by Elise Kova
“Turn around, we don’t take beggars.” He gave them a wave.
“We’re not beggars,” Jayme retorted. “Summon Lord Erion.”
“Lord Erion?” The man sniffed. “His Lordship is far too busy for the likes of street urchins.”
“We are no street urchins.” Jayme had yet to back down. If anything, she stood even straighter. Vi stared at her friend, half in admiration, half in the smallest amount of fear at what had overtaken the woman. “Summon him, or you will regret not doing so.”
“Is that a threat?” The guard’s grip on his sword tightened.
“I think what my friend is trying to say—”
“Stay out of this.” Jayme glared at her and promptly turned back to the guard. “Summon him or—”
At that moment, one of three sconces in the man’s guardhouse lit magically. He glanced between them and the flame, hastening over to the gate as he said, “Go away, children. There’s nothing more for you here.”
The man huffed and puffed as he worked a large crank. The gate began to shudder before it slowly swayed open. Jayme didn’t move an inch, standing right before the opening gate.
Vi waited nervously at her side. She didn’t want to see her friend’s guts spilled out on the ground because of a misunderstanding. She’d out herself as the crown princess before that. But what if no one believed her?
Her hand closed around the watch at her neck. Perhaps Lord Erion would know it? Vhalla had recognized it at a glance, but it had likely been a far more important token to her than the Western Lord.
“Are you going to make a run for it?” Vi whispered to Jayme, hiding her words underneath the loud squealing of the gate.
“That’s a sure-fire way to get yourself killed. I’ve spotted two archers on the balconies making patrols. This place is even more fortified than it looks.”
And it looked fortified to begin with. Vi scanned the main house in the distance, but saw nothing resembling an archer. Still, she was inclined to agree with Jayme. She knew from Sehra’s warriors that good archers could easily remain hidden if they so choose.
“What’re you still doing here?” The guard turned, wiping sweat from his brow, the gate crank forgotten. “Go on, get out of here.”
“We’re not leaving until you summon Lord Erion,” Jayme insisted.
The man drew his sword. In one movement, Jayme pulled hers as well. The two squared off against each other.
“I don’t think this is really necessary.” Vi hastily stepped forward.
“What is going on here?” A man stood at the gates, attendant at his side. He had shoulder-length black hair, drawn back and away from his face. He had the tanned skin of a Westerner, but the bright blue eyes of a Southerner. It was a rare combination, but that—nor the stately clothes he was wearing—were what betrayed his identity to Vi. It was the skeletal metal hand that protruded from his right cuff, barely visible under the elongated sleeve.
“Lord Erion,” Vi said hastily, stepping around Jayme. The soldier tried to step back between her and the guard as the guard made a motion as well. Vi paid them no heed. “I have come very far in search of you. I must speak with you. Please, grant me an audience.”
Erion Le’Dan looked her up and down, squinting, slightly.
“My lord, my apologies, I was just telling the rabble to—”
Erion held up a hand, silencing the man. “And why do you think I should grant you an audience?”
“It’s not her you’ll want the audience with, my lord.” Jayme stepped forward, three paces past Vi. She held her arm straight out, sword clutched in her fist. The point was not tracked on Erion, but angled harmlessly away, showing the pommel. “It’s me.”
Vi watched as Erion’s eyes went wide and glossy. It was as if Jayme was holding out some kind of sacred treasure. But all Vi saw was the same pommel, carved with sheaves of wheat, that she’d always seen Jayme carry.
“Who are you?” Erion whispered, almost reverently.
“I am an Imperial guard.” Jayme’s voice had gone as hard and closed as her expression. “And my name is Jayme Taffl.”
Taffl? Vi’s attention swung to her friend. That wasn’t her name. Jayme’s last name was Graystone, not Taffl.
“What was your father’s name, Jayme Taffl?” Erion crossed to her hurriedly. With both hands he took the pommel of the sword in his, rotating it slightly. Jayme allowed his inspection, but didn’t loosen her vice-like grip.
“Daniel, sir. Daniel Taffl. He told me he served with you.”
“Impossible…” Erion echoed Vi’s single resounding thought.
“He’s alive, sir. And he told me once if I were to meet you in my time serving the crown that I should tell you he’s deeply sorry for that day. That he should’ve stepped forward and—”
“Enough.” Erion held up his mechanical hand. “Ivos,” the lord said to the attendant at his side. “Inform the Capricians that I shall not be in attendance for dinner this evening, as the daughter of an old friend has come to call.”
Vi stared at the woman she’d called friend. The woman she thought she knew. The woman who was her confidant and ally, who had literally carried Vi’s dreams and secrets across the land. The woman she now felt she was seeing for the first time.
Either Jayme was a clever, bold, and well-practiced liar—more so than Vi could’ve ever suspected, given how Erion had recognized the sword. Or her father really was Daniel Taffl—member of the Golden Guard, the most esteemed fighting squadron formed under Vi’s late uncle, Prince Baldair. The same Daniel Taffl who had been an irreplaceable guard in service of Vi’s mother.
