by Jamie Foley
“Worth the trip?” he asked.
Kira couldn’t find the words to do it justice, and she didn’t want to mispronounce the word for “wonderful” again. “It’s . . . breathtaking.”
Ryon strode to a pile of furs beside the water, where the ethereal light coalesced brightest. “It’s a secret. You’d better not tell anyone.” He stretched out on the hides and sighed in satisfaction.
Kira couldn’t tear her gaze from the swath of intermingling colors strewn across the ceiling like a painting. “You found this place?”
“You just reminded me that I’m a scout, yeah?” He winked. “This is kind of a safe spot in case something goes bad upstairs. You know, like the whole city being on fire. I make sure everyone at home knows their way down here in case of an emergency.” He scratched the faint stubble along his jaw. “Come to think of it, Tekkyn might know about this place if they evacuated during the attack.”
“It’s incredible,” Kira said. “It makes me wonder how many more gorgeous places the creator buried beneath the earth that no one has ever found.”
Ryon shrugged. “Good question.” He patted a spot on the furs beside him.
She snuggled up next to him and relished the joy that blossomed in her chest. “How am I so lucky?”
Ryon wriggled his arm under her neck and stared up at the luminous ceiling. “Felix is the deity of luck, you know.”
Kira cringed. “I think he hates me.”
“He makes everyone think that,” Ryon said with a laugh. “If he talks to you at all, he likes you.”
Kira took a deep breath. The humid air had an interesting musty scent, almost like a greenhouse on a cool day. “Do you really think Felix has some kind of luck magic?”
“No,” Ryon said. “Every elemental has some sort of domain in the elemental religion, but it doesn’t mean anything. I just say that to tease him because he hates everything about the idea of humans worshiping elementals.”
“Why? Just because he’s not really a god?”
“Because it’s disrespectful to the creator. One of Aeo’s laws is to not worship anything except for him. He created everything, including the elementals, so worshipping something that Aeo made—something mortal—doesn’t make sense, yeah?” Ryon said. “Felix is smart enough not to disobey the creator.”
Kira studied a vein of speckled stone in the cavern wall as she considered his words. “I don’t understand how the creator can be loving when his own followers are afraid of him like that. And aren’t some of his laws kind of strict?”
Ryon’s shoulder moved beneath her head, and she shifted to rest against his chest, not caring about the rough feel of his tunic on her cheek.
“He’s like a father,” Ryon said in a low tone. “He loves you more than anything and would die to save you. But he has rules to protect you and will punish you if you break them so you don’t grow up to be a brat.”
“Too late for that,” Kira muttered. “I never realized how spoiled I was until I left the ranch. Yes, we had our troubles, but so many people have it so much worse.” She folded a smooth deerskin over her belly and stroked the fur. “If the creator is good, and he is all-powerful, why does he let bad things happen to good people?”
Ryon grumbled something akin to a growl. “Does everything always have to be a deep philosophical discussion with you? Will I ever be able to just take you on a date and relax?” He tickled her, and she squirmed away, but he pulled her back with a firm grip. “Theologians have been trying to answer that one forever. The histories say that in the beginning everything was flawless, but human wrongdoing fractured the perfection. We lost our immortality and brought a curse upon Alani. The curse is where things like death and disease and agony come from.”
Kira vacillated between listening and defending herself against another tickle strike. But Ryon’s hand on her side was light and still as he continued.
“I think it’s because the creator wanted to give us free will,” he said. “That means we have the choice to do genuine good, but unfortunately we also have the freedom to hurt others. But there will be true justice in the afterlife. And Aeo does intervene to give peace and help to anyone who asks him.”
“Hmm,” Kira mused. That would be a thought to chew on later. Ryon was right that she needed to enjoy this moment. This place was uniquely beautiful beyond anything she’d ever seen.
But she couldn’t relax until she told him about Lillian.
“I have to tell you something,” she confessed.
