Skyborn

by David Dalglish

  “Now what was this about a ball?” she asked. She wanted to push the tragedy of the morning away, to think about something, anything, besides the loss of her friends.

  “Nothing important,” he said. “It can wait until you’re feeling better.”

  Bree shook her head.

  “I’ll be fine, really.”

  Dean kissed her forehead.

  “If you insist. It’s a dance the Willer family throws every year at the holy mansion to mark the winter solstice. All the various big shots of Weshern are invited. I wasn’t planning on going, but now that I might actually have a date to make everyone jealous…”

  “I doubt I’ll make anyone jealous,” she said, shaking her head. “But if you want me to go, I will.”

  His smile stretched ear to ear.

  “If they’re not jealous, they’re fools who should be,” he said. “Thank you, Bree. This means a lot to me.” He glanced over his shoulder, to where the rest were practicing with their swords. “So, are you still up for some training?”

  “After all that?” she asked. “Hell, yes. I need to hit something.”

  Dean furrowed his brow as if deep in thought.

  “You know,” he said. “Maybe for today, you should practice with Sasha or William instead…”

  CHAPTER 17

  Kael reclined in a stained oak chair with padded cushions on the second floor of the academy’s library, an open book in his lap. Absently he flipped through the pages, only halfheartedly reading the words. It was the pictures he stared at mostly, incredible drawings by artists long dead. They showed the rise of the islands, the burning of the stars, and the age-old battle of angels against demons, the reason for their cities fleeing into the safety of the skies.

  Is that us? Kael wondered as he stared at one of the winged warriors. Instead of metal wings, his were made of beautiful white feathers, and they unfurled in an enormous wingspan that the Seraphim’s harnesses could never match. His armor was golden bronze, his arms bare, his face covered by his narrow helm. In one hand he wielded a spear, the other a circular shield, which he used to ward off the strike of his opponent, a demonic figure made of pure flame and shadow whose very arms had turned into sharpened blades. An army of such creatures swarmed the ground, helpless to follow the islands rising into the sky as the waters of the Endless Ocean came crashing in to drown them all.

  “Kael?”

  He glanced up from his book to see Bree emerge from the stairs. Clenching his jaw, he bit back a rude retort. It’d be childish to berate his sister for ruining his privacy when she was so clearly worried about him.

  “Yeah?” he asked, pretending he wasn’t upset.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” she said. “You weren’t with us for our run this morning.”

  Bree took a seat opposite him in the other chair, settling into the brown cushions. She wore her uniform minus the jacket, which she’d grab prior to flight training, when its comfort would be needed as protection against the buckles and hard metal of the wings connecting to the back of the harness.

  “It’s not like I’m needed,” he said. “Brad can run for longer than I can now.”

  Her face darkened, and she narrowed her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I know something is, so please just tell me instead of bickering.”

  Kael sighed and closed his book.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve got it handled.”

  “You’re moping in the library. I beg to differ.”

  “Like you’re always a bastion of happiness, Bree.”

  He’d gone too far, and he saw it immediately. His sister flinched as if slapped, and she ceased the gentle rocking of her chair.

  “Forgive me for trying,” she said, standing. “I’ll see you at practice.”

  “Wait,” he said before she could leave. “It’s not you, it’s… it’s Clara.” She paused, arms crossed over her chest. Waiting for him to continue, he realized. Either that, or to apologize. Kael decided both might be the proper action. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. This morning Clara asked me to come as her guest to her family’s party or dance or whatever it is.”

  “Did you accept?”

  He shook his head.

  “I told her I couldn’t.”

  Bree sat back down in her chair and leaned forward in it, hands clasped before her, eyes locked on his face. He recognized that look. She was analyzing him, reading his emotions, her sharp mind racing through reasons and solutions.

  “Why did you turn her down?” she asked him.

  Kael took in a deep breath, tempted to refuse. The answer was humiliating, with Bree the worst one of all to reveal the reason. But she’d hound him until he cracked, or even worse, go to Clara for more clues.

  “Because it’s pointless to keep this going,” he said. “Better to stop now before we both get hurt worse.”

