by Jordi Burton
Wordlessly, she approached. Just like Ourla, the fingertips were blackened, and there were wounds on the ankles, where the body had hung upside down. Lowering the sheet, she gasped as she recognized the young woman underneath. It was the elemental woman from the Center Realm, the one who had tended to the warriors.
Nalin furrowed his brow. “Did you know her?”
“She was a healer of sorts.” Turning away from the young woman, she faced Nalin. “My name was pinned to her.”
“It was.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You knew the other girl that died, yes?”
“In a way.”
Nalin shrugged. “Perhaps this is a message for you? Perhaps someone is trying to say something.”
Anastasia considered his words. It had to be a message of some kind. Why else would her name be on these women? And what did it mean? There was no connection between them. As far as she knew, Ourla and this elemental woman had never met. What was the reason they were killed? Why them? And why burn the fingers? Why hang them upside down? Again, she felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as though she’d experienced the sensation before.
“If they are, I don’t understand what it is.”
Nalin moved closer to the young woman. “My physicians found a strange marking on her back. It looks like a puncture wound.”
“Was it before she died, maybe some kind of sedative?”
“We aren’t sure. But after speaking with Eala, it seems the mermaid woman had a similar mark.”
Gods and Angels, what did it all mean? Three wounds, in the same places on both bodies. She knew she was missing something, an important piece of information, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Sincerely, she hoped she figured it out before there was another body.
“Thank you for telling me of this,” she finally said.
Nalin inclined his head. “Of course.”
They moved from the room together, silent. When they reached the foyer, Nalin turned to her and took her hand. “Be careful, Anastasia. The Shadows may be indisposed, but that does not mean your enemies are gone.”
“Would that they were.”
CHAPTER SIX
D ani loosed a bolt from her crossbow as she swung around the Shadow statue she’d marked. The last hooded figure dropped with a satisfying thud, and Mira wriggled out from underneath the body. Holding out her hand, Dani helped the sorcerer to her feet. Hooking her crossbow behind her back, she pushed back the hood on the attacker. It was a young man, perhaps a year younger than she. He was Nadmilise, with the red hair and fair skin of the riverlands.
Hayde sheathed his battle axe, his eyes wide. “Why did they attack us?”
“Soster,” Dani grunted, dragging the body to the others.
“What?”
Mira dusted her hands on her skirt. “Soster. They’re a faction of Nadmilise that have sworn to protect the Shadows.”
Hayde’s expression darkened. “Why would anyone do that?”
“You know the stories of the Shadows, how they used to live in the Gardens of Luas, the Nadmilise afterlife?” Hayde nodded. Mira continued, “Shadows and Nadmilise are both sides of the same coin, so to speak.”
Dani stood. “Sometimes something happens to their brains when they’ve been possessed by Shadows. It’s like they’re indebted to the Shadows, connected to them somehow.”
Hayde looked like he was about to vomit. Dani understood. She could never imagine feeling such a strong connection to the monsters. It must’ve been worse for Hayde, however, as he’d once been possessed by the Shadows. He made a reflexive movement, rubbing the scars on the back of his neck. She looked away, piling the bodies together. In a way, death was better for these people. It was unnatural to live in servitude of such beasts.
“Someone would’ve heard the shouts,” Dani said. “We need to get out of here.”
Mira stripped the bodies of their cloaks, tucking the fabric away for later use. Hayde stood by and watched, obviously unnerved by the whole thing. Unfortunately, Dani knew he would get used to it; the Soster were a surprisingly large group.
Checking to see the way was clear, Dani led them away from the carnage. They tagged their last Shadow statue, avoiding the guards that marched through the narrow streets. Turning back, they snuck through the city, heading to their tent among the sand dunes. It wasn’t until they were far enough away that the city looked like a speck that Hayde spoke again.
“How can the realms ever return to normal?” he wondered aloud.
Mira shrugged. “They have to. They’ve done it before.”
