The Sentry

by Lyssa Morasey

  The prince laughs. “Call me Iven,” he says. “And you don’t need to lie. I have to put up with enough lying around here already.”

  I smile, relaxing my stiffened posture just a little. “I’m not lying,” I say. “It is beautiful. Maybe a bit depressing, though.”

  He sighs. “What’s more depressing is that those are the only four trees in all of Svalbard.”

  “I can believe that,” I say, thinking back to the desolate sleigh ride to Svalbard City. “Do you ever get to leave here?”

  “All the time,” Iven replies. “I’ve been all over Europe—the Nixan parts, at least.”

  “Until this, I’d never left Idaho,” I tell him. “My father never let me.” I can’t believe I’m sitting here, talking to the heir to the Nixan throne like a normal teenager.

  “Then since you’re here, you should make the most of it,” Iven says. “I can show you around the island a little if you’d like.”

  “Oh.” I bite my cheek. “I’d love to, but I probably need to go get ready for tonight.” Even though the sun’s just risen, it can take all day to prepare for the fanciest balls.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Iven says. He stands, raising his voice to address his father. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take Cassatia on a tour of our home.” The king dips his head.

  “If my father’s okay with it, everyone has to be okay with it.” Iven offers me a hand. “What do you say?”

  It’s hard to refuse a prince. I take his hand and rise from my seat. “It’s just Cass, by the way,” I tell him.

  “Cass,” he repeats. “I like it. Less of a princess name.” I laugh, grab the prince’s arm, and let him lead me away, ready to see Svalbard for real.

  3 October: Westrey

  “This place is boring,” Keira announces as we drive through the streets of Norfolk. “Why couldn’t we have gone through NYC or something?”

  “That’s kind of in the wrong direction,” Basil points out.

  “I’ve never even been to New York,” I say. It’s true—I’ve only ever left Boston to be a Line or coast guard, and there’s an auxiliary compound in New York City that covers all the guard stations in the area.

  “Seriously?” Keira says. “It’s right under you.”

  “He did almost stow away on my family’s trip to Miami, though,” Basil tells her.

  “Almost.” Baz’s phone starts to vibrate beside me on the console. I pick it up and check the screen. “It’s your mom,” I tell him, watching for his reaction.

  He doesn’t give much of one; just a little raise of his eyebrows as he yanks the car around a corner. “Can’t believe it took them that long to figure out we’d run off with Ferignis.”

  “Well, it is the middle of the night.” About four in the morning now. The streets of Norfolk are dark, lit only by the Malibu’s headlights. There are hardly any cars out, which is good, because Basil’s driving leaves much to be desired. My head nearly slams into the windshield every time he hits the brakes for a red light.

  The phone stops, then immediately goes into another spasm of vibration, then another. “Jesus,” Baz says. “She’s nothing if not persistent.”

  I disable the phone’s vibrator for him—a minute later, my backpack begins to buzz in the seat behind me. “Can you hand me my phone?” I ask Keira.

  She unzips my bag and pulls it out, turning it over in her hands. “This looks like a brand-new iPhone,” she says. “Aren’t these supposed to be ridiculously expensive?”

  “Not for Wardens,” I reply. “We get all our tech for free.”

  “Damn.” Keira tosses me the phone. “The llyrsi literally run a technology company, and we still don’t get free phones from Solas.” Solas Technologies is the largest of the llyrsi-owned mega-companies from which the Nixans get all their money, to build their castles and pay off their other allies. It’s an essential part of the Nixan modern-day slavery system.

  “Damn it,” I hiss, sitting up.

  “What?”

  “I forgot to bring the Solas phone.”

  “You forgot my phone?” Keira’s voice is strained; I twist around to look at her. Her face has gone pale with worry in the half-light.

  “Why do you care?” I demand. “It’s not like I would’ve given it back to you anyway.”

  “I know,” Keira says quickly. “I’m just worried someone might try to call me, that’s all.” She turns away, clenching her fists in her lap. I narrow my eyes.

