by Lori M. Lee
Then, from the city comes a low rumble. The air begins to stir. Every person onboard the ship turns as one toward Tamsimno.
From the hills beyond the town, dozens of the dark figures shoot into the sky. My mouth falls open. Chills race down my arms despite the warmth.
The figures are massive, even from a distance, with broad leathery wings and long, whiplash tails tipped in dark feathers. And perched on the backs of each is a shadowblessed rider. Awestruck, I’m unable to do much else than watch as the army of wyverns sweep through the clouds with stunning swiftness.
Within moments, they descend on the ships, circling and whipping the air with their mighty wings. They must be thrice the size of a drake, their wingspans enough to cast most of the main deck in shadow. I look to Theyen, who has not moved, and then to Queen Meilyr.
Her nostrils flare, but she keeps her composure. Her soldiers, though, turn in circles and rush to the railing to get a better view of those farther off. Some of them cower, peering fearfully at the sky as if afraid they’ll be plucked from the deck by the wyverns’ massive claws.
Every soldier in the Royal Navy would’ve gone through the Queen’s Company. They would have worn the honor of a braid dressed in feathers to symbolize a wyvern’s tail. Their faces reflect my own fear and reverence. Theyen was smart to exploit that knowledge.
“You may have your ships, but we have the sky,” Theyen says. During the Yalaeng Conquest, the shadowblessed held off the Empire for over a decade. Even with all the crafts available to the shamans, they couldn’t defeat the Kazan clans. With this show of strength, it’s clear how formidable an enemy they would make. “We will warn you only once more. Turn your ships around and leave Kazahyn.”
The queen does not speak. Her soldiers have scattered.
No one is looking at us. Or the queen.
Slowly, I make my way across the deck, trailing Juleyne, who has drifted from Lady Ziha’s side to observe the sky.
A wyvern circles above every ship. Unlike the slick scales of a drake, the wyverns’ scales are a matte black, allowing them to disappear into the crevices of their mountain aeries. Something falls from a wyvern onto the deck of the nearest ship. Turning, I see all of the wyvern riders dropping something onto each ship—a scroll of paper.
“What’s happening?” Admiral Yang demands. She’s noticed the same thing.
Theyen doesn’t reply, but he pulls a similarly sealed slip of paper from his pocket. I edge closer to where the queen stands, but with her soldiers scattered across the deck, I don’t have a clear path. Fortunately, Theyen commands the queen’s attention as he hands the scroll to Admiral Yang.
“What is this?” She breaks the seal and unfurls it. Her eyes scan the brief message, widening in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”
She passes the message to Queen Meilyr, and I glimpse only a familiar signature and the stamped seal of House Sancor.
Theyen doesn’t dignify the question with an answer. Instead, he addresses the soldiers on board the ship. “Anyone who wishes to pledge their service to Prince Meilek of Evewyn will be awarded for their loyalty. He vows to serve Evewyn’s people by ending this conflict and restoring peace.”
FOURTEEN
So, this is the arrangement Prince Meilek and Theyen had come to in Luam. Despite myself, I’m impressed by the level of planning that must’ve gone into this.
At Theyen’s announcement, a murmur spreads among the soldiers. They look to each other in surprise, distrust, confusion—and hope. I’m not ready to believe it might mean anything, though. Fear of the queen’s reprisal will prevent anyone from acting on the prince’s offer. But, if nothing else, it might further divide and weaken the queen’s ranks. Every ship in the queen’s fleet will have received the same message, signed by Prince Meilek himself.
Abruptly, Queen Meilyr laughs, a sweet tinkling sound, and says, “My brother is a traitor, and any who align with him will meet a traitor’s fate.”
Her eyes settle on me. I freeze, mere paces away. The power within the talisman begins to burn away the awe of the wyverns, demanding my attention.
“You should have accepted my offer,” she says, her smile brittle.
Juleyne turns, suddenly noticing my presence beside her. Instead of sneering at me, she puts a hand to Phaut’s sword and faces the soldiers that close in around us.
“Admiral Yang,” the queen says.
The admiral shouts a command. Every soldier on the main deck draws their sword.
