Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘It has been a long time since Wildenhaven has had this many visitors,’ Queen Eydis said from her throne, her eyes taking in her crowded hall. ‘I welcome you all. I know some of you have travelled a great distance, and are in much need of rest.’

  Henri noted the additional guards at the doors.

  ‘But we are at war. And we need to know whom we can trust. I want only the close guard of each party to remain. Henri – your elites may stay. Jarel, Nicolai, Mariette, you’re to stay as well. The rest of you, leave us. There are matters to discuss.’

  Murmurs broke out as a number of people left the hall, but Eydis raised her hand. Those remaining fell silent.

  ‘Sahara.’

  Henri jerked at the name. She hadn’t heard her sister addressed in over a decade. Her name was spoken aloud so rarely that Henri had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

  Athene, who now stood beside Henri, searched her face, concerned. Henri shook her head slightly, and returned her attention to Eydis.

  ‘Sahara,’ Eydis said again. ‘You have risen from the dead, it seems. I’m sure I’m not the only one who wishes to know how you’ve come to stand here in my halls after all this time … I suggest everyone gets comfortable. I want the long version of this tale,’ Eydis said, returning to her throne, with Bear curled up at her feet.

  Everyone was staring at Sahara. She looked weary as she moved to the front of the hall.

  Henri looked down to find her hands trembling. This was her sister. Her sister who had always hated formalities, hated being the centre of attention, someone who had said she wasn’t born to lead … Yet now she stood before them all, chin raised high.

  Henri exhaled a shaky breath, and she felt Athene’s hand slide into hers. She looked at their entwined fingers. She should pull away. She wasn’t ready for questions about them, for their relationship to become public knowledge. But she didn’t. She needed Athene, needed her touch, her support. She was finally going to hear Sahara’s story, and she wasn’t sure she could handle it without her friend, her lover, by her side. So she squeezed Athene’s hand, and held it tight.

  She saw Sahara note their touch, before she turned to the crowd.

  ‘My name is Sahara of Valia, first-born daughter of Mother Matriarch Allehra of Valia, and twin sister to Her Majesty, Matriarch and Queen, Henrietta of Valia.’

  Henri held her breath as her sister listed their titles, and for the first time in her adult life, wished her mother was here to see it.

  ‘Ten years ago,’ Sahara continued, ‘I walked into the mist that borders the southern beaches of Felder’s Bay and the south-eastern forests of Valia.’

  Soft gasps of shock sounded around the room. No one had ever known the truth behind Sahara Valia’s death. Rumours of illness, of disappearance had swarmed like a firestorm across the realm, but this … To hear the words from her own mouth …

  ‘It was my intention to take my own life.’ Sahara’s voice echoed, but she did not falter. ‘I didn’t believe I belonged with my people. I didn’t believe I belonged anywhere. I didn’t want to do Valia a disservice by becoming an unfit ruler, and so I did the only honourable thing I could think of. I gave them a better ruler. The best.’ She looked at Henri.

  She turned back to Eydis. ‘There was something about the mist that called to me. And it did so long before I stood at its mouth. I was plagued by a name. It was in my dreams, I found it constantly at the tip of my tongue. I carved it into the ancient trees, onto stones …’

  Henri’s stomach lurched. Oremere. She remembered Sahara’s constant scratching at any surface, carving what she had then thought was a lover’s name into the bark.

  ‘Oremere,’ Sahara said aloud, bringing Henri back from her reverie. ‘The land – the continent – that lies beyond the mist.’

  Henri glanced over at Bleak. The Angovian wasn’t paying any attention. She had heard it before, it seemed. Instead, the girl was sitting slumped against her panther, legs stretched out before her, crossed at the ankle. She was transfixed on the length of rope in her hands as she looped a knot, unravelled it and looped it again.