  The GPS takes us away from the main stretch of town and into the woods, where the roads become thinner and curvier and bumpier. The guard station is another few miles out, a large, windowless wooden cottage overlooking a nice little pond. A low barbed-wire fence encircles it, and there’s a prominent NO TRESPASSING sign nailed to the door, visible even in the dark. We pull off the road and get out of the car.

  “Nice job Sen-proofing this place,” Keira snorts, stepping over the barbed wire. “What would you do if someone decided to trespass anyway? Kill them?”

  “Probably,” Baz says with a shrug.

  Inside, the cottage is less of a rustic little lake house and more of a high-tech spy base. Giant monitors fill the room, each showing a little piece of the nearby woods and town, courtesy of hidden cameras placed all over. All the monitors have a little red button beside them; if pressed, the footage on the screen would be sent automatically back to the security office in headquarters. There’s also an aura detector attached to the wall, boxed in by glass.

  Naira Mase stands expectantly in front of the monitors, arms crossed over her chest. On a sofa in the corner of the cottage lies her boyfriend Chael, snoring loudly.

  “He didn’t see anything,” she promises.

  “Thank God,” I say. “Thank you, Naira. So much.”

  “Did you get him drunk?” Basil asks. Naira points to the mostly-empty bottle of vodka on the table in front of Chael in reply.

  “I’ll finish it off once you guys are out of here, and delete the night’s surveillance tapes,” she says. “Then it’ll look like we both missed you passing through. We’ll get into trouble with the council, of course—a shitload of trouble.”

  Chael makes a loud pig snort of a noise; Naira leaves us quickly to check on him. “Jesus,” she mutters, brushing back his hair. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this for you mental cases.”

  “Not for us,” I remind her. “For Freya. You were one of her best friends, Naira.”

  “You were secret phoenix tattoo buddies,” Basil adds.

  “And you really think you can get to her,” Naira says.

  I look to Keira. “Yes—we’re going to try, at least.”

  Naira sighs, lowering herself to sit beside Chael. “I don’t even want to think about what’ll come out of this,” she says. “But if there’s a chance you can get Freya away from the Nixans, I’ll do anything.”

  “There is,” I assure her. “You won’t regret this, Naira; I promise.”

  She mmms at us, taking a healthy swig of vodka.

  While she self-inebriates, I drag Keira over to check the aura detector on the cottage wall. Like the one in my belt, it’s been set to ignore the auras of all but the Nixans and their allies. If one of those auras were to appear, every Warden bunker and compound on the East Coast would be immediately alerted.

  But the face of the detector is blank—Keira is still miraculously aura-free.

  “Hey.” Baz comes over and pulls my phone from my back pocket. “Your phone’s flashing.”

  I take it from him to find a text from a number I don’t recognize. I tap it to open the message:

  Come back now. This is your only warning.

  —Fenella

  I stiffen, the words pounding in my ears. Our only warning.

  “What?” Baz tilts the screen so he can see. “Oh.” He takes out his own phone: eight missed calls and twenty-three texts. “My parents have been saying the same thing.”

  I sigh, clicking off my phone again. “This is
insane. What the hell are we thinking, Baz? How can we get to New Fauske without anyone finding us?”

  “I told you, I have a plan,” Keira butts in, rattling the form chain. “If you guys get us through the mountains, I’ll get us to New Fauske and back safe and sound.”

  “Problem is,” Baz says, “it’s a whole lot harder to trust a shifter when you’re on shifter turf.”

  “Look, you can trust me,” Keira insists. “I was telling the truth about Freya, wasn’t I? I’m telling the truth about this too.” She sets her sterling eyes on me, unwavering. “Can we get going now?”

  I bite my cheek, wondering if this is all going to end up a huge, stupid mistake, with Baz and me in chains and Keira laughing at our painful gullibility. But Freya’s still out there, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t go after her, no matter what Keira has planned for us once we cross the Line. “All right,” I sigh. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We say goodbye to Naira, already wrapping herself around Chael on the sofa, and pile back into Basil’s car, heading straight into the Nixan-Warden buffer zone of the Appalachian Mountains. A mile out from Naira’s station, I send Fenella a reply: Not without my sister.

