except for the barest whisper of the breeze through nearby trees. Amar’s gaudy slippers made no sound as he and his old teacher padded down the walkway to a plain, square building behind a spiked iron gate. A pair of stone guards allowed them to pass without a word, and Amar looked up to see skeletal figures in high towers watching them as they entered the building.
There were no windows, but a few lit torches illuminated the interior, along with the same blue lights which populated all of Shavhalla. Ranjan conversed silently with the nearest skeletal soldier, who handed over a ring of keys before nodding to Amar. He nodded back and followed Ranjan to a set of narrow stairs leading underground.
He grabbed a torch off the wall before descending, but he didn’t end up needing it as much as he thought he would. They reached the bottom of the steps and turned a corner into a space filled with dozens of glowing blue lights—more than he’d seen congregated together in one place thus far.
The air became heavy and thick as they passed rows upon rows of iron-barred cells, each one barely large enough for a narrow bed, a bucket for waste, and a single person. Most of them contained all three of these things, though the people had turned to walking skeletons, like everyone else in Shavhalla. They clutched the bars of their cells and stared out at Amar. A few reached for him, pale fingers grasping at his clothing. Others shrank away and huddled into a corner if he looked at them, as though they didn’t want to be seen.
A memory flashed through his mind, brief, but vivid. Hopeless eyes, emaciated bodies, pained cries and gruff voices asking questions, blood spraying across the stone, the stench of human refuse and despair. He’d come here with his father once, right before he was cursed. The experience had repulsed him so much he’d never returned, even when King Kairav insisted he would have to get used to such things if he wanted to be a strong ruler one day.
Had his father truly believed that, or was it something he told himself to justify the terrible things he did?
Ranjan stopped and turned to unlock one of the cells. The door swung open, and he stepped back to give Amar room to enter.
This cell was exactly like all the others, a bucket in one corner and a thin straw mattress on the floor. But it was empty.
No, that wasn’t right. There in the corner lay a small pile of…something. Amar squinted and stepped closer, holding his torch above the debris.
Bones. Human bones. Only these weren’t animated like all the rest. They weren’t even attached to each other anymore, instead lying strewn out along the wall. It was as if the person they belonged to had simply lain down, skin and muscle and other tissue disintegrating until only the fragmented skeleton was left. A set of metal shackles lay near several tiny bones that might have belonged to a hand or foot, and near the skull was a metal ring just big enough to fit around a person’s neck.
A slave collar, like the one Mahati had worn.
He turned to Ranjan. “Is this her?”
His head bobbed up and down.
&
nbsp; Amar knelt beside her remains and set down his torch. He picked up the metal collar, and a single vertebra fell out. He caught it before it hit the floor and laid it carefully beside the other bones, then examined the collar. There were jagged scratches and dents on the metal. He imagined someone hacking away at it with a stone or a knife or whatever tool they could get their hands on, trying but ultimately failing to break free.
A hard lump pressed against his throat. This girl had been through a lifetime of pain and suffering. It was no wonder she’d harbored so much anger, no wonder she’d turned all that rage on those connected to her suffering, whether they were personally responsible or not.
The curses Mahati had placed on him and on the people of Shavhalla may have been unfair and cruel, but life had been unfair and cruel to her, too. And it wasn’t like he was completely blameless. Prince Darshak might not have ridden into battle with his father or personally sold human beings into slavery, but he hadn’t spoken up against it, either. He’d had more power and privilege than most, but he’d done nothing to stop these horrors. Instead, he’d remained willfully ignorant, sometimes even choosing to turn a blind eye when the truth made him uncomfortable. And the rest of Shavhalla hadn’t been much better.
Unfair or not, Amar could understand how, from Mahati’s perspective, those curses were justice.
Some of the anger he still carried for her melted away. That fury would get him nowhere now. She was dead, and he was still cursed. The best he could do was move forward and try to set things right. Starting here, with her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the lifeless bones.
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