by Amber Argyle
Maisy’s gaze shifted to Denan and Talox, to the pipers surrounding her. A shudder rolled through her, but the knife fell to her side, though she didn’t release it.
“I’ve done all I can for you, Maisy. I’m sorry.”
The betrayal and hurt in the other woman’s eyes nearly undid Larkin. Maisy’s voice darkened.
The beast comes. The beast takes.
That which he takes, he breaks.
That which he breaks, he remakes,
And then a beast like him awakes.
Rhyming usually preceded violence, but Maisy remained calm.
“My page will take you to a supply cart,” Denan said to Maisy in what Larkin had come to recognize as his prince voice. “You will be given the same supplies as our soldiers. As long as you hinder no one and stay clear of Sela, you are free to do as you wish.”
Guilt eating her from the inside out, Larkin strode to Talox.
“You would abandon me again?” Maisy called to her.
Larkin’s steps stuttered. But if she must choose between her sister and Maisy, her sister would win every time. She forced herself to keep going.
Talox met her searching gaze. He didn’t seem angry or hurt, simply resigned to his fate. Bandages peeked out from his shirt where he’d been flogged.
She folded her arms in front of her chest. “You’re guarding me tonight.”
His brows rose, and he glanced over her shoulder. She felt Denan’s presence and straightened to her full height.
“I’ve been demoted,” Talox said matter-of-factly.
“Doesn’t stop me from hiring you as a personal bodyguard.”
The corner of Talox’s mouth quirked in amusement.
“Larkin,” Denan said in exasperation.
She whirled on him. She’d dealt with enough pain and suffering over the last few weeks to last a lifetime. This was an easy, simple fix. And she was fixing it. “I’m the princess, aren’t I?” It wasn’t a question. “As your wife, I have access to our funds, do I not?”
“Yes,” Denan said.
“Can we not afford a guard?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well then, I can spend those funds how I choose. I’m hiring Talox.”
She held her breath and waited. He stared at her, gaze shifting to Talox and back to her again. He nodded once. She’d never taken advantage of her status or his money before. It felt good to do both.
She turned back to Talox, his relief obvious. “Tonight. Before the sun sets.”
Talox bowed. “Of course, Princess.”
Satisfied with herself, she turned and marched toward the cooks. Pipers watched her in silence, some openly grinning.
Denan stepped up beside her. “That was … a kind thing you did.”
She paused and turned to him. “You’re not angry?”
Denan’s eyes were sad. “Pipers like our women strong-minded.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You understand why I did what I did? Soldiers must obey orders, Larkin. And putting you at risk is not something I’ll tolerate.”
“I know you were worried about me, but we were fine. I wasn’t even hurt.”
“This had nothing to do with my feelings and everything to do with my people. They will always come first.”
He was lying to himself if he thought this was all about his people. “You didn’t have to do it in front of everyone.”
“Yes, I did. I can’t be seen showing favoritism, even for someone I love like a brother.”
“Demoting him would have been enough.”
He huffed in frustration. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand. I just don’t agree.”
“No, you don’t.”
She rolled her eyes. They weren’t going to agree—not on this.
Neither of them speaking, Larkin and Denan fetched supper for her family. The stew was bland—the bloated grains did nothing for the flavor or texture. The gilgad tasted a little like chicken and a lot like fish, though it was denser than both. But it was filling, and they were all hungry.
Afterward, Larkin and Mama washed up while Denan stretched out to his full length, his hands tucked under the back of his head. He always slept like that, as if even in sleep he refused to take up less space. It was warm enough that they left Brenna naked, with a thin shirt over her to keep the bugs off.
Larkin tried using her unknown sigils to no avail, growing more and more frustrated with each attempt. She didn’t even know for sure her sigils would break the curse—they hadn’t broken hers.
Once again, her gaze drifted to her sister, who was drawing in the dirt with a stick. Larkin looked away quickly, her hands suddenly clammy for no reason, but her eyes drifted back again.
Her sister looked so lonely and sad. She crouched next to her to see a crude family drawn into the dirt. Only this time, two figures were missing—their father and Nesha.
No matter what they’d done, Larkin would not take them away from Sela. She took her own stick and drew their father, his curling red hair and larger build. Then Nesha, with her long waves.
Sela watched, enraptured.
Larkin looked at her, this little girl who kept losing members of her family. “Should we find leaves for clothes? I bet you could find a pretty one for Nesha’s dress.”
Sela looked at her as if debating, then she scrambled to obey. Larkin joined her in the hunt, and soon, they had the girls dressed in pretty leaves, flowers in their hair. They tore leaves in half for Harben’s trousers and shirt. When Larkin looked up, Mama watched them, tears shining in her eyes. She nodded. Larkin gave a little smile and nodded back.
Tam approached and crouched before them. “Which one am I?”
Sela’s blank look turned to one of confusion.
“You’re not in our family,” Larkin supplied.
Sela nodded.
Tam tugged one of her curls. “Sure I am. I’m your handsome uncle. Didn’t you know?”
Sela looked to Larkin, who smiled at her. “Tam is teasing. He’s not an uncle, but a very good friend.”