The Daniel Taffl who was, by all counts, presumed dead.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Please, forgive me, my Lord, I had not realized.” The guard at the gates continued to bow. “Esteemed guests of the Le’Dan, I beseech your forgiveness.” Such a fast transition for someone who moments ago seemed so intent on removing them from the premises that he drew his blade.
“All is well,” Vi murmured on their behalf as she entered. Her focus couldn’t be further from the guard now. It was solely on Jayme as Erion led them into his manor.
The courtyard within the gates was a sort of T-shape.
There was a small amount of space between the wall where they’d entered, and the buildings to the right and left. In that space, flowers—Vi recognized them as Western roses—grew on trellises. The building to the left was a carriage house; three of the four gates were occupied by both carriages and horses, with the last vacant. There must be an access road somewhere, Vi reasoned, for she could not imagine how anything resembling a carriage could fit up the narrow walkways they’d traversed.
The building to their right was a workshop—an easy thing to determine given what she knew of the Le’Dan family trade, the feeling of Firebearer magic crackling the air, and the needlessly large windows that gave her a perfect view of the men and women laboring within. They toiled over worktables and benches, holding up sapphires as big as her eye and rubies larger than her thumb. It was clearly designed to communicate one thing: the wealth of the Le’Dan house.
But Vi wasn’t concerned with that, just as she wasn’t concerned with the five-story manor they entered at the other end of the meticulously paved walkway, or the ornately gilded entry hall they came to a stop in. Vi was concerned with one thing and one thing only: Jayme, and what now felt like a secret identity she’d kept from Vi for years.
Jayme avoided her probing stare completely, so adeptly that Vi was certain it was a conscious maneuver.
“Ivos,” Erion commanded the elderly manservant at his side, “see to it that Jayme and…” He turned, looking directly at Vi. “Forgive me, my lady, I did not yet catch your name.”
“For now, call me Yullia,” Vi said with a wary glance to Ivos, hoping Erion would read into her hesitation. Even if Erion would end up helping her, the staff of nobles were known to have loose lips. Her own handmaids and tutors had been proof enough of that.<
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“Yullia, then.” There was more than a note of curiosity in Erion’s tone. “Ivos, see Jayme and Yullia to the summer rooms. You both look weary from what I assume has been a long journey. Please, take your time and freshen up. When you are ready, I will be waiting in the red study on the second floor. Any servant will be able to assist you there, should you find yourself wandering.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Jayme said stiffly. She should be stiff. Vi was glaring daggers at her back.
“Yes, thank you,” Vi muttered, trying to manage decorum in the wake of her conflict over Jayme.
Erion gave him a nod and with a motion sent them on their way.
Ivos led them up the grand, arcing stairway to the right of the entry. They looped and continued upward again, and again, until they reached the fourth-floor landing. It was a small sitting area, framed by three doorways.
“The summer rooms are through here.” Ivos went through the door directly across from them.
The set-up reminded Vi somewhat of her quarters in Soricium. There was a central sitting area with doors leading off from it. Two doors across from the entry were styled with glass and opened to a wide balcony that overlooked a rear courtyard and a fantastic view of the sea beyond. The other doors, left and right, led to lavish quarters equipped with low platform beds (as was Western custom) and en suites.
“Should you require anything, simply pull this cord,” Ivos said after giving them the quick tour, motioning to a hanging tassel by the entry door. “Someone will be with you within moments. I shall return within the hour with a sampling of fresh clothes that should fit your measurements.”
“Thank you, Ivos,” Vi said without breaking her staring contest with Jayme.
The man gave a small bow, likely eager to excuse himself from the mounting tension that had become a tangible presence in the room. Vi held her breath, waiting for the door to click closed. Only then did she take a step forward toward the couch Jayme had positioned herself behind.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I can explain.”
“Explain how you lied to me?” Her voice rose, fire igniting in her stomach. “I trusted you with my life, with my letters, and you couldn’t even tell me your real name?”
“I told you my real name.” Jayme frowned, her back rigid as a board, her hand on the hilt of her sword. Let her draw it, Vi thought bitterly. If Jayme thought the only spell she knew was to summon a sword, then she was severely underestimating Vi’s danger as a sorcerer.
“You liar,” Vi seethed.
“Don’t call me a liar.”
“When the shoe fits.”
“Graystone is my real name—my mother’s name.”
“I’m to believe this whole time you have been the daughter of Daniel Taffl and chose to go by Graystone instead? Daniel Taffl—renowned, dead member of the Golden Guard?”
“My father isn’t dead! You don’t get to say he’s dead, Vi Solaris.” Jayme said her name like it was a curse. “Not when your family were the ones who left him to die.”
“What are you talking about?” Vi narrowed her eyes. “You’re raving mad.”
“No, I’m the one with sense. And you’re the ignorant princess, trapped in her tower and too focused on her own world—her own problems—to notice the rest of us dying.”
“Excuse me?” Vi took a step back as though Jayme had slapped her. “I’m the one who’s risking my life to try to find a cure for the White Death.”
“And what do you think I’m doing right alongside you?” Jayme snapped back. She had her there, and Vi knew it. But before Vi could think of a good response, Jayme shook her head slowly. “You only see yourself and your needs. You don’t really see anyone or anything else. Don’t paint yourself as a martyr. You’re doing this for you, Vi Solaris. Just like your father left the empire for himself—to save your mother.”
