by Elise Kova
But now was certainly not the time or place to indulge such fantasies.
Especially not when her and her father’s survival was up for debate.
“Our Voice has told me something most interesting,” Ulvarth started. Vi didn’t miss the hint of annoyance already in his voice. “He has told me that you are Yargen’s new Champion, destined to defend the light against the coming darkness.”
“And yet your men honor you with the title.” Vi arched her dark eyebrows. Ulvarth’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You.” Ulvarth’s eye twitched. “The divine chose you. A small girl from the Dark Isle. The daughter of the man and woman who wounded Yargen so—who went against her will and acted in favor of the dark god.”
Vi pressed her lips together and kept her mouth shut. He hadn’t asked her a question and she didn’t feel like indulging his chatter. She glanced over to Taavin, but he had yet to make eye contact with her. Wherever he was mentally, it was a world away.
“What can you possibly do?” Ulvarth grumbled. Vi didn’t have a good answer, but once more, he wasn’t looking for one. Ulvarth adjusted his seat, narrowly avoiding a position that would make his sulking even more obvious. “It’s no matter… you’re here now.”
“You said you had a deal for me.” Vi had no interest in his pity party over not being chosen as Yargen’s Champion. She suspected if he really knew the trimmings the job came with, he’d be happier without it. He was just another man who wanted power and none of the responsibility attached. Vi had dealt with men like him her whole life—she called them Senators.
“I do. You see, Vi Solaris, I am not a man without mercy. I would be willing to send you and your father back to your forgotten rock on one of the Sword’s fastest vessels.”
“What would you want in return for such a kindness?”
“The Voice has assured me that, with your help as Champion, we will be able to rekindle the Flame of Yargen and return it to its former glory.”
Former glory? Rekindle? Taavin had said as much… But the flame she passed under looked incredibly glorious from where Vi stood.
“If the Faithful have any hope to make it through the dark age Lord Raspian will usher in, we shall need her barrier, at the least. Yet the flame is so weak, it can barely protect this temple—let alone all of Risen.”
Vi gave a small nod. She heard his words but didn’t fully understand them. Yet she had the distinct feeling Ulvarth was the sort of man who didn’t appreciate questions.
“Should you rekindle the flame for me, and commit to eternal silence on the role your family played in weakening it in the first place, I shall let you and your father return to your isle and do… whatever it is you do on that desolate rock.”
“And my role as Champion?” Vi glanced at Taavin. He was still avoiding looking at her. This had to be some kind of plan he’d put together… right?
“I think you mean my role as Champion.” Ulvarth gripped the scythe tighter, as though that alone distinguished him as the Champion.
“I see…” Vi said. He saw the crystal weapon as a trophy. Even if he knew it could be used to stand against Raspian, Vi doubted he would. All he wanted was the flame rekindled and a barrier around Risen—the rest of the world be damned. Taavin had kept information from Ulvarth and that meant she had to trust him and play along. “In the meantime, while I rekindle the flame and keep my silence, you’ll keep my father safe?”
“No harm shall come to him while he awaits trial for his crimes.”
“My father committed no crimes against you or your lands. This is the first time he’s ever stepped foot on them.” Vi shifted her wrists, trying to adjust the pressure of the shackles. Her blood slowly dripped on the floor from where the iron had cut into her flesh on the long walk.
“Your father allowed Raspian to return to this world.”
Vi expected him to seem more upset about such a truth, but he delivered the line with the same concern one might reserve for reporting the weather. That was proof enough that he was lying. Ulvarth knew it wasn’t entirely because of her father that Raspian had returned. This was all just a game.
Think like him.
Something was wrong with the flame of Yargen, and Ulvarth couldn’t fix it—not without her help. The man likely hated the notion of “lowering himself” to asking someone from the Dark Isle for help. If she succeeded, and he sent her away… he planned to take the credit.
“No harm comes to my father while he awaits your trial,” Vi reiterated, confident she now understood the full terms of the deal. “You keep him safe, comfortable, and in quarters befitting his station.”
“You think you can order me, now?”
“I’m not ordering, I’m bargaining. Didn’t you say you had an offer? Well the offer has turned into a negotiation.” Vi rolled her shoulders back, standing straighter and ignoring the weight of the shackles trying to pull her down. “You keep my father and me safe and comfortable. When I have finished rekindling the flame, you allow us to go home without any other hindrances. You make no move against the Dark Isle or my family ever again. And then I will say nothing of my role here. I will let no one know that it was really I who helped rekindle the flame.”
Ulvarth’s expression soured like a too-ripe fruit. Vi smirked. He hadn’t expected her to figure his game and she hoped he hadn’t figured out hers.
Rekindling the flame had always been part of her mission. But so was figuring out the secrets of the watch and the scythe. Her arrival in Risen hadn’t gone according to plan, but she was where she needed to be—the Archives of Yargen.
Fate had yet to abandon her.
“Do we have a deal?” Vi tilted her head. “I do everything you need and you can take credit for all my work.”
“You think I need you that desperately?” he sneered.
