The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  36

  Dark Velvet

  Ember once more found herself in the place where she’d scorched the earth with her desperation.

  She was alone. It was a solitude that radiated. Everyone had left her. She had no ill will about it. Marsh and Aylen did what they had to do. Aylen couldn’t have helped her anyway. She’d only agreed to do so reluctantly, and with enough skepticism to melt Ember’s hopeful heart. It was a foolish thought to begin with. Only a Ravenwood could help another Ravenwood, and to get to one, she had to do something she’d never done before.

  She had to fly.

  He’d made it sound so simple, when they both knew it would be anything but for the girl who’d been raised a Blackwood. But something had shifted in their relationship. When they’d first met, Alasyr scoffed at the idea she could do anything a Ravenwood could do. Now, he was issuing a challenge. His belief of her, in her, had evolved. He didn’t speak this challenge with derision, but hope, and if Alasyr now saw the possibility, she must too.

  Even his absence was a dare. Come to me. See what happens. There’s tea here.

  But it wasn’t Alasyr she needed to find her wings for.

  Ember dropped to her knees. She pressed her eyes close and pulled the energy from deep within, willing it out through her arms. She braced herself so hard a trickle of blood dripped from her mouth where she’d bitten into her tongue.

  She imagined what it might look like, for her to have wings. A beak. Sleek black feathers. It wasn’t hard. She’d seen Alasyr transform many times. It happened so fast, in the blink of an eye, but when she watched carefully she could see his feet draw inward to become talons. His pale, smooth flesh stretch into dark velvet. His curved mouth elongated, becoming an orange beak.

  Ember focused herself so hard into envisioning this outcome that she felt something pop in her eye. When she opened them, one was hazy. “Mother’s blood,” she panted, bracing a root protruding from the ground to catch her breath. “Come on. I’m not the first. I won’t be the last. I’m a Ravenwood, and I can do this.”

  She renewed her efforts, this time sending the energy into specific areas of her body. She pushed some to her shoulder blades, willing them to become wings. She opened her mouth, conjuring it outward, turning it to a beak.

  At last the heat she recognized built from a well within her, and before she could harness it, it radiated outward, throwing her back into the charred brush.

  Breathless, she looked around. She hadn’t scorched it again, but there was nothing left for her to destroy. Nothing had changed. Not her. Not the world around her.

  “You can do it,” she barked. “You are not a failure, Emberley! Your mother chose you! She chose you!”

  Again, she turned her mind toward the task.

  Again, she fell back, spent.

  Hours passed. The well of her own energy had run dry. If she intended to continue, she’d have to find it elsewhere.

  A red fox peeked from behind a ruined tree. His beady eyes regarded her. She could kill him. She wanted to kill him. To take his power and make it her own. Yes... yes, she could do this. She knew it, suddenly, as if the learning had come to her in a single moment. Whatever she took from others, she could absorb for herself.

  But to take power in this way would mean surrendering herself in another. This was not why she’d come here. Why she was drawn here. Why she’d left her home, her family, two things that were forever changed for her no matter whether she returned or not.

  Her mother would know what to do, but her mother had chosen her for the same reason. She was failing her now. Failing Gabi and Brandyn. Failing Alasyr. Failing herself.

  Ember laid her head down, letting her cheeks be scratched by the dead earth, and watched the fox through her tears.

  * * *

  Gabrianna hung back several paces. She watched the easy way Eavan and Lisbet talked as they rode ahead, and it made her miss Hollyn and Emberley all the more. Emberley she might see again one day, if the Guardians were good and full of love for her, but she knew in her heart that Hollyn was dead. Dead like her father. Both of them now belonging to a past she wished desperately to crawl back into with her soft blanket and heart full of hope.

  Meadow rode with Lisbet. She was afraid, she said, and so Lisbet offered to carry her on the back of Starcaller, who was no doubt an impressive beast capable of carrying them all. No one asked Gabrianna if she was okay, if she was afraid. This wasn’t Longwood Rush, with her father eager to whisk her away from reality to one he’d created for her, frolicking in the forests alongside the River Rush. Out here, no one asked, because no one could fix what was broken.

  She absorbed the fear of all of them. Her mother used to call this her curse. Empaths have it the worst of all those with magic. They have to mind their own fears and tragedies while not losing themselves to the fears and tragedies of others. You can learn this, Gabi, but it will not be easy. I’ll teach you.

  Asherley never did teach her. By the time Gabi began to come into these powers, Hollyn was already deeply sick with her strange illness. And then the king died, and the new king, the boy king, demanded his brides. Gabi was forgotten by all except her father, then, but her father couldn’t help her. Her father was a wonderful man. A wonderful, unremarkable man.

  And who else could she tell? It was treason to practice magic outside the permission of the Sepulchre, but only Brandyn was sent to study. They all had magic, though. Every last Blackwood she knew had some, and one day, the kingdom would find out, and they’d be forced into hiding like the Ravenwoods. She was certain of it. She had no one to talk to about this to allay her fear and redirect it so this belief was all she had.

