The Empress of Xytae

by Effie Calvin

  Behind Cytha, Livius was approaching rapidly. He was saying the binding words that would trap her in her body and allow them to kill her, albeit temporarily. Cytha waved a hand without even glancing back at him, and a gust of blue-white magic struck him in the chest, sending him down to one knee.

  “You don’t have to do this,” said Aelia. “You don’t have to destroy yourself to be free of her. You could just tell her no.”

  Cytha laughed. “Oh, could I? And what do you think she would do in return?”

  “I can help you,” said Aelia. “We can help you.”

  “Twist me into something new, you mean?” asked Cytha. “And when Men whisper my name, I’ll just tell them, ‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t do that anymore. Solve your own problems’? It was so easy for you to run away from your old domain because nobody wanted you to start with. I am not so worthless.”

  Aelia ran her fingers through her hair casually, but Ioanna saw her swallow. “I forgot how miserable you are,” she said. Her tone was light, but the lightness was a lie, even if the words were not. “All right. Let’s get this over with, then.”

  Other paladins had gathered around Cytha, but most of them would not need to do anything more than stand there to prevent her from escaping. Not that Ioanna thought she would try. Cytha was so resigned. How terribly was Reygmadra treating her that she would take death—even a temporary one—over being her ally?

  When Livius got back up and approached Cytha with his sword, Ioanna averted her eyes.

  She allowed one of the paladins to steer her into the largest tent in the encampment. It was sparse inside, despite its size, and Ioanna sank down into the nearest chair, her legs trembling. Someone put a cup of water in her hands.

  The minutes dragged on, but her heartbeat would not slow. Ioanna closed her eyes, and all she could see was that soldier, the one who had been killed when the first man was put in thrall.

  Could she have stopped it? If she had been just a little faster, she might have put a shield up between him and his victim.

  “Crown Princess,” said a voice. Ioanna opened her eyes and looked up at Livius. Orsina was just behind him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Ioanna murmured. “I, I attacked one of the paladins. He was in thrall. I should apologize—” She began to stand, but Livius pushed her firmly back down into the chair.

  “It’s nothing,” soothed Orsina. “He’s more embarrassed than you are.”

  “I wasn’t angry at Vitaliya for being put in thrall, and I’m not angry at him either,” said Ioanna. “Can you tell him that? I don’t want him to think I hate him.” She thought of his accusation that her father had ordered them out of the country because of her. Surely that was not true? The Order of the Sun was not responsible for the blessing Ioanna had received, and her father would not blame them for it.

  But he might seek to punish them for lack of another victim.

  Ioanna forced herself to breathe deeply. Even if that was the case, the blame lay solely with her father for the choices he’d made, not with Ioanna for existing.

  “Someone—someone check on Vitaliya,” said Ioanna. “Someone make sure she’s all right.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” soothed Knight Commander Livius. “She’s still at the villa; she was nowhere near—”

  “I’ll go,” said Orsina quickly. “Better to be safe.”

  “That was Cytha?” asked Livius once Orsina was gone. Ioanna nodded.

  “She’s more powerful than some of her siblings, but she should still be weeks regenerating,” he said. “At least we won’t have to worry about her until after we take back Xyuluthe.”

  Ioanna nodded again and stared down at her feet. How many of her soldiers would flee the camp after what had happened? She should address them, try to assuage their fears.

  Her thoughts returned to Cytha. This had been little more than a suicide mission. She’d obviously known how attacking Nassai would end for her. There had to be more to her plan than just desperation.

  “I want to talk to the soldiers,” said Ioanna. “They signed on to fight my sister, not chaos goddesses. I need to get ahead of any rumors that might pick up now. Or else they’ll frighten themselves into deserting.”

  “I don’t think they will with so many paladins here,” said Livius. “But there’s no harm in addressing them. Take some time to prepare what you want to say, and we will have them gather tonight.”

  “And if any of them do try to desert, let them go,” said Ioanna. Livius opened his mouth to object, but she shook her head vehemently. “No. I won’t force anyone to stay after that. Netheia surely knows what’s happening by now, so there’s no useful information they can pass on to her. My father forced people into armies. I won’t be like him.”