My pulse jumps as I draw my swords. Warily, Juleyne does the same, positioning herself so that we’re back to back. Overhead, three wyverns hover above the ship, the steady beating of their wings vibrating across the deck.
“Would you wager the speed of your wyverns against the speed of a sword?” the queen asks Theyen. “Who will fall first? Should we test it?”
Fury claws through me. The only life she values on this ship is her own.
I slowly shift my weight, my left foot sliding backward as I lower my swords. “The queen,” I murmur to Juleyne.
With Juleyne covering my back, I can reach Queen Meilyr in two strides. If we can take her hostage, her soldiers will back down. I might be standing with the Nuvali and the Kazan, but that doesn’t mean I want to see my countrymen cut down.
Just as I’m about to lunge, Juleyne cuts in front of me, her blade thrusting into my path.
I jerk back, bringing up my swords to block. Juleyne’s expression is of tightly wound fury. She twists her sword, forcing me to block again and back up a step.
“What are you doing?” I demand. I lower my weapons as she points her own—Phaut’s sword—at my chest.
“You’re going to get everyone killed,” Juleyne spits. Her voice is hoarse with unabated grief. “But I’m not my sister. I’m not going to die for you.”
Behind me, the queen’s soldiers take advantage and close in. The tip of a blade presses at my lower back, and I go still. Whatever small advantage we might’ve had together is gone.
“Juleyne,” Lady Ziha all but growls, her fists shaking at her sides.
“At least one of you is capable of making a smart choice,” Queen Meilyr says, sounding bored. “Seeing as diplomacy is no longer an option, here are my terms, Hlau Theyen. I will take your soulguide, and you will allow my ships to pass. Once we’re through, you can have her back.”
“No,” I say, as a soldier wrenches Juleyne’s sword from her hand, tossing it onto the deck. Two more grab my arms as someone slams a boot into the back of my knee. My legs fold, and I grimace as my knees strike the deck. Pain shoots through me. Hands come down on my shoulders, their grips bruising as they hold me in place. Someone kicks the swords from my hands, splitting the skin over my knuckles.
Queen Meilyr closes the distance between us, and I find myself looking directly at the talisman dangling from her waist. Spindly bones clutch the lump of black rock enclosing the soul. Its presence drowns out everything around me, and my craft spills forward.
Magic rushes from me, engulfing the talisman and seizing at … nothing.
Confused, I try again, grasping for the soul trapped within. It’s like the wind clutching at a mountain. Every one of my senses feels the weight of that ancient soul, and yet my magic does little more than thrash against its cage. A cold, sick feeling spills through my gut.
I can’t destroy it.
No, I tell myself. The fingers gripping my shoulders dig into my skin. I can’t destroy it yet. If I can get it from Queen Meilyr, then I can figure out a way. My craft probes at the barrier of the talisman, searching for a way inside.
The queen, oblivious to my intentions, says, “Admiral, send the Kazan and Nuvali back to shore and take this traitor below deck.”
I twist my head back to try and see Theyen, but they’re outnumbered unless he signals for the wyvern riders to attack. I understand his hesitation. A battle means casualties. Not all of his riders will survive. But why doesn’t he use his shadow magic? Swarming the deck with shadows mi
ght protect them long enough to reach the boats and buy me time to snatch the talisman.
As the soldiers haul me to my feet, I try to rein in my craft. My control falters and slips. There’s too much to track—the low growl of the wyverns, eager to swoop down over our heads, the weapons all pointed in my direction, soldiers shoving Juleyne as she reaches desperately for Phaut’s sword lying on the deck.
Annoyed, a soldier rams his knee into Juleyne’s gut. She gasps, her face crumpling in pain as she doubles over. The soldier lifts the butt of his sword over the back of her head, and, for the span of a breath, all I can see is Jonyah driving his blade through Phaut’s chest.
With a roar, I turn and smash my forehead into my nearest captor and tear free of the other one. Shouts ring out as I dive for the soldier, ramming into his legs, sending us both sprawling. His sword clatters to the deck. Just as I reach for it, I freeze.
Cupped in my palm is a single glowing orb. I stare at it, ice spilling down my spine.
