Henri took another deep breath through her nose and stood straight with her shoulders back. She hadn’t had time to bathe and change into clean leathers, but it hardly mattered. A wartime announcement perhaps better suited her current bedraggled and filthy appearance.
‘My kindred,’ she said, her voice projecting to the furthest reaches of the crowd. ‘Months ago, I was summoned to the capital by the king, along with the Ashai girl we know as Bleak. What you do not know is that upon arrival in Heathton, we were imprisoned and threatened. King Arden made his true nature clear. The one which we have long suspected. He has aligned himself with a false queen who calls herself Ines. She is the self-proclaimed ruler of what was, until now, a secret continent beyond the mist, a place called Oremere.’
There was a collective gasp from the kindred, and chatter began to hum among them.
The whispers hushed as Henri continued. ‘Ten years ago, it was King Arden, with the assistance of this false queen, who released the mist that destroyed what we now call the Forest of Ghosts. I heard the confession from his own lips. Our once sacred part of Valia, invaluable because of the herbs it grew, became nothing more than a graveyard, leaving us vulnerable with a limited supply of our herbs. While I was in the capital, he made new threats against Valia, and intended on keeping me captive for his false queen, as a means of experimentation. After I discovered this, I managed to escape. I came to Havennesse to join forces with our longstanding ally and friend, Queen Eydis. Havennesse is in need of our aid. Queen Eydis has foreseen an attack on this continent by Ines and her armies. She has already conquered Qatrola, and is in the ears of both King Arden and King Roswall of Battalon. We cannot let our sister stand alone. We have long since allied with Havennesse, and we do so now.’
‘Is Bleak here?’ Athene asked.
‘No. She was taken prisoner, separately to me. I haven’t seen her since.’ Henri let her words sink in, ignoring the crestfallen look on Athene’s face, and returned her gaze to the crowd. ‘Should you have any qualms about the nature of my decision, I suggest you air them to me privately, or keep them to yourself. We train at dawn, and we meet Queen Eydis at noon. Until then, feast and rest, my kindred.’
She sat down next to Athene, avoiding her friend’s attempt to catch her eye, full of questions about Bleak, no doubt. Henri ate little, as anxiety throbbed tight and insistent in her chest.
Later that night after she’d freshened up, Henri did something unusual. She invited her kindred to drink with her in private. They deserved to enjoy each other’s company before they went off to battle – their first battle in a very long time. They arrived dressed in their leathers and weapons, with bewildered expressions on their faces. Not once in the ten years that Henri had been in command had she hosted an intimate evening for them. Henri regretted that. And yet here they were: Athene, Tilly, Marvel and Petra.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, and gestured for them to sit.
‘Quite a spread,’ Tilly said as she surveyed the cheeses, dried meats and wines. She took the seat on Henri’s left.
Henri sat at the head of the table, with Athene on her right side, always her right-hand woman. She could feel Athene’s nervous energy, despite the talisman the warrior wore. She was worried about Bleak, and Henri knew that her words would bring her friend no comfort.
Gods, that poor girl. A fate worse than death. Henri hadn’t been able to do anything. Every woman for herself, they’d said.
But it was clear that Bleak wasn’t the only worry here. Henri met each of her kindred’s eyes. ‘Before we go into strategy, someone needs to tell me what’s wrong. Now.’
The women exchanged anxious glances, their faces lined with something troubling: pity.
‘What is it?’ Henri demanded, turning to Athene.
But it was Tilly who spoke. ‘Much has happened in your absence, Henri.’
Henri’s magic flickered to life. ‘Tell me.’
‘The mist,’ Athene said. ‘The mist has spread. Through the Forest of Ghosts, into main Valia.’
‘What?’
‘Allehra tried to contain it with fire, like last time. She did her best, Henri. But a large part of the forest, of Valia … The keep was destroyed.’
Power surged through Henri’s veins, sending the goblets on the table flying. No one moved.