Ryon toyed with her hair, tickling with a feather light touch. “Yeah?”
Kira tried to prepare herself for how strange this would sound. “Lillian has been speaking to me.”
His hand hesitated. “What? You mean you . . . want to worship her again?”
“No, I mean she has literally been speaking to me. Audibly. Well, not through my ears, exactly . . .”
Ryon turned on his side and shifted until he could see her face. Concern etched his features.
Great, now I’ve ruined the moment, Kira thought. “Well, it’s only happened a couple of times when I was in Vylia’s room. The voice said it was Lillian speaking through the Malo stone. She called it her mirror.”
Ryon’s fiery eyes widened. “Is this a joke? The Malo stone is here, in Jadenvive?”
Kira nodded. “I wish it were a joke. The stone is in Vylia’s belongings. It looks like a big water opal.”
“I noticed the opal, but I had no idea it was the Malo stone,” Ryon said. “But it’s not supposed to do any talking, regardless. Lillian is supposed to be asleep.”
“I have no idea. But she wants me to steal that big quartz gem from Brooke’s headdress.”
Ryon balked. “She wants the keystone?”
Kira nodded. “She said she could use its power to help the empire. Which she thinks she rules.”
Ryon’s mouth hung open for an awkward moment. “You . . . We have to tell Felix. According to legend, the keystone is the artifact that the creator used to seal the amos elementals away. The chiefs have passed it down in their headdresses to protect it through the generations. If Lillian got her hands on it . . .” His thumb rubbed his other fingers nervously. “Just the fact that the keystone and the Malo stone are in the same city is beyond dangerous. If Lillian were released somehow . . . Aeo help us all.”
The look on Ryon’s face scared Kira more than his words. “What should I do?”
“Tell Felix and hope he knows what to do. If the Malo stone is one of the princess’s belongings, we can’t just take it, but since she’s unconscious and might not ever wake up . . .” Ryon’s musing trailed off. “I’ll try to summon Felix as soon as our date is over.”
“I’ll come along and watch you do the cuckoo dance.” Kira grinned sweetly.
Ryon narrowed his eyes at her. “I would have paid a thousand rupero to see you do it.”
“Ha! You’d have to pay a thousand more for a chance at me ever doing that again.”
Ryon leaned on his elbow and grew that lopsided grin. “What are my odds?”
Kira looked away before his charm could fully entrap her. “Ill advised.”
He huffed a challenging laugh. “Well, I’ve got something else to show you, if we can forget that the world is falling apart for a second.”
Kira raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Do your best at helping me forget that I was chatting it up with a dead goddess who apparently wants to use me to get out of prison and rule the world.”
“Eh, she’s powerless inside that stone. She’s not going anywhere unless someone manages to steal Brooke’s headdress, then get past the guards to Vylia’s room, then figure out how to let her out. Even then, I’m not sure it’s possible since there’s a prophecy about the amos awakening at the end of time. Regardless, we’ll make sure she never gets out.”
Kira nodded and tried not to think about the fact that he’d apparently been wrong about Lillian being asleep. What else could he be wrong about?
She forc
ed a smile. “What do you have to show me, then? It had better not be something you stole.”
Ryon chuffed in a display of innocence. “I don’t need to steal any more, beautiful. I’ll be swimming in rupero within a few months.” He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and held his hands out toward the ceiling.
Kira watched in silence for a long moment. Then another. And another.
“Am I supposed to be seeing something?” she whispered.
“Give me a minute,” Ryon said, moving his fingers ever so slightly.
A ray of light appeared above them, faint and blurred. It swayed, seeming to absorb the glow of the mushrooms until it stretched into a long, colorful swath. Green and blue and indigo light waved slowly like a banner on the breeze.
Kira stared, mesmerized. “How are you doing this?” she whispered, afraid of breaking his concentration.
Ryon inhaled sharply and the lights vanished. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he turned to look at her. “What’d you think?”
“That was . . . beyond words,” Kira said. “What on Alani was that?”
