Vortex Chronicles: The Complete Series (Air Awakens: Vortex Chronicles)

by Elise Kova

  The man was a shade of his former self. Fiera remembered him towering over her with broad shoulders and a noteworthy amount of muscle ever since she was a girl. But he had been one of the first in their family to begin refusing food to help it last longer, and his perpetual fast had taken a toll.

  “The Mother has blessed me with the sight,” Fiera affirmed. “This ends. So if you agree with my will, brother, see it done.”

  All eyes shifted to Ophain. Officially, he was the head of the council as the crown prince. But Fiera was the head of the Knights of Jadar, the soldiers of the West, and that made her nearly his equal.

  “I will see it done.”

  “Then I will be the one to tell Father,” she said to him and turned to Zira. “After, I will address the people. Send criers for a royal announcement now and meet me in the armory.”

  “Yes, your highness.” Zira bowed low, hovering there as Fiera left the room.

  She rotated the heavy silver ring around her ring finger, worrying away at the smooth silver. It would end. She had told them the truth in that. Fiera paused, staring out a window lining the hallway. She imagined a city burning, ransacked by their enemies.

  Was it wrong not to tell even her most trusted advisers how it would end?

  Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Fiera continued on to her father’s chambers. More and more often, she found him on his wide balcony. The sheer curtains that drifted in the open archways of his room obscured his form.

  “Do I hear the soft footsteps of my youngest child?”

  Nothing about her was still soft. “Yes, Father.”

  “Approach, girl.”

  Fiera did as she was bid. Even as the head of the Knights of Jadar, she was still a girl to her father, and no amount of cunning deeds or ruthless bloodshed would change that.

  “What have you come to trouble me with?” Even as he spoke, silver crown heavy on his brow, King Rocham gazed out over the city. Fiera wondered if he, too, could imagine it burning.

  “We are making preparations for the end.” That brought his attention to her. Rocham’s dark eyes set against leathered skin scrutinized Fiera, and she let no weakness show. “The Mother has gifted me with a vision.”

  “Finally,” he murmured. “Well, tell me.”

  “This will all end soon.”

  “How does it end?”

  “We will lose.” This was the one man whom telling could make a difference—though Fiera doubted it would. She knew how deep her father’s pride ran.

  Rocham settled back once again to admire his kingdom, likely one of the last times he would see it in the bright afternoon sun. Soon they would be looking from this balcony at just another stretch of the Solaris Empire. The history and name of Mhashan would be wiped from the maps and reduced to “the West.”

  That was, assuming they still had their heads attached to their shoulders when Tiberus Solaris ruled.

  “Then we shall die fighting.” Her father stood and Fiera’s heart sank. “As is our way.”

  “As the head of the Knights of Jadar, I must remind you our forces are tired and weak. If—”

  “I was the one who gave you that title. It does not give you the ability to question me,” he cautioned.

  Fiera continued despite. “If we fight, the losses will be even greater than they otherwise have to be. Let us at least attempt peaceful negotiations.”

  “I tried to negotiate with the monster Solaris ten years ago. He is a power-hungry child who cannot be reasoned with.”

  “Father—”

  “And if we are to lose,” the King continued, not hearing her. “then I will die killing the bastard.”

  Were it not for her years of training, she would have shouted at him. Her hands would ball into fists and she would tremble with rage. But Fiera was a weapon. She’d been hammered, sharpened, and forged from birth.

  Her brother would rule. Her older sisters were royal prizes—trophies to be married off as it fit the crown. Thus, her father had not needed her to be genteel. He’d needed her to be a soldier, a tool that could take the shape of whatever the kingdom required.

  And that was what she had become.

  “You will not kill him. With the size of the Imperial army, you will not even come close to him,” Fiera said, level, as the king started into his quarters. “But perhaps we can—”

  “I will take no more of your treasonous talk. The time for negotiations has long since ended. If Norin is to fall, then I shall burn it to the ground myself before I let Solaris sit on my throne.” Fire sparked to life in the air over her father’s shoulders.