“Sometimes, friends can be family too.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Time to go. Come on, little one. I saw some lizards in the ruins. Want to try to catch one?”
Sela shot to her feet and took his hand.
He stiffened and looked guiltily at Mama. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Pennice.”
Mama took one look at Sela’s pleading face and waved them away.
With a whoop, Tam swung Sela onto his shoulders and started off. He looked back at Larkin. “Catch up. Denan knows the way. You can get him up. He never snaps at you.”
Larkin laughed. “Coward.”
Tam grinned. “I just have a strong sense of self-preservation.”
Larkin nudged Denan with her foot. He lazily opened his eyes and stretched, back popping. He yawned and held out his hand. She helped him up.
Larkin, Denan, and Mama continued between stone buildings, Tam’s excited chatter drifting back to them. Larkin caught sight of Sela and Tam now and then, climbing and exploring the ruins.
Most of the roofs had crumbled, leaving only the exterior walls. One rectangular building was so large her entire town could have fit comfortably inside.
She peered through the lacy, carved arches into the forest growing in the interior. “What was that?”
Denan glanced up the narrow, steep steps. “A library.”
Larkin’s eyes widened. How much knowledge had vanished when the roof had caved in?
“It must have been beautiful,” Mama murmured.
Denan looked about as if he hadn’t really noticed. “We don’t know how they managed to fit the stones together so perfectly.” He shook his head. “Even if the war ended tomorrow, we no longer know how to rebuild what was lost.”
They moved on. The sheer size and scope of the city was a testament to the fact that a far greater civilization than Larkin’s had gone before.
“Why doesn’t anyone live in
the buildings?” she asked.
“They’re not safe,” Denan said. “The city crumbles a little more every year.”
A pervasive feeling invaded the place—as if the buildings watched them pass. The cries of the long dead seemed to echo down streets overrun by forest. “Are you sure no mulgars hide in here?” Larkin murmured to Denan.
“It’s the gilgads you should worry about. This used to be one of their hibernation nests.” At her horrified look, he chuckled. “It’s been in our possession for nearly a century.”
“Larkin.” Mama pointed deeper into the fallen city. Through the trees, conical buildings rose from the ground—buildings that looked like a larger version of Larkin’s family hut. And now she understood where the knowledge of how to build them had come from.
She pointed. “What were they?”
“Individual bath houses,” Denan said. “Ryttan was a city of leisure and learning. Lots of universities.”
Bane would have loved to see this. The two of them would have explored the city for days. Worry made her throat go dry. “Has Bane been ransomed yet?”
Denan stiffened. “It’s too soon to have heard from my emissary.”
Larkin surreptitiously wiped at the tears that filled her eyes. Denan pretended not to notice.
Mama reached out and grasped her hand. “His father is a resourceful man. Bane will be all right.”
Head falling, Larkin nodded.
They approached a conical building with the roof still attached. At the base of the tree at the side of it, Talox slept. Larkin was relieved to see him.
Sitting against the trunk, Tam flipped his knife, catching it by the hilt. It tumbled to the ground. He cursed and rubbed his fingertips into his bloodshot eyes. He was obviously exhausted.
“You should sleep while you can,” Larkin said.
He shrugged and rooted around for his dropped knife.
Denan sighed. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to tie up your pods.”
He helped them climb the tree and tied a rope around Sela’s waist so she couldn’t fall. He showed Larkin and Mama how to tie the knot that secured the pods. Sela burrowed into the first one, wrapped her arms around her legs, and stared into the canopy.
Denan monitored as Larkin tied her own pod, his fingers gently correcting hers. He nodded when she had it right and stared at the pod with a look of such longing that she couldn’t help but give him a push toward it. “Sunset is only a couple hours away. Rest. Nightfall will come soon enough.”
“I won’t be able to sleep—not this close to battle. Come. I want to show you something.”
Larkin hesitated. She wasn’t as angry anymore, but she was still upset.
Hurt flashed across his eyes. She sighed. “All right.”
He nodded, clearly relieved.
Mama watched them, her lips pursed. “I don’t like the idea of her wandering down there alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” Denan said. “And there’s no danger to her. At least until nightfall.”
From below, Tam gave them a sly grin.
“Did you find your knife?” Larkin huffed, annoyed at his implication.
He flashed it at her. “I could teach you if you want.”
She shot him a dubious look. “Didn’t look like you were that good at it.”
“You say the nicest things.” He started flipping his knife again.
“Why isn’t he sleeping?” she whispered to Denan.
“Tam never sleeps much.”
“Why?”
“He should probably tell you that himself.”
Worried, she looked back at her friend. She’d force an answer out of him later.
Denan led her to a thick cluster of buildings. A compound really, with the larger building flanked on each side by large, beehive-shaped domes, the interiors too shadowy to make anything out.
“What was this place?” she asked.
“After they drove the gilgads out, Ryttan became a city known for its bathing pools.”
But the domes were huge. Much too large for a person or two. “They bathed together?”
Denan pointed to each in turn. “Men on one side, women on the other.”
She paused in front of the larger one. “And this one?”