  “You are already nothing like him,” said Livius.

  She supposed she ought to be proud of that, but the only emotion she could muster up right now was exhaustion. “You killed Cytha so easily.”

  “That is why I am here, Crown Princess.”

  “Yes, I know.” Ioanna hesitated, trying to decide how to describe what she was thinking. “When we go to Xyuluthe, Netheia will certainly confront me, or try to. I, I don’t want her killed.”

  “Crown Princess—”

  “I don’t want her killed,” repeated Ioanna. “She can’t help the blessing she was given. She can’t help how our father and the priestesses raised her. Promise me—promise me—”

  “No.”

  Ioanna stared up at him, and she must have appeared sufficiently distraught because Livius relented.

  “We will try to take her alive, if possible,” said Livius. “But it may not be. And I would rather have your hatred for the rest of my life than see you dead by her hand.”

  Ioanna realized she could not expect any paladin to prioritize their enemy over herself. There was a very real possibility one of them might even defy her orders and go after Netheia deliberately, reasoning that any punishment Ioanna might issue was more than worth the cost of seeing her greatest enemy dead.

  “My mother’s blessing isn’t strong,” Ioanna said slowly. “She doesn’t fight when she can’t win. My sister Iulia, she’s only ten, and she has Reygmadra’s magic, but she’s not like Netheia at all. She’s happy—”

  “They will not be harmed,” confirmed Livius. “So long as they do not attempt to harm you.”

  “The servants are innocent—”

  “Ioanna.” He leaned forward and took her by the hands. “We are not mercenaries. We do not want to see bloodshed any more than you do. The Order will do their utmost to preserve the lives of your people. I cannot promise there will be no tragedies in the heat of battle, but we take no joy in killing.”

  But not all her soldiers were paladins. Some were farmers, city guards, or ex-soldiers like Modia and her bandits. Could she trust them to show restraint? Could she even ask that of them, or would they think her a foolish, idealistic child?

  She would have to say something about it when she addressed them. Urge them to think of the citizens of Xyuluthe as their allies, not their enemies. The residents of the city were their countrymen, and most of the palace residents were harmless or at least thoughtless courtiers. Most would turn and run once they realized what was happening—Ioanna hoped. If nothing else, she would make it clear she would not tolerate pillaging. The very thought of it made her heart burn with fury.

  Someone else entered the tent, and Ioanna looked over to see Orsina standing there with something in her hands. A letter, Ioanna realized. It was open, but the wax seal was still stuck to one end of the paper—dark red, but not so dark she could not see her own family’s insignia. Her face was solemn as she passed it over to Livius.

  “Is that from my grandmother?” asked Ioanna. She rose partway in her chair, trying to see what was written, but they were both so much taller than her.

  “No,” Orsina said.

  “Did you find Vitaliya?”

  “No.”


  “What is that letter?” Ioanna got to her feet, impatient now. “What’s going on?”

  “It is…” Orsina looked at Livius helplessly. “It is a ransom letter.”

  Truth.

  How strange. Her blessing had never detected truth before, only lies. But the word chimed in her head like the ringing of a bell, strong and smooth.

  “Where is she?” Ioanna could hear her voice shaking. “Where—”

  Vitaliya was fine. She had to be. Maybe she’d woven herself a grass bed and slept in the garden? Ioanna leapt to her feet and tried to push past them, but Livius caught her by the arm and refused to release her.

  “Listen to me, Ioanna,” he said. “You must remain calm. This is what Netheia wants you to do—she wants you to panic, so you’ll stop thinking clearly and make mistakes.”

  Ioanna ripped her arm out of his grasp, and it was only then that she realized her hands were glowing with golden light, even though she could not recall summoning her magic. Despite the warmth of it, she only felt very, very cold.

  “Ioanna?” said Livius, but his voice was oddly muffled like it was coming from somewhere far away.