‘And Allehra?’ she asked, clenching her fists so hard at her sides they drew blood from her palms.
Athene reached for her. ‘She … She was badly burned, Henri.’
‘But she’s alive?’
Athene nodded, her posture rigid.
‘Will she live?’
Athene’s expression matched those of the others, a tight, unreadable mask.
Finally, Petra answered, ‘We don’t know. She’s been left in the care of the head groundling healer, the one they call Maman, and another, Lyse.’
Henri nodded. ‘Then it is up to her,’ she said.
Until we meet again, their parting words to one another. Now, ‘again’ might never come to pass.
Taking a deep breath, Henri pushed one of the platters towards Athene. ‘Queen Eydis has her own forces,’ she began. ‘But they don’t have our training, our skill. I want the kindred to be in the front lines of this battle, protecting as many of Eydis’ people as we can.’
There was a momentary pause, a ripple of shock across the women’s faces. But Henri was not ready to talk about Allehra. Her kindred followed her lead.
‘Does Eydis still prefer dogs to people?’ Tilly asked, carving a generous slice of cheese and leaning back in her chair.
‘She is much changed.’
‘How?’
‘She’s grown into her own skin, her crown. She’s part Ashai now.’
‘What?’ Athene said.
‘She has visions – not many, and not all are guaranteed to unfold in the future, but she has magic and she knows how to harness it.’
‘There was no magic in her family …’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Henri as she poured herself a glass of sparkling wine. She raised her goblet to Marvel and Petra, who were gaping at her from their end of the table.
Henri took a long drink.
Petra grinned broadly, downed her drink and poured another. ‘So is the queen’s brother still as handsome as he was?’
‘Jarel?’ Henri said.
‘We enjoyed ourselves the last time we met,’ Petra said, smirking.
‘Really?’ Henri, it seemed, was the only one who was surprised.
Her kindred drank and talked long after the food was cleared away, and Henri mostly listened. They spoke of everything – history and gossip, battle tactics to come, and who had taken whom to bed over the last few weeks. Henri dared a glance at Athene, but her name wasn’t mentioned in those conversations. Had she …? Henri couldn’t think of it now. Each of her kindred deserved her attention. For a moment, though, she felt a pang of sadness. Sahara should be here. These warriors were Sahara’s kindred, too.
It was well into the early hours of the morning when the warriors lurched to their feet to take their leave.
‘Athene,’ Henri said. ‘A word.’
Athene bowed her head and bid the others goodnight. Tilly, Petra and Marvel each embraced Henri, and thanked her for the evening. Henri promised them they would do the same again soon – a victory dinner.
When they had gone, Athene and Henri didn’t sit back down; instead, they stood at the edge of the table a few feet apart from one another.
‘I want to know how bad she is,’ Henri said, meeting her friend’s eyes.
Athene nodded. ‘It’s not good. She has burns to much of her body, and some are getting infected as she’s not looking after herself. The groundlings had sedated her when we left.’
‘She does not want to heal.’
Athene bowed her head.
Henri swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘She wants Enovius to take her to Sahara …’
‘I’m sorry,’ Athene said. Though he
r voice was tender, Athene stood just out of Henri’s reach, her expression unreadable. Henri wanted to close the gap between them, but recalled with a flush of shame how hard she’d been on Athene the last time she’d expressed herself. Perhaps she no longer felt those things.
Heart pounding, Henri took a step towards her friend. She needed to touch her, to feel her warmth when everything else was so cold. To Henri’s horror, Athene stepped back, maintaining the distance between them.
‘If that’s all …’ the warrior said, making for the exit.
‘That’s not all,’ Henri said, taking another step towards Athene.