“I do, because you are only pretending to be Yargen’s chosen Champion. You need me,” Vi stated with all the royal arrogance she’d avoided her whole life. “Do we have an understanding?”
Ulvarth was silent for several long breaths. Vi wondered if his heaving chest was a method to attempt to calm himself down. If it was, it didn’t seem to be working. But then again, he didn’t scream at her when he opened his mouth again, despite the bright flush in his cheeks.
“I think we have an understanding,” he said finally.
“One more thing.”
“You are a greedy woman.”
“Blame my royal upbringing.” She was in rags, covered in filth. He was on a gilded throne. Yet in that moment, Vi felt like the more powerful person in the room. “I need free access to the Archives of Yargen, and to that scythe.”
“You think I’m just going to let you wander with a weapon?”
“It’s required to rekindle the flame.” She had no idea what was required. But she wanted as long of a leash as possible. She wanted to get her hands on those books for more reasons than she had fingers and toes. And she wanted full access to the last crystal weapon.
“Very well. I will let you have access to the Archives. But take one step outside and you will not make it a second step.”
“And the scythe?”
Ulvarth considered for a long moment, slowly turning to the statue called Taavin. “The Voice shall keep it, and perform any necessary research. He shall report to me on his findings and, as needed, you shall have supervised access to him and the crystal weapon.”
Vi tried to keep disappointment off her face. The more she fought, the more he’d know he had something worth holding over her head. It’d give up the strength of her position. So instead, Vi kept her face passive, emotions hidden.
“Then yes, my lord. We do have an understanding.”
“You have one month to rekindle the flame. One month before my patience and kindness expire.”
Vi didn’t know what she was doing, so she didn’t know if that was long enough. Taavin had no reaction and gave no indication one way or another. He hardly looked like he was breathing.
> “Now get out,” Ulvarth snarled.
She gave a bow, just for effect, and turned for the door. The scythe thudded dully on the dais beneath her as Ulvarth struck it twice, signaling for the knights on the other side of the doors to escort her away.
“Remove her from my sight and find a place for her in the Lark’s dormitories. Let them be forced to deal with her,” Ulvarth commanded. “And for the love of Yargen, clean her before she stinks up the entire place.”
Chapter Thirty
There were three aspects of the Faithful, Vi quickly learned.
The first were the laymen—Faithful who studied Lightspinning and followed the teachings of Yargen but did little else. They were civilians. Followers, but not active participants in the structure of the Faithful. The laymen were scattered across Meru.
Next were the Swords. Vi had had enough of them for a lifetime. And, judging by how they shoved her into the care of a beady-eyed, sagely man, the feeling was mutual.
The final aspect were the Larks of Light. These were men and women who had pledged themselves to Yargen. But where the Swords where the militaristic strong-arm of the Faithful, the Larks were the teachers, theorists, theologians, scholars, and preachers.
They were quiet, calm, and kind.
Three things Vi hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“This way, young one.” The elderly man’s demeanor reminded her instantly of King Noct. “Let’s take you to a bathing chamber.”
“What’s your name?” Vi asked. She rubbed her wrists, gently inspecting the clotted blood and torn flesh left behind from the irons.
“They call me Kindred Allan.” He spoke without turning. Likely because every movement seemed stiff and painful for him. “And your name, young one?”
“Vi Solaris.”
“Not the same Vi Solaris as the Crown Princess of the Solaris Empire?”
“You know of it?” Vi asked cautiously.
“It is the Lark’s job to know of it,” he said thoughtfully. “We record all Yargen’s light touches, and even the places where it cannot, to keep record of all her designs and the ways mortalkind seeks to change them.”
It was a pleasant surprise not to have someone immediately telling her how terrible her home was. Allan seemed emotionally detached, but genuinely interested. Vi counted it a victory.
Allan lead her down a spiral stair in a different building from the one Ulvarth had occupied. It was the northernmost point of the triangular buildings surrounding and connected to the Archives. Every flight of stairs opened to either a long hall or a warm room. There were crackling fires, and men and women working quietly at desks or talking, while sinking further into plush cushions wrapped in warm-hued fabrics.
“This way, your highness.”
“Just Vi is fine.”
“Is it not your custom to always use some kind of honorific or title in Solaris for royalty and nobility?”
“Usually, yes… But we’re not in Solaris. And it’s not common for those who are close to royalty.” Besides, Vi had enough of being the crown princess for one day. She’d invoked her royal persona for Ulvarth and her walk through the city. Now, she felt too tired to deal with it.
“Are we close?” he asked.
“That depends on your actions, I suppose.”
“Spoken like a true princess.” He gave her a weathered smile as he opened a door, allowing steam to billow out. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling. A faucet continually poured hot water into a large copper tub, the overflow draining underneath the vessel. There was a small wooden stool with a soap bar and a few other scouring agents in jars.
Another shelf at her left had a variety of brushes, combs, razors, and other barbering tools. Over which was a mirror. A mirror. Vi hadn’t seen herself in a mirror since the small one in the bathroom of the Twilight Kingdom.
She stalled before it, slowly bringing a hand to her cheek.