“What happens when the Shadows unfreeze?”
“We kill them all.”
To Dani, the solution was clear. They kill the Shadows, and the man in charge of them, and the Chaos would dissipate. Things could return to normal. She just hoped it wasn’t a wishful resolution.
Hayde objected, “But that’s genocide.”
“You really want the monsters to live?” Mira demanded.
“You said so yourself that the Shadows once lived in the Gardens of Luas, there was once peace between our peoples. Why couldn’t the solution be something like that, instead of murdering thousands on both sides.”
“Because the Shadows aren’t the guardians of the afterlife anymore. They’ve changed too much, and so have we.”
They reached their tent and the conversation ended. Dani pondered Hayde’s words. Inasmuch as she’d heard talk of what to do with the Shadows, she’d never heard of a peaceful solution. The problem was, the Shadows had broken free from Luas, refusing to play their part in the ferrying of the dead any longer. She doubted they would so quickly return to their previous post. While a peaceful solution would be nice, it was unrealistic.
She left Mira and Hayde to their discussion, rolling up in her bedroll. Just before she drifted off to sleep, however, a flash of smoke brought a letter from Anastasia.
Her chest tightened as she read the words over and over. William had escaped prison and was a fugitive of Jacqueline. It didn’t seem possible. Her brother was the last person to break out of jail, but even less likely to live life on the run. And from what she assumed about him and Anastasia, he wouldn’t leave her behind.
“Any news?” Mira asked.
Dani tucked the letter under her pillow. “Just my father.”
She hated lying to Mira, but she couldn’t say anything about her brother. It was hard enough knowing he’d been convicted of conspiracy to commit treason. Besides, if it had been important, she would’ve said.
That night, she dreamed of Shadow sentries. It was still early morning when she woke, startled by the sound of boots outside their tent. She had a split second to wonder before guards burst inside.
Mira screamed, magic exploding from her fingers. Hayde grunted, rolling to his feet as a guard lunged at him. Dani reached for her crossbow but was halted by irons closing around her wrists. She stumbled forward, her face hitting the ground, hard. When the guards hauled her to her feet, she saw Mira and Hayde had been caught as well.
“What is this?” Hayde demanded. “What’s going on?”
The guards said nothing as they dragged them from the tent. They were dressed, head to toe, in roughspun clothes, their faces covered with cowls.
They were unceremoniously tossed onto the back of a wagon, five guards holding them down with swords. Another two guards sat up front, snapping the reigns on a set of humped, capras-like beasts Dani had never seen before. They lumbered slowly, their droopy mouths dripping strings of drool.
“Who are you?” Mira demanded. The sorcerer was trembling, though from rage or fear, Dani didn’t know.
Dani looked at Hayde. He followed her gaze, understanding instinctively what she wanted to do. Nodding once, he rolled over, giving Dani enough room to kick one of the guards square in the chest. The guard doubled over, and Hayde headbutted him. The guard crumpled, and Mira scooted out of the way as he fell. The other guards tightened th
eir grips, pressing their blades hard enough against them that they drew blood.
In the scuffle, one of the guards had lost his cowl. Dani gasped as she recognized him. She hadn’t seen him since before the Shadows’ attack, but she’d recognize his dark hair and flinty eyes anywhere.
“Durse Follant.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he week leading up to the summer solstice was filled with feasts and bonfires. Anastasia didn’t think she’d ever seen so much food in her life. Every night, just as the sun went down, all the people of Sehir followed a torch-lit pathway out into the west fields where massive banquet tables surrounded the largest fire Anastasia had ever seen. People fed the fire with logs larger than Anastasia was tall and ate until their stomachs were distended.
It all led up to the actual summer solstice at sunrise, where all the residents of the royal city would gather for a party that was to last until the following sunrise. There were games and rituals, jewelry and food, but the only thing Anastasia could focus on was getting her tattoo.
