Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  Henri watched the men intently. They knew each other, that much was clear. But how? She wasn’t the only one hanging on every word. Bleak was fixated on them, the teerah panther, too …

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Eydis interrupted. ‘The boy.’

  Casimir’s eyes snapped to her. ‘He will lose years off his life.’

  ‘His father would want to do whatever it takes,’ Fiore said slowly.

  The boy was so small and helpless on the bed, hanging on to his life by a thread. Who is he? Henri wondered. What child could cause such divide and chaos?

  Casimir shifted from foot to foot. ‘All I can do is age him so his body and mind are older, stronger, better equipped to fight the disease. The rest would be up to him …’

  Henri didn’t like where this was going. The boy was clearly not meant for this realm. He wasn’t meant to live. But they were not in Valia. They would not be living by the Valian Way today. She spotted Bleak watching on from the corner of the room, her face deathly pale and her hand clutching a fistful of Rion’s fur. The Angovian looked as though she might faint. Henri frowned. The sight of the boy wasn’t particularly gruesome; the physical symptoms of the plague had more or less passed, which meant it was the most dangerous time for him – the final stage – before the illness swept in, completely addling the body and the mind before inevitable death.

  Fiore’s hand went to his sword and he looked pointedly at Casimir. ‘I don’t enjoy putting people under duress, but I’ve heard I’m quite good at it.’

  ‘Do you even know whom you’re threatening?’ Geraad’s voice cut in as he pushed to the front. ‘Be careful how you speak to Prince Casimir.’

  However, it was Eydis who cut in. ‘Draw a weapon in my home and it’s the last weapon you’ll draw,’ she said icily. ‘And you,’ she added, turning to Casimir. ‘Help the boy, for the gods’ sake. He’s a child. You cannot allow him to die.’

  ‘You would have me save him?’

  ‘Yes. And quickly.’

  ‘He will never be the same.’

  ‘None of us are ever the same after death touches us.’

  Casimir nodded slowly and moved to the boy’s bedside. ‘What’s his name?’ he asked Fiore.

  ‘Dash.’

  Casimir took the boy’s small hand in his. ‘Very well,’ he said.

  Henri felt as though she should look away, as though they should clear the room. What was about to happen here was a violation. The boy hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t consented to this. And who knew what it would mean for him … But Henri felt the sudden pulse of Casimir’s power, strong and insistent, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Slowly, the boy’s features began to change – his cheekbones sharpened, his jaw became more defined, and the shadow of a dark beard spread across his chin. Beneath the sheets, his frame broadened, lean muscle wrapping around each lengthening limb. His nightshirt strained across his shoulders, and ripped loudly. Fiore reached across to pull the blanket up to protect his modesty.

  ‘Casimir …’ Tailor said.

  But Casimir was in a deep trance.

  ‘Casimir.’ Tailor’s voice was sharp this time. ‘That’s enough.’

  The Ashai’s eyes flew open, and he released Dash’s hand.

  Dash was no longer a boy of ten.

  Henri stared in disbelief. The lean young man who was now stretched out on the bed was perhaps seventeen or eighteen … Certainly not a child. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his features. He looked familiar.

  ‘The rest is up to him,’ Casimir said quietly, getting to his feet. ‘I’ve done all I can.’

  Fiore was gaping at Dash’s unconscious body, but Tailor pushed him gently towards the door. ‘Go and get something to eat and drink, I’ll watch the boy. He’s grown used to me.’

  To Henri’s surprise, it was Bleak who took Fiore by the crook of his arm and led him from the room.

  Henri locked eyes with Tailor. He had some explaining to do. ‘We will speak soon,’ she told him.

  ‘I expect we will,’ he replied, turning back to Dash.

  Eydis motioned for her to follow, and the two women left the boy to fight the rest of his battle.

  They caught up with Fiore and Bleak, who were heading back to the hall where the music had resumed.

  ‘I am glad to see you again,’ Fiore was saying to Bleak. ‘I didn’t think I would.’

  ‘It was unlikely, to say the least,’ Bleak said.

  They entered the hall, their voices now competing with the sound of the harps and fiddles.

  ‘Now I’ve seen you, I wanted to say I’m sorry,’ Fiore told her.