“This one was for swimming. Though when we took it back, it was crawling with gilgads hibernating in the hot water.”
Her lip curled at the idea of the heated pools crawling with giant lizards. “Where’d all the water go?”
“The pipes that brought it here from the mineral pools broke. If we have time, I’ll show you tomorrow.”
They walked beside a short wall that came no higher than her knees, the top lined with broken statues of lithe snakes. Beyond was an overgrown walkway between two deep rectangular depressions.
Denan hopped into one of them, helped her down, and trotted through vines and leaves, a millipede the size of her arm scuttling away. On the far side, they reached a carved fish. From its gaping mouth came a trickle of steaming water that had obviously been a torrent before the pipes broke.
“Waterspouts like this surround the building. Pipe works too. I think they also channeled the water to heat their homes, which explains why they lived on the ground instead of the trees—it would have been a lot warmer.”
She ran her fingers through the water and jerked back, hissing at the heat. “It’s too hot to bathe in.”
“They would have added cold water,” Denan said dryly.
She flicked water at him.
He chuckled as he wiped his face. “Want to see the inside?”
She looked up at the towering building. “Aren’t you tired?” By her count, he’d had less sleep than all of them save Tam.
“I told you—I won’t be able to sleep this close to the battle.”
“Is it safe?”
“I’ll go ahead. Scare out the monsters.” He hauled himself out of the depression and onto a short walkway. After a dozen steps, he disappeared inside the darkened mouth of the middle building.
Swallowing hard, she checked twice for millipedes and climbed after him. Steeling herself, Larkin opened her sigils, sword and shield appearing in her hands, which added a little illumination. Wary of bugs that might drop on her head, she touched her sword to the vines nearly obscuring the entrance. They easily fell away. Easing through, she could just make out the thorned relief carved into the archway.
Inside was pitch black. How was Denan supposed to see a gilgad—or worse, a mulgar—before it ate him? Even fully extended, her sword only showed a step or two in each direction. Denan was lost to her in the darkness. Where had he gone?
“Denan?”
No answer. Before her were four steps that led into the blackness. Feeling safer with her back to the wall, she slipped along the perimeter, steps on her left, wall on her right. A few chunks of white plaster remained on the walls, flakes of golden plating and opal insets outlining what must have once been a beautiful representation of the White Tree.
Something shone at her feet. She kicked at the dirt, trying to see the floor beneath the layers of dirt. She made out the corner of octagonal tiles in brilliant gold.
A sound behind her. She whipped around, something crunching underfoot. Denan trotted up the steps. She breathed, her hand to her chest. “The forest take you.”
“You scare easy.”
“Of course I do! I grew up thinking the beast would get me.”
He kissed her forehead. “I suppose he did.”
“Where did you go?”
He frowned. “I wanted to make sure it was safe first.”
“What was safe?”
He took her hand and led her down the steps. “I know you’re still angry with me.”
She stiffened but didn’t say anything. It was lighter here. Looking up, she saw a break in the ceiling where tree roots had broken through. Judging by its blackened shell, it had been burned—probably a lightning strike.
“I know you think I was harsh with Talox. Y
ou’re right. I was harsh. He’s a great man. One of the best fighters. But he’s not a great soldier. He’s too big-hearted for it.”
Light shone from the break in the ceiling, illuminating one wall. “Then why did you …” Her words trailed off as she saw a relief carved into the stone.
The wraiths. The wraiths were carved into the ancient stone. Mulgars bled from their blades—mulgars with terrible markings, their faces dead. Not wanting to go on but unable to stop herself, Larkin shifted to the left, following the panel’s progression.
The Forbidden Forest, filled with hometrees as beautiful as the ones in the Alamant. Below them, people died violently. Women. Children. Men. Old. Young. They all died or were turned—until there were none left on the ground.
“With the source of their magic broken or corrupted,” Denan said, “Valynthia fell hard and fast.”
Skeletal corpses hung from the trees.
“The people in the trees died from thirst or starvation,” Denan said softly. “A few might have survived longer—a year or two at most.”
Survivors fled into the forest.
“Like the arbor rings, the White Tree’s magic is stronger in some places than others. Somehow, the barriers came into being. Only the strongest and luckiest managed to reach them.”
This was the history of her people—Larkin’s history—and it had been erased by the curse, by the wraiths. As if they had never existed at all.
The curse had always touched Larkin’s life, even if she hadn’t known it. But this made it personal. This made it real. Larkin’s hands fisted at her sides, outrage buzzing through her sigils.
More forest. More dying and running. Fleeing into a city surrounded by a high wall. Ryttan. It was winter. Larkin could tell because of the bare-branched trees surrounding the city.
“The Alamantians still had magic. We could still fight, and the walls around the cities made them defensible. But cities aren’t self-sustaining—especially cities overrun with refugees. People starved. Disease ran rampant.”
The last panel wasn’t finished. It was cruder, as if it had been carved with rudimentary tools. Mulgars and wraiths streamed over the wall and into the city. People ran, barricaded themselves in buildings—buildings like this one.
“There was a fresh water supply here. Drainage. Heat for the winter. The people lasted for months.”