by Jamie Foley
Another azure soldier put a hand on the man’s arm and leaned in. Lysander couldn’t see his lips beneath his mask . . . the mask with the same design as the one from the prison. The one who’d sliced his neck.
The angry one’s eyes widened. He looked up at Lysander. Tipped his head slightly and turned away.
Surely Lysander hadn’t seen that right. He ducked as three orange masks leaped off the railing beside him and spread the wings of their glide suits. The remaining soldiers vanished in various ways, and the small area behind the barn was suddenly empty save for confused bystanders.
“What just happened?” Lysander whispered.
Ryon gripped the railing and stared after Xavier and the pursuing Katrosi as they slowly drifted into the distance. A weary smile spread across his face. “Thank you.” He gave a sidelong glance full of gratitude, yet lined with suspicion. “You’re free.”
Lysander had no idea what he meant by that. “I didn’t signal him. I led you to him as promised.”
Ryon’s brows dipped in doubt. “I’m sure you tipped him off somehow, but I meant thank you for saving Brooke.” His hand clapped Lysander’s shoulder, and the pain reminded him that it needed medical attention. “And thank the creator for that timing. I couldn’t bear to lose you, even if you are a lying, depressive idiot.”
Lysander just stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve invoked asha’ai, a Katrosi tradition. You saved the chief—your greatest wish will be granted.” Ryon’s grin spread. “I’m guessing you’d like to not die, yeah?”
Brooke was dead. She must be.
Her eyelids felt heavy and her body detached as she drifted from dark dreams. This new scene was blurry, too, but familiar. Tall cedar pillars, carved with heroic scenes from the past, held an arched ceiling aloft. Ancient plaques and weapons wielded by chiefs past adorned the walls. And beyond the wide bed she lay in, she could see the roaring maw of the bearskin rug she’d pretended to ride as a child, when her grandfather had been chief and these quarters were his.
Brooke groaned and shifted under the violet d’hakka-silk quilt. Too hot. So hot.
Someone moved from a couch by a bookshelf in the corner. Nariellyn’s face became clear as she drew nearer.
“I’m here.” Nariellyn placed a hand on Brooke’s forehead and frowned. “You’re okay. How do you feel?”
Brooke doubted she was real. In one of her nightmares, Nariellyn had been Zamara in disguise.
She closed her eyes and felt some relief from the pounding of her pulse through her head. “Am I alive?”
“Mostly.” Water trickled as Nariellyn wrung a white cloth out into a bucket on the nightstand. “You’ve been dead on the inside for a long time now.”
Brooke couldn’t stop a smile. That was the real Nari all right.
“Shut up. Smiling hurts.”
Nariellyn smirked and placed the cool cloth on Brooke’s forehead. “What hurts the most?”
Brooke furrowed her brow as she took account of every part of her body. Everything felt stiff, sweaty, and sore. “My head.”
“That’s a good sign, according to Lysander.”
Brooke growled as a dozen different emotions flared inside her tattered heart. “What happened?”
“Well, the azure masks aren’t sure yet, but here’s what I know so far.” Nariellyn stood and spoke as she strode to the door. “Shaya prepared your seven hundredth cup of tea and somewhere between the kitchen and the prison, an Emberhawk named Xavier poisoned it with dreamthistle. He must have been hiding in the city since Zamara’s attack.” She opened the door and whispered something to a guard outside, then closed it again and continued. “They say if you fall asleep from dreamthistle you never wake back up. But Lysander had the antidote in his equipment, and Idryon let him out to give it to you.” She flopped back on the bed beside Brooke, her wild bun bouncing with the movement. “So I guess you’re alive or whatever.”
Brooke struggled to keep up through the migraine. “Did they find the assassin?”
Nariellyn poured ice water from a weeping pitcher and handed the glass to Brooke. “Yeah, Lysander led the azures to a barn where Xavier was hiding in the trade district. But as they closed in, he flew off with a glide suit. The orange masks pursued him into the woods, but they lost him.” She wiped the nightstand of shed water droplets and set the pitcher back in its place. “The council set Lysander free under asha’ai.”