“I shall leave you to soak. Please enjoy at your leisure. While you are soaking, do pull the screen before the door. I shall send one of our female Larks to come with clothing for you and she will drape it over for your convenience and modesty.”
“Thank you,” Vi murmured, too distracted by her reflection to say more than that.
The woman she saw didn’t reflect the woman Vi thought she knew. Her fingers trailed over cheekbones that were sharper than she recalled. As sharp as her father’s—she could recognize now that she had seen him again so recently. The harsh sun of the seas had further darkened her skin, as Vi suspected from her arms, but her hair was still as black as midnight and as fine as spider’s silk.
She slowly undid the braids she and her father had coiffed for their arrival to Risen. Vi turned her head this way and that, looking at how it fell just beyond her shoulders. There wasn’t the slightest bit of wild body to it, not even with the kink of braids—nothing like her mother’s and brother’s.
She was, indeed, her father’s daughter.
Stripping, Vi balled and burned her clothes. Once more, she incinerated everything of her last incarnation in life. What version of Vi would walk the Archives of Yargen when she emerged from the tub?
Pulling the screen mostly shut, Vi sank into the water, spilling it over all sides. It completely engulfed her and for a few moments she let the warmth soak off the filth that covered her. With the constantly running tap, the water was perpetually hot and the grime flowed over and away as she began to scrub.
Vi had just started rubbing her legs raw when the door opened.
“Princess?”
“Just Vi is fine,” Vi called over the screen.
“Vi, then… My name is Serina. Allan told me to attend you. I have clothes here; shall I drape them over the screen?”
“That sounds lovely.” Vi rested her elbows on the edge of the tub, looking at the clothes that appeared by two dainty hands. A towel was draped last at their side.
“I’ll wait just outside for you to finish to show you to your room… But do take your time. It sounds as though you’ve had quite a journey.”
“Thank you,” Vi said softly. For one moment, she thought about asking the girl to stay. Vi had questions about this place, about the Larks, and about the flame. But she ultimately decided to save them for Taavin.
She had no interest in making friends here. This was like the Twilight Kingdom—like Arwin. It was business. Vi retreated further into the tub, thinking of the morphi woman. She had definitely not grown any attachments to her, Vi insisted to herself. She only wondered how she was doing out of pure curiosity.
The door clicked closed and Vi finished, dried, and dressed. The robes were basic—not unlike those she’d seen the crones wear on the Dark Isle. They were a deep, sunset-red hue, cinched tight at the waist with a wide, golden sash. One benefit of clothes so basic—they were designed to swim on their wearer, and Vi didn’t have to worry about how her hips were going to squeeze into anything.
Vi opened the door to find the woman waiting just as she’d said. She had silvery hair, though she didn’t look much older than Vi, and bright hazel, nearly yellow eyes. There was something distinctly cat-like about her movements and Vi couldn’t fight the notion that if the woman ever became a morphi, her shifted form would be some kind of lynx or leopard.
“The rooms are two floors up.” She pointed upward as she walked to the stairs. “They’re not much, but we’ve managed to rearrange ourselves so that you will have a room of your own.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“We thought it appropriate,” she said with a note of finality that suggested there were more layers to why they thought it appropriate than Vi understood.
They walked up the stairs, passing one landing that led into a workroom, and then up once more to a long hall nearly identical to the last. Her door was the first on the left. It was just as Serina had said—simple. A bed, a small desk, a washbasin, an empty bookcase.
“Should you need anything, you can ask any of the Larks.” Ser
ina paused, stalling before she headed back to the stairs. Her eyes dragged over Vi from top to bottom. She opened her mouth, promptly closed it, and turned.
“Ask.” Vi let a slightly regal tone seep into the word, turning it into more of a command. “I know what it looks like when someone has a question.”
With a guilty grin on her cherubic cheeks, Serina turned. “They say you kidnapped the Voice.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Yet they tell me you are to be made comfortable while you are here…”
“And?” Vi kept her face passive.
“Those two things seem contradictory.”
“They do, don’t they?” Her attempts at stoicism failed, and a small grin made it onto her face.
“So are you our enemy, or our friend?”
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have all the facts.” Serina spoke as though that should be obvious. “That’s why I ask… to collect them.”
Vi smiled tiredly. Something about the girl reminded her very much of her mother. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but it was there. Which was odd, given that she looked so young. The comparison already filled her with a dull ache.
“I’m not allowed to say much,” Vi answered honestly. She would honor her deal with Ulvarth only as far as it benefited her. But Serina seemed sharp enough to figure out the undercurrents on her own—she was already seeking to piece together the facts. And while Vi wasn’t looking for a friend, she could use an ally. “But I will say this: Taavin is the last person I would ever harm.”
Serina seemed startled Vi had used his name so confidently. Eventually saying, “You seem honest enough about that.”
“Good.”
The woman continued to hover. Her eyes drifted down to Vi’s hands. It was then that Vi noticed she was dripping blood onto the floor. The clots of her wounds, left behind by the shackles, must’ve been washed away in the bath.