  ‘Sorry? For what?’

  ‘Sorry about your … About Bren.’

  Henri’s stomach plunged. Gods, she’d been so wrapped up in the impending war and Sahara’s return that she hadn’t told Bleak about Bren.

  ‘Bren? What about Bren?’ Bleak’s voice was suddenly sharp.

  Fiore’s eyes shot back to Henri. ‘I tried to tell you … I thought you would know …’

  ‘What. About. Bren,’ Bleak ground out.

  Henri stepped forward. This was her responsibility. She owed Bleak the truth. ‘He was taken,’ she said. ‘He was taken to Moredon Tower.’

  ‘What?’ Bleak spluttered. She gripped Fiore’s arm. ‘He can’t have been. You said —’

  ‘I lied, aloud. But with my mind … With my mind I tried to tell you. But Dimi – Swinton – he projected the power of his talisman onto me, shielding my mind from yours.’

  Bleak gripped the back of a nearby chair, her knuckles bone-white, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

  Henri braced herself as the Angovian whirled around to confront her. ‘How could you? How could you not tell me? He’s been rotting there, while we’ve been here? Throwing balls and celebrating? I can’t … I have to find him.’

  The hall went quiet.

  ‘Find him? The boy is dead,’ Fiore said, a gentle hand falling to Bleak’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do.’

  Henri grappled with her guilt as Bleak shoved away Fi’s hand. ‘I’m going.’

  ‘The boy is dead, Bleak,’ Fiore said, eyes wide.

  ‘He’s not. He can’t be.’

  ‘None who enter Moredon Tower as prisoners venture out again. He’s dead.’ Fiore reached out to her once more, but she stepped out of his grasp.

  Henri watched Bleak straighten herself, her face set in grim determination.

  ‘I’ve been at the mercy of … those people,’ the Angovian said, meeting Henri’s gaze. ‘I will not leave Bren’s fate in their hands. He would go to the ends of the realm for me. He has already. I must do the same for him.’

  Desperation lining her face, she looked across the room to the queen. ‘Tell Eydis I’ll need a horse.’

  ‘You’ll need more than a horse,’ Henri said. ‘You’ll need a ship.’

  ‘I have a ship.’

  ‘One that you can sail alone?’

  ‘I’ll make it work. It’s every woman for herself, remember?’

  Henri glanced over at her sister, who was talking quietly with Casimir in the corner of the room. ‘That was the agreement.’

  Bleak nodded, and made for the doors.

  ‘A stupid agreement,’ Henri called after her.

  Bleak stopped in her tracks, and Henri approached her.

  ‘It’s not the Valian Way,’ she said. ‘We are strongest when we are united.’

  Bleak stared at her.

  ‘My kindred and I will accompany you. You brought my sister back to me, Bleak. Let me help bring Bren back to you.’

  It was the early hours of the morning when Henri summoned her sister to her chambers.

  Somewhat glassy-eyed, Sahara entered the lounge. ‘What is it?’ her twin said the moment the door closed.

  ‘I want to know what you think. About the mission to Moredon Tower.’ The note of command was stripped from Henri’s tone now. The question – a doubt – hung between them. />
  ‘You’re the matriarch, the Queen of Valia, Henri. You don’t need my input. My approval.’

  Henri swallowed. ‘Am I, though?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Matriarch of Valia.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  ‘You’re back …’

  They hadn’t discussed it. Hadn’t mentioned the uncertainty that now simmered amidst the kindred. Hadn’t talked about the questions Sahara’s return had raised. And they hadn’t broached the subject of the old cracks in their elite that had started to resurface already.

  ‘That changes nothing. I gave up my title long ago.’

  Henri locked eyes with her sister. ‘Do you want it?’ she said. ‘I’ll only ask it once.’

  Sahara gazed at her, as though seeing her, truly seeing Henri for the first time. Henri watched the thoughts, the calculations, the questions cross her twin’s face, and not for the first time, she wished she’d been gifted with Bleak’s abilities instead of her own. She waited, doing her best not to clench the back of the chair beside her.

