The Sentry

by Lyssa Morasey

  Iraine gives me a little smile. “Yes.” Wes and Baz finally pull their heads out of the fire, their gazes flitting over to her.

  “But you’re not a faedra—you’re just a Shade. So how are you an illegal Novan?”

  “Because I’m not just a Shade,” she replies. “I’m something else, too.” Slowly she extends a hand out over the fire, opening it to reveal a blooming daisy. I choke on my own breath. That’s not something Shades can do—that’s a Sylvan power. Which can only mean one thing.

  “Holy shit,” Baz says. “You’re a hybrid.”

  5 October: Westrey

  “A hybrid?” I echo, narrowing my eyes at Iraine. “I didn’t even think that was possible.” Novan orders don’t interbreed, ever.

  “Me neither,” Keira murmurs, shaking her head. “What does that mean—your parents are from different orders? How the hell does that even happen?”

  Iraine leans in closer to the fire, closing her fist and causing the flower to crumble into ash. I look her in the eyes—they’re dark like a Shade’s, but even in the dim light I can make out little flecks of green like you’d find in a Sylvan’s. “Well, my mother was a Shade; she ended up having to leave her camp when it was attacked, and she came to the Sylvan village my father was living in. And that’s where I was born, and where I grew up.”

  “Well, why aren’t you there now?”

  “Because Duke Fenris found out about me,” she says, her smile souring. “He sent a team of Sentries up to the village to kill me; they never found me, but they did get my mother. I ran away soon after that.” Iraine glances around the fire, sizing each of us up. “You say Feolan sent you here?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “How do you know him, anyway?”

  She shrugs. “I bumped into him back when I was on the run, right after he moved here from India. We stuck together for a bit.” She holds up her hand to show off an ice-glass ring glistening in the firelight. “He taught me how to use this.”

  Keira bites her lip. “He taught you Old Magic?”

  “Can you turn people invisible?” Baz asks eagerly.

  “Sure.” Iraine pops out of view to demonstrate, leaving the fluttering tent flaps exposed behind her. I blink, and she’s back beside the fire again.

  “Shit,” Keira says. “You can do that too?”

  “Anyone can,” Iraine says, lifting a shoulder. “It’s not hard to do once you’ve figured out how to channel Old Magic. The other senses are harder to trick—but as long as we’re careful, being invisible to the eyes should be enough to get us into New Fauske.”

  Baz and I exchange a glance. “You want to come with us, then,” I say.

  “Depends. What’s your plan, exactly?”

  “Well, ideally,” I say, “we’re going to rescue the two prisoners the Nixans are holding captive and put a bullet through Duke Fenris’s head.”

  “And you think you’ll be able to do that?”

  I nod. “With your help, we should. Keira knows New Fauske, and Baz knows fire-guns.”

  “Great.” Iraine clasps her hands together. “Then I’m in.”

  “It’ll be dangerous,” Basil warns. “As in, possibly-dying dangerous.”

  “I don’t care,” Iraine insists. “I’ve made it through possibly-dying dangerous before. And it would be an honor to die trying to take down Fenris.” She’s got a glint in her eyes, something bright and fierce that I recognize from my own—anger deepened by a special kind of loneliness that comes from losing something you don’t think you’ll ever get back. Iraine’s lost her family and been forced out of her home because of Fenris and the Sentries—how could she not want to come with us?

  “Great,” I say, holding out a hand. “Welcome to the team.”

  5 October: Cassatia

  I take Iven around the castle after dinner, ending my tour at the top of the north tower, where I usually meet Keira once a week. As soon as we get up there I regret it—watching the prince lean over the parapets, eyes fixed on the sky, I feel like he’s invading the deepest recesses of my privacy. Like he can learn all my secrets just by being at the top of the tower, standing where I stand.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” he breathes. “Just you and the sky. I can see why you like it.”

  I nod, swallowing. “I used to come up here every week, when the rest of the castle was asleep, and just…look out at everything.”

  The prince gives a little smile, studying me. “Will you miss it?” he asks. “New Fauske?”