  ‘I stumbled through the mist for what felt like hours, sometimes days … I was waiting for the pain to begin, I was waiting to die. But I didn’t. And I began to realise that I wasn’t going to. The whispers of “Oremere” had stopped, and by some baser instinct, I knew that was what this place was. I was filled with panic and regret at what I had done. I needed to go back, back to Valia to tell my family, my people. But the mist has a mind of its own. Once I was inside, I was trapped. I couldn’t find my way back to Valia. For a year I wandered alone, questioning if what I saw and heard was real, or if the mist was driving me to madness. The outskirts of the mist are thick and heavy, you can barely see, but deeper into the land, they recede, revealing lands, ruined fortresses, empty villages, empty paddocks. There were animals running free among it all, crops overgrown and flourishing.’

  The hall was completely silent. The weight of Sahara’s words hung heavy around them all. Oremere was real. And what was more, it wasn’t a wasteland.

  ‘You wandered for a year? Alone?’ Eydis prompted, hands gripping the arms of her throne, Bear stirring at her feet.

  Sahara nodded. ‘I lived off the land. We Valians are taught to survive from a very young age. A few months into my journey, I discovered a ruined fortress called Westerfort. Mainly rubble and abandoned watch towers, covered in thousands of peculiar red flowers. But there was no one there, and I set up camp there in an old cellar. I filled my days with charting the land. Were I to find my way out, I wanted as much information to show my people as possible. Every day there were sounds coming from the north-east. I discovered later that these were the roars of the teerah panthers.’ She nodded towards Bleak and the beasts.

  Bleak visibly stiffened at the mention, and laid a comforting hand on the largest panther’s paw. Not for the first time, Henri wondered what in the realm had come to pass that had connected the Angovian to the legendary cats, and what the strange girl had done to have them tamed to her command.

  ‘I followed the sound,’ Sahara was saying. ‘Finally, I came upon something – a sea of flowers, the same red blooms from Westerfort. And beyond it, a city, sprawling behind thick stone walls and a moat. The capital of Oremere, Freyhill.’

  Henri didn’t miss Bleak’s flinch from across the room, nor did she miss the strange man from Sahara’s clan cross the hall and slide down beside the Angovian, ignoring the soft snarl of the panther. Bleak didn’t look at him, and he said nothing; he only drew his knees up to his chest, resting his arms atop, and waited for Sahara to continue.

  ‘There is a self-proclaimed queen beyond the mist. Ines. And Freyhill is her stronghold. She has an army of masked guards, and until recently, she had a pit filled with vicious teerah panthers —’

  ‘You have numbers? You have maps?’ Eydis interjected.

  ‘We do, Your Majesty.’ Sahara bowed her head. ‘Geraad and Kyden were part of a group that ran an underground organisation, just south of Westerfort. We call it the hub. They took me there, fed me, clothed me, and told me everything that they had learned. I joined their cause. Over the years we scouted the lands, we gathered information. We visited the surviving colonies and pockets of society that remained underground in Oremere, in hiding from Ines. And we heard rumours …’

  Dozens of questions loomed between the hall and Henri’s sister.

  ‘How does Bleak come into it?’ Henri found her voice, gesturing to the Angovian who sat immersed in her knots, not even looking up at the mention of her name.

  ‘Bleak?’ Sahara called, and damn her, the girl looked up. ‘Do you want to tell your own tale?’

  Bleak turned from Sahara to the crowd, and then back to Sahara. She shook her head and returned to her rope.

  ‘Very well …’ Sahara went on to explain how Bleak had washed up on the shores and ended up in their company. ‘At rebel headquarters, we told her what we’d discovered about Ines,
and the prisoner she had locked away. A very valuable prisoner. Someone who could potentially change the tide of things to come … Does the name Casimir mean anything to you?’

  ‘Casimir is dead,’ Eydis said sharply.

  ‘You’ve been misinformed,’ said a deep voice. The man who sat beside Bleak now stood and walked towards the dais. ‘I am Casimir. And like your Valian friend here, you can see for yourself: I’m not dead.’

  The scrape of steel sounded. Jarel, Nicolai and Eydis’ guards drew their swords and surrounded the unarmed man. The man showed no signs of surprise; even at swordpoint, he was calm.