  Bree frowned.

  “If this is about Saul…”

  “It’s not about Saul,” he snapped. “At least, not directly. But he was right, Bree. Look at us. We come from tiny little Lowville. No parents. No other family, just an aunt who works the fields the Willers themselves own.” He looked away, and swallowed as if something foul were in his mouth. “I’m nothing, not compared to her.”

  Bree’s chair creaked as she leaned closer, her eyes hard as stone.

  “You are not nothing,” she said. “You’re a Seraph.”

  “I’m a glorified soldier,” he said. “She may one day rule all of Weshern. I just… I can’t do this, Bree. I’m not like you. I’m not.”

  Kael rubbed his eyes as he felt his chest tighten. With his other hand he clutched his book tightly, fingers digging into the leather covering.

  “What do you mean by that?” Bree asked, her voice so soft.

  “Everyone who sees you fly knows you’re special,” he said, his own voice dropping. It felt shameful even admitting this. “You work so hard, you’re the best flier, and now because of Dean, you’ll soon be the best swordfighter, too. But me?” He looked up. “I’m not even close. When it comes to flight, I’m not the best. When it comes to elements, again, not anywhere close. I’ve got nothing to offer, no reason to think I’m worthy of someone like her.”

  “You’re wrong,” Bree said. “You may not be best at flying or ice element, but you’re close at both, and you get better every day. I can see it, and so can everyone else. For how special you think I am, I might not even last through the six-month evaluations, but you’re a lock, and we both know it.”

  Kael shook his head, feeling angry despite knowing it was ridiculous. Why should he be mad at Bree for insisting he was wrong, especially in this?

  “Just drop it,” he told her as he stood. “Clara deserves better than me, and one day, she’ll figure that out.”

  Bree stood as well, and she grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving.

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “Do you know who decides if you’re worthy? She does, just like you decide if she’s worthy of you.” She released his arm. “Is she worthy, Kael?”

  “I’d rather be at her side than anywhere else,” he said, his throat horribly dry.

  “Then be happy she sees something in you, and don’t insult her by pretending nothing’s there. Who cares if you’re a farmer or a lord? Be happy. Go with her to the party. You do want to go with her, don’t you?”

  Kael felt his jaw quiver, felt his throat tighten.

  “I do,” he said. “I’m terrified, but I do.”

  Bree took his hands in hers, and she smiled at him.

  “Then go with her,” she said, “and to hell with anyone who disagrees.”

  Something in the way she said it made it seem so easy, so obvious, and Kael laughed as he felt the pressure in his chest break.

  “Still may not be that easy,” he said. “I did tell Clara no. What if she’s already asked someone else?”

  “Then you’ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life
,” Bree said, pushing him toward the stairs. “It also means you should be running to find her before that happens.”

  Kael grabbed her instead, pulling her close so he could hug her.

  “What would I do without you?” he asked.

  “Mope in a library, I’d wager,” she said, grinning.

  He hugged her again, kissed her cheek, and then rushed down the stairs.

  “Hey, return that book for me, will you?”

  His sister shouted a rude name down the stairs in response, but he laughed, feet flying out the door, the last of his nerves long gone.

  CHAPTER 18

  Thank God for sensible Amanda,” Bree said as she and Dean approached the mansion while high above them the sky burned with fire. “Those things look horribly uncomfortable.”

  “Those things” were the elaborate dresses the many women lined up on the stairs were wearing. They were all of a solid color, most of them blue. The bottoms were flared out in wide circles, and at both their waists and shoulders were big poofy ribbons and tassels and other things she didn’t even know the names of. No matter the size of the women, their midsections were covered with laced-up corsets cinched so tightly it made Bree wince just looking at them.

  “Is yours that much better?” Dean asked, holding her hand.