“It’s called sky paint. When the tribes left Illyria . . . to settle this land hundreds of years ago, some went much further north . . . even above Valinor.” Ryon paused for a moment to recover his breath. “Then a few decades ago, one of their ships found us. There was a great celebration, and they told us that in their new lands, the whole sky can be painted with floating lights.” He wiped his forehead. “Not the easiest or the most useful way to use Phoera, but it’s pretty neat, huh?”
“‘Neat’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Kira said. “Thank you. This has been so amazing, and I’m sorry I kind of ruined it.”
“I wouldn’t say it was ruined, but . . .” Ryon smirked. “Guess we’ll just have to try again.”
Lysander loathed fear. It made his joints rigid, his stomach sour, his focus blurred.
Why should he fear death? Every man died. Every animal and plant. Every living creature—even elementals. Such was the curse on this world.
He wished he would have died when Zamara ripped the Phoera from his blood, tearing through him like a storm of blades. Why had Felix saved him, knowing he’d die anyway by Katrosi hands? So he could suffer for a few more days as punishment for breaking his oath?
Better if death would have taken him on the battlefield, sudden and swift.
Lysander stared at the shackles around his wrists. After Zamara died, Felix had given him enough of her syn to melt the metal chains like water. But what was the point of being free if he had nothing? No home, no job, no friends, no family. No palace. No hearing. Nothing but his guilt and a smoldering pile of regret.
No point in trying to escape.
Curse Brooke for tempting him with hope. It made everything so much worse.
The door beyond his cell opened. Lysander squinted against the light, and the shuffling of his two fellow prisoners meant they’d noticed as well. His fellow murderers awaiting their date with the executioner.
Ryon entered and lit the wall sconce with a wave of his hand. He avoided stares from the prisoners and came to stand before Lysander’s cell door.
Lysander watched his cousin warily as he stood in silence. Ryon’s skin seemed a healthy color, and yet his eyes drooped as if from exhaustion. And he still wouldn’t meet Lysander’s gaze.
At least his presence was a decent distraction.
Ryon’s hands finally moved, forming gestures for common terms and symbols for spelling. “Brooke will be here in a few minutes.”
Lysander tried not to groan. Brooke was the last person he wanted to see right now. The way he’d begged her during their last encounter was the crowning glory on his pile of regrets.
“You’ll have to take care of Granny Zelle,” Lysander said. “If Cori took her in, the rebellion would only put her in danger.”
Ryon’s face contorted into a grimace. “Think she’d be willing to move to Jadenvive?”
“From King Corynath’s pyramid to the root tunnels? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Ryon rubbed the back of his neck, then signed, “I tried everything. But even Brooke doesn’t have any authority with—”
“I know.” Lysander leaned back on his metal bench, his chains skittering with the movement. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” Ryon’s gestures quickened and strengthened. “I never dreamed I would be in a position of power, but it doesn’t seem to matter a bleeding—”
“Justice is blind,” Lysander interrupted. “Be glad that the Katrosi system isn’t corrupt enough for you to manipulate it.”
Ryon finally looked at him, his face reddening. “The elder was supposed to see your memories. He was supposed to see that you’re innocent.”
“But I’m not truly innocent. I could have refused Zamara and died instead. It is what it is.” Lysander took a deep breath, wishing he could accept the reality himself. “Thanks anyway, brother. You can sell my dried herbs and oils and poisons. They’re labeled well, and the rare ones will fetch good prices. And Zamara paid me with a mithril bar once—it’s hidden under a floorboard in my room . . .”
He trailed off at Ryon’s flustered gesturing, then decided to ignore him. “And please make sure my gryphon gets back home.”
Ryon’s protests stopped. “Where is Sorrel?”
“She’s probably still in the forest nearby, waiting for me. She’ll be madder than a trace cat that I haven’t returned.”
Ryon frowned. “How do I find her? If she doesn’t remember me from when she was a chick, she’ll eat me.”
