by Elise Kova
“Vi Solaris?” the knight asked, after that seemed like forever.
“Yes?”
“Your presence has been requested.”
“By who?” Vi slowly tilted her head away from the bookcases, though she already suspected she knew.
“The queen.” The knight took a step away. “If you’ll please follow me.”
Book in hand—because Vi wasn’t about to risk a Lark taking it off the shelf again—Vi trailed behind the knight to ground floor. They walked through the same door the queen and her retinue had disappeared into, and across a tunneled walkway. The windows were laden with fragments of heavily tinted glass that distorted the world beyond.
From time to time, the knight glanced over her shoulder. Vi caught her odd looks. It wasn’t suspicion, and Vi didn’t get the sense the woman viewed her as a threat.
“Is something the matter?” she finally asked as the hallway split in two, absentmindedly scratching at the bandages around her wrists.
The knight paused, allowing Vi to catch up. They stood side by side before a staircase leading upward. “You look just like someone I once knew.” Her voice was filled with a longing that made Vi inexplicably sad. “A good friend that I lost.”
“I’m sorry,” Vi murmured. The knight shook her head, refusing Vi’s sympathies.
“Perhaps we will meet again someday, in a different place and time.” It was an optimistic world view—one Vi couldn’t share after seeing the end of the world. “I’m Deneya.” She raised a hand to the center of her forehead, pushing aside the dark brown, almost black fringe there to touch her skin before lowering it.
Vi did her best to replicate the greeting. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Deneya led her up the stairway and to a small landing. Another knight in identical armor was positioned by a door. He gave Deneya salute and opened the door.
“Please, come in.” A voice summoned them.
The long room was dominated by large windows that ran the length of both walls. Vi was distracted by the inner wall that overlooked a courtyard. She knew she should be bowing before the woman at the far end of the room, sitting poised in her endless folds of fabric on the edge of a plush chair. But for a moment, all of her regal training was forgotten.
“I know this place,” she whispered, horrified.
The last time she’d seen it, she’d been nothing more than a specter. She’d seen the carved gutters and tiled rooftops. She’d seen the covered stage where the queen would sit and before which her father would kneel. But that time, the square had been full. And now it was unnervingly empty.
She’d seen this moment long ago in a cave in the North.
“Do you?” The queen’s voice sounded nothing like Vi would expect. For all the flowing silks and chiffons she wore, the woman’s voice was low and sharp, every word enunciated in the thick accent Vi had come to associate with all of Meru.
“I saw it in a vision once,” Vi explained. Secrecy wouldn’t serve her now. Vi pulled herself from the window, crossing to the small sitting area where the queen waited. She dropped to one knee. “Forgive me for forgetting myself before you, your highness.”
“I thought the Solaris family saw themselves as rulers of the world entire. Is it common for you to kneel before other nobility?”
“I’ve found ‘the world’ a bit generous to describe our borders.” Vi lifted her gaze with a small smile. “And you are not even the first ruler I have knelt before since coming to Meru.” The one downside to all the fabrics covering the queen was that Vi could not read the woman’s facial expressions. She was left to judge her reactions from voice alone, and the length of pause she took to collect her thoughts.
“Please sit.” Lumeria slowly raised a jeweled hand. Vi would move slowly if she was forced to wear that much silver on her fingers.
Vi stood, sitting on the stool across from the queen’s chair. She very much felt like a child at her mother’s knee.
“I have summoned you because I would like a word with you before your father’s trial begins.”
“How may I be of service?” Vi asked cautiously.
“Merely speak with me. I ask nothing more of you.” Vi gave a tentative nod. She knew just speaking could be dangerous enough, especially when her father was about to stand trial before this woman. “Do you know what is happening with your father? Have they told you?”
“I believe the Faithful think he had some role in harming our world,” Vi answered delicately. She didn’t know how much Lumeria knew about the impending doom that awaited them all—or if keeping it a secret from the queen would be beneficial in some way. Proceeding with caution seemed the only choice.
“They believe he set free Raspian from the god’s tomb on the Dark Isle.” Lumeria paused for a brief moment. “This doesn’t surprise you? I didn’t think the War of Light was compulsory education on the Dark Isle.”
“It’s not. But I have had ample time to research and learn over the past year.” Vi looked to the window. Everything seemed too bright, too harsh. “My father is not guilty—not to the letter of the accusations. The man who truly destroyed the Crystal Caverns and tried to harness their power was the Mad King Victor, and he is dead.”
“Do you think Ulvarth will care?” She could almost imagine Lumeria’s eyebrows rising underneath her veil.
“Hardly. He cares for little beyond himself. I think his sham of a holy crusade to undermine your power and work to put the real control of Meru in his own hands through brutal tactics is enough proof of that.” It would be plain speaking between them, then. How refreshing.
“Tell me why he has yet to put you on trial.”
“Because I am the Champion reborn,” Vi answered honestly, deciding her best chance was to ingratiate herself to the queen. She had just lost one powerful ally on Meru; she could use another. “So I can help rekindle the flame.”