The soldier I’d knocked over scrambles away. A hush falls over the ship. I turn, spying the body of a woman lying prone on the deck. Dead.
Horror rises in my throat, sharp and cloying. The woman’s soul pulses warm against my fingers, a strange counterpoint to the undercurrent of terror swelling around me. Soldiers back away hastily, colliding with their companions. I look down at my hand, sick with disgust and guilt and regret, and then close my fist around the orb. It vanishes in a wisp of glowing white.
There’s a collective silence. I look up, finding Theyen first. He watches me grimly, anger simmering behind his eyes. Lady Ziha looks as if she might pass out. Her face is flushed, her chest heaving with quick, deep breaths. Her sword arm shakes as she points her weapon at me. Juleyne, at least, has retreated to Lady Ziha’s side, her sister’s sword secured.
I lift my hands, eliciting a panicked shifting of feet. Slowly, I stand. My gaze falls on Queen Meilyr, who has returned to the quarterdeck, surrounded by her officits. She smiles viciously, satisfaction alight in her face.
Whether from Ronin or the Soulless, she already knows what I am. “I want her taken alive,” she says.
For a moment, no one moves. Then, her soldiers muster their courage and charge.
There’s no more time for remorse. I duck the first two blades swinging for me, jabbing my fists into their ribs. I roll, avoiding another swipe, just in time to recover my swords still lying on the deck.
A screech pierces the air, making me wince, and a massive shadow dives for the deck. Theyen must’ve given the signal because soldiers are shouting and scattering. A soldier screams as he’s plucked from the deck by massive claws and then flung into the sea.
Even as they rush for cover below deck, more soldiers pour out carrying bows and quivers. Within moments, they have their arrows nocked and pointed at the sky. Without the chance to loosen more than a single volley, a wyvern swipes across the deck, its massive wings crashing into the entire line of archers. Archers scream as they’re slammed against the ship railing. Some topple overboard.
A glance confirms that the chaos has erupted all across the naval fleet, with wyverns diving and tossing soldiers into the sea. Arrows fly, finding tough wyvern scales. It won’t take long before the first catapults are readied. But farther out, sails unfurl on several ships as horns blare through the tumult, calling for a retreat.
The queen shouts something I don’t hear. Swords in hand, I rush across the deck as her officits usher her back into the captain’s cabin. Cursing, I crush my hilt into a soldier’s collarbone and then shove aside another. But there are too many in my way, even with the wyverns circling and diving overhead.
A rider falls from their wyvern, an arrow in their shoulder. The wyvern screams, diving after its rider. More soldiers stream onto the deck, and then instantly drop to their bellies as a wyvern shoots past, claws flashing.
Someone grabs my arm, and I whip around, swords raised.
“Sirscha!” Theyen says. He pulls me after him in the opposite direction of the captain’s cabin.
“The queen,” I say, wrenching free.
“It’s too late!” He rushes to the taffrail and leans over. “Get back to shore!”
I peer over to see the others have made it to the boats. Theyen looks skyward and lets out a piercing whistle that cuts through the clamor.
I wince and sheathe my swords. “What are you—”
A shadow falls over us as a gigantic wyvern drops onto the deck with a resounding boom, shaking the entire ship. I gasp and shrink against the rail, my heart lurching. Its wings knock over soldiers and push others overboard. Others willingly jump ship as the wyvern raises its thorny head and roars.
Theyen doesn’t cower. Instead, he pulls me over to the enormous creature and climbs up its forearm. I gape, torn between wonder and fear as I haltingly follow. He shoves me into the black leather saddle on the creature’s back and settles in behind me.
“Oh Sisters,” I say breathlessly, heart racing. Theyen’s arm circles my waist, and I can do nothing but hold on as he leans forward and pats the wyvern’s shoulder.
The wyvern’s wings unfurl and give a mighty flap. I gasp as we shoot into the air, and my stomach drops. Soon, the ships and the sea and the screams become clouds, a darkening expanse of sky and salty air in my lungs.
“You’re a soulrender,” Theyen shouts over the wind, his voice thick with anger. With accusation. “Did you know?”
I nod, the exhilaration of flying warring with the horror of the battle below.