Athene didn’t move this time, and Henri stood before her, Athene’s breath tickling her face. Athene’s braid was loose, and tendrils of her fiery red hair fell about her eyes. Henri took a final step forward and pushed them back, noting the change in Athene’s breathing, her breasts rising and falling quickly. Henri let her hand brush Athene’s throat, where the skin was soft and pale, her life’s blood pumping fast through her veins there. Athene didn’t move as Henri closed her hand around the delicate column and pushed her back against the wall, feeling Athene’s throat bob as she swallowed. And then Henri leaned in, and pressed her mouth to Athene’s. Athene’s lips were heated and eager, and Henri’s stomach swooped as the mouth beneath hers opened and welcomed her kiss. A tremor shook Henri, causing her breath to hitch as Athene kissed her back, her tongue hot and insistent. Out of breath, Henri stepped back and brought her hand to her mouth.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said roughly. She strode across the room to the door, her mouth singed.
‘Henri, please, don’t leave.’
Henri picked up a chair and jammed it under the doorhandle before moving back to Athene, and reaching for her laces. With painstaking care, she unlaced the ladder of ties down the front of Athene’s leathers, revealing a strip of exposed skin down her middle. Goosebumps rushed over both of them, and Henri let her fingers skim across Athene’s stomach as she worked the ties. Finally, with the laces undone, and her heart in her throat, Henri pushed the jacket piece from Athene’s shoulders.
‘Who said anything about leaving?’
Chapter 13
Bleak awoke with a start, her nostrils burning and a pungent aroma filling them. Smelling salts, she realised as she reeled back. Blindfolded, she struggled in her shackles, bound by the wrists and ankles, her whole body stretched out, exposed. The back of her head throbbed.
Someone waved the smelling salts below her nose again, and the chains rattled as she lashed out, panic rising.
‘You’ll break a bone flapping about like that,’ said a man’s voice.
Bleak’s blood went cold.
‘Wouldn’t want to do that,’ he said. ‘Not yet anyway.’
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst through her chest. There was only one place she could be. Only one place they’d take her after the botched rescue attempt of their most prized possession. The dungeons of Freyhill.
She heard the quiet breaths of the man near her, and a dripping sound nearby. As the sharp scent of the salts faded from her nose, the smell of damp and decay became more pronounced. Bleak reached out with her magic, only to find it trapped within her.
‘What … What have you done to me?’ she croaked. ‘How long have I been here?’
The man was pacing. She could hear his boots tapping against the stone floor. He ignored her.
Bleak tried to remember something, anything about how she’d got here. But she’d been out cold. For hours, days … She didn’t know.
‘What do you want with me?’ she pleaded. ‘Where are the others?’ Terror was near choking her, its vice-like claws around her throat making it hard to swallow.
‘The others left,’ he said.
The breath went out of Bleak. They’ve gone? They left me? Why was she surprised? They’d come for Casimir. Casimir was the prize. To sacrifice her for him? There was no question. And it was all her fault. She’d been the one to insist on entering the courtyard. She’d thought she’d somehow be able to master her magic enough to get in and out of the castle grounds alive. Though her heart was sinking with the knowledge, she didn’t blame them for leaving. She just thought … She didn’t know what she thought. Not anymore. The only thing she knew was that she’d die here. She’d finally taken her fate into her own hands, and it had led her here. She was responsible.
The man had stopped pacing. She couldn’t hear his breathing. Where had he gone? What were they going to do? She struggled in her chains, desperate and panicked.
The sweet smell of perfume suddenly filled the chamber.
‘You’re not at all how I imagined, Alarise,’ said a silken voice.
Bleak flinched at both the name and the hand that touched her face and pulled the blindfold from her eyes.
Alarise. Alarise. Alarise. The name her parents had gifted her. The name she’d tried to fade into obscurity. There was no forgetting it now.
The woman who stood before her wore a headwrap of deep violet, her face awash with hundreds of freckles. Thick, dark lashes framed piercing sapphire eyes, her lips stained crimson. Long fingers played with layers of sparkling jewels hanging in a mass around her neck, accentuating the plunging neckline of her collared gown.
