Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  It’s all black for what feels like a single second, until Caius is pulled upright onto numb feet. Disoriented, he follows without a fight. His hands are tightly bound behind him. The rope still hangs about his throat, more loosely now, but ready to be tightened at the first sign of resistance.

  Asher is bound next to him. They are led wordlessly, as if in a dream, onto one of the dragons. The bandit holding Caius’ rope mounts behind them. A couple of heavy bandits mount the other, along with what looks like the army leader, Gilbert.

  “Sursum. Ad urbem,” the bandit behind Caius says. Up. To the city. “If either of you try anything, I will not hesitate to drop you out of the sky.”

  The dragons take flight. Caius glances down as they leave Lockmire, spotting a dark puddle outlining Grogar’s broken body. Silas is gone. Without care, he’ll slowly bleed to death alone in the forest—a fate no good man ever deserves.

  He wrinkles his brow as a thought occurs to his muddled brain. He leans forward to Asher. “Did you say something about—”

  “No talking,” the bandit barks.

  Caius clamps his lips shut. Surely, it was some odd dream in the midst of all that madness. Surely, Asher didn’t say that. She is dead. They buried her.

  It is a clear, starry night. One that Caius would have spent with her. Watching the stars, wondering about them, wondering what lay beyond that blanket of darkness. She loved the sky, but mostly in the daytime. Nighttime and darkness unsettled her. It makes him shudder to think of where she must be now, buried deep in the dark earth. So far from the sun.

  The dragons deliver them quickly to Esterden. Asher is shaking when he dismounts the dragon. His pale face shines in Esterden’s torchlight like a wheel of fresh cheese. The next events all smudge together. They are pulled across the city and into a doorway in the side of the castle. The bandits register them with a guard at the door, which takes far longer than Caius could have imagined. Finally, they are locked into cells in a large, circular room. Asher’s and Caius’ cells are directly next to one another. The cells consist of a single barred door and three walls of stone.

  When Caius finally steps into his cell, he collapses against the wall, more exhausted than he has ever felt in his life. He glares at the torch in the sconce. Why didn’t I die today? Why am I alive when Silas and Grogar are dead? Why am I alive when she is dead? Why?

  “Evelyn is alive, Caius.” Asher’s voice echoes softly in the large room.

  “No, she isn’t,” Caius says.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” None of it feels real. Sitting here in an Esterden cell, with injuries throbbing all over his body. Vaguely, he realizes he is hungry. When did I even eat last?

  “She isn’t dead anymore.”

  Caius shakes his head. “The dragon ride confused you. Get some sleep.”

  “I’m not confused. I saw her with my own eyes.”

  “Then you’ve gone mad. She’s dead. I watched them bury her.”

  “But you didn’t. I am not mad. Evelyn is alive. The Herus worker resurrected her.”

  Something twinges in Caius’ head, sparking his brain back to life. He sits up. “Asher, are you speaking truth?”

  “I am. Caius, she is living. She came to Lockmire to find you, but she was injured and was rushed back to Tarreth.”

  Caius grips the bars. “What? I… How?”

  “A minister of Herus resurrected her, right after you left the burial place, I heard.”

  Caius has heard of dark lord worshippers enchanting fire crystals harvested from dragons to enhance their power before attempting to raise the dead. Such magic, however, is rare and extremely dangerous. Is that what happened? If any of this is even true, did someone raise a carcass of her soul for her to obey them?

  “Why?” he asks.

  Asher chuckles, though his voice sounds entirely devoid of humour. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”

  “Surely it isn’t her. There’s no way…”

  “She’s alive, Caius. I held her in my arms. She’s living and breathing, just like she was before. She came with Ilvara to Lockmire to find you, but she was injured, and she and Ilvara were separated. Ilvara is missing now. That’s part of the reason we returned—Grogar and me. To find you and tell you what happened. But they caught us outside the walls. They somehow knew I’d been Lockmire’s general, so they wanted me alive, but Grogar was attacked by the dragons. They led me to the training centre, but once they realized we might be together, they held me with that sword.”

  Caius slouches back against the wall. After a long, heavy moment of silence, he lets out his breath. “Gods. She’s…alive?”

