Silverblood

by Jamie Foley

  “I . . . I don’t have any of the skills—” Kira began, but her brother interrupted. “Was there a fourth guard?” he asked. “Normally Malaano nobles and diplomats travel with four.”

  Brooke relaxed a fraction, pleased that he seemed as knowledgeable as she’d hoped. “Indeed. The fourth, Hiro, was injured but recovered his health quickly. He returned to Malaan to inform the emperor that his daughter is alive and recovering.”

  Kira looked down at her hands in her lap. “What happened to them? Do the healers think they will make it?”

  A twinge of stress pinched inside Brooke’s chest. If the princess died here . . . she didn’t want to think about the repercussions.

  “They breathed too much smoke,” she said. “The upper levels of Jadenvive are a bit more luxurious than the lower. I’d given Vylia a home in which to stay or establish a Malaano embassy. But the higher levels received the most smoke, and the flames below gave them no method of escape.” Brooke leaned back in her chair. “My personal healer is seeing to them, but it is not known whether or not they will awaken. If they do, their injuries should be minimal unless their minds are damaged.”

  All was quiet for a long moment. Brooke felt Tekkyn’s calculating gaze on her and met it.

  “The rest of the entourage died from the smoke, then?” he asked.

  How was he so perceptive? I should hire him for my own guard, Brooke thought. “No. The rest of them were assassinated.”

  Kira’s mouth fell open. “Assassinated?”

  Brooke glanced at Dimbae, whose disapproving look was nearly imperceptible. Ryon’s approval, however, was far too obvious. She’d have to work with him on that. And his bias as well—normally he shouldn’t be so keen on sharing highly sensitive information with foreigners.

  But she knew Tekkyn’s heart from the time she’d arrested him and invaded his mind after his unit had been involved in the assault on Jadenvive. That search had revealed two things: Tekkyn kept secrets so well that he’d successfully spied on the empire from within their own ranks for years, and that he was loyal to his family and his cause unto death. He’d be the perfect soldier if he didn’t have such a hard head of his own.

  And Kira was a hero of the city whose residents didn’t know her yet. Perhaps Brooke could adopt her into the tribe when the time was right. But now that the people knew that a Malaano unit had aided the Emberhawk with arson, Brooke would have better luck adopting a d’hakka into the tribe.

  Brooke took a breath to release her reluctance. “One of Vylia’s guards turned on them, but Hiro and Sousuke ended him before he could get to Vylia. Hiro had an . . . interesting theory as to the assassin’s motives.”

  “We were worried about that too.” Tekkyn’s thick frame leaned over the maps, his blue eyes flicking between markings and miniatures. “The Emperor is drowning in bloodlust. But to sacrifice his own daughter as an excuse to invade . . .”

  Brooke restrained her surprise. “Who is ‘we’?” Kira asked, horror plainly showing on her face.

  “The effectiveness of the Navakovrae Resistance lies in its spies, as I told you last time we spoke.” Tekkyn’s smirk shone with pride. “We have contacts on the Island. They said the emperor replaced one of Vylia’s veteran bodyguards at the last minute. That was out of the ordinary.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Kira whispered. “Of course we aren’t the emperor’s biggest fans, but do you really think he’d kill his own daughter?”

  “I think he’d use her for political gain like every other ruler uses their children,” Tekkyn said. “And because he didn’t marry her off for an alliance, he used her for war instead.”

  Brooke’s heart ached like an old bruise. She was no princess, but the predicament felt familiar nevertheless.

  “Regardless of your decision, I can guarantee you safety inside Jadenvive. We are using every available resource for security, and more allies arrive with aid every day.” Brooke fixed Tekkyn with a firm gaze. “You may have lost your cover as a Malaano soldier, but I will pay you double whatever they did to protect Vylia, befriend Sousuke, and relay any information you uncover to my spymaster. As long as Vylia lives, the emperor has no excuse to justify invasion to his war-weary citizens.”

  Tekkyn nodded. “I accept.” He shrugged at Kira’s bewildered expression with an energetic glint in his grin. “I was getting bored.”