  ‘I don’t want it,’ Sahara replied evenly. ‘I am not the ruler of the kindred. I never was. I lead the mist dwellers now, those who would have me, and no more.’

  Henri’s stomach dropped to her feet. ‘You won’t return to Valia Forest when this is all over?’ She tried to keep the hurt, the vulnerable tremor from her voice. But Sahara knew her better than she knew herself.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do,’ she said gently. ‘Who knows what these battles will bring? But if I do return to Valia, Henri, it will be with you as my queen.’

  Tears stung Henri’s eyes, and she struggled to blink them back. Sahara squeezed her shoulder, and Henri didn’t let the tears fall, not this time.

  ‘There is something else.’

  ‘There always is …’

  ‘Allehra.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She was injured. In the recent attempt to destroy the Forest of Ghosts. Her life … It hangs between this realm and the next. She waits for Enovius.’

  Sahara’s face fell. ‘How …?’

  ‘Fire. Her own fire. The groundling healer Lyndis wrote to me. Allehra has commanded that I name an heir.’

  Sahara’s face paled. ‘Gods …’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sahara. I wish there was better news for you to come back to.’

  ‘I was gone a long time.’

  ‘You were.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  Henri went to her sister. ‘Write to her. Tell her you still live. It may give her something more to fight for.’

  Sahara nodded, her eyes glazed over in shock. ‘And the heir?’

  ‘I don’t know … I never thought … I never thought about this part of being the matriarch.’

  ‘You lean towards Luka, don’t you?’

  Henri’s eyes snapped up to her twin’s. ‘How do you know that?’

  Sahara gave a sad smile. ‘Athene has been positioning her daughter as such since before I left.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your memory of her is jaded. What you think of her, it’s not real.’

  Sahara simply shrugged. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time with my memories, Henri. I’ve come to believe that all memories are jaded. Even yours.’

  ‘Stop speaking in riddles. What does this have to do with Athene?’

  Sahara sighed. ‘Just don’t name an heir yet, Henri.’

  Henri struggled to wrap her mind around where her sister was going with such obscure musings. ‘Fine,’ she said eventually. ‘Let’s not speak of it until we’re back from Moredon. Speaking of which, what of the journey to Moredon Tower, then? Will you come?’

  Sahara gave a grim smile. ‘You are not the only one to have amassed debts with the strange Angovian Ashai. I go with you,’ she said. ‘To keep one eye on Bleak, and the other on my little sister.’

  The corner of Henri’s mouth tugged upward.

  ‘To Moredon Tower, then?’ she asked, taking in the green-and-grey irises that mirrored her own.

  ‘To Moredon Tower,’ her sister echoed.

  Queen Eydis was seething. Her pacing had near burned through the carpets of the council room.

  ‘You swore an oath to break a prisoner out of Moredon when we’re on the brink of war? While that filth is already clawing her way through my lands? After you’d sworn to aid Havennesse?’ Eydis’ tone was icy enough to cut. ‘I didn’t take you for an oathbreaker, Henrietta of Valia.’

  The hands of each kindred shot to their weapons, but Henri raised a subtle hand. Eydis, however, wasn’t done.

  ‘What in the realm went through your mind? What is one fisherman to us? You would leave us open to attack? While you pursue a suicide mission? The Henri I knew would have seen this for the madness it is.’

  Queen Eydis wouldn’t look at her, but Henri could feel the power, the rage surging around her, the utter fury pulsating from her ally. Still, Henri waited. Now was not the time to jump down Eydis’ throat. Now was the time —

  ‘With all due respect, Your Majesty,’ Athene stepped forward, placing a protective hand on Henri’s forearm, ‘our matriarch, our queen, doesn’t answer to you.’

  Henri’s heart plummeted – the emphasis on the word ‘queen’ was a deliberate slight. The Wildenhaven guards were no fools. There was an audible gasp of outrage from them, two of them even stepping forward towards Athene, hands clenched around the pommels of their swords.

  ‘Athene,’ Henri snapped, shrugging off the touch without even a glance in her lover’s direction.

  Athene fell silent, though her raging energy did nothing to soothe Henri’s already sensitive power.