  “Yes. I’ve told you now a hundred times.”

  His mouth is dry, his head misty, like he’s had too much to drink. But everything feels sharp. He can taste the years of damp in this dungeon. He can see every mark in the grey stone wall. His throat burns from the rope, and his shoulder throbs from the wound. He is not dreaming. He is not drunk.

  “I saw her in the coffin,” Caius says softly. “She died in my arms. I remember the life leaving her eyes.”

  “I know. She did die, but she was also resurrected. I don’t know how, exactly. I’m not sure if you met Priscilla. She apparently called upon her god to do some miracle, and he did.”

  “He did.” Caius looks down at his hands. Alive? “How…is she? She was injured?”

  “Yes, badly I’m afraid. She disguised herself as an Esterden soldier to get into Lockmire, but the guards fell upon her. Cut her on both sides. She nearly bled out.”

  Caius puts his head in his hands. “Oh.”

  “Alec actually got her back to Tarreth just in time. She spent the night at the Sanctuary while I was out finding my sister, Francine. She’s a gifted mage. She arrived early this morning and healed Evelyn. And Alesia, too.”

  “Alesia.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Right.”

  “Anyway, so she’s all right. She’s resting in the Sanctuary. But knowing Evelyn, she’ll be looking for you again soon.”

  “Looking for me.”

  “Yes. That’s why she came to Lockmire in the first place. She wanted to find you.”

  Caius tips his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. “She’s alive.”

  “Yes.”

  He shuts his eyes as they fill with tears. He presses his fingers into his eye sockets, forcing himself to say her name for the first time since her death. “Evelyn is alive.”

  Chapter 21

  Scarlet Gown

  Ilvara’s gut twists when she sees those first rays of dawn. They begin slowly. First, pale blue light lifts the shadow. Then, orange and yellow mix together to brighten the room. The sky shifts to a violent shade of crimson, streaked with bright pink. It heralds a coming storm, as does the heaviness in the air. How appropriate for a storm to break on this day.

  Ilvara’s bare skin is chilled despite the breeze blowing in from the window, damp and warm from the Pond. She has given up jerking at the manacles, shouting for help, praying for deliverance. There is no escape.

  Footsteps clomp up the ladder. The trap door creaks open. Tight knots of dread uncoil slightly at the sight of Goldie.

  “Good morning,” she says. “I am to ask what you’ve decided.”

  “Evelyn Brightwater,” Ilvara says.

  Goldie’s mask of professionalism crumples. “Pardon me?”

  “That’s her last name. Brightwater. Evelyn Brightwater. I’ve never known.”

  Goldie wriggles nervously. “I…I am to ask whether you choose execution or…or—”

  “You are her mother, aren’t you? And you knew that she lived. You must have heard that she joined the army. Everyone in the region knows. There aren’t many golden-haired women joining armies around here. So why didn’t you come to see her? She has lived her entire life thinking you were dead.”

  Goldie looks away. “They will be expecting me
downstairs. Have you made your choice?”

  “I found her on the road, you know. She was naked and beaten until her bones broke. She’s covered in scars from what those bandits did. She’ll never have children.”

  “None of that was my fault,” Goldie says quietly.

  Her own fate is a distant thought. Ilvara can feel her stomach contort, burning with anger. “You knew she was there?” she shouts. “You knew they were raping your daughter, and you did nothing? What kind of demon are you? From what pit of Hades did you crawl out? Evelyn is a beautiful person. She did nothing to deserve those years of torture.”

  “I will inform Lord Krassis you’ve decided to be executed,” Goldie says, then slams the door.

  Ilvara tries to catch her breath. Her head pounds. She picks up her head to scream, “I raised that girl! I raised her, and she wanted to give her life to fight for me.”

  After a stretch of silence, the door opens again. It’s Sylvia.

  “I chose marriage, actually,” Ilvara gets out, shaking, but not with fear. “That snake wants me dead because I’m telling her the truth. She threw her own daughter to the wolves.”

  “None of that matters to me,” Sylvia says. “I finally get to kill you.”

  Ilvara eyes her without moving her head. A long blade glistens in Sylvia’s hand.

