by Sage, May
We're admitted inside, and everywhere, there's symmetry, perfection. The white stones of the path are polished, square, smooth. In the distance, I hear a chant similar to our winter songs, but peaceful, slow, tender, caring.
I want to vomit.
I've only taken a few steps inside their world and already, I'm bored.
The rose-stone castle is bathed with light inside—its high walls boast hundreds of humongous windows. Along the walls, there are statues and paintings of mournful maidens and still lifes of flowers.
"Do they ever have fun?" I wonder, whispering to Drusk.
He chides me with a look, but I see him wince as he takes in the gigantic painting of an apple. A boring apple.
We're led to a vast chamber where dozens of gentry are gathered around a table drinking wine as musicians play the most lifeless song of all time.
I guess I have my answer. Fun isn't their thing.
"My king. Apologies for the interruption." The hag bows deep in front of the last man I would have guessed was king, among those gathered here.
It's a boy with red hair and an easy smile that reaches the corners of his moss-green eyes. "What do we have here?" He sends Meda a wicked grin that makes me think that he, at least, does know exactly how to have fun.
His gaze takes us all in, but soon returns to Meda.
He gets up, leaving his companions without so much as a glance. He takes his goblet of wine with him, though.
"Come on, old friend. Let's get you attended to."
Although Meda stood tall and proud, never giving off that she was in any way injured throughout our walk, one glance and that man knew there was something wrong with her.
She gestures for us to follow, before setting off after him.
After walking through many corridors and up several flights of stairs, we reach what can only be the royal chamber—a vast room, larger than the entire throne hall of Whitecroft—filled with plush velvet-covered chairs and cushions, and a bed large enough for ten people.
I am guessing that it occasionally fits as many, from the king's vibe.
"Come, old friend. Sit, sit. I'll get supplies."
He disappears into a side chamber.
Meda drops on the sofa he indicates, and removes her cloak, shirt, and chemise, till she stands topless.
I stare at her. "You know him well, then?"
Meda shrugs. "You never asked about my life before I came to you," she points out.
She's right. I've always been too intimidated by her to do anything but obey her—or fight her when she demanded it. Meda wasn't an easy person to get close to. For me, in any case. She got along with my mother.
"I was the captain of Titus's guard."
My jaw drops.
"That's right!" the king chirps, returning with his hands full. "And one of my closest friends, too. Which is why when you promised to return, I believed you."
While his tone remains light, the accusation is unmistakable.
Meda smiles up at him. "And I'm here, aren't I?"
King Titus laughs, throwing the mess of things he's fetched on the rest of the sofa. Clean cloth, flasks, gauze, needles. He proceeds to unwrap Meda's wound. I wince along with Titus when I see its state. It's clearly infected. The skin along the edges of the cut is raised and greenish, the blood pitch black.
I want nothing more than to take a step back. Titus leans in and licks it.
"Just salt and iron. You've survived worse."
He cleans the wound carefully, and when he's done, places his hand over it. I can feel magic pulse through.
"I can probably speed that up, now that it's clean," I offer.
I couldn't think of healing her while she had poison inside her. Closing off the wound over salt and iron would result in pain for the rest of her days, and maybe kill her in the end.
The king directs his attention to me for the first time.
"You're the granddaughter, then?" he guesses.
I nod, joining them. I place my fingertips at the edge of Meda's collarbone and transfer some of my energy to her. I'm tired, but I haven't tapped into my magic at all recently. I barely feel the strain. The wound closes up in front of our eyes.
"Fascinating. You're a Void, are you not?"
I nod, tenser than I'd like.
"I've read many books on Voids. We haven't had one for a while—they're rarer than most powers. I think the last student we saw came to us some fifty years ago."
I'm speechless.
Drusk says it for me. "You had a Void fifty years ago? We haven't seen one since Nyx in Tenebris."
Titus laughs. "Unlikely."
I frown, confused.
"You may not have had a gentry, noble-born Void who can be recognized by anyone of importance in centuries. That doesn't mean that a random sprite may not have possessed such a power, without having the means to recognize it. And it's also possible that some are fully aware of their ability, and choose to conceal it. Who's to accuse them of murder if no one knows they can kill with a touch?"
I can't deny the truth of his words, yet I want to argue.
"Though clearly, you're rather powerful. This little exchange would have cost the last Void I knew all her strength." I can't tell whether he's honest, or wants to make me feel better.
"Do you have Mysts?" I ask.
He tilts his head. "Far fewer. They're native to your parts, the children of the Court of Mist."
Drusk and I exchange a glance.
His power is native to my court?
"I see you don't know your history. Your kind, south of the border, has never been fond of recording what you consider boring."
Touché.
"Some five or six thousand years ago, Denarhelm extended to the southwest, but a few unseelie folk had a mind to take it. To do so, they called to a sacrificial magic that let them blend in with darkness. Some of them were fire users, others air mages. They abandoned their link to the element in exchange for control over darkness. Regardless of how many battles we won, they'd destroy us in the night. We had no choice but to flee. These unseelie took the Court of Mist. Their leader fathered the line of Oberon, but all who followed him were Myst. As the power wasn't natural, as such, it was only rarely given to their descendants."