  But there was something else she was now sure of, something that had come to her on their slow ride from the Drumain lands toward the unknown of Whitechurch. It had not been fear that had made her stay with Lisbet and join her on her quest to see her brother one last time. She wasn’t afraid of being alone as she had been before. She really wasn’t afraid at all; her fears were more extension of her knowledge, an almost resigned acceptance to a fate she had little control over.

  She’d joined Lisbet because, for the first time since leaving Longwood Rush, she had a purpose she understood. Lisbet needs were clear and defined, and she only needed Gabi to follow, not to lead. Gabi thought she would spend the rest of her life following, even to places she didn’t want to go, if it meant she never had to lead again.

  And maybe, just maybe, when they made their trek back to Wulfsgate, she’d cross paths with Emberley, and she could tell her this, and they could be a family again.

  * * *

  The vision came to Asherley in a dream.

  Emberley. Her radiant smile and eyes like flames danced before her in such perfect clarity that she didn’t know she was dreaming. But this image of Emberley would soon be replaced by something much darker. Even the air was muted of all color. A pall fell over her daughter, and the forest where she stood. Ember looked at the sky, raising her charred arms to the Guardians, sobbing.

  A hard breeze whipped though the dead trees, scattering the ashes of Emberley Blackwood to the wind and skies.

  “Wake,” a voice commanded. But Asherley was tethered to this vision of her daughter’s end. He’d told her then, this boy, Alasyr. Emberley knew, and her desperate attempts to fly into the mountains would be her end.

  She had to find him, to command him to stop her. She didn’t know how she’d do this, but she didn’t have a choice, did she? If she had to employ whatever magic awaited her in this strange place, she—

  Asherley was ripped into consciousness by a fresh shock of water running down her face. She bolted upward off the chair, gasping.

  “Do you always sleep with such commitment?” a smooth voice asked. Female.

  Asherley reached for a nearby blanket and wiped her face. “You don’t sound like Argentyn.”

  The woman laughed. “I’m not supposed to know about you. Did he tell you this?”

&nb
sp; “He’s told me many things I don’t think you’d approve of.”

  “Such as?”

  Asherley leaned back against the chaise, looking more calm than she felt. Inside, her heart raced at the lingering, terrible vision of Emberley. Oh, how she wished she was a better seer. That she could understand how to interpret what she’d seen. Joran would know, but Joran wasn’t here. For all she knew, he was dead, too.

  She decided she had no loyalty to the man who had locked her away here. “He doubts the veracity of your magic. Particularly, the magic of the women. The visions.”

  Varinya’s tight smile dissolved. “Does he now?”

  “Men have always lacked in the strength of faith. This isn’t unique to Ravenwoods.”

  “And did he tell you why he brought you here?”

  “To protect me, he said. From some great danger he’s seen ahead.”

  “Hmm.” Varinya turned away, examining the room. She was a lovely woman. They could drop her into any town in any Reach and she would be desired by all fortunate enough to lay eyes upon her. But she was also sad, and alone, and these things Asherley read from her with little effort.

  “I see you don’t believe that any more than I do,” Asherley said.

  “What I believe is my concern,” Varinya said, again looking at her. The emotions that had been so clearly etched upon her were now gone. “And at present, we have a more pressing matter than what punishment awaits my husband.”

  Asherley stood so that she was face to face with the High Priestess. She rose half a foot taller, but she was used to this. Asherley was taller than most women, and often the men, too. It had worked to her advantage over the years, though she had less confidence in its effect now. “High Priestess Varinya. That is your name, right, Varinya?”

  Varinya offered a curt nod.

  “I wasn’t brought here of my own choice. I have no desire to be a part of your world, or to be the cause of chaos within it. My daughter is in Wulfsgate, she is in danger, and—”

  “My daughter is as good as dead to me, so you’ll find no sympathy here, Lady Blackwood,” Varinya snapped. “My husband was the fool who chose to bring you here, and he will pay for that lapse, but that changes nothing about the problem facing me now. You are here. On outsider, in our halls, where outsiders have never been welcome. This must be dealt with. I know you, as a leader yourself, understand this.”

  “High Priestess, I no more want to be here than you want me to be,” Asherley pressed. But she knew when she’d been bested; when the fight was won before it began. Her words meant nothing against the turmoil brewing within Varinya Ravenwood at the threat upon her world. “Aid me down the mountain and you will never see my face again.”

  Varinya rolled her head to the side. “Oh, darling. You’ll be going down the mountain soon, but not in the way you’re hoping.”

  * * *

  A hawk overhead sounded a cry, rousing Ember. The stiffness pooled in her limbs, screaming back at her attempts to move. She groaned as she pulled herself up, using the gnarled root for purchase.

  How long had she been asleep? She hadn’t meant to drift away. She’d only wanted to lay down a spell, long enough to catch her breath and her bearings.

  Dusk greeted her through the gap in the trees. Long enough, then.

  Ember rolled herself forward, dropping onto her knees. Wincing, wobbly, she forced herself to stand.

  Then she saw them.

  Rounding her in a circle, peppered amongst the embers of the forest.

  Feathers.

  “Mine,” she whispered, dropping back down to pick them up in her arms. She ran her fingers over the soft felt, enjoying the responsiveness as she tickled the edges in the same way she did as a girl when she played her hair comb as an instrument.