Dressed in a traditional gown, she followed Lili to the throne room. Her family—minus her mother—gathered on either side of the dais, bathed in the late afternoon light. Valdon stood on the middle step of the dais, wearing his drape-like sorcerer’s clothing. His eyes followed her as she entered; she shivered with anticipation.
“Are you ready, my heart?” her father asked.
Graham chuckled. “I daresay she’s waited long enough, brother.”
Anastasia smiled, nerves fluttering in her stomach. She understood the gist of the ceremony, having learned about it from her mother as a child. Thinking of her mother sent a pang of sorrow through her. Her mother had been present for all other important days in her life; it didn’t feel right that she wasn’t here to see her get her tattoos. But she couldn’t wait any longer.
Stepping up to Valdon, she knelt before the dais. He placed his hand over her arm, where her tattoo would soon sit. His fingers were cold, despite the warmth in the room.
“Do you, Crown Princess Anastasia Jacqueline Piliar Moneth, swear to uphold the dignity and reverence of your position, granted upon you by the Gods and Angels?”
Every inch of Anastasia vibrated with excitement. “I do so swear.”
Valdon’s hands crackled with magic. Anastasia felt it race across her skin, burrowing deep into the muscles in her arm. Her body thrummed with the energy of it, and warmth flooded through her. She closed her eyes against the strong sensation. Her mind seemed to separate from her body, soaring high above everything in her realm. When she opened her eyes again, she stood in the middle of an oak tree. Six empty thrones, carved from the trunk of the tree, sat off to the right, beside a round, glassless window.
On the other side of the window, she spotted pale green grasses and small, pastel flowers. But the light filtering through was too bright, making it painful to look at.
She turned away, glancing around the tree. Behind her, she found a table lined with a number of objects. Instinctively, she knew she needed to choose one of them. Vaguely, she wondered if all tattoo ceremonies were like this. Did every ten-year-old Nadmilise face the same choices? Or were they different for each one?
Her hand hovered over the table. There was a scallop, a crystalline star, a gold lamp, a brass key, and a small hourglass filled with white sand. She had no idea what they all meant. What was the point of taking the objects? What did they mean? Could she take more than one? Glancing around again, she determined she was alone in her decision. This was her trial, her choice to make. There was no one offering guidance or advice, only herself.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the objects in her mind. Her hand seemed to move of its own volition, guiding her to the star. Wind surged as she touched the crystal.
She shielded her eyes against the gale. When she opened them, she found herself looking up into her father’s face, once again back in the throne room. She blinked to clear her vision, finding that she no longer held the star.
Her aunt Celia drew an astonished breath. “Elliot, look!”
She followed her aunt’s gaze, looking down at her right arm. A three-finger wide violet tattoo wrapped around her bicep, naming her the heir to the Jacquelinian throne. But that wasn’t what shocked her aunt. Beneath it sat a thin black band. She stared, speechless, as her father, uncle, and great-uncle fluttered around her.
“What does this mean?” Celia demanded. “Did something go wrong?”
Elliot shook his head. “I—I don’t know.”
Anastasia wordlessly turned to Valdon. It had to be because of her age, didn’t it? No Nadmilise royal, as far as she knew, had ever gotten two tattoos. No Nadmilise had ever gotten two tattoos.
Valdon started to laugh. “Of course it wouldn’t go right.”
Looking down at her tattoos, Anastasia cracked a smile. Since when had anything ever gone the way they’d expected? They should’ve known something would go wrong; that’s just what happened to their family. Her father and great-uncle joined in laughing, shaking their heads. Within moments, only Celia stood, stony-faced, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m glad you think your daughter’s malformation is something to laugh at, Elliot,” she said shrewdly.
Calla wiped her eyes. “Come, Celia. What’s done is done.”
“My niece has an abnormality! What’s done is not done!”
They all turned to look at her arm again. Anastasia followed their gazes, lightly running her finger over her tattoos. The skin felt slightly raised, but smooth to the touch. It hardly seemed real.