  “Now, what shall I cut off first? Your fingers or your toes?” A smile stretches across Sylvia’s freckled face.

  The trap door slams open. An unfamiliar guard climbs into the room.

  “Lord Krassis said yesterday that I could carry out the execution,” Sylvia tells him, voice suddenly small.

  “Lord Krassis told me to take Ilvara to him to explain herself,” says the guard. He unlocks the cage door and the manacles, then grabs Ilvara firmly by the wrists. The expression of disbelief and disgust in Sylvia’s eyes makes Ilvara clamp her lips to suppress her smile. The day and night alone in this room, with nothing but ice-cold fear as a companion, has dizzied her mind. She almost laughs.

  Down in the square room with the chests, the guard stops. He orders Sylvia to take out clothing for Ilvara to wear. Sylvia yanks open the lid, pulls out the first thing she finds, and tosses it at the guard. Without a word, she storms out.

  Ilvara slips on the garment—an ugly brown dress torn at the knees and reeking of sweat—and follows the guard through the labyrinth until they reach the circular cell room. There, familiar voices calling her name make her glance up.

  “Caius, Asher,” Ilvara says. “Where is Evelyn?” The guard pokes her to keep her moving.

  “Don’t worry,” Asher tells her from behind the bars. “Evelyn is safely in Lockmire.” He rattles his bars. “Oy. Where are you taking her?”

  Ilvara can’t get the words out to tell him, and by the time she finds them, she’s left the circular room. She wonders how the two of them got there. She wonders what will happen to them. She wonders why she isn’t afraid.

  Esterden is just waking when they leave the dungeon and cross briefly over the walkway toward the castle. Ilvara lifts her eyes to the pink sky. Evelyn is safely in Lockmire. All is well.

  Inside the main hall, Lord Krassis rises as Ilvara enters. His eyes are darkened from lack of sleep. He crosses his arms.

  Ilvara kneels without being prompted. “I ask your forgiveness, Lord Krassis,” she says before he can utter a word.

  He sounds surprised and annoyed. “For what? For choosing death over marriage to me?”

  “I hesitate to correct you, but I did not choose death. I chose marriage to you, and your assistant did not want to listen.”

  Ilvara glances up at him. He glares at Goldie, standing behind the throne, trembling in her struggle to hold a neutral expression.

  “Why would she not want to listen?” Lord Krassis asks.

  “Because she committed grave crimes that I know about. Guilt forced her to be hasty.”

  “My lord,” Goldie begins, but Lord Krassis raises a hand to silence her.

  “What crimes?” Krassis asks Ilvara.

  She rises. “I have spent the last seven years or so caring for her daughter, Evelyn.”

  “How do you know it was her daughter?”

  “Evelyn looks exactly like her. And you must agree that there are not many people in Ardellon with golden hair like that.”

  “I suppose not. Go on.” Krassis folds his arms tightly.

  “Thank you.” Ilvara draws her parched tongue across her lips, staring at Goldie as she recounts the events. “I found Evelyn on a road in Nequa, beaten nearly to death and unconscious. I dressed her numerous wounds. I stayed with her through nightmares that made her wake screaming. I taught her how to function and see humanity in a better light again. Then I married Count Hadrian, and she became my servant in Lockmire. In Imber, she decided to leave my service to fight in my name for Lockmire. She said that dying for me would be the greatest honour after everything I did for her, but it was nothing to me. I was born to love that girl as my own daughter, and I have for many years. After her own mother abandoned her to ruthless bandits.”

  Tears streak Goldie’s face. She maintains her rigid position, facing forward, eyes on no one despite all eyes on her.

  “Is this true, Marigold?” Krassis asks her, voice deadly quiet.

  “Is what true, my lord?”

  “Her story. What she said. Did you abandon your daughter?”

  “I…no.”

  Ilvara curses at her, unable to help herself. The guard behind Ilvara commands her to be silent.

  “It is far more complicated than she is putting it,” Goldie says. “I knew Evelyn was there, but I could do nothing to get her out.”

  Ilvara scoffs. “Why not? You appear to be very comfortable with bandits now.”