  ‘Who are you?’ Eydis demanded.

  ‘You know who I am, Your Majesty. You have seen it. The Valian matriarch over there,’ he gestured vaguely to Henri, ‘can feel it. I am Casimir.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘But you do.’

  At Eydis’ feet, Bear began to growl, his hackles raised.

  ‘Eydis,’ Sahara intervened. ‘If I may?’

  Queen Eydis nodded stiffly.

  ‘He is who he says he is. He was Ines’ prisoner. Held captive for many years. He has his own story to tell … But I ask that you lower your weapons. He has been through enough.’

  ‘I don’t need your pity,’ Casimir said quietly.

  ‘Nor will you have it,’ Sahara snapped. ‘But you are part of my clan, for now. I vouch for you, and I will have you treated with respect.’

  Henri gaped. She had never heard her sister sound like that – like a leader, like someone who was used to being followed, being respected and feared. Athene squeezed her hand again. This time, Henri’s fingers lay limp in hers.

  Queen Eydis nodded once to Nicolai, and he and the guards withdrew their weapons. The scrape of swords being sheathed sounded, but Jarel hesitated, glaring at Casimir with distrust.

  ‘Jarel,’ Nicolai said. ‘Stand down.’

  ‘But we —’

  ‘Jarel. I won’t say it again.’

  Jarel seemed to remember himself, and reluctantly withdrew his sword.

  Casimir remained still, his hands clasped calmly before him. ‘They rescued me,’ he said, motioning towards Sahara and Geraad. ‘We would not have made it out alive, were it not for Bleak and her beasts. We are here because of her, and her panthers.’

  Something swelled deep within Henri’s chest, something she didn’t feel very often: gratitude. She took a deep breath and thanked Rheyah that she had saved Bleak in the Hawthorne Ranges all those months ago. Bleak, the drunken Angovian orphan, the girl Allehra had called mist dweller, had brought her sister back to her.

  Eydis stood. ‘We have heard enough for now,’ she said, her voice projecting to the far corners of the hall. ‘Food will be brought presently, while the servants make up rooms for you all.’

  Then, Eydis sashayed down the steps of the dais and stopped before Bleak.

  ‘I do not know who you are yet, child,’ she said to the odd-eyed girl. ‘But thanks are in order. A large room will be made up for you and the beasts. I imagine you do not want to be separated.’ She glanced down at Bear, who wagged his tail beside her. ‘I have a similar attachment to my own. I’ve already sent word to the castle butcher to send up some meat for them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Bleak replied.

  ‘Henri, Sahara,’ Eydis called. ‘I suspect you two will need to talk in private. Follow me.’

  Athene gripped Henri’s hand, but Henri left her. No matter what had come to pass between her and Athene, she needed to speak with her sister alone.

  Eydis left them in one of her private studies without another word. Henri moved closer to the fire, unsure of the whirlpool of emotions that now churned in her gut. There were so many unsaid things between them, so much anger, and ten years of grief, raw and unwavering still. She gazed at the flames, not turning when she heard Sahara’s footsteps close the gap between them. How had this happened? How could she move past it? She exhaled a shaky breath, feeling as though something was blocking the air to her lungs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sahara said.

  The words hung between them, and the silence that followed only added fuel to Henri’s rage.

  Her strike was a reflex, the back of her hand colliding with the side of Sahara’s face. Sahara staggered.

  ‘You’re sorry?’ Henri spat, advancing. ‘You’re sorry?! How dare you. How dare you come back, a decade later, and utter those words to me. How dare you.’

  ‘Henri, I know you’re upset —’

  Tears of fury burned Henri’s eyes, but she didn’t stop. ‘Ten years, Sahara. For ten fucking years you left me alone. Forced me into a position I never wanted.’

  ‘And you think I wanted it? You think I asked to be born first? That I wanted to rule a territory steeped in traditions I didn’t agree with?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Henri ground out. ‘That was the hand you were dealt by the gods, and you cheated it.’