Brooke nearly spewed the water halfway across the room. “What?”
“Well, he saved your life,” Nariellyn said. “Good thing he was there or we’d be organizing another election right about now.”
Brooke’s headache somehow hurt even worse. She stared into the element-chilled water and tried to make sense of it. Her memory bled together with the surreal dreams.
“So Lysander is just . . . running free around the city? Did they adopt him into the tribe? They’ll kill him in the streets!”
“No, he’s basically hiding in Idryon’s room here in the Hall.” Nariellyn pulled her legs up and crossed them on the bed. “The elders want to talk to you before making the public announcement tonight, so it’s a good thing you finally woke up.”
Brooke groaned and rubbed her eyes. “I wish I would have died.”
“Hey, only I can joke like that.” Nariellyn put a hand on the soft silk over Brooke’s knee. “They’ll give you time to rest and recover, of course. Or, at least . . . a day.” She offered a terribly awkward smile. “Or is Lysander that bad?”
“He complicates everything.” Brooke drank deeply and relished the cooling effect. “I wish he never existed.”
Nariellyn snorted. “How can you say that about a man so fine?”
“You can have him.” Brooke set her empty glass down on the nightstand with a loud clack.
Nariellyn’s cheeks drooped in an exaggerated frown. “I don’t think you mean that.”
“Can we talk about anything except Lysander, please?” Brooke flipped her goose-feather pillow over and laid back down with a sigh. “What in the skies am I going to do?”
The spacious room was quiet for a still moment, save the chattering of a bird beyond the reinforced window above the headboard. Finally, Nariellyn spoke. “Something else happened while you were asleep.”
Brooke refused to open her eyes again—her migraine seemed to prefer the dark. “What? The Malaano invaded, and we’re all slaves of the glorious empire?”
She heard Nariellyn chuckle. “At least you wouldn’t be in charge any more.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be in charge. It’s that everything is exploding at the same time, and my people hate me for doing what’s right,” Brooke grumbled. “Grandpa Torvyn and Dad didn’t have to deal with nonsense like this.”
“No,” Nariellyn said slowly. “But High Chief Torvyn had to deal with Navakovrae settling on tribal land, and your dad led us through the Sacrificial War. And let’s not forget the famine and the plague and the wyvern attacks.”
Brooke sighed. Maybe she was being a tad self-focused. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She rested her forearm over her eyes. “What else happened?”
“Why don’t you just get some rest? It’s not important. The Hall Matron can deal with it for now, and we’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”
Something felt off. Brooke opened an eye to peer under her arm at Nariellyn as she realized what was wrong: Nari wasn’t telling any jokes.
“Tell me now.”
Nariellyn sighed and looked away. “The Darkwood prince has arrived.”
Brooke’s stomach clenched, and her throat closed up. Moisture welled in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, willing the tears not to fall. She controlled her breathing as the Elder of Aether had taught her. In . . . and out. Control. Peace. Clarity.
Nariellyn whispered an apology, and Brooke lost it.
She wept for her people and their lost security. For the next generation and their lost prosperity. For herself and her lost
dream of a marriage filled with love.
Her best friend held her without a word. Listened to her barely comprehensible explanations. Encouraged her to let it out. Scolded her for holding it in for so long.
A knock on the door jolted Brooke from her weeping. She sat up straight, wiped her tears, and donned her mask of steel.
“I don’t have to answer it,” Nariellyn whispered.
Brooke’s head was already throbbing harder—the guaranteed headache after tears was another reason she hated crying. Her body felt like she’d been mauled by a wyvern. She probably looked the part, too.
She sniffed and blinked to clear her eyes. “It’s fine.”
Nariellyn watched her with a disappointed frown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. The azures wouldn’t let anyone disturb us unless it were important.” Brooke straightened the covers around her, then offered her friend a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m all right. Let them in.”
She hated lying, but she had a job to do. The Katrosi tribe needed their chief. And she wouldn’t let the assassin have his way by taking her out of commission.