  Fiera merely stared at him, willing her face to remain passive. Not a single emotion would betray her by floating to the surface. She had weighted them all, burning them deep within the flames of her gut.

  “And as the head of the Knights of Jadar, you will heed my orders. Go and ready the soldiers. Prepare them to take one last stand for King and country. Prepare them to die.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fiera gave a bow and strode from the room, not one crack in her stony mask.

  She strode down the hall and down a flight of stairs. The royal quarters were toward the top of the castle. Down and to one side were the council chambers, comprised of meeting rooms and offices. Down and to the other were the barracks, training grounds, and armory. Two strong pillars of the Ci’Dan family had lifted them centuries ago to royalty: diplomacy and combat.

  Fiera strode between racks of swords in one of the oldest armories to the very back right corner, where an unassuming second door, bolted with a heavy lock, waited. At the door’s side was a black-haired woman, eyes shining in the light of the mote of fire hovering over Fiera’s shoulder.

  “The criers have been sent. I gave them my horse to do it with,” Zira reported, pushing away from the wall. “Ophain is carrying out the rest of your orders.”

  “To the letter?”

  “To the letter.”

  “Good.” Fiera tugged at a chain around her neck. The lock on the door had only one key—the one she was never without. Through the door was a narrow hallway, illuminated by an inferno at its end.

  The wall of fire filled the stone passage, perpetually burning, just in case anyone dared try to break into this most sacred chamber. With a soft sigh, Fiera relaxed her flames. With it, the slow sap on her power vanished.

  Maintaining the flame, day and night, was a leech on her. But a worthy one. For behind the wall of flame, a silver scabbard hung on a wall, embellished with rubies as large as a trout’s eyes that picked up the faint blue glow emitted by the pommel.

  “Zira, I fear this may be our last battle together,” Fiera began as she reached for the sword. “The Mother told me little of our fates following the end of this war.”

  “If it is the Mother’s will that I die this day, I do so with the honor of serving you,” Zira said with ease. The woman was one of the greatest mercenaries ever to come out of the Nameless Company. She knew the face of death as early and as well as her own mother’s. “May I make a request of you, princess?”

  “Anything, you know it is yours.”

  “I know we spoke of my defending your family. However, if it is possible that this is our last battle together, I would like to stand by your side.”

  Fiera’s hand ran lightly along the scabbard of the Sword of Jadar. The room was empty, save for the lone sword and a narrow table below. It made the weapon seem all the more powerful.

  Yet the sword’s strength was wavering. When the war started, her father told her where it had been hidden—slumbering, waiting to defend Mhashan—since the age of Jadar. Fiera had been the one to take the sword, learn what she could, and harness the latent powers of the crystal it was crafted from. Doing so had dulled the sword’s energy and nearly killed her.

  But the walls surrounding Mhashan had held for ten years.

  “Then by my side you shall be. See to it that my brothers and sisters are protected by the best in your stead. Entrust the key to the old escape
route to my brother, if need be.”

  “What about your father?” Zira missed nothing.

  “The king can defend himself,” Fiera said, deathly quiet. Her father had his chance to live for the people and refused. So she would let him die with his mistakes; his fate was on his shoulders alone. “Do not waste the loyalty of good men on him.” Fiera pried her gaze away from the weapon to look Zira in the eye. The woman had been with her now for four years and, from the start, they seemed to have a bond that transcended words.

  Fiera felt fate keenly. She knew its pull, just as she knew when someone’s red lines were knotted to hers. She might not always understand the purpose right away, but the Mother revealed all in time.

  “Understood,” Zira said with a small bow.

  Without a moment’s more hesitation, Fiera lifted the Sword of Jadar and strapped it to her wide belt. It was cumbersome. But so were the trappings of leadership. She had born worse burdens and still walked.

  Zira at her side, they left the castle together. A score of Knights joined them in the royal stables—right at the end of the long drawbridge that connected the castle to the city across a wide, dry moat. Fiera doubted her father would even raise the drawbridge. He’d convinced himself he was ready for this fight, ready to meet his end.