  3 October: Cassatia

  There are less Nixans milling around outside when we leave the castle than when we entered, but still more than enough to stop and bow and make everything awkward as the prince and I step out of the castle, arm in arm. I nod and wave and smile as best I can, and he does the same. We both know the drill: no talking with the commoner Nixans, but you always have to smile and wave.

  “I’m surprised your father doesn’t insist on having guards follow you around when you leave the castle,” I mutter.

  Iven smiles. “This is our holy land,” he says. “Don’t worry—there’s no one around for miles who would do us any harm.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” I assure him. “I think it’s great.”

  Pulling me forward, Iven leads me around the castle to the stables; like New Fauske, Svalbard City has a stable just for its Katyran horses. Inside, though, are six Katyrans instead of two. Iven brings me over to one in the back corner, a young-looking stallion tossing his head around spiritedly.

  “This is Aries,” he says. I raise my hand to him and stroke his mane, whiter and cleaner than snow, and softer than any normal horse’s.

  “He’s beautiful.”

  Iven leads him out of his stall and pulls a stool out from beside it. “Hop on,” he tells me.

  I blink. “You want me to ride him?”

  “Yes,” he laughs. “Where I’m taking you is too far away to walk to, and a regular horse can’t handle the ice.”

  “I’ve never ridden a Katyran before.”

  “Really?” He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you have Katyrans in New Fauske?”

  “Two,” I answer. “But we don’t ride them.”

  Iven pats Aries’s flank. “Horses are made for riding,” he says. “Even Katyrans.”

  I step up onto the stool and swing a leg over the horse, adjusting my dress to keep my underwear from showing. “I’m not exactly dressed for horse riding.”

  Iven shakes his head. “I won’t tell your father,” he promises.

  He brings out another Katyran for himself (Libra, a mare) and leads the way out of the stables. I dig my heels into Aries’s sides, and he follows after them obediently.

  Outside, Iven’s mare breaks into a canter, her feathered hooves flaring out like white pom-poms. I urge Aries into a run as well, bracing my hands against his neck to keep my balance as he lunges and sways to Iven’s side. Iven waves to two large dogs wrestling in the snow, whistling to get their attention. They run to his horse’s side, loping after him for a minute until the Katyrans outpace them.

  “Those are your dogs?” I ask.

  He nods. “Two of my hunting dogs.”

  Of course the prince would be allowed out on hunts. “What exactly do you hunt for out here?” I ask. Other than a few stray birds flying over the ice, I hadn’t seen any signs of life outside Svalbard City.

  “Usually we fly down to the mainland to hunt,” Iven explains. “There are some reindeer here, but they’re not much of a challenge.”

  “I’ve never been on a hunt before,” I tell him wistfully. “I do have a dog, though. An Eskie.”

  “You should bring him here,” Iven suggests.

  “I’ll try,” I promise. If I ever get to come back here, that is.

  As we come upon the city gates, Iven signals the watchtower guards, and they draw open the gates fast enough for us to pass through without our horses breaking their run. And then we’re out on the pathless, endless ice, the frosty wind whipping back our hair and battering our faces.

  “Where are we going?” I call to Iven over the wind. “Nixa’s spring?”

  “Better than that,” he shoots back, head low over his horse’s mane. “You’ll see.”

  We run and run and run, galloping over the barren whiteness while caressed by refreshingly cool Arctic air. The Katyrans’ hooves pound rhythmically against the ice, calming and exhilarating at the same time. Eventually, a sliver of ocean water crests the ice shelf ahead of us; we’re nearing the edge of the glacier.

  The ice begins to grow weaker under the horses—Iven and I extend our arms out over it to fortify its strength as we continue on towards the ice shelf. About a hundred feet from its edge, we dismount and walk the rest of the way, our footsteps lifting up the fragile, cracking ice.

  Iven stops at the very edge of the ice shelf and points down. “Look.”