Nariellyn moved to the door with slothful reluctance. She opened it and the Elder of Aether shuffled in.
Brooke bowed her head and pushed a fallen braid from her face. “Master.”
“How are you, my child?” The old man hobbled closer with concern etching his weathered face. “We feared the worst, but you are looking well.”
Brooke doubted that, but the elders never lied. Well, maybe he was half-blind in his old age. “The fairypox were worse.”
“Good,” he said, “because you must leave Jadenvive tonight.”
Shock filled a moment of silence. Brooke waited for him to break into a smile or wink or anything to indicate that he was jesting.
“I mustn’t have heard you right,” she said.
He leaned in close enough for her to smell his jojoba beard oil. “I beseeched the creator on your behalf, and he spoke to me.” His wide, clouded hazel eyes didn’t quite focus on her. “You are in danger. If you don’t leave at nightfall, you will die.”
Brooke cringed. “What will happen?”
“The creator did not say.” He reached out for her hand, and she provided it to his wandering grasp. “But he was very clear. I am gravely worried for you, my dear.”
Dread settled like a stone in Brooke’s gut. “Master, I just survived an attempt on my life—”
“You will not survive the next if you don’t listen.” The elder waved in Nariellyn’s direction just in time for her to push a chair up for him. He gripped the wooden arms and slowly lowered himself onto the seat. “The creator has provided a way to preserve our people. You must take Lysander with you and remove Illiana from the Emberhawk throne. Her heart is hardened; she will not join the Alliance. We need the support of all five tribes to defend ourselves against the empire should they attack.”
Brooke leaned to the side to brace herself on the bed as a wave of heat slammed into her. She took a steadying breath. “Lysander may be the rightful king, but he abdicated.”
“No, his younger brother Coriander must be king. He is next in line; he is older than Illiana, and their custom is for only a king to rule beside his queen. And even better, Coriander and his wife already have heirs. The Emberhawk people will accept him as the new monarch.” The elder paused to catch his breath. “But Illiana claimed the throne first, so the palace and its guards and nobles are loyal to Illiana. You must bring Lysander as a negotiator to remove her and place Coriander on the throne without violence.”
Brooke looked down at her nightgown and pressed the fabric between her fingers as her mind spun. If she could accomplish such a thing, Coriander would be indebted to her and inclined to join the Alliance. She’d been hoping for an optimal solution, but how could she possibly make that happen? Couldn’t Lysander do it himself? Why did she have to go with him?
“I can’t abandon my people. They need me now more than ever.”
“The elders will take over your duties as we do in your every absence. You’d leave your doppelgänger, of course, and your advisor, and Ulysses could accept your offer to become your vice at any moment. The people will never know you’re gone until you return victorious.”
Brooke glanced at Nariellyn, but her friend didn’t wear an appalled look. She just shrugged. “I’ll go with you.”
They couldn’t be serious! And yet, it was a rare occurrence when the Elder of Aether claimed to receive word directly from their god. He’d never been wrong.
“There’s no way I’d leave in secret,” Brooke murmured as she turned possibilities over in her head. “I’ll tell the people I’m going to put a monarch I can control on the Emberhawk throne. Perhaps that will sate their thirst for vengeance, especially now that Lysander has been set free . . .”
The elder’s white head shook firmly. “You must go in secret. Otherwise you’d need much more security, and our soldiers would be more than willing to follow you. It would result in a bloodbath, and the missing men from our defenses in Jadenvive would leave us vulnerable to attack from the Malaano.”
“We are already vulnerable thanks to the fire.” Brooke tossed the covers from her legs, not caring about impropriety against the heat searing outward from her core. “If the people found out that I left them in secret before all of our dead are buried, I’d be impeached.”
“I will share the memories of my vision with the elder council. Everyone will agree and defend you if need be. I would take the blame in that worst case scenario. I will also share memories with the heads of family houses if I must. Which I will probably have to do for Lysander’s asha’ai as well.” He squeezed her hand. “This is not my will, child. This is the command of the creator.”
