by Lori M. Lee
TEN
Slipping from the Temple of Light unnoticed is a simple matter. Only two guards watch the gates. Further precautions aren’t needed within the shaman capital.
Once Saengo and I clear the courtyard and the outer wall, we meet Theyen beneath the shelter of nearby bamboo trees. Wordlessly, he extends a hand. I take it, and he guides me first through his shadow gate.
The moonlight and the singing of the cicadas fade to nothing. Silence encloses us, oppressive in the utter darkness. I clutch Theyen’s arm, an anchor in the void. Although it only lasts moments, it feels like longer before the darkness recedes and my feet find solid ground again.
We emerge into a small room lit by candlelight. After the sightless, soundless horror of the gate, I suck in lungfuls of air to calm my racing heart. It takes me a moment to uncurl my fingers from around his arm.
“How are you able to stomach that every time?” I ask hoarsely.
“I grew up with the shadows,” he says, watching me with disdain. “I know them as I know myself. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he disappears again into the shadow gate to retrieve Saengo. I shake out my hands, annoyed by how my fingers have gone cold, and warm them above the candle flame. The room is sparse, with only a short table pushed up against the wall beneath a shuttered window.
I adjust my cloak to conceal the dual swords belted at my hips and then crack open the shutters to find a familiar cityscape of wooden buildings propped on stilts above the river’s surface. Bridges and walkways twine and intersect, and boats crowd the waterways. The governor’s house is visible in the distance, raised on a hill overlooking the city.
Behind me, the shadow gate opens again. Theyen steps out, pulling a pale-faced Saengo with him. She gasps for air as if she’s been holding her breath, and her knees buckle. I hurry to her side and cup her face.
“You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was awful.” Her fingers squeeze my wrists.
“And I thought you were the dramatic one,” Theyen says. Since he’s helping us, I don’t glare.
“Where are we? Is this an inn?” I ask, helping Saengo to her feet. Beside the candle on the table, there’s a pitcher of water and a beaten metal cup. I fill the cup and hand it to Saengo.
“Kazahyn Trade Embassy. Most shadowblessed looking to trade stay here.”
“I’m surprised the Nuvali even allow Kazan into the city,” I say. Saengo sips the water, color slowly returning to her face. I inspect the lines of infection below Saengo’s collar. I’ve already treated it today, but there’s no telling how the infection interacts with shadowblessed magic or walking through gates.
Theyen stands by the door, head tilted as he listens for movement. Tonight, he opted for a simple black tunic and sash, although he still wears a plain silver circlet. When he seems satisfied we’re alone, he says, “Our kingdoms aren’t technically at war, despite the border conflicts. Even the Empire isn’t dense enough to stop trading with Kazan clans.”
The mountains of Kazahyn are home to plants and precious metals found nowhere else on the continent. And the gems mined by the Kazan are exported all over the world, including to both Evewyn and the Empire.
“Will you come with us to meet Prince Meilek? He would make a valuable—”
“I’ve already spoken with him,” Theyen says, catching me off guard. “After I left the palace last night, I came here to verify his presence.”
“And you what? Told him you’re a Kazan hlau? And he simply … believed you?” I can only imagine how Prince Meilek and his Blades must’ve received the arrival of a random shadowblessed claiming to be a prince.
Theyen’s lips quirk in amusement. “He knew who I was based on your description of me.”
I don’t recall telling Prince Meilek anything about what Theyen looks like. Instead, I said Theyen is a peacock, albeit a trustworthy one when he isn’t being completely unbearable.
“Is that so?” I say, sharing a smile with Saengo. “And did you come to an agreement?”
“We did. Speaking of agreements, the Emperor approved sending a regiment of Nuvali soldiers to Kazahyn as a gesture of goodwill and trust between our peoples.” He snorts, making it clear what he thinks of the Empire and their “trust.” “You should go now while it’s quiet. Even if Luam allows the Kazan to trade here, a shadowblessed in the company of a shaman and a human would still draw attention.”