  She was certain they hadn’t been there before, and as she held them, a deep connection stirred within, in the way she supposed she might if holding a limb that had become severed.

  This had happened while she was sleeping.

  Ember’s mouth parted in a light gasp.

  That was the answer.

  It was not focus she required.

  It was peace.

  37

  What We Protect

  “Mother?” Kian asked when Kael emerged from Yseult’s hut. He’d been waiting. Kael had been in there forever.

  “Resting.” Kael didn’t stop. He continued on, away, heading in the direction of the river.

  Kian matched his pace. “Us?”

  “Lost. You.”

  “How?”

  Kael came to a stop. He inhaled roughly. “You lied. The girl.”

  Kian’s heart leapt. There was no use in denial. “Yes.”

  “To protect.”

  “No!” Kian moved around to the front of his brother. “Yes. To protect. Her.”

  “Is before. Eavan.”

  Kian scoffed. He switched to speaking like a man. He’d grown used to it, perhaps even fond of it, since having men among them. “No. Not the same. I was young then. Caught in the web of my youthful foolishness. I am not him now.”

  “To speak like them?” Kael sneered. “You wish this? Fine.”

  “Mother has always said that we should practice this. They won’t be the last here. You were not prepared this time.”

  “Fine, I said.” Kael shoved him off. “If you are not of love with her, your choice lacks more sense than I assumed.”

  “They say in love, not of love, Kael. She will die as a Dereham. As the child of Dain she could yet live.”

  “It is not our way to mislead, Kian. I know this is not as mother taught us. Tell me why.”

  “Her fate does not have to be her brother’s. She will search for greatness that would have eluded her otherwise.”

  “I do not ask of greatness. I ask why you care of the fate of a woman more than upholding our ways.”

  Kian looked away, toward the copse of violet and gold trees that would lead him to where Lisbet once slept; once ate her meals and tended to the others who looked up to her as leader. It had only been with great reluctance that he’d released her back into the world. Words within him battled this, even still. Words he could never give her. “What if it is not a lie? She is awakening, Kael. Just as the others.”

  “It is not only the children of Dain who are awakening. All across the kingdom. You know this.”

  “She has seen Drystan! Seen his destiny! Just as Mother knew she would. This is why she chose Lisbet. You know this.”

  “Dain left the bed of Gretchen Dereham two years before Lisbet was conceived. Impossible for him to have sired her. Your hearsay brings dishonor.”

  “No,” Kian said. “He still came to her bed. As a man no longer living, in her eyes. What if he came to her in the flesh, and she knew not the difference?”

  Kael tapped the side of Kian’s head. “You have changed. For her.”

  “I am changed, but not for her.” Kian narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “What we protect here is not for us. Not only us. You forget this.”

  “Pfft.” Kael turned away. “You grow soft on man.”

  “Men are part of this realm. Your hatred of them does not make this less so. If we fail, they fall with us.”

  “Would that be so terrible? We could start anew.”

  “You know what would happen. You know. Mother has seen it. There would be no anew. No us.”

  Kael scowled. “They could never come here. Not possible.”

  “We did not believe what happened to the Saleen to be possible, either. They can come, Kael. They will, if not stopped. Mother has seen many outcomes.” Kian dropped his voice. “But there are those who would help us protect. She has seen them, too.”

  Kael laughed. “The children of Dain will save us, you say. But they must die to do it. It is the only way.”

  “Not all must die. And they are not alone.”

  38

  Recollections

  Jesse blinked through the very last of a sleep that he knew had la
sted longer than he had time for. A powerful wanting, a need to move, to be free, crept into the bones of his fingers and toes as he willed them to life.

  The smell of long-burning fire was the first familiar sensation. The next was the image of the strange magicians from before, whose names he may have heard but could not remember.

  If he’d known these were the last familiar things he’d see for a while, Jesse might have returned to his rest.

  “Ahh, he’s waking,” the female magician said. Sorcerer. Magi. He didn’t know the word. He’d never bothered himself with understanding magic. It wasn’t his world.

  “Lysanor, pass the skin. He’ll be afflicted with a mighty thirst,” the male said.

  Lysanor. The other’s name was just within his grasp.

  Jesse accepted the skin from Lysanor and took a greedy gulp. His body demanded more, so much more, but she gently peeled it from his hands.

  “Slowly,” she cautioned, in the same cool tone his mother used when she was teaching him something. “The water is different here.”

  “Not that different,” the male said.

  “It takes less, Isdemus. He wouldn’t know that. We have to teach him this, as with all things.”

  Jesse propped himself up further and allowed himself his first glance at the strange place they’d brought him to. He didn’t recognize the auburn hues of the dusty earth, or the towering arcs of the range just behind them. The wind carried finely milled sand, passing it over his clothes, their food and blankets. There were no trees; trees were his way of identifying a place, something his father taught him. You could know a place by its trees, and you could gain your bearings with that same knowing.

  The moon hung lower and brighter than he’d ever seen it before. The sight of it startled him. He lifted a hand, as if he thought he could touch it, then lowered it again, feeling foolish. It was night, but the world was bright.