  I hesitate, my breath catching. “Well, it’s the only home I’ve ever had.”

  “It’ll be okay.” He steps over to me and covers my hand with his; I stiffen. “I promise.”

  I bite my lip. “I hope so.”

  Iven leans forward, the moonlight dancing in his concerned eyes. “Do you want us to bond?”

  I close my eyes. “We have to,” I say. “We committed to it as soon as we put on our bond-rings.”

  “Do you want us to bond?” Iven repeats. When I don’t respond, he moves his hand to my shoulder. “You can be honest.”

  I fall back against the parapets. “I do—of course I do. You’re the prince, and this is the biggest honor anyone in my family has ever received.”

  “You don’t,” Iven says. He doesn’t sound angry or disappointed, just sorry. “That’s why you left Svalbard City as soon as you found out. You didn’t send me this.” He puts a finger on his bond-ring.

  Great Goddess, help me. “It’s not you,” I say, quietly. “It’s not that I don’t want to bond with you. It’s just that—”

  “There’s someone else,” Iven guesses.

  I look up at the sky, studying the patterns of the stars. It makes it easier to answer him. “Yes. There’s someone else.”

  Iven makes a noise deep in his throat. “I’ll talk to my father,” he says. “We can figure something out, find a way to cancel the ceremony.”

  “No.” I grab his arm as he turns away. “It’s too late,” I say. “People already know; they know we’re wearing each other’s rings. And besides…it would never work out for me with the other person. For a number of reasons. Really, Iven, I want to go back to Svalbard with you.”

  The prince turns back to me, his mouth struggling to decide between a smile and a frown. “Can I kiss you, then?”

  “Of course.” He leans down; I tilt up my chin to reach him. Our lips meet, and this time mine go soft against his, not putting up the resistance they had before. His hands wrap around my waist, and mine around his neck. It feels mechanical, unnatural, but it’s close and simple and nice.

  Being bonded with Iven won’t be too bad. I picture myself with him, riding Katyrans across Svalbard and exploring Austfonna Castle and travelling with him all over Nixan Europe. The longing I feel for Keira is as sharp as ever, but maybe Iven can help me get rid of it. Maybe it’s a good thing for me to be separated from her.

  When we break apart, I feel slightly better and a whole lot more tired. “Can we go to bed now?”

  “Sure,” Iven says. “I still need to figure out which room your servants set up for me.”

  For him. I breathe a sigh of relief. Separate rooms, at least for now.

  “I’ll help you,” I offer. “There aren’t too many bedrooms in the castle that are worthy of a prince; it shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Iven gives a gentle laugh and follows me back over to the access hatch, his fingers lightly grazing the watch around my wrist.

  6 October: Keira

  There are plenty of things I should be doing right now.

  I should be fleeing the camp, sneaking off with Ferignis while Basil and Wes are asleep and getting my ass back to New Fauske while I still have time. I should be sleeping, making sure I’m not drop-dead exhausted for the most important day of this entire mission. I should be doing something other than crouching by our dying tent fire and trying to turn myself invisible.

  Of course, being me, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

  I didn’t entirely bel
ieve Feolan when he told us he was using Old Magic to turn invisible, but seeing some Shade-Sylvan order hybrid do the same thing pretty much confirms that invisibility is not some weird faedra trick. The fact that there’s an order hybrid here at all raises a whole lot of questions. Fenris, the priests, the Sentries—they’d all claimed that hybrids were impossible, that no two Novan orders could interbreed. And then I saw a nocturnal Shade-looking girl conjure a flower in her hand. Between that, the adult faedra and all the invisibility, I’m starting to wonder what the hell is even true anymore. Who says I can’t invisify myself too?

  I try everything, but no matter how tightly I wrap my new ice-glass necklace around my finger or how hard I pray to Nixa, I remain just as visible and powerless as before.

  “Hey.” I gasp, whipping around to find Wes sitting up behind me. “I don’t think we need anyone sitting guard in here.”

  I take a breath to calm my nerves, lowering my shoulders. “I just…I can’t sleep.”