“She knows you.” Lysander’s heart ached for his bird. If only he could snuggle into her golden feathers and soft white fur one last time. The gryphon would probably miss him more than any human would.
Ryon nodded slowly and signed, “I’ll find her.” He looked back up with stress lines between his brows. “Did you get right with the creator? Have you asked for forgiveness?”
Lysander snorted and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve asked for forgiveness from any deity that I could think of, but I doubt it’ll matter.”
The far door moved again, and Lysander squinted against the sunlight. The silhouette of a young woman entered, and the door remained open for long enough that at least one invisible guard could have entered. Lysander barely recognized Brooke without her war paint and headdress. Her simple tunic, leathers, and cloak included a hood, which she drew back to watch him with a wary gaze.
Ryon bowed and backed away to give Brooke his place in front of the cell door, but she motioned for him to stay. Her umber eyes met Lysander’s without hesitation. Her lips moved with words he couldn’t hear.
Ryon signed, “The verdict was not what I’d hoped. I’ve come to tell you goodbye.”
Lysander wished Brooke would have thought-spoken to him, then reconsidered. The fact that she hadn’t connected with him mentally spoke clearly enough.
He harrumphed. “You speak more bluntly than any woman I’ve ever met.”
Brooke’s stone-cold visage warmed a bit. “Unfortunately I don’t have the time or patience for formalities,” Ryon signed for her.
The door opened again behind her, and a petite handmaiden offered a cup of steaming tea on a china saucer. It carried the smooth, sweet scent of yaupon. Brooke took it with a thankful nod and drank deeply. “I truly am sorry. I did everything I could for you.”
Lysander felt his neck warm. He couldn’t fathom why Brooke would have lifted a finger in an attempt to save him from her people’s wrath. If their arranged marriage would have gone through, he’d probably have cheated on her a dozen times or more. Not because she wasn’t attractive in her own right—it was just the selfish way he’d lived without consequence as the crown prince. And she must have known it. Everyone did.
His heart lurched at the thought, and he struggled for a response. Maybe he could be honest, just this once. What did he have to lose? But even in this circumstance, his pride would sc
arcely allow it.
He glanced at Ryon, who studied him with narrowed eyes. Perhaps his cousin understood somehow. Ryon nodded slowly, as if to encourage him to let it out.
Lysander looked down at his well-worn boots, whose fraying leather was in dire need of care. “I’m sorry for everything.” He took and released a deep breath. “It’s good that nothing happened between us. I would have had even more to regret right now.”
He couldn’t see her reaction, but the air thickened with tension. He forced himself to look up.
Brooke’s tea cup froze in her hand. She said something to the side he couldn’t discern, and the bars of his cell door swung open. He stiffened as a bull of a man shimmered into existence and freed him of his chains.
Energy surged through Lysander’s veins as freedom tempted him, but he remained sitting on the bench until the man vanished, the cell door closed, and the lock dropped back into place. His chance of getting past that huge man, Brooke’s most skilled guard—Dimbae, if memory served—was less than zero.
A disturbance in the sound waves indicated that the prisoner in the cell to his right protested, but Brooke appeared to silence him with a glare.
“Thank you,” Lysander said, unsure if he was interrupting or not. He slowly rubbed his wrists, hoping that an invisible assassin hadn’t slipped into his cell to gut him as soon as she left. “Though I don’t understand why.”
Ryon began signing again. “She says it’s the last mercy she can give. For what your fathers envisioned for the two of you, and for the peace that might have been.”
Lysander looked back up at her, stunned. Ryon had probably translated that wrong. And yet Brooke’s eyes were like dark pools, concealing restrained emotion within their depths.
Surely she didn’t actually wish that they’d been married? After he’d fallen into sins no one could forgive and she’d risen to the most powerful position among all the tribes?
It made absolutely no sense. She couldn’t possibly be a little girl craving love under all of that prowess and acuity.