“That’s how you defeated Ronin,” he says, with grim understanding. “You absolute idiot. You’ve revealed yourself to everyone.”
He’s right. I breathe in the fresh sea air as we soar over the pier and Tamsimno, clearing the city within seconds. Far below, bodies are running across the hills to meet us. Although most are too small to make out, I instantly spot Saengo, the light of her candle flame like a beacon.
I wish I could marvel over the wonder of riding a wyvern and the impossibility of touching the clouds. After four years of being Kendara’s apprentice, I didn’t think I could feel such exhilaration and surprise again. But there’s no time to feel any of that. The wyvern descends toward a clearing in the wooded hills, and its wings stir up a cloud of loose grass and dust.
I shield my eyes until the wyvern touches the ground and its wings fold. Theyen rises and climbs down the creature’s shoulder. I follow, my thoughts racing. Once our feet touch the ground, the wyvern spreads its wings, and there’s a deep, resonating whumpf as the creature again takes flight. I spare a moment to watch it go, part of me wishing I could escape with it.
But then I hear my name called, and I look away. Saengo collides into me, nearly knocking us both off our feet in a crushing hug.
“What happened?” she asks, breathless. “Are you injured?” She pulls back, looking me over.
I shake my head and grip her shoulders. “Ready our drakes. I’ll grab our things. We need to leave.”
Despite the questions building behind her eyes, she clamps her mouth shut and nods.
“I’ll meet you back here,” I say, squeezing her arm in reassurance. She hugs me again and then dashes away.
Theyen storms off ahead. When I make to follow him, he shouts over his shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t check to see if I obey, so I ignore the order and head back to camp for our things. The shamans and shadowblessed will reach the docks any minute now, where they’ll report what they saw me do. I can’t be here when that happens.
Fortunately, Saengo didn’t unpack anything but our tent. I duck past the canvas flap to retrieve our bags from the corner where she’d left them. I sling both over my shoulder. Outside, I spot smoke from a cooking fire nearby. I head over and, without a word, snatch a wicker basket filled with warm steamed rice. The lid is sealed, so I shove it into my bag.
“Hold on there!” the shadowblessed cook shouts, jumping to his feet and swinging his l
adle like a sword.
“Hlau Theyen will reimburse you for everything, with interest,” I say, which shuts him up. I grab a bag of soft apples and a tray of dried, salted fish, and secure them in my bag before brushing past the blustering cook.
I nearly make it to the edge of camp before someone shouts, “There she is!”
I start to run but come up short as a group of shadowblessed emerge from the hills ahead of me, possibly having just landed their wyverns. Had they seen what I did as well? They would’ve had a great view from the sky.
Behind me, Lady Ziha, Juleyne, and others weave through the tents. I curse, eying the quickest path for escape.
“Arrest her!” Lady Ziha shouts. “She’s a fraud! A soulrender!”
I dart between tents, keeping low, as shamans and shadowblessed stream in from the camp to see what’s happening. I drop to the ground behind a large black tent, scanning the hills now dotted with shadowblessed. They’re heading past the camp, so I wait for them to thin out.
“You can’t be serious,” someone says, as everyone begins shouting.
I lose most of what they’re saying in the commotion, but I make out enough to know it’s not good. Theyen’s voice rises above the rest, and I wince. He’s done so much to help me, and I’ve made a mess of everything.
“There’s a battle going on. What is all this?” he demands.
“The shamans lied to us,” someone calls in Kazan. “They tricked us into believing they have a soulguide. We never should’ve trusted them.”
I hear the sound of swords being drawn. The alliance between the shamans and shadowblessed was already tenuous, animosity barely restrained. It wouldn’t take much for them to turn against one another. Guilt fills my belly.
“Honorless, the lot of you,” Lady Ziha hisses.
“Shamans know only deceit,” someone spits back.
The Nuvali are outnumbered, but the air thickens with their magic. I don’t understand why I haven’t seen a single shadowblessed use magic, but it doesn’t matter. I can still hear the sounds of screeching wyverns and ballistae smashing into the sea reverberate through the town. Unless their respective leaders can bring either side under control, a second battle is about to erupt right here outside Tamsimno.