In just a few minutes, this playful king had turned everything I knew on its head.
I think I could stay here and hear him talk for years and not realize any time had passed.
Before I let that happen, I straighten.
"King Titus, with your leave, I humbly request your assistance. I only have to listen for a moment to realize your people and I would benefit from standing together. Denarhelm and Tenebris, we have a savage, bloody history that links us all. But we're falling, and you still stand. Help us fight the invasion, and we'll build a future between the two realms of the folk."
The king watches me, and his green eyes aren't playful or kind at all. They're probing, assessing, weighing.
He smiles without an ounce of kindness. "Oh, I see it. The rage, the darkness. The madness. I see it buried within your pretty eyes." He turns to Meda. "Your granddaughter truly is an Evergreen, is she not? Beautiful, hard, and filled with bloodlust."
I'm taken aback when he steps in and appears right in front of me. Drusk is on me immediately, but I lift one hand to hold him back.
Titus's eyes aren't green at all at this moment.
They're amethyst. Violet. Just like Morgana's. Just like my hair.
I know my history better than most after reading Nyx's journal. My ancestor was the daughter of Maeve, child of Queen Una—the last high seelie queen. Maeve had a twin and a little brother. I knew her line hadn't ended, but I'd had no clue who were the descendants. We know little of the seelie courts.
There he is. My cousin, though the thousands of years separating us ensure there's little to no blood in common between us. Yet we're the same. One thing on the surface. Something else entirely underneath.
The Last Stand
&nb
sp; Vlari
We ride.
Our horses are nothing like the indolent mares we used to keep in my youth. We were given the fastest horses bred by the kings of seelie. They practically fly. My legs and back hurt, as I don't think I've ever used the kinds of muscles it takes to gallop this fast for hours on end, but I urge the horses farther still, ignoring the pain. I'm not about to delay our arrival.
We take the fastest road to Whitecroft, uncaring about any human spotting us. They'd never catch up with us if they tried. If they dared. Something tells me they won't.
Drusk grins back at me, the wind teasing his messy hair. The beautiful jerk is enjoying this torture—unlike me, he's used to riding faster horses. I have to grin back. I'm glad one of us is having fun at least.
It takes half a day for us to reach Whitecroft, with only one break so the horses could drink and rest. When we first see the dome of light in the distance, my heart leaps in my chest. We made it. Everything is going to be just fine. I let myself believe the three days we spent away have changed nothing. But whatever lie I tell myself dies as we approach.
Far to the east, on the other side of our haven, I see them. Thousands upon thousands of vermin dressed in black and gold, holding a mockery of the flag of Tenebris: the signet of a golden stag on an amethyst backdrop. Only their stag is young and pretty, while ours has longer horns wet with blood.
They're trying to take everything from this land, down to its very soul.
Our enemies are laying siege to Whitecroft, entering through the river. The opening doesn't allow for the full bulk of their army to get in at once, thank heavens, but they're still getting in. I can't see inside the walls, our shield preventing me from distinguishing anything, but I don't doubt that our people are in trouble.
I see the red flames of the Court of Ash mingling with the mortals. We should have guessed they'd shown them the one weakness in our defenses.
"Ash will pay for this. If it's the last thing I do, I'll hunt down every salamander and destroy their history."
Drusk has the gall to laugh at me. "Every one? The children, and the poor soldiers who had a choice between following orders or dying, too?"
I glare at him. He should know that sometimes, I can do without a taste of reality. Wrath is far more palatable. "They may kneel and beg. But the crown of Ash is mine to destroy today."
To that, Drusk finds no objection.
"Such bloodlust, cousin," Titus drawls, catching up to us. "You'll have to learn to share. We wouldn't want my riders to have nothing to play with, after all."
Drusk rolls his eyes. I have the distinct impression he dislikes Titus. I don't—and not only because he gave us an army. He's a mirror. The reflection of what I may become, if I live to see as many centuries as he. Powerful, cold, and ruthless? Yes. But also clever, jovial, and softer among my inner circle. He's overcome the blood of the monster within, and so can I.
Although he is a little too dramatic for my taste. He made me sweat bullets yesterday.
"Oh, I see it. The rage, the darkness. The madness. I see it buried within your pretty eyes." He turns to Meda. "Your granddaughter truly is an Evergreen, is she not? Beautiful, hard, and filled with bloodlust."
He's discerned everything I try to hide about me. He knows who I am inside. The person who wants to keep taking, and taking, and taking lives. The monster.
"What benefit would there be for my people in helping you?"
My jaw ticks. "If humans settle in Tenebris, they'll look north next. To you."
"And if you're settled in Tenebris, you may look north, too."
"Not if we were allies."
He laughs. "Let's be honest, alliances last as long as whims to your kind. I'll need considerably more than that. I'll need blood."
"You'll have it." I don't hesitate. "Aid us, and I'll swear that as long as my line lives, the unseelie kingdom will come to the aid of the seelie land when they need it."
Here I am again, swearing things for my children, and my children's children.
But at least this vow, I comfortably stand by.