“We’ll be back soon.”
Saengo and I slip out, blending into the late evening crowds. We keep to the shadows and pull our hoods low over our faces. Finding the Dancing Drake is a simple matter of using the governor’s mansion as a fixed point and tracing our steps from there.
Inside the inn, patrons mill about, deep into their drinks. The barkeep yawns as he wipes up a spill. It’s quieter than the last time we were here. We weave around the tables and climb the stairs. As I step onto the landing, a door on our right cracks open.
Kou’s face appears before pushing the door wider and gesturing for us to enter. The room is nearly identical to the previous one. Prince Meilek paces before a window, the curtains drawn, pausing only long enough to greet us before his feet are moving again. He must feel confined, so far away from Evewyn and the ability to do anything about the impending war.
“I heard you met Theyen,” I say. “Did that go well?”
“It did. I like him.”
My eyes narrow. “Really?”
Saengo’s brows pinch as she finds a seat at the table beneath the window. “Really?”
Prince Meilek laughs, easing some of the tension in his frame. “He cares about his people, which is a fine quality in any person.” He flashes a crooked smile and adds, “I have better hair though.”
I almost laugh, but Saengo does, and the sound is a balm to my worries.
“Thank you for coming,” Prince Meilek continues, the mirth fading from his face. “I have important information that I couldn’t trust to a falcon, not even Millie.”
Kou gestures for me to sit, but I shake my head and remain standing. Prince Meilek’s restlessness is infectious. On the road, Prince Meilek and I sometimes spent evenings sparring, partly to stay busy but mostly to keep our reflexes sharp. Although it hasn’t been long, my body is in want of exercise.
“My sister’s new captain of the Queen’s Guard remains loyal to me. I received word of Evewyn’s naval fleet in the south just before your message arrived. She also mentioned that my sister sent a falcon to Spinner’s End upon returning from her defeat in the north.”
“Probably to find out why Ronin abandoned her in the attack.”
“Yes. All communication with Spinner’s End stopped after news of his death surfaced. Except my sister’s falcon received a response. She’s since continued contact with someone there.”
I lean against the door, arms crossed. “So it’s true that she’s allied with him.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “It’s possible, but we don’t have proof. Why would the Soulless even need an ally?”
I recall my dream and the Soulless’s slow, unsteady movements. “He may be powerful, but he’s also been poisoned and trapped in a cocoon for the better part of six centuries. He hasn’t regained his full strength. I’m not sure what will happen when he does. Until then, he needs your sister to act in his stead and report what’s happening around Thiy. I just don’t understand why she would risk making a deal with him. He’s too powerful to trust as an ally.”
“My sister would want a guarantee of his loyalty, especially when she’s gambling his strength against both the Nuvalyn Empire and Kazahyn.”
I frown. “But there’s nothing—”
The window shatters. Flames and glass explode around us. Pain shears my cheek as I lunge for Saengo, dragging her to the ground. Her eyes are frantic as she paws at her cloak, which is on fire. I tear it off her shoulders and toss it aside.
The scent of grease and acrid smoke fills the room. Whatever smashed through the windo
w was soaked in oil and set aflame.
Kou rises from where he’d thrown himself over Prince Meilek and wrenches open the door. Heat and smoke pour into the hallway. I pull Saengo to her feet, and she stumbles along beside me as we escape the raging flames. Others have emerged from their rooms, shouting in alarm and waving through the smoke to see what’s happened.
More of Prince Meilek’s soldiers crowd around him, guiding him down the stairs. Saengo and I follow closely. My heartbeat drums through my ears, blood rushing hot and furious in my veins.
Chaos unfolds as patrons escape the inn. The fire is spreading, the smoke growing thicker. Another Blade takes Saengo’s other hand, directing us outside. I look around at the panicked faces, at the spot of blood trailing down Saengo’s jaw from a shard of glass, and then at Prince Meilek, whose sleeve is torn and blackened, his skin beneath angry and red.