  She, however, was not ready to meet hers. Someone needed to defend the people of Mhashan, even after they became citizens of the Solaris Empire. She held the sword that could do just that.

  Fiera sought a life of service, not glory in death.

  At the end of the drawbridge, their group of Knights met with another already there, filling in the gaps. They all wore red armbands bearing the seal of the Phoenix of the West, a sword clutched in its talons, emblazoned in silver. A crate had been carried out for her to stand on.

  There were no cheers or fanfare as she stood atop the humble wooden box, looking out over those assembled. Fiera took a slow breath and clutched the leather-wrapped pommel of the sword. She tried to draw power from it—whatever power was left—so she could find the strength to do what must be done.

  “People of the West, this siege has gone on for nearly ten long years,” Fiera began, her voice echoing off the buildings that lined the square. “But I am Fiera, Princess of Mhashan, youngest daughter to King Rocham, and head of the Knights of Jadar, and I have received a vision from the Mother above. The end is near, and we must be ready for it.”

  Chapter One

  “I cannot tell you what the final outcome will be—the goddess did not bless me with this knowledge.”

  Vi watched Fiera speak from among the crowd. She was still shaking, but no longer from the remnants of the goddess’s power surging through her as she was thrown through time and space. Now, she shook because of the face she stared at.

  Fiera was dead.

  The woman standing before her, speaking before her, had long been a corpse in the world Vi knew. It should be all the proof she needed that the goddess had, truly, remade a new world. But Vi’s mind couldn’t comprehend it. Her head ached just trying to.

  “But I can tell you that it will end soon,” the princess continued to the blank-eyed, defeated masses. “We are feeding our soldiers and Knights with the last of the food stores, so they might better protect you. Whatever is left will go to women and children first, then all others.

  “A curfew has been set on the city for civilians. Everyone is to be in their homes between the hours of one in the afternoon, until eleven in the morning.”

  She could hear and understand the language of old Mhashan—Vi realized—a language she’d only studied a handful of times with her tutors and had been very far from mastering mere hours ago. She was able to comprehend it without effort.

  Hours ago? Or had it been days? Or years? How long had she been with the goddess? How long had it been since Taavin—

  Her mind stalled, hand instinctively going to the watch around her neck. Taavin. Her last memories of the man were clouded with hurt and confusion, punctuated by a fire that burned so brightly it consumed him.

  “That’s only two hours we can be about,” someone murmured from Vi’s side.

  “This isn’t a curfew—it’s more like house arrest,” someone else said, oblivious to her panic. They were all oblivious to her. Not one person had the slightest idea that a traveler from a distant time was among them.

  “If you do not have a timepiece, or can’t otherwise accurately tell time by the sun, you are encouraged to err on the side of caution and remain indoors,” Fiera continued, ignoring the growing murmurs rippling through the crowd. When she spoke, the people stilled, as though transfixed. Fiera had a magnetic quality Vi could feel influencing her, even through her relative panic. “This is for your protection. The only people that should be in the streets are soldiers.”

  Dawning recognition washed over Vi: Fiera was trying to prevent citizens from getting caught in the crossfire.

  “You have one hour to collect what food and supplies you can before we all settle in for this long night.” Fiera drew a sword and Vi nearly let out an involuntary shout of surprise. Her hands flew to her mouth, suppressing a strangled gasp as the princess lifted the shimmering weapon above her head. “Flame burn eternal!”

  “And guide us through the night,” the citizens around her chanted, going stiff with arms at their sides in a sort of Western salute.

  Vi didn’t say anything. She didn’t mirror the salute. Her sole focus was on the crystal sword Fiera had lofted over her head.

  A sword that should’ve been long destroyed, held by a woman who should’ve been long dead.

  The princess left with her host of Knights. The rest of the castle guard walked through the crowd, encouraging people to disperse.