  Bree glanced down at her borrowed dress. When she’d informed Amanda of her plans to wear her uniform to the dance, the girl had nearly lost her mind. She’d practically begged Bree to let her borrow a dress from her parents, to at least see if one fit. Bree relented after two days, Amanda hurried home the night before the dance, and then returned with not one but three. After trying them all on, Bree’s favorite had been a fairly simple white gown that once belonged to Amanda’s grandmother. The sleeves ran all the way to her wrist, the dress clung to her hips instead of pushing out like a giant bell, and best of all, there was no need for a corset. The only frill was a single blue bellflower Dean had carried with him when he arrived at her apartment, and which he’d pinned just above her left breast.

  “I can breathe in my dress,” Bree said. “I’m not sure the same can be said for them. Or is breathing an act of commoners the wealthy have learned to do without?”

  Dean tugged her closer so he could whisper in her ear.

  “I’d say the suits are worse, but they’re not. And for the love of all that’s holy, at least pretend like you’re trying not to insult anyone.”

  Bree muffled her laugh with her hand. Sure enough, one of the women directly in front of them had turned about and glared, though the balding man holding her hand seemed oblivious.

  Sorry, Bree mouthed to her. It didn’t seem to help. An excellent start to the evening, she decided.

  As they walked, Bree took in the sights of the mansion, which she’d never been anywhere near this close to before. Tall, broad-leafed trees formed a perimeter, evenly spaced out every ten feet or so. Their branches were immaculately trimmed so that each one created an enormous half-circle of leaves at the tops of their trunks. The mansion itself was built of stone, which on its own would have been rare, but rarer still was the white marble that made up many of its columns and cherub statues. While the building itself was a towering two stories, the windows and doors themselves were short and narrow, the stained-glass windows laced with bars.

  Protected from the air, Bree realized as they approached the front door. Any Seraph seeking entrance would have to come through the doors and face the military guard.

  Eight such guards flanked the reinforced oak doors that were currently flung wide open. They carried enormous shields the size of their own bodies, their free hand holding a long, sharpened spear. They wore shining steel armor, accentuated by black tunics and blue sashes. While the Seraphim were the Archon’s elite battling in the air for pride and power, the military were the ground troops, Weshern’s second line of defense against invasion. In the narrow corridors of the holy mansion, where no Seraph could fly, their shields guarded their bodies from the elements, and their spears gave them reach no Seraphim blade could match.

  “What’s with the tattoos?” Bree asked. Several of the guards bore tattoos on their faces, lines of thin blue dots shooting in seemingly random directions from their eyes.

  “That means they’re personal bodyguards of the Archon and his family,” Dean said. “It also means you shouldn’t bother trying to chat with them. In the olden times they used to yank out their tongues, but now they just swear vows of silence.”

  They reached the top of the stairs, and staring in through those wide doors reignited Bree’s nervousness. So far she saw only a long hallway, and it was surprisingly dark and claustrophobic. The noise from beyond it reached her, a deep hum of many intermixed voices. This would be worse than her first day at the academy, worse than their visit to Center. Hundreds decked out in their finest, wielding power, wealth, and influence, and here she was, a Seraph in training wearing an old borrowed dress. As the guards stopped them and one without tattoos reached out for their invitation, Bree thought that maybe, just maybe, Kael had been correct to shy away from such a world.

  “Straight on through, then right at the hallway,” the guard said after glancing over the invitation and then handing it back.

  “Thank you,” Dean said, pocketing the invitation and then dipping his head in respect. Bree clutched his hand in a death grip as they walked into the dark entryway.

  “How did you get invited again?” she asked. “Are you secretly rich and never told me?”

  Dean laughed.

  “I’d wager I come from a family even poorer than yours, Bree,” he said. “Truth is, all third-year classmen and up are invited. This way the Willers can say they knew us from the start should one of us become a big war hero.”

  “You make them sound so devious.”

  Her date flashed her a cocky smile.

  “The royal family’s beloved for a reason,” he said. “And it’s not just for their looks.”

  They reached the end of the entryway and stepped out into a hallway twice as tall and lit with softly burning torches hanging from steel braziers. Bree examined one, surprised to see that at the end was a fire prism much like the ones she used during training. The torch itself wasn’t wood at all, but painted stone, and Bree wondered what ancient technology the Willers used to harness the fire in such a way, not to mention the simple cost of doing so. Obtaining elements from Center was expensive, and much of Weshern’s harvests and trade went toward obtaining them.