  ‘Cheated it?’ Sahara’s voice rose to match Henri’s. ‘You think I chose an easier option, is that it?’

  Henri couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Do you know what it was like for me? Do you know what it did to me? Do you have any idea —’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Sahara snapped. ‘You think I don’t know what it’s like to be alone? Do you think it was easier for me, without you by my side?’

  ‘You had a choice.’

  ‘I did. And I couldn’t take it back. I know we cannot undo ten years of grief, ten years of loneliness in one night. We will never be as we were. But we can be better, Henri. No secrets, no lies. We can be more.’

  There was a red welt on Sahara’s face where Henri had struck her; however, her sister’s eyes were bright with passion, with hope.

  ‘Ten years, Sahara …’ Henri murmured. ‘Ten gods-damned fucking years.’ The pain broke through the hard surface. She didn’t blink back her tears. She let them spill, falling heavy from her lashes, running in tracks down her cheeks.

  And for the first time in over a decade, when Henri wept, Sahara was there to hold her.

  Chapter 25

  King Arden was in Swinton’s apartments. The Ellestian monarch glowered, his knuckles paling as he gripped the hilt of the jewelled dagger at his belt.

  ‘Were my orders not clear enough?’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Are you not capable of this one, simple task for your king?’

  ‘Your Majes—’

  ‘Enough! Were the consequences of inaction not made plain enough for you, Commander?’

  Swinton had never seen King Arden like this, in a spiralling rage. Arden usually kept a tight leash on his emotions, choosing to shock and humiliate those who’d wronged him at a time that was most advantageous to him. Every action, every word, part of a larger strategy towards a larger goal. But now … The king was flushed and struggled to keep his voice below a shout.

  ‘He’s like you,’ he pressed. ‘She will take him. And you’ll never get him back when she does.’ The king gave a hiss of pain and rubbed his temples vigorously. ‘Get to the prince, Commander. The little bastard is playing both sides. We need to know where his true allegiance lies. Or your son —’

  Swinton woke with a start, the tangled sheets around him damp with sweat. He looked down, gasping for air, to find himself clutching Yacinda’s coin, his fingernails biting into his clammy palms.

  The soft glow of sunrise streamed into his chambers.

  A dream, he told himself. Only a dream. But the hammering in his chest and uneasy twisting in his gut told him otherwise. He turned the coin over in his fingers, remembering what Henri had told him months ago.

  The coin grows weak … Its ability to shield you has started to falter, especially when your emotions run high …

  Impossible. Swinton had doused the talisman in fresh Valian herbs before he left for Battalon. The coin was a stronger ward than ever before.

  Still reeling from his dream, Swinton kicked the sheets from his legs and got out of bed. Although he had the mor
ning off to catch up on correspondence, there was no way he’d get back to sleep now. Instead he paced, until the full light of morning gradually filled his room.

  He’d received no word from the Carlingtons, and with his magic in such a bad state, Dash’s fate was in the dark. Fear had a permanent grip on Swinton’s heart now, the unknown as infinitely painful as any truth could be.

  A mop of dark hair and a mischievous grin flashed in his mind. A blur as his son sprinted through the castle hallways, much to the displeasure of the Ellestian nobles. Swinton had always kept his distance and played his part well, but Dash was never far from his thoughts, never. But now … Gods, now he was everywhere. Swinton felt the whirlpool of sorrow within him yawn, growing bigger and faster, threatening to drag him under —

  A concise knock sounded at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Swinton managed.

  Kamath stepped tentatively into his rooms, a tray of food balanced on one palm. ‘Commander, your breakfast.’

  Swinton sighed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Can I do anything else for you, sir?’ The squire crossed the room and placed the tray on the desk by the wall.

  Swinton had long since given up correcting people that he was not, and likely never would be a ‘sir’.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ignoring Kamath’s look of surprise. ‘I need you to have the core Ellestian guard meet me in the gardens at noon. All of them.’

  ‘It will be done.’

  ‘Has the princess left her chambers yet?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, Commander.’