“I have always known Ulvarth to be greedy, but not stupid,” Lumeria murmured. Then, louder, “Can you rekindle it? Can you bring Yargen back to us and collect her scattered power from your lands?”
“Scattered power from my lands?” Vi repeated. She suspected she understood—she had heard about Yargen’s fractured power—but sought clarity nonetheless.
“To seal Raspian away, Yargen split herself—one part into the staff she gave the last Champion, one part to the seal Raspian’s tomb, and one part to the flame.”
“As you know, the tomb is gone,” Vi said.
“The staff, then. There are records it was split and—”
“Transformed into a crown, an axe, a sword, and a scythe,” Vi finished. “Yes… But all that remains is the scythe.”
Lumeria was silent for a long time. She folded her hands in her lap and Vi heard a soft sigh. Underneath the fabrics of her veil, the queen hunched slightly.
“Then it may already be too late.”
“I have the scythe in my possession,” Vi said quickly. “Well, Ulvarth has it. But it is here.”
“I will pray for that to be enough,” Lumeria said wistfully. “But a fragment of a fragment of the Goddess’s power does not seem like it would be sufficient to stand against a god.”
And Vi had the visions to prove it wasn’t.
“Deneya, you may escort the princess back to the Archives now. Thank you for speaking with me, Vi Solaris.”
Vi stood at the dismissal. Deneya guided her back through the door and down the stairs. They crossed the walkway in silence, the knight pausing at the entrance to the archives, hovering like the clearly unspoken words.
“Vi,” she said delicately. “You have a path more difficult than any can comprehend. The only one who can truly understand it is the Voice.”
She bit back protest that Taavin was clearly the last person in the world who understood her. If he did, he would’ve never put her and her father at risk.
“But should you ever need me, no matter the time or place, seek me out. My sword is yours.”
“Thank you,” Vi said, t
rying to hide her discomfort. She didn’t trust the woman’s eagerness. Perhaps Lumeria had put her up to the task.
Or perhaps she was another trying to get close to her for their own gain.
“Good luck, Champion.”
Deneya gave a small bow, returning back the way she came.
Vi watched her leave before wandering back into the Archives. She returned the book she’d started reading on the last War of Light to its place on the shelf. Her mind was too full to try to process the knowledge within.
A fraction of a fraction of the goddess’s power wouldn’t be enough to stand up against Raspian.
It made sense and gave credence to her visions of Raspian shattering the scythe and striking her down. But all the other crystal weapons had been destroyed. Her father had told her that much.
Vi clutched the watch around her neck and for the first time wondered if, perhaps, the future of their world couldn’t be saved.
If there was only one path forward—into the eternal darkness of death.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The light streaming through the window of her room dimmed to night as Vi paced. It seemed like now the days were more darkness than anything else. The moon dominated the sky almost perpetually and daylight was only a couple hours.
Finally her feet came to a stop and Vi let out a groan of frustration. She knew what she needed to do. But it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Ulvarth would be at the trial, which meant he was tied up for at least a few hours. This was the perfect time for her and Taavin to work, though he was the last person she wanted to see.
She was up the stairs of the archives despite heavy feet, through the trap door she’d discovered during her last excursion, up the ladder, and worrying away the ring holding the lock on his door without so much as knocking. Vi allowed the padlock to clang as she set it aside, the only warning before she opened the door.
Taavin stood at the opposite window in all his heartbreaking beauty. He didn’t so much as look at who entered.
Vi hovered in the doorway, trapped in the snare of wanting to scream at him and, at the same time, flee. Freeing herself from the hold of fear, she crossed the small room to the man. His eyes—distant, different—drifted to her. They felt like the eyes of a stranger.
Things had been damaged between them and they both knew it. Vi held his gaze for a long moment.
“Listen.” She knew she had to be the one to get the first word in. “I am not here for you. We still have a duty.”
There was the little matter of the end of the world, and Vi would let him assume that was all she referred to. In truth, her treacherous heart still bled from the wounds he’d inflicted that her past experiences had only made worse. She still felt for him. She wanted to be ambivalent, but her emotions had yet to catch up to her mind’s stoicism.
A small part of her still loved him. And that terrified Vi more than anything.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Taavin said dully, leaning against the wall behind him.
“I met with Queen Lumeria.” Vi stepped away, pacing. She noticed the scythe leaning against the doorway to the flame. Good, they wouldn’t have to go hunting for it.
“Did you?” He looked back to the window, as if the sight of her was too painful.
“I think I know what we need to do.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, though Vi didn’t know why. “I think the watch holds Yargen’s power. We need to use it and the flame to give more power to the scythe. When Yargen fractured her power, giving the staff to the Champion, he later fractured it further. It is only a part of her power, and it’s too weak to stand against Raspian on its own.”
Vi turned away from the scythe to find him staring at her. “It’s not a terrible theory.”
“I’m glad it makes the high mark of ‘not terrible,’” Vi muttered dryly. “It’s far better reasoning than the logic you used before betraying me,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Vi, I—”
“Don’t.” She glared at him, equally angry now at herself for her own pettiness. “I won’t bring it up again and you shouldn’t either. We have to focus now… we can deal with all that later.” Of course, there might not be a later, which suited her well enough. She worked to get them back on track, trying to keep her venom in check. “I think the word the Goddess gave me was for the watch.”