  Amid the torches were dozens of portraits of various family members, and quick glances at the dates showed they would be long dead by now. Most bore the familial trait of blond hair and fair skin. Amid the fine suits and dresses, the occasional member bore the uniform of the Seraphim, and for some reason it made Bree feel proud knowing their ruling family still devoted itself to service in the defense of their island. The ceiling high above them was covered with glass stained a deep blue, and Bree found herself staring at its swirl of purples from the light of the midnight fire shining through.

  “You nervous?” Dean asked as they traversed the blue carpet toward the larger ballroom where the rest of the party gathered.

  “Just a little,” she said, turning to her date. “You won’t laugh if I stumble while dancing, will you?”

  “You won’t stumble,” Dean said. “You took to it as well as you did flying.”

  “Not even close, and you know it.”

  Over the past week, they’d started spending their nights together in the advanced flight fields, with him teaching her how to dance. Well, among other things…

  “Stand up straight, smile wide, and pretend you belong,” Dean said as they reached the end of the hallway. “And if you’re not sure how to respond, just smile and laugh softly. You’ll be surprised by how many sticky conversation topics you can escape unscathed using that trick.”

  Bree did just that, standing up straight, pulling back her shoulders, and smiling as if the Willer mansion was the most amazin
g thing she’d ever seen. That done, she accompanied Dean to the end of the hallway, where the ruling couple, Isaac and Avila Willer, greeted their guests. The Archon was an imposing man with a large nose, squinty eyes, and a blond beard closely trimmed so that it covered only his mouth and chin. He stood as if his spine didn’t know how to bend, and he wore a pair of white gloves. Beside him, Avila was a picture of noble beauty, her dress in many ways as plain as Bree’s, its fabric lacking any frills as it hugged her body down to her ankles. Of course, such frills were unnecessary when your dress appeared to be made of the finest silver ever dug from the innermost pits of the land. Her long blonde hair split into elaborate twin ponytails that fell to either side of her chest. Dozens of black ribbons kept the hair in place, each ribbon decorated with diamonds.

  “Dean Averson,” Isaac said, reaching out and shaking the Seraph’s hand the moment he neared. “Glad to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” he said, bowing low in respect. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “And who is your date?” Avila asked, and sensing she couldn’t hide forever, Bree stepped forward and performed the best curtsy she could manage.

  “Breanna Skyborn,” she said. “I am honored to be in your presence, your majesties.”

  “No formalities here,” Isaac said, motioning for her to rise. A wistful look overcame his firm stare. “I knew your parents, honorable Seraphim the both of them. My eldest perished that same day. I fear even now we suffer from the echoes of that terrible battle.”

  Avila smiled, very smooth, very practiced. Her teeth were white like pearls, and despite her age, her skin still shone with life.

  “Now is not a time to dwell on the sadness of the past,” the royal lady said. “Tonight, we celebrate the future. Dean, Breanna, please enjoy our food, our music, and our company.”

  They dipped their heads slightly, and Bree and Dean accepted the dismissal, stepping farther into the ballroom so the next couple behind them could begin introductions anew.

  The ballroom was easily the largest construction Bree had ever been in. If she’d been wearing her wings, it’d have felt more appropriate to fly from one side to the other instead of walking. The walls stretched heavenward with a gentle inward curve, all sides covered with elaborate paintings of Weshern’s forests and lakes. The ceiling itself was painted black, and arched to form a gargantuan dome. The black paint seemed odd to Bree, and she wondered why they chose such a singular color given the lively greens and blues throughout the paintings. Near the ground were more than a hundred torches similar to the ones in the hallway, and the sheer amount of fire element involved was staggering. The floor beneath her was white marble, again adding to the incredible wealth of the holy mansion. To her surprise, gold swirls covered the floor, forming intricate patterns connecting various circles. At the far side, a band of seven played soft, soothing music with an assortment of stringed instruments both great and small.