  The glacier drops down into the ocean like the face of a cliff, harsh and steep and tinted an alien blue. Light from the low morning sun reflects off the crag-like bulges in the ice, dancing and shifting and forming weak shadows. Above us the open skies stretch on endlessly, unmarred by land in any direction. And among the choppy ocean waves below are scattered ice floes, struggling to keep their crests above the water.

  “Wow,” I breathe. “There’s nothing that looks like this in New Fauske.”

  Iven smiles. “It gets better,” he promises. “Watch this.” He stretches a hand out over the edge of the ice, closing his eyes in concentration. Directly under us, a patch of ice solidifies and expands until it’s five feet wide, bobbing up and down in the water.

  I raise my eyebrows, impressed. “Did you get that ice from the ocean water?”

  Iven nods, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s harder with the salt,” he explains, “but the water is close to freezing already.” He lowers himself to the ground, casting out his hands again, and smooths a section of the ice shelf into a slide down to the new ice floe.

  I blanch. “You want us to jump down on that thing?”

  “Trust me,” Iven says. He slides down and lands on the floe, holding out his arms expectantly.

  Why not? I push myself down the ice and land squarely in the prince’s arms. The floe rocks under the sudden addition of weight; I hold out a hand to steady it.

  Iven smiles, letting go of me. “You all right?” I nod.

  With a wave of the prince’s hand, the floe lengthens, extending out in a narrow strip towards the horizon. “What are we doing?” I ask. “Walking across the ocean?”

  “A part of it.” Iven grabs my hand and leads me down the ice path, both of us keeping it afloat and steady with our hands as we go. Eventually the path takes a turn to the right, then it bends back again towards the ice shelf of Nordaustlandet, heading straight into an ingrown cave of ice. Iven ices over the water beneath the cave’s mouth and beckons me inside.

  “This is amazing.” I run my hands over the smooth, blue-white walls of ice, strong and stable as rock. The cave extends deep into the glacier, stretching off into half-darkness. The wind sings against the ice, and I can feel the waves pulsing under Iven’s ice cover. It’s like nothing I’ve seen or felt or heard before.

  “There are lots of glacier caves embedded in Austfonna,” Iven says, “but this one is the best. I’ve be
en coming here since I was twelve.”

  I lean back against the cave wall, manipulating its shape to fit my figure, and watch the mist of my breath dissolve into nothingness. “I can see why,” I say. “I try to get away from Nixan politics whenever I can, too.”

  Iven settles himself next to me, slouching against the wall. “It sucks to be a Nixan sometimes,” he agrees. “But it comes with its benefits. Like this—there’s no one else who could last more than a minute in here.”

  I laugh, thinking of the bundled-up Caphian helping us off the plane. “Lucky, lucky us.”

  Iven touches my cheek, and gently turns my head to face his. He slides his other hand under my neck to lift it off the ice, pulling me into him. Cautiously, he traces my jaw and tilts his head and leans in, letting his lips graze mine.

  I go stiff immediately, resisting the kiss, and he feels it. He pulls away, setting my head back against the ice. His eyes are concerned. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have asked.”

  I try to stand up straight, but I feel suddenly dizzy. “It’s fine,” I tell him; “I was just…a little surprised.”

  “Surprised?” he echoes. “Cass, we’re getting married tonight.”

  My heart stops, frozen solid in my chest.

  “What?”

  Iven steps back, stuttering. “Yes—our parents planned it, last month. I’m sorry; I thought you knew.”

  Married? To Prince Iven? My knees start to shake. It all makes too much sense—why my father let me come with him to Svalbard, why he had me pick out a white dress….

  “There’s no Arrival Day ball tonight, is there?” I ask quietly.

  “There’s going to be a dance after the bond-lock ceremony,” Iven says. His vanilla brows sink low, a deep crease growing between them. “You didn’t know about any of this?”

  “No.” I try again to push myself up, but a wave of nausea sweeps over me, strong and sudden. “I feel sick.”

  “You look sick.” Iven puts a hand to my forehand concernedly; I resist the urge to shrink back. “I’m sorry I surprised you like that.”