  Wes scoots over to the fire, narrowing his eyes. “You’re trying to turn invisible,” he guesses.

  “What, you’re a mind-reader all of a sudden?”

  “No,” he admits. “But I can’t think of many other reasons you’d be up at one in the morning with a necklace around your finger.”

  “I guess I’ll give you that,” I sigh. Wes leans in closer until I can feel the heat radiating off of him, warming my skin in the cold October night. “I think I might’ve used Old Magic before,” I tell him quietly. “Whenever I fought, or flew for too long or something, my pendant would get all warm and help keep me from noticing the pain; make me feel stronger, even.”

  “Wait a second,” Wes says, sitting forward. “You mean the ice-glass was helping you that time you beat me up in training? You’re not actually that much better than me?”

  “No,” I admit, not entirely sure why I’m telling him all of this. “I was given that pendant to make me a better candidate at the Sentry trials. Until yesterday, I’d never once fought without it.”

  Wes shakes his head. “I don’t know if I should be relieved or angry right now.”

  I ball the pendant up in my fist. “I didn’t think I was actually using Old Magic before—I just thought the pendant had a blessing put on it. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, Old Magic tricks the senses, like Feolan said, right?” Wes says. “What if you were using it to trick your own senses?”

  “That’s what I was thinking. But if I could use it before, why can’t I use it now when I actually know what I’m doing?”

  Wes thinks for a second, tilting his head. Warily I wait for his response.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he says eventually. Reaching into the fire, he ferrets through the sticks beneath it and pulls out two of the longest, extinguishing the flames creeping down from their tips. He hands the non-burnt end of one over to me. “Let’s go outside.”

  I glance down at the stick, standing up as he does. “What the hell is this for?”

  “You used the ice-glass before when you were fighting, right? Maybe you just need to get your blood pumping first.”

  Without waiting for a response, Wes slams his stick into mine, almost hard enough to knock it from my hands. “Hey!” I attack him right back, clashing sticks with him like we’re fencing. Wes backpedals out of the tent, nearly tripping over Basil’s sleeping lump of a body; I follow him, my stick pressed against the veins of his neck. His stick grazes my arm, just a little—its heat sears my skin and sends waves of pain shooting up my body. I cry out, losing my grip on my weapon. Wes digs his stick into my stomach, and I topple back into the grass.

  “This is so unfair,” I growl, getting to my feet again. But now I can feel the pendant growing warm in my hand. I throw it around my neck and feel its power seeping into my muscles, the pain melting instantly from my arm.

  I come at Wes again with renewed strength, knocking him to his knees and pushing him back against the tent until it nearly collapses under his weight. “Good!” he pants. “Now the invisible part!”

  I slam my stick into his side again, my mind reeling. Invisible invisible invisible, I think. I can do this.

  Suddenly Wes lurches back. “Whoa,” he says. “It worked, Keira.”

  I look down, and find nothing. My body has disappeared, clothes and all. The stick is still there—I feel it pressed against my hand—but it now looks to be floating by itself in midair.

  Swallowing back a scream, I concentrate on where my hand meets the stick, envisioning my solid flesh around it. Slowly my arm fades back into view, along with the rest of me. I drop the stick, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

  “Hey.” Wes catches me as I pitch towards him, letting me down gently in the grass. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, my voice strained. The pendant has cooled again around my neck; I bury my head between my knees, sighing.

  Wes sits down beside me. “Are you okay?”

  “Not really.” I just used Old Magic, undeniably, which means that Feolan was right about anyone being able to use it. Which means that, more than likely, he was right about Ferignis and the curse, too. Which means that there was absolutely no reason for me to fly across the country to bring Ferignis to the duke, and according to Feolan, Fenris knew all along.

  Then why did he send me?

  Wes sighs. “I feel sick,” he admits. His voice is open, unguarded—trusting, even. “Whatever happens tomorrow, it’s going to start something with the Nixans. I mean, I have to save Freya, of course…but there’s a good chance it’s going to lead to even more Wardens being taken and killed. The Nixans started the Massacre last time some of us crossed the Line—what we’re planning to do tomorrow is a thousand times worse.”