Elliot turned to Valdon. “But what does it mean?”
“To hazard a guess, the Gods and Angels deigned to show us that Anastasia is both royal and warrior.”
Royal and warrior. Anastasia grinned. That definitely suited her. Silently, she sent up a thank you to the Gods and Angels. She was the direct descendant of the warrior angel, after all. Looking over at her aunt’s disgruntled expression, she nearly started laughing again.
“Well,” Celia said, ruffled. “What are we going to tell people?”
Bale chortled. “I don’t think we need to tell them anything. The Gods and Angels made their decision clear.”
Anastasia’s neck grew warm. But instead of the warmth from flushing, it felt like someone was pressing a candle close to her skin. She grew uncomfortably warm, and then painfully so. Crying out, she dropped to her knees as the pain spiked. Tingles and electric shocks shot through her neck. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. Then, all at once, her body seized. She shook with tremors, seizures wracking her body. Everything faded around her, as she lost herself in the quaking.
What felt like seconds later, she came-to. Her father hovered at her bedside, holding her hand. When she opened her eyes, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“She’s awake!” he called.
The door opened and Mistress Miglune strode inside. “How are you feeling?”
“What happened?” Anastasia croaked.
“You had a seizure.”
Confused, Anastasia looked at her father. But he seemed as in the dark as she was. How could she have had a seizure? She hadn’t seen anything, so it wasn’t a symptom of her premonitions. And she’d learned to control her visions during her time in the alternate universe with her grandmother. No, this had been something else entirely.
Mistress Miglune frowned. “It seems Anastasia has developed epilepsy.”
Anastasia and her father simultaneously exclaimed, “What?”
“Have you experienced any kind of trauma to your head, Your Highness?” Mistress Miglune questioned. “Any brain injury?”
Anastasia shook her head. “No! Not at all.”
“I’m afraid my healing abilities have had no effect on your condition.”
Her father stepped forward. “What are you saying?”
Mistress Miglune sternly met his gaze. “I am saying that the Crown Princess should think of finding a successor to the throne.”
> Everything else faded away as dread seeped through Anastasia. How could this have happened? She was fine! She was better than fine! She’d had no issues before, no signs of any sickness. They couldn’t really force her from the throne, could they?
“Tell no one of this,” her father instructed. “We shall see what we can do.”
Mistress Miglune frowned. “You know I don’t want this, but if Anastasia cannot get better, she will be ineligible for the throne.”
“We understand.”
With a last pitying look at Anastasia, Mistress Miglune left. Anastasia sat with her father in silence, unable to wrap her mind around it all. She had epilepsy. And healers couldn’t help her. Gods and Angels, what were they going to do? How were they going to take care of this? Could they take care of this? From the worried look on her father’s face, it was clear he didn’t have much hope.
“If anyone finds out about this, they can remove me as the heir to the throne,” she said softly.
“I know.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “What do we do?”
Her father looked at her then, gripping her hand. “I will consult with any and all healers I can find. Until then, we go on as though nothing is wrong. We tell no one about this.”
Anastasia mutely nodded. This was a secret she didn’t mind keeping to herself. For the first time, she wished William was there next to her, holding her hand. She imagined the way he’d look at her. Not like she was going to break, but like he knew she would get through this.
This time, she didn’t know if she would.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he early morning of the summer solstice came with Anastasia’s recovery. She sat in her room, wrapping twine around the amulet she’d made out of agate. It’s healing properties would certainly come in handy after what had happened during her tattoo ceremony, once the amulet was strengthened by the ceremonial balefire.
Incense of sage, mint, and lavender filled the room, alongside bowls of potpourri and vases of summer runas flowers—as were the traditions for the solstice. Sitting in her bed, methodically wrapping twine, she reminisced on the solstice. It had always been one of her favorite holidays. Everything was bright and floral and sweet-smelling, celebrating the fire of life. But this year, she was wholeheartedly not in the mood.