  Brooke turned her attention to Kira, who shrank like a nervous puppy. “I. . . would love to help, but I don’t know anything about dresses or makeup or etiquette. And I’m fluent in Phoeran, but there are still some words and phrases that I don’t understand. And I’m horrible at reading it.” She tucked her hands under her knees and glanced at Ryon. “And I’m on evadír.”

  “Don’t worry; you speak the language well enough. Just be Vylia’s translator and friend if you don’t have the skills of a handmaiden. Vylia’s appearance probably won’t be her foremost concern after what she’s just gone through, anyway.” Brooke gestured at Ryon. “I won’t separate you from him. His family lives here, so you can get to know them and fulfill that half of evadír as we wait for the princess to wake.” She offered a soft smile. “If you accept, and you decide to marry this idiot, I will fund your wedding.”

  Kira made an odd noise as she choked on a gasp. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly expect you to—”

  Brooke flicked a wrist to cut her off. “It would be the perfect way to honor your victory over Zamara and to celebrate a sort of marriage alliance to promote peace between our peoples. If that’s what you want.”

  Kira bit her lip and looked at Ryon, whose grin lit the room. “She’ll need a nice salary, too, yeah?” he said.

  Brooke froze her smile in place before it could flatten. Did everyone think her treasury was a never-ending pit? It wasn’t like she was an Emberhawk queen with a pyramid palace forged from translucent gold. And she didn’t have a half-destroyed city to repair or anything.

  “Of course,” Brooke forced out. Hopefully she was preventing war on another front by caring for Vylia—if so, it was worth any cost. “In addition, your food and lodging will be provided for you here in the Great Hall. You are my personal guests—do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you require.”

  “Well, then . . .” Kira’s skepticism melted into a hesitant smile as she glanced between the encouraging nods of her brother and her betrothed. “I accept.”

  Kira knocked lightly on the door to the infirmary and stood up straight. Her nerves jittered and buzzed like a beehive.

  “Calm down,” Tekkyn murmured behind her. “If you pull on that bracelet any harder it’ll shatter.”

  Kira hadn’t realized she was nervously toying with the arm band Ryon had given her. The smooth circle around her wrist glinted softly in the light from a window down the hall that looked more like an arrow slit.

  “Gold doesn’t shatter,” Ryon said from her other side.

  “Gold?” Tekkyn snorted.

  “It’s translucent gold, forged by the master elementalist of Quin’Zamar,” Ryon said.

  Kira glanced back to catch Tekkyn rolling his eyes. She shushed them and knocked on the door a little louder. The last thing she needed was for these two not to get along, but she couldn’t think about anything other than meeting the imperial princess right now.

  Although the reminder that she was wearing gold—real, priceless, magically forged gold—warmed her with pride and affection.

  “Hold your gryphons,” came a hushed voice from the other side of the door. It opened slowly, and a pair of feminine, narrowed eyes glared out at them. “Who’re you?”

  “Kiralau and Tekkyn’ashi,” Kira whispered. “We’ve been assigned to aid the princess.”

  “Oh, hi!” The door opened just far enough to reveal a spritely face. Wild hair bobbed as the girl tilted her head. “The princess is still asleep, though.” She pushed forward to glance down the hall, and Kira stumbled out of her way. “Where are the guards?”

  “I let them take a b
athroom break,” Ryon said.

  The girl shrugged and moved aside, opening the door. “Come in, come in! Just be quiet.” She elongated the word with wide, playful eyes, as if inviting them to a game of hide-and-seek.

  Kira hesitantly stepped into the room. Four beds lined one wall, and two hammocks on the other. The ceiling was half-formed of thick, cloudy glass, allowing sunlight to grace two dark-skinned figures lying on the beds: a young man and a young woman.

  “Where’s the doctor?” Kira whispered.

  “I’m the chieftess’ personal healer,” the girl said, crossing to a small table and closing a cabinet behind it. “If we could skip all the ‘you’re too young’ stuff, that’d be great. You’re pretty young, too.”