The king steps back. "Mmmh."
He returns to Meda's side. "I see why you had to stay. It can't have been easy to whip this one into shape. She's strong-willed."
My grandmother sighs. "And then some. I didn't do half bad, I reckon."
That's almost a compliment.
We may all die after all.
"Very well, child of darkness. You'll bleed and swear, and we'll march south with you in the morning."
Meda blinks. "You think you could call the forces so fast? It’d take a month for the riders to gather and join us."
Titus winks. "I had them come ten years ago. It took your little queen long enough to swallow her pride and come."
I am entirely speechless.
He had an army on standby, ready to march to us?
And more importantly, would he have ever gone south if I hadn't come?
I know the answer to that.
No, he wouldn't have. He would have let us burn.
The seelie aren't unlike us at all, it seems.
"To be fair," I say, "I was asleep for the last decade.”
Come to think of it, I understand exactly why Drusk can't stand him.
"There'll be plenty of slaughter for all of us." I point to the path past the marches. "If we follow this road, we'll get to the other side of the river. There's a stone bridge to get us where we need to go. Some of us could cut off their exit."
"Unless they blow the bridge," Drusk replies. "I say we face them head-on. Most of them are human soldiers, on foot."
I turn to Titus, soliciting his input. His eyes flash purple as he focuses on the battle ahead. "That tent," he says, tilting his shield. "How do we reach it?"
I saw no tent at all, focused as I was on the swarming soldiers at my gates. I follow his gaze, looking past the army, far in the distance.
"On the hill, in the woods," he says.
I finally find it: a large cloth tent, dark brown, almost indistinguishable from the trees of the Silent Orchard. It's perfectly positioned to have a clear view of the entire valley where Whitecroft has been built.
"Violet." I say her name softly, like a spell or a promise, and my teeth flash.
I didn't expect her to show. In the last ten years, all we learned of her suggests that she's remained hidden behind the walls of the Shadow Peaks, and let mortals fight her battles. But she's here, today, because she believes she is winning. That she'll finally take us down.
"If we want to cut off the head of the snake, that's where we need to go."
I nod. "And fast. Before she flees." I have no doubt that the moment she sees the seelie forces, she'll rush back to her hole. "We can reach it from the southern river flank."
"I'll lead most of my men directly to the river. You can take the path to the bridge—whether it's destroyed or not matters little. Once you're at the bridge, my men can cross it to cut off the army if they're able. And you can reach the hill on foot, so she doesn't see you coming."
I bite my lip. If I'm to walk from the bridge to the tent, I may arrive too late. Violet would spot Titus and flee.
"You'll need to wait it out. Give me time to get there before you descend on Whitecroft. If she retreats to the Wicked Court, she'll be as shielded as we were in Whitecroft. There'll be no reaching her there."
And I need to reach her. There can be no peace while there are two queens in Tenebris. The Court of Ash has proven that. If they disagree with one monarch, the minor lords could defect to the other until the end of time.
Drusk glowers. "Every moment we delay our attack is a moment the folk of Whitecroft are suffering. We have to get down there right now."
These are the words of a soft heart, a beautiful soul.
Not the words of a ruler.
Titus ignores him entirely. "We'll give you till sundown." He tilts his head, and wordlessly, one of his commanders moves his horse right behind mine. "Use the time well."
I nod, and turn to Drusk. He looks beyond mad, understandably. I don’t ask him to follow me. He won’t. His place is right here, with those who’ll help the folk. He needs to get to his sister, his parents.
I have no one to save.
I have everyone to save.
I bring my fingertips to my lips and blow him a kiss.
“Stay safe,” he tells me.
“Always.”
Then, I ride at the head of a hundred knights.
Tastes of Power
Vlari
I should have taken exercise a lot more seriously.
After we reached the bridge—thankfully not blown up yet—I took Samel, the commander, along with two knights he picked with me, and I struggle to keep up with the three of them. Though my limbs ache, my lungs burn, and my throat tightens at each breath, I push forward.
At sundown, Violet may flee. To truly end this war, we have to get there before. Red and gold already strike the horizon in the distance.
I push harder and harder, half wishing I could call to Drusk's power, but firstly, I'm not trying to reach him for once. I don't think I could make use of his power when he isn't in the vicinity. And mostly, I know I'll have to save all of my energy for facing my aunt. Physically, I'm not at my strongest. I can't afford for my powers to be depleted, too.
We reach the bottom of the hill in time. To my relief, Samel stops, concealed behind a tree rather than racing forward and forcing us to attack before I recover.
Silent as shadow, I join him, and drop on the floor, spent. I breathe in and out, forcing myself to slow it down in order to control the rhythm of my heart.
Without a word, the commander hands me a flask. I frown at him; I have water with me. I'm waiting before drinking so I don't puke it up. He takes it back, pressing it against his lips and taking a long swallow to show me it's safe. Reluctant to offend my new allies by declining some custom I don't know about, I do take it, and drink.
The moment the clear liquid crosses my lips, I feel all pain, all exhaustion, all heaviness lift and dissipate. I've never been more awake, more vibrant.