  She turned on her heel and pulled up the hood of the tunic she was wearing. It kept the heat of the afternoon sun off her brow, and it kept her from making eye contact with anyone. Vi stayed with the masses until they mostly disappeared and she was alone once more in an all-too-quiet street.

  A door caught her eye. It was unassuming, wooden, nearly identical to most others. But this one she remembered. Vi walked over slowly, running her hand along the wood. For some reason, this door stuck in her mind, vivid with the ghost of a white X that had been painted on it when she’d last been in Norin.

  “No White Death,” she whispered.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?” Vi jumped, looking over her shoulder at a young woman who stood behind her. She couldn’t be older than fifteen and carried a mostly empty basket—save for two tiny jars of what Vi recognized as spices and a hunk of dry fish meat. The young woman’s eyes widened. “P-princess?”

  “No, I’m—” Vi didn’t get a chance to finish before the woman was on the ground, head bowed.

  “Princess, you grace our humble doorstep. May I invite you in? What service can we give you?”

  “I’m not the princess.” Vi knelt down, pulling back her hood. Fiera’s hair ran down her shoulder blades, where Vi’s stopped just past her shoulders. The hair alone wasn’t enough, as the woman studied Vi’s face. It took longer than Vi would’ve expected for her to finally admit that she wasn’t the princess. But then again, a commoner like her likely had only ever seen Fiera from a distance.

  “But… you look just like her.”

  “I know, many have told me.” Vi reached out, grabbed the woman’s basket, and returned it to her. Every moment felt as though she was underwater, moving against the current.

  I’m not the princess. She wasn’t the princess this woman was thinking of. She wasn’t Fiera. But she also wasn’t a princess at all… not anymore.

  The crown princess, Vi Solaris, was gone.

  “What do you need, then?” The young woman took the basket, clutching it protectively, as though Vi had been trying to steal it rather than return it.

  “I’m a bit lost.” That was the best way to put it, though it was a drastic understatement.

  “Lost? What area of town are you from?”


  Vi’s mind retrieved a map of Norin easily from the depths of her cartographic knowledge. She could pick anywhere and make it believable. But she wasn’t from anywhere here, and picking somewhere at random wouldn’t help her. She needed a quiet place to get her thoughts in order, not an easy way out of this encounter.

  “I don’t remember,” Vi lied, rubbing her head for emphasis. She stood. “I woke up in a stable. And I don’t remember anything before then.” It was easy to inject the words with the slightest bit of panic and terror. She had more than enough of each to go around. “I don’t know where to go and I don’t know how to find out.”

  The young woman shifted, tucking a section of bangs behind her ear. “We don’t have anything to give you.”

  “May I just sit on your doorstep, then?” Vi asked. “Your second floor juts out slightly and gives some shade from the afternoon sun.”

  “Fine.” The young woman pushed past her. “Just don’t think of trying to come in.” She slammed the door shut behind her, and Vi was alone.

  She crouched down and sat on the stoop. Her hands worried the watch at her neck as her brain tried to organize her thoughts.

  An hour must’ve passed, for guards began to sweep through the city, telling the few stragglers on the streets that the curfew had come into effect and it was time to go inside. Just as Vi was about to use her Lightspinning to make herself invisible, a guard started her way and she cursed her luck. She couldn’t blink out of existence now.

  “You, it’s time to go inside,” the man commanded gruffly. Vi was focused on the red strip of fabric that circled his bicep. The symbol of the Knights of Jadar instantly unnerved her. But at this point in history, the group had yet to splinter and turn on her family. “Did you hear me? Go inside.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Get inside,” the man repeated, pointing to the door.

  “This isn’t my home.”

  “Then go back to your home.”

  A bitter, raspy laugh escaped her lips. “If only. I don’t have a home.”

  “Please, I don’t want any trouble.” The man sighed and glanced over at his fellow soldiers. They had already moved on. “If you truly don’t have a home, there are shelters not far from the castle. I don’t care where you end up. But I can’t leave you out here. Anyone who’s not a soldier or a Knight must be indoors, royal orders.”