“How did you…” Vi whispered. Jayme knew of her mother’s illness.
“See, that’s the problem with only focusing on yourself. You don’t even realize what’s going on around you—what’s being said about you.” Jayme stormed to her room. “And you’re shocked I wouldn’t want to share my father’s identity with someone like you.”
She punctuated the statement by slamming the door, leaving Vi’s ears ringing. Vi stood in the main room, ready to call her back. She wasn’t done screaming at her.
Instead, in a brief moment of sense, Vi stormed off to her own temporary quarters, slamming the door just as loudly. She’d only intended to lean against it for a brief moment and somehow she had sunk to the floor, knees at her chest.
“Narro hath hoolo,” Vi whispered listlessly. Luckily, the magic was so familiar to her now that she didn’t even have to think about summoning the glyph. It was second nature.
A pair of booted feet appeared in her vision. Vi’s eyes drifted upward—up the loose-fitting pants tucked into the worn boots at the knees, up to the robe he was rarely without, up to the eyes she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.
Somehow, her gaze had brought her whole body up with it. Vi was on her feet. She moved in a haze, pulled along by a base need and the knowledge that with Taavin came confidence, reassurance, stability in a world that suddenly seemed profoundly unstable.
Taavin’s arms wrapped around her. Her face pressed into his chest, muffling her words.
“I missed you.” She nearly choked on such a simple statement. More emotion than she could bare tried to compound in the spaces between each word.
She felt his cheek, warm on her temple. His lips brushed lightly against her ear as he spoke.
“And I missed you immeasurably.” Taavin took a slow breath that quivered just slightly at the end. “But Vi, tell me what has upset you so?” He didn’t comment on the room. He didn’t ask where she was now. He didn’t even ask for updates on her trials and progress toward Meru. All he focused on was what made her tremble in his arms. “I feel it… I feel you… What has made your heart so heavy?”
She didn’t answer him immediately. She couldn’t. If she opened her mouth now it would let out the tears.
“Vi, you’re safe here,” he murmured. “It will all be all right.”
“You can’t say that. You don’t know that,” Vi retorted, somewhat angrily. How could he proclaim it would all work out? She was far from home—far from everything she’d ever known. She was shaken to her core and she felt like she’d lost far more than she’d gained. Logically, Vi knew it was a moment of weakness. But logic was losing the battle against emotion at present.
“I do know that.”
“How?”
“Because you are here, with me, in my arms… And so, everything will be all right.”
It was illogical. There was no reason for her to believe it. No clear explanation for why it soothed her so. But soothe it did. Vi felt her shoulders relax. The tense knot in her throat gave way to a small hiccup. And a single tear of exhaustion and frustration rolled down her cheek.
“It’s okay.”
Vi pressed her eyes closed, feeling the intricate embroidery that covered his chest sink into her skin as she tried to remove all space between them. Nothing was okay. Her world was changing faster than she could keep up.
But his arms remained around her—firm and unmoving. Perhaps that was what he’d meant. They were okay. This one beautiful and unexpected thing she could rely on when everything else was gone—that was still okay.
She leaned into him further, if that were possible, and let out one quivering breath, then another. Magic was as hot against her wrist as his breath was on her cheek. And when she finally pulled away to look up at him, all Vi saw was his kind and unwavering gaze—filled with more adoration than she deserved in her present state.
Leaning up, craning her neck, Vi kissed him once for strength.
Then, languidly, she kissed him a second time, purely because she wanted to.
The third time, he kissed her. And the third time was the charm. For it was then
that the world drifted away and she melted into him, sure that if she let go of the fear and anger trying to knot itself around her heart, everything would be all right.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fire crackled around her shoulders, the water in the tub hissing steam. Heating water was something she couldn’t even dream of doing mere months ago. But now, her magic was more like an old friend than an estranged neighbor she only sort of knew from a distance. Vi drew her legs to her chest, working to get her thoughts in order.
She needed to speak to Jayme and apologize properly, with a clear head. That was first. Then, second, Lord Erion Le’Dan.
Vi practiced what she may say to Jayme over and over, but nothing sounded right. With a sigh, she finally emerged from the tub and started for the main room. She’d just have to figure it out as she went, and trust herself to keep her sense when the time came.
When Vi left the bathroom, she found clothes had been laid out on the bed in the other room—just as Ivos had promised.
It was certainly a sampling. Yet despite his assurances, nothing seemed to fit quite right. The tailored styles of the West were unforgiving to Vi’s curves. If she found something that fit in the hips and waist, it was comically large around the calves and ankles. If it fit her lower legs, she could barely get the waistband over her bum.
In the end, Vi settled for something that was no doubt out of fashion—a small price to pay for actually complimenting the shape of her body. A silken skirt clung to her hips, falling to her knees before flaring slightly, as though the seamstress had intended for all the extra fabric. The top she chose was knit, and felt somewhat modest given how Westerners seemed to like their fashion.
Vi’s hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant. She collected herself with a deep breath. Vi opened the door.