  ‘Queen Eydis is right,’ Henri said evenly, taking a step towards the winter monarch, trying to catch her gaze. ‘I swore an oath. And I mean to uphold it. But it does not absolve me of my debts. I am indebted to Bleak, who reunited me with my sister, who we all thought long dead. It is my intention to fulfil both pledges. We will return to Wildenhaven.’

  ‘If you return. And even if you do, what sort of state will you and your kindred be in after waging battle with the guards of Moredon Tower? I don’t recall you being such a reckless fool.’

  An insult that once would have found its mark easily and sent Henri’s hands flying straight to her katars, missed. She knew it was reckless, and foolish, and likely insane. But so seemed the hope of seeing Sahara again after all this time. And yet, here she stood. Henri took in Sahara’s stance: feet apart, arms crossed over her chest, and eyes sharp – ready for anything.

  Finally, Eydis met Henri’s gaze. ‘I assume you have a plan?’ she said through gritted teeth.

  Henri hid her falter. Yes, she had a plan. It was simple. Get to Moredon alive. Get Bren out, alive, and return to Havennesse. Alive. But she gathered from Eydis’ frosty demeanour that she was after a few more specifics than that. Henri opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘I have a plan,’ said Fiore, who had kept to the outskirts of the council chambers. His full lips were set in a grim, apologetic smile. ‘I have a plan,’ he said again, stepping into the light. ‘But you’re not going to like it.’

  Fiore had been wrong. It wasn’t that Henri didn’t like his plan. She loathed it. It was the most despicable, demeaning, un-Valian plan she’d ever heard. And it had taken every fibre of her willpower and discipline not to stride across the room and punch him in the nose. Now, back in her private rooms, she gazed out the window, onto the snowy grounds below, grinding her teeth.

  The door clicked open and closed, but Henri didn’t turn to greet her guest. Moments later, Athene’s warm arms slipped around her waist and pulled her close. Henri leaned back into the support.

  ‘You were out of line today,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ Athene replied, following Henri’s stare.

  Outside, Bleak and Rion appeared in the courtyard, Bleak saying her goodbyes to the teerah panther. The Angovian had infuriatingly refused to allow the beast to join them, despi
te Henri’s protests that having him on their side would prove a massive advantage.

  ‘He’s been in enough prisons to last a lifetime,’ Bleak had snapped at Henri. And that had been that. The girl was not the same Angovian orphan Henri had met in the Hawthorne Ranges. The darkness that had shown itself in Hoddinott had latched on, small but insistent, just like Bleak herself. The disease mirrored the host.

  Henri turned back to Athene. ‘It can’t happen again,’ she said, taking in the crystal blue of Athene’s eyes. ‘The Valian Way demands unflinching obedience and loyalty from its kindred. I cannot be questioned or spoken for in a council room like that. In private, yes, but we cannot have people seeing us as anything other than unified.’

  ‘And yet the tactic isn’t the Valian Way, is it?’

  Henri blinked. It would take her some time to adjust to having a partner, but perhaps it was a good thing. It reminded her of how she and Athene had been once, when they’d been young Valians in training, equals.

  ‘Sahara thinks it might work,’ she allowed, the words, the sharing, foreign on her lips as she let her fingers trail along Athene’s laces.

  ‘Sahara hasn’t been a Valian for a long time.’

  ‘Sahara has always been, and always will be, a Valian, Athene.’

  Athene paused, and then said, ‘Your sister’s regard for the Valian Way has been dubious at the best of times.’

  Henri’s fingers stilled at the front of Athene’s leathers.

  Athene forged on. ‘Sahara never understood it. Never understood us.’

  ‘Sahara understands me just fine. She’s my sister.’

  ‘Yes, but the Valian Way —’

  ‘You need not lecture me on the Valian Way. You think I don’t know as well as you what it is, what it has meant to our people? But maybe it’s time we started changing, adapting … We live in different times.’ It was the first time Henri had voiced aloud her thoughts on the matter. The first time she’d really even admitted their existence to herself.

  Athene was gaping at her. ‘Sahara’s back from the dead for a few days and she already has you trapped in her mind games?’

  Henri stepped back, magic raw and ready in her veins. ‘Mind games?’ she spat. ‘You stand here and accuse my sister of treason?’