  Ioanna opened her mouth to reply, but something was caught in her throat, and she coughed. A bit of phlegm, or something. Ioanna had never spat in her life, but she did now—and what landed on the ground before her feet was strange and glowing gold. It pulsed for a moment before dissipating into the dirt.

  “Oh,” said Ioanna, now thoroughly convinced she was dreaming. She rubbed at her eyes, and more gold light stuck to her hands—it was streaming from her eyes.

  “Ioanna?” There was panic in his voice, and if Ioanna hadn’t been in the process of coming untethered from her own body, maybe she would be worried too. “Ioanna! Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” said Ioanna, but even her voice felt distant, meaningless. “Don’t yell. Please.”

  “What’s happening to her?” Livius asked, and Ioanna realized he was addressing Aelia, who had once again appeared among them. “What is this?”

  Aelia was interesting to see. Ioanna could see her mortal body, the vessel of water and meat that she wore every day so she could live beside Orsina. But beyond that was something else, something beautiful and terrible that existed simultaneously within arm’s reach and at an insurmountable distance.

  Ioanna saw it—and it saw her. She would not have imagined that a creature made of pure energy would be able to look surprised, but it did.

  “She’s not a woman at all; she’s just purple,” Ioanna tried to explain for the benefit of the others, but the words came out strange and slurred. It was like being drunk, but she did not feel tired. She felt invigorated. She felt as though she would never need to sleep again.

  “Have you ever seen this before?” Livius asked Aelia.

  Aelia exhaled through her mouth. “Not in a very long time.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Point her at Xyuluthe. And then stand somewhere out of the way.”

  “Xyuluthe,” Ioanna mumbled. Xyuluthe was the source of the corruption in this tainted land, spreading misery and fear like a poison. And it was where Netheia had taken Vitaliya.

  You’ll do the right thing. No matter how much you hate it. You’ll do what’s best for Xytae.

  Who had said those words to her? Her grandmother, warning her of this exact scenario, as though she had foreseen it?

  No, it had been Vitaliya.

  Maybe I’ll surprise you, Ioanna had said.

  Maybe she would surprise everyone.

  “I need to go to Xyuluthe now,” said Ioanna. “Goodbye.” She pushed her way out of the tent and tried to remember what horses were in the stables and which ones were the fastest. It would be days, perhaps even a week, if she brought the entire army she’d amassed. But alone, on horseback, she might make it before tomorrow night…if she did not care whether her mount lived or died.

  “Ioanna, wait,” said Livius. When Ioanna did not wait, he hurried to keep up with her. “Listen to me! This cannot be Iolar’s will! We’ve raised an army—larger than any of us ever dared hope! We can take back Xyuluthe in the way we planned.”

  “And Vitaliya will die,” said Ioanna. The gold light tasted so strange in her mouth—simultaneously sweet and bitter. She wiped at her lips. “No. I will not be alone again.”

  “You can’t put her life above the rest of this country!”

  “Do you think I’m going to surrender?” Ioanna tilted her head curiously. “Do you think I intend to turn myself in?”

  “I’ve no idea what you intend,” said Livius. “At this moment, I’m not even sure who you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d say something had you in thrall!”

  Something about that sentiment struck her as hilarious, and she laughed. But the laugh was not entirely hers. It was like the ringing of a bell, pure and powerful. She turned away and continued walking. Behind her, she could hear their conversation as they followed.

  “Should we try an exorcism?” muttered Orsina, not as quietly as she’d probably intended.

  “It won’t do anything; it’s Iolar’s magic on her,” said Aelia.

  “I refuse to believe this is his will,” insisted Livius. “This is—this is not his way.”

  “No, you’re right about that. Someone else pushed her to this.” Aelia exhaled loudly. “Someone who didn’t trust Iolar could get it done properly.”

  Part of Ioanna—a very small, very quiet part—was curious about what they were saying. But it was stifled by the much larger part, which was suggesting they tear the Imperial Palace apart, stone by stone, until Vitaliya was safe once again.

  “Why is this happening?” asked Orsina. “What is happening?”