Ines followed Bleak’s gaze, and a smile tugged at those stained lips. ‘A gift, from King Arden. It’s beautiful, yes?’
Bleak was silent. She tried to keep calm, to keep her body from betraying her fear, but the restraints jangled as tremors took hold of her.
Ines took a step forward, and the chains rattled loudly as Bleak jerked away from her touch. Ines ran a soft, clean hand down Bleak’s grimy face, letting it trail down her neck and over her breast, hovering over her heart.
‘It pains me to see you like this, Alarise,’ she said.
Sweat trickled between Bleak’s shoulderblades. The familiarity lacing Ines’ voice was stomach-churning. Bleak was going to be sick.
‘How,’ she managed. ‘How do you know my name?’
Ines tilted her head, her eyes boring into Bleak’s odd-coloured irises. ‘I’m saddened that you don’t remember me.’
‘I knew you?’
Ines smiled. Gods, if she wasn’t so terrifying, she would have been beautiful. ‘I take it you don’t remember the Ashdowns or the Goldwells, then?’
‘No,’ Bleak croaked.
‘No one does anymore, I suppose.’ Ines twisted her necklaces between her fingers. ‘The names of the ruling families of Oremere are just whispers in the mist now.’
‘The ruling families? What … What did I have to do with them?’
‘You? Not so much. Not now. But your parents, the Thorntons …’
The name jolted through Bleak like lightning.
‘The Thorntons were the long-reigning mediator family. The advising couple to the royal couples. A system unlike anything this realm knows now. The power to contain all power.’
Bleak swallowed the lump in her throat.
‘I knew you were an Ashai from the moment your mother fell pregnant with you,’ Ines said. ‘Your parents were non-Ashai – it often skipped a generation in the Thornton family. But you, I knew you’d have abilities. Do you know how rare it is that the magic of the ruling families aligns in the one generation?’
Bleak didn’t know what she was talking about. Ruling families. Magic aligning. Her memories from this place were murky, and she had no way of knowing if Ines spoke the truth or was playing mind games with her.
‘You, little Prince Ermias and my beloved Casimir, all Ashai, all under the one roof.’
‘What … What happened to my parents?’ Bleak’s voice trembled as she forced out the words. She was no fool, she knew her parents were long dead, but she had never said it aloud, never allowed herself to imagine home, and what that meant or had meant to them all.
A vision slammed into Bleak. Bright corridors and velvet drapes. The light, melodic notes of children’s laughter, and the ha
rried steps of parents close behind.
‘How —’ But another vision cut her off.
Ines stood before four thrones, her blue robes billowing. Two kings and two queens sat straight-backed in their chairs, a simple crown adorning each of their heads.
‘Majesties.’ Ines bowed. ‘I come bearing alarming news.’
‘Lady Ines,’ said the dark-haired queen. ‘Tell us.’
‘One of my priestesses has had a vision … concerning Prince Ermias and the young Lady Alarise.’
‘Go on.’ One of the kings leaned forward in his throne.
‘They will fall in love.’
Relief washed over the king’s face. ‘What of it? A union between great families would be cause for celebration.’
‘On the contrary, my king.’ Ines’ voice was as smooth as ever. ‘A union would disrupt the structure of your rule. To have the mediator family marry into a ruling family would leave the monarchy unbalanced. It would risk everything your ancestors fought so hard to establish.’
‘They are children. My son can barely hold a practice sword, let alone fall in love.’
‘It has been foreseen,’ Ines said simply.
‘And what do the high priestesses advise, then?’ said a voice from the back of the throne room.
Bleak gasped. Mama. Gesa Thornton.
‘Lady Thornton.’ Ines bowed her head. ‘The priestesses advise that the children be separated. There is already a bias forming between them. It already places an imbalance between the Goldwells and the Ashdowns.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ scoffed a familiar voice. Father.
Gabriel Thornton joined his wife as they approached the foot of the dais.
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