“You think, or you know?” Taavin took a step forward.
“I know,” she lied. She didn’t have time enough to sit on this particular egg, waiting patiently for it to hatch. All she knew for sure was that merely thinking of using the word filled her with confidence. She was right; she had to be. Vi lifted the scythe and opened the door to the flame. “Come and hold this with me.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the Voice. You also have a part of her magic in you, don’t you?” Taavin gave a small nod. “Surely that’s important. We’re trying to collect as much of the Goddess’s power as possible.”
Taavin crossed over, grabbing the scythe around her hands. Vi kept him at arm’s length, but he still felt too close. She wasn’t strong enough around him yet—her mental defenses hadn’t been sufficiently fortified. Because her heart still wanted to love him—her mouth still ached to kiss him.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, nervously.
“Yes,” she insisted. But his worried look got the better of her. “Why?”
“I have this weird feeling… as though I’m in two places at once.”
“What?” Vi remembered the same sensation the first time she’d seen the scythe in the Twilight Kingdom. “I’ve felt something like that around the scythe before.”
“Right. Perhaps it’s normal then.” He looked up at her, the soft blue glow of the crystal illuminating his face. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Vi took a deep breath, then a second, a third. Her nerves rose alongside the pounding of her heart with each stabilizing breath. She let her mind go blank, staring into the swirling magic of the scythe, allowing herself to feel the heat of the flame of Yargen.
“Thrumsana.”
Glyphs appeared from the watch on her chest. Layers on layers of them—just as Taavin had said. They swirled around them, filling the room with symbols Vi didn’t understand.
The voices she’d heard at the tears—whispers, cries, screams, songs, and shouts—filled her ears once more. The cacophony was softer than she remembered, sharper, but overwhelming to her senses as it seemed to flow through her.
Taavin let out a scream.
He fell, and Vi dropped the scythe alongside him in shock. He writhed on the ground, clutching his head. Vi stared on, helpless, as veins bulged at his neck and temples.
“Make it stop,” he begged. “Make it stop!” he screamed loud enough that Vi was certain someone had to have heard.
“Taavin, Taavin!” His thrashes were too violent, not even allowing her to get near. “Th-Thrumasana!” Vi tried again, trying to imagine the glyphs going away.
They did not.
The magic began to shine brighter. The noise filled her ears. Taavin’s mouth was locked in a soundless scream and Vi watched in horror as his whole body tensed and arched off the floor. The glyphs condensed on him like ropes, sinking into his flesh. He shuddered with each one that collapsed in on him.
Taavin gasped for air; tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide and unseeing as the assault continued. Vi covered her mouth, collapsing to her knees beside him. He may have betrayed her… but she had not wished this on him, had she? Had thrumsana somehow done this? Had the word somehow known the dark corners of her heart?
“Taavin…” Vi said his name weakly, helpless as more glyphs poured from her watch into him. She did everything she could to bring the magic within her once more, but the powers had a mind of their own and Vi was helpless.
He curled into the fetal position, crying out with each circle of light that crashed against him. His eyes were unfocused, his mouth hanging o
pen, fingers contorted at odd angles with pain, his whole body quivering. All she had ever been to him was pain… and now she may well kill him.
Vi unhooked the watch from her neck and thrust it toward the flame. “Take it!” she cried. “Yargen, make it stop!”
The watch shattered. Light tinged with blue filled the room—but this was not a vision of the future overtaking her. It was Yargen’s pure magic. And rather than seeking out the scythe as she had hoped it would, it all flowed into Taavin.
One final scream, and it was over.
He lay on the ground, limp and lifeless. Tendrils of magic swirled off of him, fading into the darkness. Soon there was nothing—no sound, no movement.
“T… Taavin?” Vi whispered, crawling on her hands and knees to him. Her eyes were still adjusting to the dim light of the flame. “Taavin.” Vi rested a hand on his shoulder and he flinched.
At least he was alive.
“Taavin, I—”
“Get out,” he rasped.
“But you—”
“Don’t touch me,” Taavin seethed. “Don’t touch me ever again. Not in this lifetime or the next.”
“I didn’t mean for…” What hadn’t she meant for? This to happen? Hadn’t she loathed him for betraying her not hours before?
Nothing between her heart and mind made sense right now.
“I said out!” Taavin roared, sitting at once. The irises of his eyes were a green so bright and pale, it nearly matched the whites surrounding them.
Vi bounced to her feet and ran.
She sat alone in the darkness on the edge of her bed, clutching herself.
What had happened? What was that?
Questions swirled through her mind. Answers eluded her. Even after using the word, its meaning was no clearer to her. It felt as though a part was somehow missing. Perhaps that was why it had gone so awry. Perhaps a meaning was hidden in those seemingly endless glyphs.
Vi rested her elbows on her knees and sank her face into her hands. The watch was gone. One more token of Yargen had been destroyed and Vi doubted the flame seeming dimmer after was only in her imagination.