  “I can try to explain it, but mortal languages aren’t designed to describe things like this,” warned Aelia. “I can’t promise you’ll understand.”

  “Tell us whatever you can,” instructed Livius. “Anything helps.”

  “Ioanna has an ordinary blessing within her body, just as you and Orsina do. It’s how she uses her shields. But her Truthsayer magic is not part of that, it’s separate…and it’s kept within Iolar himself. She is tethered to him.”

  Truth.

  Ioanna paused and glanced back over her shoulder at Aelia. If she was feeling more like her usual self, she was certain she’d have thousands of questions. But now, she could only muster up a little twinge of curiosity.

  “Truthsayer magic is always active, always waiting, always drawing power.” Aelia met Ioanna’s eyes. “If it was kept within you, you’d have died when you were only a few days old; you’d have drained yourself by just existing.”

  “How can we get her back to normal?” asked Livius.

  “I understand why you’re asking, but I think it might be best to let her do what she wants.” When he opened his mouth to object, Aelia added, “Someone went to a lot of trouble to set this up—someone significantly more powerful than me. There’s got to be a reason they want her to do this instead of following our original plan.”

  “How do we know the one who did this to her is benign?” he asked. “How do we know it wasn’t meant to be a way to get her to Xyuluthe without our protection? What if it was Reygmadra herself?”

  “It wasn’t Reygmadra,” asserted Aelia. “I, I think it was Dayluue. I know it was Dayluue. She’s had her hand in this from the day Ioanna was born. Vitaliya and Ioanna crossing paths was her doing. I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out why Vitaliya was sent up here. But now I think I’ve got it. Dayluue knew Reygmadra would see Vitaliya as a weakness to exploit…and when she did, Ioanna would lose control of her blessing.”

  “How do we know Dayluue isn’t aiding Reygmadra?” pressed Livius.

  “Because Dayluue is the reason Reygmadra wasn’t able to give Ioanna a blessing from the start,” said Aelia. “And Reygmadra’s never forgiven her for it.”

  Ioanna was tired of this conversation. Vitaliya needed her, and every minute wasted was another
minute that Netheia might decide to kill her out of pure spite. She turned away again and continued her walk to the stables.

  “Ioanna, wait,” said Livius. “We’ll go to Xyuluthe, but you cannot go alone. Even if you do manage to rescue Vitaliya and defeat your sister, you don’t have enough supporters within the city. What if your mother turns on you? What if the other nobles refuse to support you?”

  “I don’t care.” Lie. Ioanna paused, surprised. She did care? Yes, yes, she did. Or at least, that little piece of her that was still curious and afraid and soft did. Maybe she ought to listen to it? But there was no time. She’d spent the last twenty years doing nothing except being inoffensive and invisible. Now it was time to act, to fight, to purify—

  “Let us come with you,” coaxed Orsina. “Aelia and me and some of the other paladins. Enough to protect you but not slow you down. And we’ll arrange for the rest of your forces to follow behind. They’ll catch up with us in a few days, so if the worst happens, we can hold out until more support arrives.”

  Ioanna warred with herself, the large and loud part of her that could not care less about strategy and empires and anything that wasn’t Vitaliya against the small, soft part of her that cared very, very much. Finally, when the headache was too much to bear, she muttered, “Fine.”

  “It won’t be long,” Livius promised her. “Just be patient. We’ll leave before dawn.”

  Ioanna nodded, reluctantly. Perhaps sensing she needed reassurance, Aelia placed a hand on Ioanna’s shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” said Aelia. “We’ll get her back.”

  It was not a lie, but it was an opinion, so it did not count as the truth either.

  The journey to Xyuluthe was tedious, made all the more so by the fact they were stopping constantly to rest, eat, and give the horses water. When Livius insisted it was too dark to go any further, and they had to stop for the night, Ioanna wanted to scream.

  Aelia irritated her too. Every so often she’d ask Ioanna her name, where she was born, how old she was, and other questions that served no purpose. When Ioanna finally snapped at her to stop, Aelia said, “I need to make sure you’re still in there.”