  Kira blinked at her. The healer couldn’t be much older than twenty. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yeah, you did, but it’s fine.” The healer hopped up on the table and crossed her legs, straightening her back to sit tall. “I’m an aether healer—the only one in the tribe. We have a traditional healer and a Roanoke herbalist check on ’em every night, too. They’re both ancient, so you can trust ’em.”

  The girl’s face was blank, so Kira gave a smile to hopefully mask her awkward feeling. “If the chieftess trusts you, that’s good enough for—”

  “What’s your name?” Tekkyn interrupted.

  “Nariellyn. Call me Nari if you feel like it.” She picked at a fleck of dirt on her bare foot.

  Kira stared. Hopefully the aether gift could somehow make up for the lack of dignity. Or maybe this was some kind of prank.

  “I’ll keep watch out here until the guards get back,” Ryon said as he closed the door. Kira’s heart sank as he disappeared from sight.

  Tekkyn stepped closer to the beds and looked down on the sleeping figures. “How long have they been asleep?”

  “A few days. Too long,” Nariellyn said from the table. “Every day that passes means they’re less likely to ever wake up.” She sighed. “Sadness.”

  Kira quietly approached until the sun warmed her from the giant window above. A bowl filled with water sat on a nightstand, steaming with an earthy scent. Below a colorful quilt, a girl with a round face and flawless skin breathed softly in her sleep.

  Is she my age? Kira wondered. Surely this couldn’t be Vylia, daughter of the Emperor of Malaan. Without a crown or dress or colored powders around her eyes, she could have been mistaken for any other girl from the island beyond the Sea of Bones.

  The sleeping soldier beside her was just as still. But bandages covered his shoulder, his side, and his hands. Bloody armor sat piled beside his bed.

  I don’t care where they’re from . . . What they must have gone through was awful. Even more so if they were betrayed. Kira’s nervousness melted into empathy. Creator, please let them wake up. She cautiously touched Vylia’s hand, glad to find it warmer than her clammy face looked.

  Kiralau.

  The sudden voice in Kira’s head made her jump. It was feminine, watery, distant—surely she hadn’t heard it with her ears, because Tekkyn didn’t react as he studied the soldier’s equipment and complained that it hadn’t been cleaned.

  Kira looked around, trying to find the source of the unearthly voice. The painting on the wall? The vining plant in the corner? The orange salt-rock beneath the cabinets? It hadn’t come from any particular direction, but from everywhere at once, like Brooke’s thought-speak after she’d questioned Tekkyn in the Great Hall. But unlike Brooke’s deep, rough voice, this had been sultry. Smooth. Surreal.

  Gentle laughter flitted through Kira’s mind. Don’t be afraid, little minnow. Do you not recognize my voice from your answered prayers?

  Fear lanced from Kira’s heart to the pit of her stomach. Her gaze whipped to Nariellyn, but the healer was eyeing Tekkyn with an admiring interest.

  Kira slowly turned back to Vylia’s still face. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Definitely the princess,” Tekkyn answered. “Hard to tell without the makeup, but the portraits capture her pretty well regardless.” He tipped his head toward the sleeping soldier. “And this is Sousuke?”

  “Yep. Another of her bodyguards named Hiro went back to Malaan Island to tell the emperor his daughter is alive so this won’t, you know, cause international upheaval or anything.” Nariellyn’s nervous grin shone with a flash of white teeth. “Are you okay, Kiralau? You look . . .”

  “I’m fine.” Kira swallowed the tension in her throat and took a step back from Vylia’s bed. “I thought I heard something.”

  Nariellyn tilted her head like a curious cat. “Wish I could hear something else. I’ve been sittin’ here for days listening to nothing but snores.”

  Kira forced a smile. “Right.”

  You know who I am. I am the seven-tailed fox.

  Blood drained from Kira’s veins, leaving her with hollow dread.

  It couldn’t be. The water goddess had been silent her entire life. Cold. Nonchalant. Nonexistent.

  And if she did exist, Felix had said she was locked away in a stone, unconscious and powerless. And even if that weren’t true, she was just an elemental—just like Zamara had been before Kira launched a harpoon through her crystalline heart.

  Say my name.

  Kira’s lips felt dry. “Lillian?” she whispered.