“Stay with her,” I tell the Blade. He gives me a confused look, but then his lips tighten in understanding, and he nods grimly.
“Better hurry,” he says.
Saengo begins to protest, but I don’t give her the chance.
I dash into the night and leap onto the nearest ledge, pulling myself up onto the roof of the burning inn. The moonlight offers little illumination, and thick black smoke distorts my vision. It’s begun to drizzle, which doesn’t help. I hold my breath and dart over the roof tiles.
With a leap, I cross onto the next building over, rolling to absorb the impact before I’m back on my feet. My gaze sweeps the rooftops. We were in a room on the second floor, and the buildings are too closely packed. The way the glass exploded meant whoever was responsible had thrown the object from a higher vantage point.
Movement in the shadows catches my eye—a figure darting behind a chimney. Anger burns in my lungs as my craft blazes to life. I move on instinct, my body flying over the ridge of a roof as I give chase.
The light rain thickens into sheets of water, slicking the tiles beneath my feet. I grit my teeth and hold my balance as my boots try to slip out from beneath me. The figure ahead is fast and slim, but as they leap between buildings, the light from a lantern below flashes over a shock of white hair beneath a dark hood.
I draw one sword. The figure flips onto the ledge of a taller building, and I fling the weapon. The blade slams into the wood above their fingers. The figure jerks back, falling, only to land easily on their feet. But by then, I’m there, my fist meeting a startled face.
Their hood falls back, revealing a woman with short white hair and light-gray skin. She snarls, shaking off the punch. She draws a knife from her belt. I dodge the swipe of her blade before landing a kick to her side. She doubles over and then lunges for my legs. We both go down, rolling over the tiles, and nearly slide off the edge. But I catch myself in time, gasping as pain digs into my ribs.
I reach down and find a small shard of glass embedded in my skin. Gritting my teeth, I yank it loose. Rain slides down my forehead, gathering in my lashes. The shadowblessed woman struggles for balance a few feet away. With a flash of silver, she dives for me. Her knife burns a line down my arm, but I twist in time to avoid being stabbed. The smell of blood mixes with the scent of fresh rain.
With a curse, I strike my elbow to her temple. She topples to the side, rolling against the edge of the roof. Her eyes go wide as the momentum carries her over. I grab her wrist.
Every muscle in my arm and shoulder screams as she nearly pulls me off the roof with her. But my boots find purchase, and my body jerks to a stop against the ledge. The shadowblessed woman dangles from the ledge, my grip on her wrist the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the frothing river below. Her knife is lost to the dark and the rain.
“Who sent you?” I shout over the roar of the rainwater pelting into the river’s surface.
“Let me go!” she shouts, trying to yank herself free.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I say through my teeth. Magic surges beneath my skin, reaching for her soul. I could force her to talk—grip her soul and make her spill all her secrets.
I shove away the temptation. No one can know what I am.
Instead, I reach down with my other hand to pull her back up. With a cry, she swings her legs and kicks her feet against the side of the building. I grapple for purchase as I begin to slide.
Then, hands grab my waist. My head snaps back to see Saengo crouched beside me, drenched in rain, her teeth bared from the effort of dragging me back onto the roof. Once I’m secure, she drops onto her stomach and reaches down to help me grab the woman who’s still twisting and kicking.
Together, we manage to heave the struggling woman back onto the roof. The moment her legs are beneath her, she grabs for the other sword at my waist. Thoroughly spent, I smash my knuckles into her cheek. She flops back over the tiles, groaning. I punch her again for good measure, and she goes limp.
Prince Meilek and his two Blades await us on the walkway below. His arm is hastily bandaged. The Blade I left with Saengo heaves the shadowblessed woman’s body over his shoulder, and I collapse against a damp wall, my muscles aching.
“Are you okay?” Saengo asks, searching me for injuries. I hiss when her hands pass over the cut on my arm. She scowls.
“I’ll be fine.” I bat her away. “Prince Meilek. We can’t let the Nuvali have her.”