  I raise my head. “That’s what he wants,” I say under my breath. “It has to be.” Fenris wanted me to go to Boston to incite the Wardens. He’s tired of us sitting on our asses and quelling Shade rebellions—he wants us to go into all-out war mode, just like in Europe. Cass always said that the king thought Fenris was weak for not spending his days ordering Warden attacks; this is his solution. To use me as a clueless pawn to help him get the respect he wants—respect that will probably cost us thousands of lives, Sentry and Warden alike. I clutch at my stomach; now I’m starting to feel sick, too.

  I once told Cass that she would make things better once she’s in charge of the province. She’s different from the other Nixans—she listens. She could work something out with the pissed-off Shades, and figure out something better to do with the faedras. She could change the Sentry trials so shifters don’t have to become murderers to live themselves. She could set up peace talks with Fenella and her council, maybe even agree to a truce.

  And Fenris wants to keep her from getting a chance to do any of it.

  I dig my nails into the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t stop Wes and Baz from rescuing Freya and offing the duke. Hell, maybe that’s what I’ve wanted all along—maybe that’s why I’ve hesitated all this time to turn them in.

  “Keira?” Wes prompts. “What are you thinking?”

  I pull my debit card from my pocket and hold it out to him. “Can you give this to Anese for me?”

  He takes it from me uncertainly. “Your card?”

  “Yeah, I think we should use cash from now on. Tell Anese it’s hers as long as she can get one of her Shades to use it somewhere around here tomorrow afternoon.”

  Wes’s eyes flit from the card to my face and back again. “You think the Nixans are using this to track us.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, but there’s always a chance. You’ve got to cover all your bases, right?”

  “Right,” Wes says. His fingers brush against my arm, lingering there for a second; my body goes suddenly tense, like a reflex. Then he stands, scratching the back of his head and clearing his throat. “I’ll be right back. You should probably try to get some sleep.”

  I nod, and watch him disappear into the darkness before heading
back into the tent, stamping out the fire and curling up with my back to Basil.

  I’m still doing this for you, Cass, I think, closing my eyes. I promise.

  6 October: Westrey

  “Wake up.” I feel a weight pulling at my arm, almost hard enough to dislocate my shoulder. “Wes. Get the hell up.”

  It’s Keira, of course. I groan and roll over into the grass. “Touch me again,” I growl, “and you’re gonna lose a hand.”

  “We have to get out of here,” she says, pouncing on top of me and knocking the air from my lungs. “We need to be at the gates of New Fauske by six, when the supply shipments come in.”

  Reluctantly, I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. It’s still pitch-black out—I wonder how long I was asleep for. I click on my phone to find the numbers 5:08 staring back at me. Jesus. Baz yawns beside me, stretching out his back; Iraine is crouched at the entrance to the tent, looking anxious and more than ready to leave. And Keira is hovering over me, arms crossed impatiently as she waits for me to get to my feet.

  “I’m too tired to drive,” Basil moans, pulling himself up. “We’ll end up stuck in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I’ll drive for the first few hours,” Iraine says. “The rest of you can sleep in the car. We’ll switch off.”

  We stumble out of the tent, the chill of the morning gnawing through our skin. I shiver, zipping up my jacket. It’ll only be getting colder from here.

  We leave Manssi with as little fuss as possible, ignoring the stares of curious Shades and walking along the fringes of camp with our heads ducked down. Since none of us can tell her exactly where we left our car, we let Iraine and her night vision take the lead once we get into the woods—she finds the Malibu within twenty minutes.

  Iraine climbs in the driver’s seat, fiddling with Basil’s phone GPS. Keira, squeezing into the back with me, grabs it from her impatiently and enters in an address. Baz takes shotgun, bundling up his jacket to rest his head on and reclining his seat until I have zero leg room behind him. Sighing, I pull my legs up on the seat beside me; Keira plops her head down on top of my feet and kicks her legs up over her window.