Discomfort squirmed in Brooke’s stomach. “The creator rarely commands things be done in secret.”
“He’s right, though,” Nariellyn said. “The Emberhawk have spies and informants everywhere, just like we do. If you announce it publicly, Illiana will know your every move. She’ll double down, and taking the palace will be that much harder. She’ll send forces to kill you on the road. And if Lysander leads you to wherever Coriander is hiding, she’ll have you followed to kill him and his heirs.”
Brooke pursed her lips. There were too many moving parts, too many risks. Why should she sacrifice so much for a tribe that had just attacked hers and nearly murdered her? A people whose bloodthirst had resulted in her father’s death. How could she abandon her own to help her enemy while Jadenvive suffered?
“The Darkwood prince just arrived. Am I supposed to subject my double to that? And what if he finds out she’s not me?”
Nariellyn grimaced. “Yeah, that’s bad. But it’s her job, and she’s very good at it. How much time have you spent around the prince, anyway? He won’t know it’s not you, and the wedding won’t be scheduled very soon in light of recent circumstances.” She tapped her fingers on the medical pouch fastened to her belt. “Dealing with him would be one less thing you’d have to worry about right now.”
Brooke pulled her hand from the elder’s, grasping for any reasoning to throw against this ridiculous idea. “Am I even well enough to travel? I feel like I’m being grilled in a fire salamander’s nest.”
“I’ll go get Lysander,” Nariellyn said as she suddenly bolted for the door.
“W-wait!”
“He knows more about the antidote and stuff,” Nariellyn called as she slipped out.
Brooke squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. What kind of bundle of nonsense had her life become?
“I’m sorry, Master. This is all just very . . . sudden.”
“The burden on you is great. This is why the creator has sent you help.”
She smiled weakly. “He sends help in the strangest packages, doesn’t he?”
The elder returned her smile with radiant joy. “I have already spoken with Lysander. He was born of evil, but he is repentant. His heart is pure for you. You can tru
st him.”
Brooke recoiled and hoped it didn’t show. The elder’s half-blind eyes might not notice, but his mind’s eye was sharp enough to pierce the soul.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” she asked.
“I will go to pray and seek more guidance before you depart. Otherwise, I will see you again upon your return.” He stood from the chair and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Be vigilant, my child. Aeo leywa ai shea.”
Vylia reeled from nightmares of fire and smoke. A bird like a giant phoenix soared by with a dragon’s cry, its flaming breath blistering her skin. A black cloud billowed, inescapable and impenetrable, burning her lungs and smothering her mind.
Colors brightened as Vylia opened her eyes, squinting against the firelight. But now, somehow, it seemed more like daylight as the ethereal smoke cleared.
A thick glass ceiling bent over her, allowing the sun to softly warm her skin. A gentle mist, smelling of sweet herbs, drifted beside her and evaporated around the small room. A bed lay on either side of her, one empty and one holding a young man.
Sousuke.
Memories slammed into her.
Sousuke!
Vylia shot upright, and the room spun, smearing shades of brown and green across her vision. She leaned back on her elbows on the bed for support, closing her eyes against the sudden dizziness.
Someone exclaimed in a language she didn’t know. A chair groaned against the floor. Footsteps hurried in front of her.
“Princess?” said a tentative voice in her own tongue.
Vylia opened her eyes, and the dizziness mercifully faded. A Malaano girl about her age crouched at her bedside with wide blue eyes. A bandana held her wild curls at bay. Her smooth, ebony skin was even darker than Vylia’s—she wasn’t from Malaan Island. A settler to the harsh tribal lands?
“Don’t worry. You’re safe,” the girl said. “I’m Kiralau of the Navakovrae, and I’m here to translate for you and help you. How do you feel?”
Vylia took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. “Where are we?”
“You’re in the Great Hall in Jadenvive—the safest place in the Katrosi forests. You’re well-guarded.” Kiralau turned her ear to a spritely tribal woman beside her who said something quickly in the Phoeran language. She nodded and turned back to Vylia. “This is your healer, Nariellyn. Can she tend to you?”