  “It is my job,” Goldie says.

  “Your job is to conspire with criminals? That sounds far from innocent.”

  Sylvia steps forward from somewhere behind Ilvara. “If I may, my lord—”

  “You may not.” Krassis rubs his eyebrow. He sighs and points at Goldie. “You, get out of my sight. But if I hear word of you leaving Esterden, I will have you hunted down. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Goldie says.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” Krassis says under his breath, eyeing her as she scampers to the door. “And you.” He looks at Sylvia. “You’ve been acting strangely since Ilvara arrived.”

  “I know her, my lord,” she says softly.

  “Oh? Lovely. Get out then.”

  “B—but—”

  “I don’t care if you know her. Get out.”

  With a sharp glance at Ilvara, Sylvia leaves as well. Lord Krassis steps down until he and Ilvara are about the same height.

  “I told the priest last night already to be prepared for this morning,” he says, indicating to the man dressed in white robes, standing to the side. “I thought only a fool would choose to die.”

  Ilvara thinks of Evelyn, stepping out in front of Maven’s knife, deciding she would die for the sake of someone else. She thinks of the blood pounding through Evelyn’s veins during her first battle, or of the men who opposed her so much that Caius, a man who seemed to accept her, stood out. Evelyn was not a fool to choose death. She acted in the bravest way Ilvara has ever seen. But in this case, execution would be the coward’s choice.

  Krassis leads her to a group of grinning female servants. “These ladies will be preparing you for the ceremony. We expect you to return in no more than three hours.”

  Despite the nature of the event, Krassis appears to Ilvara like a young man marrying his childhood sweetheart. His expectant tone. His smiling eyes full of hope.

  Ilvara lets the servants drag her to a bedchamber decorated with bulky wooden furniture and a bear skull hanging over the satin-covered bed. Ilvara stares at it as the women strip her. She hears little gasps at the scrapes and bruises all over her body. They pull her to the edge of the wooden tub. Two other women pour in steaming buckets of water. One adds her
bs to it—blossoms from Medela for health, jade sprigs from Profectus for prosperity, and tiny white buds from Clarus for fertility.

  Ilvara can’t help but sigh as she sinks into hot water up to her chin. It soothes her aching joints, from her apple-sized ankle up her sore legs and arms, across her chest, still stinging from the smoke two days ago, down to her wrists, chafed from the hours spent locked in those rough manacles. The maids scrub flaky soap stinking of fat into her hair. Others wash her legs and arms. After rinsing her hair, they coat it in scented oils. A glob gets rubbed into her ear.

  Ilvara suffers their vigorous cleaning in silence. She bites down on her lip when they rub too hard on a sensitive muscle, and again when they attempt to comb out her tangled hair. She can’t help imagining the future. She struggled to decide which fate to choose through the night, but truly, she was waiting for someone to find and rescue her, so no verdict had really been reached. Not until Sylvia was there before her, a blade in her hand, eyes hungry for Ilvara’s blood, did Ilvara decide she did not want to die.

  Marriage to Krassis means living, but at what cost? She will be trapped in Esterden, the wife of her opposing lord. Will he have her killed when he discovers she can’t bear children?

  She thinks of Caius and Asher, trapped in the dungeon. Will this marriage ensure their safety? Surely, she will have some power as Lady of Esterden.

  The thought suddenly explodes to life. Lady of Esterden.

  Her heart pounds quickly. What about Evelyn? Can she send Evelyn a letter? Tarreth is neutral, so Evelyn can come here, can’t she? She and Caius and Asher can live here safely when she is Lady. Some semblance of normalcy can be reached. If she is killed, what would become of them?

  And yet, her wrists will be chained to this place for the rest of Lord Krassis’ life. She will have to perform her wifely duties to a man she does not even know. She remembers the cage she felt in Lockmire when she had, of her own free will, chosen to marry Hadrian. Of course, at first it was lovely. But each year brought new sorrows and new pains they could not overcome. Once, she considered ending her own life to escape his constant dishonesty, unfaithfulness, and unbearable emotional distance. Life out in the mountains with Evelyn was the closest she had ever been to true peace. Why did she have to marry and ruin everything?