With the downpour, the river has cleared of boats, and the walkways are quiet. Several streets away, the glow of the burning inn is a soft haze through the rain. Prince Meilek watches it with his jaw clenched, a quiet rage building behind his eyes.
“This could delay the Nuvali from sending their soldiers to Kazahyn,” he says, understanding my meaning.
If the Nuvali suspect the shadowblessed woman was sent by Theyen’s allies, this could not only ruin their fragile agreement to send aid south but also threaten their whole alliance. I won’t let that happen.
“Then what do we do with her?” Saengo asks. Her short hair is plastered to her skull.
“We give her to Theyen. He can take her back to the Fireborn Queens for questioning,” I say.
Prince Meilek says, “She knew which room we were in. I’ve been rotating rooms every night since we arrived. If she was meant for me, then she’s been watching us closely without our notice.”
“And if she was meant for me, then she’s been waiting for us to return to the city.” I scowl. How could I have failed to notice someone tailing us through Luam’s bridges and walkways? Kendara would be disgusted. Then, I remind myself that it doesn’t matter what Kendara would think anymore.
He nods and addresses Kou. “We can’t stay any longer. We’ve put everyone at risk by lingering. We return to Evewyn as soon as we’ve gathered our things.”
Kou bows his head. “Yes, my prince. I’ll make the arrangements.” He strides off through the rain, vanishing into the night.
Conscious of how exposed we are, the rest of us rush over a bridge and into the shadows beneath an awning. It’s meager shelter, but there’s no helping it.
“What are you going to do?” I ask Prince Meilek.
Some of that rage lingers in his eyes in the fierce way he scans the night. “Everything I’ve ever been, everything I’ve ever trained for, was to serve my sister and my people. Now the two are at odds, and I haven’t yet reconciled what to do about it. Either way, it’s time to leave Luam.” His eyes settle on me. “What will you do?”
I look at the woman, remembering the shadowblessed assassin at Spinner’s End who’d chosen death in the Dead Wood over capture. This has to end.
“If Queen Meilyr is in the south, then that’s where I’ll go. I need to know if she’s helping the Soulless, and, if so, why she would risk it. You said she’d want a guarantee of trust. If one exists, then I have to find out what that is.” And, if possible, use it for my own gain.
“Don’t kill her,” Prince Meilek says. He reaches out, his fingers closing around my wrist. “Promise me.”
My lips compress, anger surging. I want to tear my arm
free and tell him that she deserves to die after everything she’s done.
“She will face judgment for her crimes against Evewyn,” he says. “But it must be done justly. I cannot take the throne of Evewyn with her blood on my hands. I will not.”
I close my eyes. Rainwater spills from my lashes. Prince Meilek is my future king, and I must honor his request. With reluctance, I nod.
ELEVEN
In my dream, I’m standing in the garden maze outside the greenhouse.
Overhead, wispy threads of clouds stretch across a gray sky, a spiderweb encasing the earth. Just as I remember, the dirt underfoot is cracked and dry. Weeds wriggle from empty flower beds, and the skeleton veins of ivy clamber over stone walls.
Where the path that led to the greenhouse had been, the Soulless reclines on a gnarled wooden throne carved into the massive trunk of a withered tree. Rot mottles the pitted gray bark. Branches extend in all directions, twisted into the unsettling cast of dismembered arms. Featureless faces strain and stretch the bark like insects working to break from their cocoons.
Within the trees at either side of the Soulless, fractured fingers thrust outward, grasping at the dusky fabric of his sleeves, digging for the flesh beneath. Above his head, the torso of a screaming man arches against his wooden bonds, spine twisting into impossible angles.
I look away. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Is it not enough that I wish to know more about you? We’re two of a kind, you and I.” His voice is no longer a quiet rasp. It has depth and resonance. A slowly awakening strength.
But he doesn’t move from his place on the throne. He sags into the wood as if the souls are trying to absorb him into the tree with them.
“I’m not like you,” I say.
“Aren’t you? Would you not do anything to protect the ones you call family?”