  An ethereal smile pressed into her mind. Come back when we can speak in private, my child. I have need of you.

  Lysander adjusted his bruised wrists in their restraints as the guards dragged him up another flight of stairs to the Hall of Judgement. The floor curved in an enormous crescent shape with rows of stacked seating full of onlookers and windows that looked down on Jadenvive from the city’s upper levels. Like a gaping maw eager to swallow him.

  He didn’t have to hear the people’s voices to know what they were saying. They glared at him as if they could ignite him with their stares alone. Only the elderly men, assembling on the far side of the room in seven elevated chairs, seemed oblivious to his entrance.

  The guards shoved Lysander down in the center of the room. His knees were knocked out from under him and slammed into the floor. They tugged on his bindings and affixed them to a pole that rose to the ceiling.

  Lysander closed his eyes and willed his jittery pulse to calm. He’d known the Katrosi would end him from the moment they’d caught him. It wasn’t like an official death sentence would be a surprise. At least their strange trial system offered the possibility of a civilized execution.

  Two strong vibrations rippled through the sound waves, and Lysander glanced toward their source. A middle-aged man lowered his robed arms as if he’d clapped, and now he bellowed something above the white noise of the crowd. Dozens upon dozens of people moved for their seats and settled.

  Lysander looked toward the seven Elders, but Brooke wasn’t there. Nor was there any sort of throne. He frowned and finally found the horns and claws of her headdress poking above the crowd on the far side of the room. The chieftess sat in a simple chair as if she were any other citizen. The paint of mourning appeared to drip down her cheeks like black tears.

  She didn’t return his gaze.

  Does she have power here? Dread curdled in Lysander’s stomach. What kind of ruler had no say in the trials of their people? The Katrosi system of governance was foreign to him. Powers separated like a finely balanced scale with three pans. He’d always thought it interesting until now.

  Because yesterday he’d ruined an already awful relationship with the only person who might have kept him alive.

  An elder with blue robes rose and gestured, his lips moving in soundless speech. Lysander took a deep breath as his hand-language interpreter slid into his view and sat cross-legged on the floor. Her eyelids drooped and her posture slumped. He wasn’t sure which she hated more: him or her job.

  “Thus begins the trial of Lysander of Quin’Zamar, firstborn of the late Emberhawk King Brynn.” she signed. “He is accused today of aiding the elemental Zamara, recently discovered to be
Queen Dierdre, in her siege of Jadenvive. Thus he faces dozens of counts of assault, murder, and arson. As well as prior counts of espionage and assassination.”

  Lysander gritted his teeth. Zamara was not Queen Dierdre, he thought. Zamara murdered my mother and impersonated her to rule the kingdom for years. Get it right.

  Someone spat at him from the crowd on his right side. Lysander caught the movement and dodged, and the guards swiftly obstructed his view. The announcer, or whatever he was, said something the interpreter didn’t seem to translate.

  Lysander shifted on his knees, pretending to ignore the waves of hatred roiling among the people. Another burst of sound energy from one of the elders seemed to restrain them. He took a steadying breath and considered dulling his connection to the Phoera element to quiet the static that undulated all around him. But even though it was just commotion, it was better than deafening silence.

  If only the guards hadn’t found and taken the lockpick Xavier had given him. Not that it would have helped him escape the city, anyway.

  When he looked back up, one of the elders was gone. The Elder of Aether, if he remembered correctly. These Katrosi had a crazy old man to represent every aspect of their crazy way of life. How the five tribes had originated from the same Phoeran people only a few hundred years ago and formed such different cultures, Lysander would never know.

  The Elder of Aether appeared beyond the guards, shuffling in amber robes. Lysander couldn’t decipher his expression beyond a tumbling white beard, so he focused on a knot in the wooden floor instead.

  Look at me, Slain Prince.

  Lysander’s throat constricted as a masculine voice echoed through his mind, clear as a morning-bird’s call. Not nearly as lyrical as Brooke’s thought-voice, but welcome nevertheless. Any true sound—even a mockery of it—was welcome.

  Lysander looked up at the elder and met his cloudy hazel gaze.